Lost (40 page)

Almost without thinking, Cindy grabbed her purse from the hall closet and chased after her, careful to stay in the shadows, to keep a comfortable distance between them. Faith was moving quickly, and Cindy’s legs were stiff and hurting from last night’s ill-conceived marathon. They rebelled each time Cindy tried to widen her stride, pick up her pace. She almost lost Faith at the corner of Avenue Road and St. Clair when Faith caught the traffic light and she didn’t, but she spotted her again several blocks later in front of Granite Place, two large apartment complexes that sat well back from the main street.

Faith stopped at the corner of St. Clair and Yonge, despite the green light that indicated she had the right of way. Once more she spun around, as if suspicious she was being followed, and Cindy had to duck into the doorway of Black’s One-Hour Photo to keep from being spotted. Her breath was labored and audible. A thin trickle of perspiration ran down the open V of her blouse, and she flicked it away with her finger before it could reach inside her bra. Seven-thirty in the morning and already the outside temperature was creeping toward eighty degrees.
Already she was hot and sweaty, the humidity twisting her hair into tight little curls that crept around her head like vines. So much for keeping up appearances, she thought, hearing wary footsteps approach. Cindy took a deep breath, braced herself for yet another unpleasant confrontation with her neighbor.

But the woman who hurried by cast only a furtive glance in her direction, careful to keep a wide berth between them, as if afraid Cindy was one of those crazy ladies who wandered the streets, asking for money and talking to themselves. And maybe she’s right, Cindy thought. Maybe I
am
crazy. How else to explain what she was doing, trailing after her neighbor, like some middle-aged Nancy Drew, only a day after the police had ordered her to back off. What was the matter with her? Why couldn’t she just mind her own business? So much for acting like a functioning adult.

“Go home,” Cindy told herself. “Go home now.”

But even as she was saying the words, she was running across the already busy intersection at Yonge and St. Clair, trying to locate Faith. “Where is she?” Cindy muttered underneath her breath, her eyes shooting back and forth across the four corners, seeing no trace of her neighbor. Maybe she went into McDonald’s, Cindy thought, glancing toward the tiny takeout restaurant that was squeezed between the Bank of Nova Scotia and the St. Clair subway station.

It was then Cindy saw the baby carriage. It was standing outside the subway’s glass doors, blocking the entranceway, until a man in a hurry shoved it rudely to one side. “Kyle?” Cindy called, rushing toward the carriage. But the carriage was empty. The baby was gone.

Why would Faith abandon an expensive carriage in the middle of the street? Had she spotted Cindy, decided it was faster and easier to proceed without it? And where was she taking Kyle so early in the morning? Did she have a plan, or had she impulsively opted for an early-morning subway ride, much as Cindy had opted for a late-night run?

“Did a woman with a baby just go through here?” she asked the bored-looking attendant who sat in a large glass booth inside the subway entrance. “It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes ago,” Cindy continued when the attendant failed to respond.

“Wasn’t paying attention,” the man answered finally. Then, “You’re holding up the line.”

Cindy tried to push through the turnstile, but it refused to move.

“You need a token,” the attendant reminded her.

“I don’t have a token.”

“Then it’s two dollars and twenty-five cents.”

Cindy fished in her purse for the correct change, as several disgruntled commuters wove past her impatiently, while those forced to wait in line behind her groaned as one. “Sorry,” she said, the apology floating toward the ceiling, like steam from a kettle, as she offered the money to the attendant, who rolled his eyes and pointed at the proper container.

Cindy ran down the stairs on the other side of the turnstile, trying to guess if Faith had headed north or south. She opted for south, running down a second set of stairs to the subway platform, her eyes panning the yellow tiles that lined the walls for any sign of Faith and her baby. Had she missed them? Had the southbound train already come and gone?

It was then she heard a baby’s loud wail and saw Faith standing at the other end of the platform on the opposite side of the station. She was rocking Kyle in her arms and smiling calmly. She looks okay, Cindy thought, and waved, a broad gesture that caught Faith’s attention. Faith smiled, as if seeing Cindy in the subway at this hour of the morning was not unexpected, then turned her attention back to the baby squirming in her arms.

Something’s not right, Cindy thought, walking briskly back toward the stairs, pushing against the crowd surging in the other direction, vaulting up one set of stairs and down the other. Seconds later, she reached the north platform, the tunnel stretched out before her, like a long, dark pipe.

“Careful,” a man cautioned as she ran beside the wide yellow stripe that ran along the edge of the platform. “Shouldn’t get so close to the edge.”

Cindy heeded his advice, moving closer to the wall and proceeding quickly to the far end of the platform.

“No need to run,” she heard someone say. “A train just left.” Was he talking to her?

“Damn, I’m going to be late,” another man replied. “How long till the next one?”

“Couple of minutes.”

Cindy continued walking toward the far end of the platform, watching Faith’s smile broaden as she approached, as if she were genuinely pleased to see her.

“Cindy. What are you doing here?”

“I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

“Kyle has a doctor’s appointment.”

“So early?”

“It was the only time she could fit me in.”

“Is the baby all right?”

“He has this rash.”

“Rash?” Cindy hadn’t noticed any rash yesterday.

“I called Dr. Pitfield as soon as I saw it. She said to bring Kyle in first thing this morning, and she’d have a look at him.”

“Isn’t Dr. Pitfield’s office on Wellesley?” Cindy had recommended Dr. Pitfield to Faith when Faith first found out she was pregnant. Dr. Pitfield had been both Julia’s and Heather’s pediatrician.

“She moved.”

“Really? She was on Wellesley forever. Where is she now?”

“Lawrence.”

“Well, that’s great. We can go together.”

“You’re going to Lawrence?”

“Yoga class,” Cindy said quickly, wondering why Dr. Pitfield had suddenly uprooted her practice after more than thirty years in the same location. And why wouldn’t Ryan have driven his wife to the doctor’s instead of letting her struggle with public transportation? Why was Faith being so nice to her after what had happened yesterday? “Was that Kyle’s carriage I saw in front of the station?”

Faith shrugged. “Never liked the stupid thing,” she said. Then, “You look nice.” As if this was the most natural of follow-ups.

“Thank you. You too. New dress?”

Faith glanced briefly down, as if she couldn’t remember what she was wearing. “No. It’s old.”

“It’s very pretty. The color looks great on you.”

“You think so?”

“I do.”

Faith smiled. “Another beautiful day,” she said.

“Yes, it is.”

“They get kind of boring, after a while. All that sunshine.”

“I guess we could use some rain.”

“That would be nice. I like the rain, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” Cindy agreed. “There’s nothing like a good thunderstorm.” Were they actually talking about the weather?

“Lightning scares me,” Faith confided.

“Me too.”

“Have you ever seen a tornado?”

“A tornado? No, not a real one, anyway. I saw that movie though,
Twister
, I think it was called.”

“I saw that,” Faith said, nodding. “It wasn’t very good.”

“No. The story was pretty lame.”

“The special effects were great though.”

“Yes, they were. What’s your favorite movie?” Cindy asked.

Faith raised her eyes, pursed her lips, as if giving the question serious consideration. “I don’t think I have one.”

“Really? What about
Titanic?
Did you see that? Or
The Godfather?”

“I saw that on television. On Bravo, I think. They were showing it over and over again. You couldn’t miss it.”

“Did you see the sequel? People say Part Two was even better than Part One, which is really rare in a sequel, although Part Three was lousy.”

“I didn’t see Part Three.”

“You’re lucky.”

The baby renewed his squirming. Faith began rocking him absently, looking over her shoulder for the train.

“My favorite movie is
Invasion of the Body Snatchers,”
Cindy continued, a growing unease spreading through her joints, although she wasn’t sure why. “The original, with Kevin McCarthy and Dana Wynter, not the remake.”

“I don’t know that one.”

“I have a tape of it at home. I could show it to you.”

“I don’t know. It sounds kind of scary.”

“I guess it is, a little. I could watch it with you, if you’d like.”

Faith shook her head, began rocking back and forth on her heels. “I don’t think so. Thanks anyway.”

“Have you ever been to the film festival? I go every year with a couple of friends. Lots and lots of fabulous films. Maybe next year, you’d like to go with us.”

Faith smiled, said nothing. The baby in her arms began whimpering. “Ssh,” Faith told him, as several sharp cries pierced the air. “Come on, Kyle. Be a good boy. Please don’t cry.”

“Would you like me to hold him for a few minutes? He must be getting pretty heavy.”

Faith shook her head, took a few steps back. “He’s okay.”

“He sounds hungry.”

“No. I just fed him.”

“Maybe he needs changing.”

“He’s fine.” Faith began turning around in small circles, each spin bringing her a little bit closer to the edge of the platform.

“Be careful,” Cindy warned. “You’re getting too close to the edge.”

Faith smiled, said nothing.

In the distance, Cindy heard the rumble of an approaching train. “I have an idea,” she said. “Why don’t we go somewhere and have breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Coffee, then. There’s a million places we could go for coffee.”

“I don’t want coffee.”

“Faith, you’re not thinking about doing anything foolish, are you?”

“Foolish?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” Cindy felt the rush of air from a southbound train as it pulled into the station on the opposite track, knew she didn’t have much time before a northbound train came barreling along.

“I think you should go now,” Faith said.

“I’m not leaving here without you.”

Faith looked confused. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re my friend. Because I’m worried about you.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. Everything’s all right now.”

“It is?”

“Yes. I’ve worked everything out.”

“Worked what out?”

“What I have to do.”

“You have to move away from the edge of the platform,” Cindy told her evenly. “Please, Faith. I know that whatever you think you have to do, you wouldn’t want to hurt Kyle.”

“I’d never do anything to hurt Kyle.”

“Then move away from the edge of the platform.”

“I’m not the one who’d hurt him,” Faith said. “It’s you.”

“Me?”

Faith glanced past Cindy to the other people standing idly by. “All of you.”

Cindy’s eyes also scanned the waiting crowd, trying to transmit her concern. But no one was watching them. “Nobody here would do anything to hurt Kyle,” she said loudly, trying to attract someone’s attention.

“The world isn’t a very nice place, Cindy. You know that better than anyone.”

“Yes, I do,” Cindy said, wondering whether she should scream for help, afraid such action might only make things worse. “I do know that. But I also know that no matter how grim things may seem, they always get better.”

“You really believe that?”

“I have to believe it.”

“And if things don’t get better? What then?”

Cindy’s eyes filled with tears. “Then we have to go on.”

“Really? Why?”

Cindy pictured Heather asleep in her bed. “Because there are other people who need us, who would be devastated if we did something so final, so irreversible.” She heard a low roar, and realized with horror that it was the sound of an approaching train. “Please, Faith. Listen to me. Things will get better. Honestly, they will.”

“You promise?” Faith whispered, her eyes aching to believe.

“I do. I promise,” Cindy repeated, crossing her fingers for both of them, balancing on the balls of her feet, preparing to throw herself at the other woman, to wrestle her to the ground, if need be.

And then Faith took a long, deep breath, and smiled, her shoulders relaxing. “Okay,” she said simply, allowing Cindy to wrap her in her arms.

Thank God, Cindy said silently, clinging tightly to the other woman, slowly leading Faith away from the edge of the platform toward the stairs.

“Oh,” Faith said, stopping suddenly.

“What is it?”

“Could you hold Kyle a minute?” Faith pushed the crying infant into Cindy’s arms before Cindy realized what was happening. Then she wriggled away from Cindy’s grasp, ran toward the end of the platform, and threw herself in front of the oncoming train.

(I
NSTANT
Replay: Cindy hears a noise, like distant thunder, and realizes it is the sound of an approaching train. She pleads with her neighbor. “Please, Faith. Don’t do anything foolish. Things will get better. Honestly, they will.”

“You promise?” Faith asks imploringly.

“I promise.”

Faith takes a long, deep breath, her shoulders relaxing. “Okay,” she says, collapsing into Cindy’s arms.

“Thank God.” Cindy clings tightly to the other woman, begins maneuvering her through the crowd toward the exit. They are almost at the stairs.

“Oh,” Faith says, stopping abruptly, as if she’s forgotten something.