She's Not There (23 page)

“Are you out of your mind?” her brother shouted over the extension. “You spilled your guts to a reporter?”

Their call was followed by an even angrier one from Hunter. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

There came in quick succession at least a dozen calls from various magazines and newspapers across the country; a request from the producers of
60 Minutes
for a televised interview; an appeal from Howard Stern for her to be on his popular radio show. Both Barbara Walters and Diane Sawyer were seeking a one-on-one; Oprah was eager to talk, as was Katie Couric and someone with the unlikely name of Maury Povich. She hung up on all of them. “Who the hell is Maury Povich?” she asked Peggy. Then, to Michelle: “You should get dressed. You don't want to be late for school.”

“Yeah, sure. Like I'm going anywhere near school today.”

“Michelle…”

“Sorry, Mommy dearest. Am I being ‘difficult'?”

“I'm the one who's sorry,” Caroline said. “I should never have said those things.”

“Why shouldn't you? That's what you believe, isn't it? That I'm a pain, a blight on your existence…”

“I never said that.”

“You might as well have. Anyway, it doesn't matter.”

“It
does
matter. I love you, sweetheart. You know that.”

“Yeah, right,” Michelle said. “Anyway, I'm not going to school today. Think I'll go over to Grandma Mary's.
She's
always happy to see me.”

“Michelle, please…,” Caroline began as her daughter marched out of the room.

The phone rang again. This time it was the school where Caroline worked, informing her that they thought it best she take a few days off, that her classes would be handed over to a substitute teacher, and that the principal would like to meet with her sometime later in the week.

“I'm going to lose my job,” she said, hanging up the phone.

“They can't just fire you,” Peggy said.

“They can. But they won't have to. I'll go quietly.”

“No. You can't give up without a fight.”

“I have no fight left,” Caroline said.

Peggy scrunched the front page of the paper into a tight ball and flung it to the floor. “That bastard. Are you going to sue?”

“On what grounds? Those are pretty direct quotes. I'm sure he has it all on tape.” She winced at the thought of her every word, every sigh, every groan being secretly recorded.

“Son of a bitch. Don't you want to call and confront him?”

“I think I've said quite enough.”

“At the very least, you could tell him to fuck off.”

“And read about it in tomorrow morning's paper?”

“It might be worth it.”

The phone rang. Without a word, Caroline reached over and ripped the phone wire from the wall.

W
hatever Caroline had been expecting, it wasn't this.

For fifteen years, she'd been fantasizing about what it would be like to see Samantha again, and how their reunion would play out. In the beginning, she'd imagined the two-year-old, all jowly cheeks and jiggling thighs, running toward her with abandon, her arms stretched out in front of her, joyous cries of “Mommy” rushing from her bow-shaped lips as she flung herself into her mother's desperate embrace. As the years slipped by, the fat cheeks and plump little torso had thinned and elongated, so that by the time she turned ten, the Samantha of Caroline's imagination had morphed into a living, breathing Disney princess, all blond hair and sparkling blue eyes, but still with the face she'd possessed as a toddler, a face Caroline knew she would recognize instantly. And after shyly assessing each other from a distance, Samantha would smile and throw herself into Caroline's arms, permitting her mother's fervent kisses and returning them with her own.

The teenage years had proved more difficult to imagine. It grew harder to imagine or predict the changes puberty would bring. Would Samantha be short or tall, fat or thin, small-breasted or voluptuous? Would her hair be brown or gold, long or short? There were the sketches in the newspapers, of course, updated approximations from the experts, based on such tangibles as bone structure and shape of the eyes. But what about the intangibles, the things that couldn't be measured? Caroline had always hated intangibles.

Look at Michelle. She'd changed so much over the years. The once plump little girl who adored all things sweet had grown into a slender young woman for whom sugar was the dietary equivalent of a four-letter word. There was little to connect the person she was today to yesterday's child. Only her eyes had remained constant: demanding, angry, needy.
Look at me,
those eyes shouted across the years.
Look at me.

But one thing Caroline was certain of: no matter what changes time had wrought over the last fifteen years, she would recognize Samantha on sight. And Samantha would know her. Mother and child would collapse, sobbing, into each other's arms. One look and all the years would instantly melt away.

None of which happened.

“There's someone named Lili here to see you,” her brother said. “She says you've been expecting her.”

“You've got to be kidding me,” Michelle exclaimed as Caroline ran from the room.

And now here they stood, staring at each other from opposite sides of the front door, and there were no lightning bolts of recognition, no cries of “Mommy!”, no joyous embrace. Just two strangers sizing each other up, trying to find hints of themselves in each other, to uncover lost or forgotten memories. But instead of answers and certainty, there were only questions and more uncertainty.

“Caroline?” the girl asked.

Caroline nodded, feeling the others crowd in behind her, four pairs of eyes bearing down on one young girl, trying to determine if she was one of their own.

The girl was tall and slim, although it was hard to tell how slim because of the oversized winter coat she was wearing. Her hair was dark blond, its ends dyed the same shade of navy blue as her eyes, its loose curls stopping just short of her shoulders. She wore no makeup and her skin was as pale and opaque as the sky of a Calgary winter. A pretty girl on the verge of being beautiful, as Caroline had been at that age. And she had Hunter's jaw, as the sketches in the papers and on the Internet had suggested. In fact, she looked more like the artists' renderings than she did either Hunter or Caroline. And she didn't resemble Michelle at all. There was nothing about either girl's face that suggested they were even vaguely related, let alone sisters.

“You're Lili,” Caroline stated, her voice stronger than she'd anticipated.

“I probably should have called first.”

“No, that's okay.”

“I was afraid to, in case I chickened out again.”

“You're here. That's what's important. Come in.” Caroline backed up to allow Lili entry, stepping on Michelle's toes as she did so, hearing Michelle curse underneath her breath. “Maybe you could give us a few minutes alone,” she suggested to her daughter, mother, and brother.

“Not a chance,” Michelle said, speaking for the three of them.

Caroline ushered the girl into her living room, resigned to their presence. Maybe having them around was a good thing. Maybe it would force her to be more objective, less emotional, not allow her desire for a happy ending to overtake her common sense.

“Let me have your coat,” Steve offered. “Don't think you'll be needing that in here.” Lili unbuttoned her coat and slipped it off her shoulders, handing it to Steve. “I'm Caroline's brother, by the way,” he said, draping the heavy coat over the banister and taking the small overnight bag from her hand before following the rest of the group into the living room. “And this is Caroline's mother, Mary, and her daughter, Michelle.”

Lili nodded hello to each of them as they arranged themselves in a loose pentagon around the coffee table, Mary and Steve occupying the two chairs, Lili and Caroline sitting side by side on the sofa, Michelle standing off to one side, leaning against a wall, hands across her chest, studying Lili as if she were an alien being.

Caroline was also staring at Lili, trying to uncover the one genetic detail that might prove whether or not this was her child. But there was nothing she could point to conclusively. She looked for a gesture, a nervous tic, a common family mannerism, but there was nothing. Just a pretty girl with Hunter's jaw. Was that enough?

“Did you have a good flight?” Caroline asked her.

“It was okay. A little turbulent.” Her voice was deeper than it had been over the phone, closer in tone to her own. Did that mean anything?

“Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat?”

“I'm not hungry. Thank you.”

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

“So,” Steve said, breaking the silence, “you really think you're Caroline's long-lost child?”

Caroline held her breath, waiting for Lili's answer.

“I wouldn't have come if I didn't think there was a chance.”

“And now that you
are
here?” he pressed. “Do you like what you see?” He motioned around the well-appointed room.

“Steve, please…”

“I don't want your things,” Lili said.

“She hasn't asked for anything,” Caroline told her brother.

“Not yet,” Steve said.

“How did you pay for your plane ticket?” Michelle asked. “I thought you didn't have any money.”

Lili glanced down at her lap. “I charged it to my mother's credit card.”

“Lucky girl, having so many mothers to choose from,” Michelle said.

“Does she know you're here?” Caroline asked.

“I left her a note saying I'd be gone for a few days, telling her not to worry.”

“She'll be going out of her mind
,
” Caroline told her, reliving her own panic when she realized her daughter was missing. “You should call her.”

“I will. Later. After we know for sure.”

“And when will that be?” Steve asked.

“When they get the results back from the DNA test they're planning to take,” Michelle said, pushing herself away from the wall and heading for the hallway. “If you'll excuse me a minute.”

“Where are you going?” Caroline asked, but Michelle didn't answer.

“How do you go about taking a DNA test?”

“I'm not sure,” Caroline said. “I'll ask Peggy. She'll know.”

“Peggy?” Lili asked.

“Friend of Caroline's,” Steve answered. “She was there the night my niece disappeared. Tell me. Do you remember anything about that night at all?”

Lili shook her head.

“She was two years old,” Caroline reminded him.

“I
wish
I could remember something,” Lili said. “I've tried. But I can't. The first thing I remember is playing with one of my dolls and one of its legs breaking off. I was probably three or four.”

“Do you remember where you were living then?” Caroline asked, recalling that Lili had said they'd moved around a lot.

“Rome, I think. My father owned an import-export business that had offices all over the world. We were always traveling.”

“And when did you first suspect you might not be who you thought you were?” Steve asked.

Caroline was actually grateful that Steve had taken over the questioning. She didn't trust her own voice, and his questions allowed her to focus on the girl's reactions.

“Like I told Caroline on the phone,” Lili said, glancing briefly in Caroline's direction, “I'd always felt as if I didn't quite belong. I don't look anything like anyone else in my family and our interests are so different.”

“In what way?” Michelle asked, returning to the room, although she remained in the doorway.

“Well, my brothers are real jocks, and I'm not.”

“Not particularly shocking,” Steve said.

“They're not really interested in school. And I love it. Especially math.”

A slight groan escaped Caroline's lips.

“How convenient,” Steve said.

“Convenient?”

“You've undoubtedly read that my sister is a math teacher.”

“Yes. That's one of the things that made me suspect…”

“And the other things?”

“I've already discussed this with Caroline.”

“Discuss it with me.”

Lili swallowed, twisting her hands in her lap. “Well, the most obvious thing, of course, is the sketches on the Internet.”

“She
does
look like the sketches,” Caroline said.

“Half the teenage girls in America look like that sketch.”

“She has Hunter's jaw.”

They heard a car screech to a halt in front of the house.

“Speak of the devil,” Michelle said.

Caroline pushed herself off the sofa and ran to the front window. “What's he doing here?”

“I called him.”

“What? When?”

“A few minutes ago. I caught him as he was leaving the gym, told him to get over here as fast as he could. Looks like he broke the sound barrier.”

“You shouldn't have called him.”

“Why not? Don't you think he has the right to meet his own flesh and blood? You're anxious to meet your father, aren't you, Lili? Or would you prefer we call you Samantha?”

“I'd prefer to wait until we find out the truth,” Lili said.

“Which will probably take at least a few days,” Michelle calculated. “Tell me, where are you planning on staying in the interim? Excuse me,” she said, walking to the front door without waiting for an answer.

“Welcome home,” Steve said with a smile.

“How'd you get here so fast?” Caroline heard Michelle ask her father as he stepped inside the foyer.

“You said it was urgent. What's going on?” Hunter asked in return.

“See for yourself.”

Hunter entered the living room, looking warily around. “Steve,” he acknowledged in greeting. “Mary.”

Caroline looked toward her mother. She'd been so quiet since Lili's dramatic entrance that Caroline had almost forgotten she was there.

“What's going on?” Hunter asked again, this time of Caroline, his gaze shifting to the young girl sitting on the sofa. “Who is this?” he asked warily, although his eyes said he already knew.

“This is Lili,” Caroline said. Then, to Lili. “This is Hunter, my ex-husband.”

“And quite possibly, your father,” Michelle elaborated. Her tone indicated she didn't believe for a second that that was possible.

“This is the girl who phoned you? The one you flew to Calgary to see?” Hunter proceeded cautiously into the room. “Stand up,” he directed Lili.

Lili got to her feet. Hunter drew within inches of her, circling her slowly, studying her face from every angle as Caroline watched him, holding her breath.