She's Not There (15 page)

Caroline glanced up at the waiting dental hygienist. She'd never been so happy to see anyone in her life. “Off you go, sweetheart.”

“Why isn't my picture in the magazine?”

“Because you're lucky,” Caroline said. “It's a stupid magazine, and you don't want your picture in it.”

“Michelle Shipley,” the hygienist said again.

“Here she is.” Caroline edged Michelle off her lap. “Go on.”

“Aren't you coming?”

“I have to wait out here.”

“I want you to come.”

“You're a big girl, remember?”

“Your mother will come talk to the dentist after I'm done,” the hygienist said.

As soon as Michelle was gone, Caroline jumped up from her seat and fled the room, the magazine crushed in her fist. She ran into the bathroom at the end of the hall and locked herself in the nearest stall, her hands shaking as her fingers fumbled for the story inside. And then there it was:
FIVE YEARS LATER. WHERE IS SAMANTHA SHIPLEY?

The article began with a two-page photo spread of the Grand Laguna Resort, complete with pictures of the restaurant and pool area, a big
X
indicating the room from which Samantha had been taken. Three pages of photographs, rumors, and innuendos followed, most of the so-called sources unnamed. There were several pictures of Hunter and Caroline, together and separately, as well as a group photo of them with Peggy and Fletcher, Steve and Becky, Rain and Jerrod. There was even a picture of Michelle holding tight to her grandmother's hand as they were leaving the resort to return to San Diego. Caroline wondered how the magazine had gotten hold of these pictures, and who was behind the quote:
She seemed like the perfect mother, but then, you really never know other people, do you?
She suspected it was Rain—it sounded like the sort of backhanded compliment Rain would volunteer. She thought of phoning her and demanding an explanation, but she hadn't spoken to the woman in years. Once she and Hunter had divorced, friends like Jerrod and Rain had quickly disappeared from her life.

Caroline gobbled up the article voraciously and then read it twice more. She'd spent five years avoiding such stories, but now that one was actually in her hands, she couldn't tear her eyes away. It contained the usual recap of events: it was their tenth anniversary, the babysitter had mysteriously canceled, they'd left their two children alone while they went to celebrate with friends in the garden restaurant downstairs, Samantha had been snatched from her crib sometime between nine-thirty and ten o'clock that night, a number of suspects had been questioned and released, including one hotel worker who was currently in jail for molesting his niece.
The mother seemed distant,
a hotel employee was quoted as saying.
She
was always late picking up her other daughter from our afternoon kids program
. “One time,” Caroline said out loud. “I was late
one
time
.” An unnamed police officer was also quoted:
We've always felt the family knows more than they're letting on.
“Like what, asshole?” Caroline yelled. “What more could we possibly know?”

The door to the bathroom opened. A pair of women's ivory pumps appeared in front of Caroline's stall. “Is everything all right in here?” a voice asked. “I thought I heard shouting.”

Caroline's heart was pounding so rapidly she could barely speak. “Everything's fine,” she managed to spit out. “I just caught my fingers in the door.”

“Ouch.”

Caroline held her breath as the woman busied herself at the sink.
What the hell is she doing for so long?
Caroline wondered, peering through the crack between the door and the stall support and watching as the woman applied a fresh coat of lipstick before fluffing her hair.

“You're sure you're okay?” the woman asked as she was about to leave.

“I'm fine, thank you.”

Caroline waited until the door closed before bursting into tears. “Pull yourself together, damn it,” she said, careful to keep her voice a whisper as her eyes returned to the magazine.

Of course the article also mentioned Caroline and Hunter's divorce, postulating that it was guilt that had driven them apart. It made no mention of his affair with a paralegal, which was what had hammered the final nail into the coffin of their marriage. Not that this affair had been any more significant than the ones that preceded it. Not that it had lasted any longer or was any more intense than the others. It was just the latest of a continuing series of affairs that had taken place in the aftermath of Samantha's disappearance. But while Hunter's infidelities might have contributed to their growing estrangement, it was undoubtedly her coldness, her unrelenting resentment that had been responsible for those affairs in the first place. Guilt had indeed driven them apart. And she was as guilty as he was.

More so.

Near the end of the article was a picture of Caroline outside Lewis Logan High, taken just after she'd resumed her teaching career. Beside it was a more recent photo of Hunter walking beside an unidentified young woman. Maybe a client or business associate. Maybe not.
MOVING ON
, read the caption beneath the pictures.

“Moving on,” Caroline repeated angrily, tossing the magazine into the trash can beside the door on her way out of the washroom. If she was so busy moving on, why did she feel more stuck than ever?

“Y
ou fainted?” Peggy's face reflected both confusion and concern.

“Well, I didn't exactly faint.”

The two women were sitting at a corner table in Costa Brava, a Spanish restaurant on Garnet Avenue that was famous for its tapas. A big-screen TV on one of the restaurant's minimalist whitewashed walls was broadcasting a satellite feed of a Spanish soccer game that was being watched by a handful of enthusiastic fans at the bar. Shouts of “Olé” periodically pierced the air.

“One minute you were standing up, the next minute you were on the floor. That's fainting, as far as I'm concerned. Why didn't you call me?”

“I can't call you about every little thing.”

“You don't call me about
anything
anymore. I hardly ever see you. It's a good thing your mother invited us over for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“And wasn't that a treat?” Caroline looked out the window at the cloudless Saturday afternoon sky. She could almost hear the ocean roaring a few blocks away. “I'm terrified they're going to ask me to resign.”

“That's not going to happen.”

“Why not? It's happened before.”

“All because of that stupid news story,” Peggy said, shaking her head and swallowing the last of her wine.

“It was my fault.”

“It was
not
your fault. Stop being so quick to accept the blame for everything.”

“I don't think I could stand it if I lose this job.”

“You won't. Your principal knew what had happened when she hired you.”

“The story had died down by then. Now, thanks to all those stupid articles, it's back again. The damn thing just never goes away, does it? It's like herpes.”

Peggy laughed. “Thanks for the image. Eat your lunch.”

Caroline speared a forkful of black beans and rice, watching most of it slip back onto her plate. “My students have been talking about nothing else all week.”

“So give them something else to talk about. Give them a surprise test. They love that.” Peggy signaled the waiter for a refill of her wine. “Okay, I've been patient long enough. Are you ever going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Come on, Caroline. How long have we been friends? You don't think I know when you're keeping something from me?”

Caroline put down her fork and stared across the table at her friend. “Michelle told you about Lili, didn't she? She told you about Calgary.”

Peggy leaned forward in her chair, her elbows resting on the table. “She didn't mean to let it slip. She assumed you'd already told me. The question is, why didn't you?”

“I'm sorry. It all happened so fast.”

“It happened more than a week ago,” Peggy corrected, obviously hurt. “What's up, Caroline? Don't you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you.”

“Then why didn't you tell me?”

Caroline looked toward the ceiling, as if the answer might be hiding behind one of the low-hanging chandeliers. “I don't know. I guess I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“That you'd think I was crazy. That you'd try to talk me out of going.”

“Well, you have to admit it's not exactly rational behavior. This girl calls you out of the blue, says she's Samantha, and off you fly to Calgary without a word to anyone—”

“She called again,” Caroline interrupted. Now that Peggy knew part of the story, she might as well know all of it.

“Michelle told me that, too. She said she grabbed the phone right out of your hand, warned her not to call you again…”

“She called me at work.”

“What? When was this?”

“Last Monday.”

“What did she say?”

“That she'd come to San Diego for the DNA test.”

“When?”

“As soon as she can work things out.”

“What does that mean?”

“I have no idea.”

“Does Michelle know?”

“No. I can't tell her. She'll go ballistic. She's so sure Lili is a fraud.”

“And you're so sure she isn't?”

“I'm not sure of anything.”

“Has she asked you for money?”

“No.”

“Has she asked you for
anything
?”

“No.”

“Which doesn't mean she won't.”

“I know that.”

“But assuming she doesn't,” Peggy continued slowly, measuring out each word, “that leaves three possibilities.”

“Which are?”

“One, that she honestly believes she could be Samantha; two, that she's a sadist who gets her jollies fucking with people's heads; three, that she's out of her mind.”

“There's a fourth possibility.”

“Which is?”

“That she really
is
Samantha.”

Peggy stared at Caroline with eyes that were ineffably sad. “Oh, honey. You're the math wizard. The odds against that are just so astronomical.”

“But there
is
a chance…”

“A tiny
fraction
of a chance…”

“A chance nonetheless,” Caroline said forcefully. “How can I not take it?”

The waiter approached with Peggy's second glass of wine. Before he had a chance to set it on the table, she took it from his hand and swallowed one quick gulp, then another. “Go for it.”

“Where have you been all day?” Michelle asked from the hallway even before Caroline had closed the front door. Ever since Michelle had intercepted Lili's phone call, she'd been watching her mother like a hawk.

“I met Peggy for lunch at Costa Brava.”

“It's almost four o'clock.”

“I went for a walk along the beach after. Why? Were we supposed to do something?”

Michelle laughed. “You mean like go shopping or to the movies? Like that's ever happened.”

And we're off,
Caroline heard her brother say. Not home two minutes and already her daughter had her on the defensive. She walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, drinking it down while silently counting to ten. She would not let Michelle get to her. She would be pleasant and calm. She would not rise to the bait. She would not bite. “That's a pretty blouse,” she offered with a smile. Michelle was wearing a pair of denim shorts and a loose-fitting beige shirt. Her hair hung in a careless braid over one shoulder, and she wore no makeup except bright red lipstick that emphasized the cut of her cheekbones. “You look nice,” Caroline said.

“Oh, God,” Michelle moaned.

“What's the matter?”

“That means I'm fat.”

“What?”

“Whenever you tell me I look nice, it means I've put on weight.”

“No, it most certainly does not.”

“Yes, it does.”

“No. Do you know what it means?” Caroline said, fighting the urge to hurl her now empty glass at Michelle's head. “What it means is that I can never say anything nice to you, that you can never enjoy a compliment. Anything positive I say, you hear as negative. You only feel good when I say you look bad. How screwed up is that? How sad.”

“What's sad is that you have no respect for my feelings. For me.”

“What are you talking about? Where is this coming from? You're mad at me because I went out for lunch?”

“I'm mad because it didn't even occur to you to tell me where you were going. It would have been nice if you'd left me a note or something. So I wouldn't worry.”

“There's no reason for you to worry.”

“No, because it's not like you'd do anything crazy, like fly off to Calgary or something.”

“Sweetheart, I promise you I'm not flying off anywhere.”

“Then why are you being so secretive?”

“I'm not being secretive.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Well, then, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be. I guess I'm just not used to you being so concerned.”

“Why? Because I don't have feelings?”

“Nobody said you don't have feelings.”

“What
are
you saying?”

“I don't know,” Caroline said, waving her hands in the air in total frustration. “I don't know what I'm saying. I have no idea what this conversation is about or why we're arguing. I know I had a nice lunch and a lovely stroll on the beach. I was actually feeling pretty damn good, and then I come home and all hell breaks loose.”

“So this is my fault?”

“No, it's mine. Whatever it is.
Everything
is my fault. I get that. I accept it.”

“My mother, the martyr.”

“Okay, fine.”

“I was worried, that's all. Can't I be worried?”

“If you were so damn worried, why didn't you just call me? I have a cell phone.”

“Which you never have on. What's the point of having a damn cell phone if you never have it on?”

“I have it on.” Caroline fished inside her purse for her phone and waved it in front of Michelle. “See? It's on.”

Michelle's eyes narrowed. “You never have it on. Why is it on now? Who are you expecting to call? Does Lili have this number? Has she called you again?”

“For God's sake, Michelle.”

“Let me have the phone.”

“No.” Caroline quickly dropped the phone back inside her purse before Michelle could grab it. “Enough. I've had enough.” She marched into the living room, her purse tucked protectively under her arm, Michelle at her heels. They stood glaring at each other in the middle of the room for several seconds. “You know what I'd really like?” Caroline asked finally.

“No. What would you really like?”

“For once, just for once, I'd like us to have a nice, normal conversation. One without yelling and accusations. I've heard rumors that some mothers and daughters actually have them.” Not that she'd ever had such a conversation with her own mother, Caroline recalled.

“Okay. Fine.” Michelle lowered herself into the nearest chair. “Let the conversing begin.”

Caroline sank into the other chair, set her purse on the floor, and waited for her daughter to continue.

“So how was lunch?” Michelle asked.

“Good.”

“How's Peggy?”

“Good.”

“How are her boys? I haven't seen them in ages.”

“They're fine. Kevin graduates high school this spring. Philip is doing very well at Duke.”

“That's good.”

More good. More silence.

“What about you?” Caroline asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Any thoughts about going back to school?”

Michelle shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I'm thinking about it.”

“Really? What are you thinking?”

“That I might go back next fall.”

“Any school in particular?” Caroline tried not to sound too enthusiastic. Michelle had dropped out of Berkeley in the middle of her second year, having changed majors twice. She'd dropped out of UCSD the following year, after only one semester.

“Dad thinks I should finish college, then apply to law school.”

“Does that interest you?”

“I don't know. Maybe.”

“There wouldn't be any problems because of…?”

“…my DUI?”

Caroline nodded.

“The deal is that once I finish my community service, they'll expunge my record. Anyway, I haven't made any decisions yet.”

“I think you'd make a great lawyer.”

“Why? Because I'm good at arguing?”

“Because I think you'd be good at whatever you set your mind to.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Another silence.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Caroline broached.

Michelle's response was a familiar roll of her eyes.

“Never mind. Forget I asked.”

“I'm not seeing anyone,” Michelle said. “I
was
seeing this one guy for a little while, but it didn't work out.”