Lost (42 page)

“Trying to get your attention, damn it. Why didn’t you answer your goddamn phone?”

“What?”

They stepped into the kitchen, the Cookie closing the door as Tom flipped off the patio light, the full moon falling into the space between them, like an errant spotlight. “What was going on here tonight? A party?”

“You were watching the house?”

“I need to talk to you. I couldn’t do it when everyone was here.”

“I don’t understand. Has something happened?” A feeling of dread trickled into Cindy’s veins, like a transfusion of tainted blood. She felt her body grow cold, as if a hand had reached out to her from beyond the grave. “Does this have something to do with Julia?”

Tom pushed his fingers roughly through his hair. “Okay, listen. I recognize this is going to be a shock, but it’s very important that you stay calm. I understand it’s already been one hell of a day for you, but I need your assurances you aren’t going to freak out.”

“I think you’d better tell me what’s going on.”

“I came here to prepare you.”

“Prepare me for what?”

Tom said nothing for several long seconds, then he reached back to the sliding glass door and pulled it open. “Okay,” he said to the surrounding darkness. “You can come in now.”

The night air stirred as a shape began forming inside it, gradually separating from it. Cindy held her breath as the shape assumed human form, began its slow ascent up the patio steps, its face hidden by the hood of a black sweatshirt.

And then there she was, standing in the doorway, the hood falling from her head to reveal the straight blond hair beneath, looking as impossibly beautiful as she had the last time Cindy saw her over two weeks ago.

Julia.

“J
ULIA!”
Cindy threw herself at the apparition, casting an invisible net over its head, and trapping it in her arms before it could fly away, as if she’d stumbled across a rare butterfly. She knew her mind was playing tricks, that the awful events of the day combined with her fatigue had disrupted the normal patterns of her brain, so that not only was she seeing lost young women jumping from her side, she was seeing other lost young women miraculously appearing to take their place. “Julia,” she uttered, staring at the vision in the black velour jumpsuit, touching her face, her shoulders, her hair. “Julia,” she said again, as if the repetition of the name would be enough to give the ghost weight, provide it with the substance needed to sustain it. “Julia,” Cindy cried, bracing herself for her daughter’s sudden absence.

And then the mirage that was Julia was folding herself
inside Cindy’s arms. And Cindy was hugging her and kissing her, and her skinny frame felt solid and real, and her soft, smooth skin smelled of Angel perfume. Cindy tasted her daughter on her tongue, like tiny bubbles of champagne. “Are you really here?” Cindy cried, squeezing Julia’s broad shoulders, her toned arms, her slender hips. “Are you really here?”

“I’m really here,” the apparition said, sounding just like Julia.

“It
is
you. You’re here. You’re real.”

Julia laughed. “I’m real. I’m here.”

And now Cindy was sobbing, her whole body shaking as she pulled her daughter to her chest, as if trying to solder them both together, all the while smothering the side of Julia’s face with kisses, as if she couldn’t get enough of her, as if she intended to devour her.

Julia was back. She was in her mother’s arms. She was alive and well. And she looked wonderful. She looked rested and beautiful, more beautiful than ever. No bruises stained her flawless complexion; no nameless terrors clouded her eyes. “You’re here,” Cindy kept repeating. “You’re all right.”

“I’m here. I’m all right.”

Despite the assurances, Cindy refused to relinquish her daughter’s hands. If she did, the dream would surely end. She’d wake up. It would be over. Her daughter would be gone. “You’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Julia said again.

“You’re fine,” Cindy repeated, unable to staunch the flood of tears streaming down her cheeks. Her daughter was alive and well and back home where she belonged. She wasn’t a ghost. She was really here. And no harm had
befallen her. How was that possible? “I don’t understand. Where have you been?”

Julia looked from her mother to her father, who nodded his silent encouragement. “You have to promise you won’t be angry.”

“Angry?” What was Julia talking about? “Why would I be angry?”

“Promise me you’ll at least try to understand.”

“Understand what? What’s going on? Tom,” Cindy implored, her eyes veering reluctantly from her daughter to her ex-husband. “Tom, what is she talking about? Where did you find her?”

“Don’t you get it yet?” he asked, looking at Cindy with a mixture of pity and scorn.

“Get what?”

A second’s hesitation before Julia’s simple response. “I was never lost.”

The words ripped through Cindy as if fired from a gun. She staggered back, dropped her daughter’s hand. “What are you talking about? Where have you been?”

There was a long pause, a second exchange of glances between father and daughter before Julia answered. “At the cottage.”

“What?”

“She insisted on coming back as soon as we heard the news about Faith Sellick,” the Cookie interjected quickly.

“Is Ryan okay?” Julia asked. “The news reports barely mentioned him.”

“You’ve been in Muskoka all this time?” Cindy’s head was spinning. Her daughter was back. She wasn’t injured. She hadn’t been kidnapped, or raped and murdered, then buried in a shallow grave. She was alive and well. Wasn’t
that all that mattered? What difference did it make where she’d been, that it appeared she’d been relaxing in the country while her mother was going crazy in the city, that instead of being concerned about her sister, her grandmother, her aunt, she was asking after Ryan, that even more astounding, she seemed oblivious to the hell she’d put her family through these awful last two weeks?

Cindy turned toward Tom, another horrifying thought slowly crystallizing. “Did you know about this? Did you know where Julia was all along?”

“You promised you wouldn’t get angry,” Julia reminded her.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Tom said.

Without protest, Cindy lowered herself into a kitchen chair, braced herself for whatever staggering revelations might follow.

“This doesn’t leave this room,” Tom warned, closing, then locking, the sliding glass door.

Julia took a deep breath, blew it out slowly, as if she were savoring a forbidden cigarette. “As you know, two weeks ago, I had an audition with Michael Kinsolving for a part in his next movie. Dad said you saw the tape.”

“Yes,” Cindy acknowledged quietly. “You were wonderful.”

Julia smiled proudly. “Thank you.”

“Unfortunately, wonderful auditions aren’t enough these days,” Tom continued, assuming control. “There are too many beautiful, talented actresses out there, and Julia needed something that would give her an edge over the competition, something that would get her the attention she deserves.” He paused dramatically. “And what better way to get noticed than to disappear?”

The room went in and out of focus as Cindy shook her head in disbelief. Surely she’d misunderstood. Surely she’d misinterpreted what her daughter and ex-husband were trying to tell her. “You’re saying this was a publicity stunt?”

“I just wanted a chance, Mom. Michael was auditioning so many girls. He hasn’t had a hit in a while, and Dad said the studio was pressuring him to give the part to a name Hollywood actress. We knew we had to do something to level the playing field.”

“So you concocted this scheme …”

“To make Julia as recognizable as any of the famous actresses in town for the festival,” Tom continued, unable to disguise his enthusiasm. “Cindy, I’m an entertainment lawyer. I know how this business works. I knew we had to do something pretty drastic to get the results we needed. And it worked. Hell, Julia’s practically a household name.
Entertainment Tonight
did two whole minutes on Michael’s possible involvement in her disappearance the other night. Do you have any idea what that kind of exposure is worth? Michael would be a fool not to give her the part now, and trust me, Michael Kinsolving is nobody’s fool. He knows a good story. So does the studio. And they also know everybody likes a happy ending.”

“Good story?” Cindy repeated incredulously. “Happy ending?”

“Okay, Cindy. It’s obvious you’re upset. But can you at least try to keep an open mind?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Cindy looked at her daughter through wide, disbelieving eyes. Could her daughter really be so unfeeling, so monstrously self-absorbed? “Do you have any idea what I’ve been going through? What
we’ve
all
been going through? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We thought about it,” Julia began.

“You
thought
about it?”

“We couldn’t tell you,” Tom said curtly. “We knew that, at the very least, you’d feel compelled to tell your mother and Heather. And then Heather would tell Duncan, and your mother would tell Leigh, and then where would we be? Don’t you see? It wouldn’t have worked if you didn’t honestly believe that Julia was missing. Your daughter’s the actress in the family, Cindy. Not you. The police would have seen through you in a heartbeat.”

“Besides,” the Cookie added matter-of-factly, “we knew you’d never agree to it.”

Cindy felt suddenly sick to her stomach. “That afternoon at the morgue …”

“Not my idea, believe me.” Tom waved his hands in front of his face, as if to rid himself of the memory. “I wouldn’t want to go through that again.”

“And what happened afterward in your apartment …”

“What happened in our apartment?” the Cookie asked.

“All the people the police questioned—Sean, Duncan, Ryan—people whose lives have been turned upside down as a result of this little charade. And Faith. My God, poor Faith!” Again, Cindy saw the hapless young woman hurl herself in front of the speeding train, heard the sickening thud of metal against flesh.

“Faith didn’t kill herself because of me,” Julia protested.

“She was suffering from postpartum depression.” Cindy struggled to stay calm, to keep her voice down.
“Do you think it helped her to be hauled into the police station for questioning? To find out you’d been sleeping with her husband?”

“And exactly whose fault was it she found that out?” Tom asked, narrowing his eyes accusingly.

“I’m really very sorry about what happened to Faith,” Julia said. “But she was Loony Tunes to begin with. You can’t blame me for what she did. We had no way of knowing she’d pull something like this.”

“You had no way of knowing that
she’d pull something like this?”
Cindy repeated incredulously.

“Kindly lower your voice,” Tom instructed.

“Kindly go fuck yourself,” Cindy shot back.

“I told you it was a mistake coming here,” the Cookie said, throwing her hands into the air in defeat.

“You didn’t consider that there might be consequences to your actions?” Cindy asked her daughter. “It never occurred to you that not everything works out exactly as planned? That sometimes the things we set in motion have a way of spiraling out of control?”

“I just want to be famous,” Julia said evenly, as if this made everything understandable, as if it made everything all right.

“So the end justifies the means?” Cindy stared at her daughter, the young woman who only moments before she would have given her life just to hold in her arms. Julia was her father’s daughter, she realized in that instant. She always had been.

(Flashback: Julia, four years old, Shirley Temple curls tamed into two long braids, holding tightly to her father’s hand as they walk down the street; Julia, age eight, proudly sitting on the shiny red bicycle her father
bought her for her birthday; Julia, at thirteen, wearing a fancy brown-and-blue-striped taffeta dress, posing beside her father, so handsome in his tuxedo, before they leave for the annual Havergal father-daughter dinner-dance; Julia the following year, packing her clothes into the new Louis Vuitton suitcase her father bought her, then carrying it outside to his waiting BMW, leaving her childhood—and her mother—behind.)

“So what happens now?” Cindy asked, her energy sapped. “What exactly are you planning on telling people? That Julia was a victim of amnesia?”

“It’s simple,” Tom said. “We tell them that Julia was feeling down because she thought she’d blown her audition, so she wandered the countryside for a couple of weeks, trying to clear her head, didn’t even look at a paper until today.…”

“The police will never buy it.”

“Are you kidding?” Tom reminded her. “It was their idea.”

“And I’m just supposed to go along with this charade?”

“Do you have any other choice?”

Did she?

“I could tell them the truth.”

“You could, yes,” Tom agreed. “But then, in all likelihood, Julia will be arrested, a promising career will be nipped in the bud, and I’ll be disbarred. Is that what you really want?” Tom paused, allowed his words the necessary time to sink in before continuing. “Look, Cindy. Right now you’re hurt and you’re angry, and that’s completely understandable. You’ve been through hell these last few weeks. Nobody knows that better than I do. But I urge you to think this through, and consider our daughter’s best interests.”

“Our daughter’s best interests,” Cindy repeated numbly.

“Please, Mom. I’m so close to getting everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“You can’t really want to see your daughter go to jail,” the Cookie said.

“I thought all you ever wanted was for Julia to come home,” Tom reminded Cindy.

“I thought so too,” she said.

There was a noise in the hallway and Elvis suddenly galloped into the room.

“Elvis!” Julia fell to her knees, hugged her dog to her chest. “How are you, boy?”

Heather appeared in the kitchen doorway. “I heard voices,” she said, falling silent when she saw her sister.

“What’s going on?” Norma Appleton called from the top of the stairs.

“Julia’s home,” Heather shouted back at her.

“Julia?! Leigh, wake up! Julia’s home.”