The Girls Are Missing (19 page)

What am I going to do?

She heard him coming up the stairs. Which door would he open? His footsteps stopped outside her own. Light from the hallway spread onto the rug. It was his room, too.

“All right, “ he said, appearing only as a silhouette against the light, “I put away the food that the rest of you were too silly to eat, cleared up everything, and started the dishwasher.”

Adam stirred at the sound of his father’s loud voice.

She tried to open her mouth, supposing that he expected to be thanked. Was he trying to make amends? Or trying only to show how normal he was, still functioning while everyone else fell apart?

The words that came out were not thanks. “I suppose you realize you overreacted,” she said.

“I did?” He came on into the room. Now he was illuminated, looking frigidly down at her.

“If you don’t realize it, you should,” Joyce told him. “I think it comes from something way back.”

That night he had babbled about the whore and the tits, he had mentioned boys, too. She could not remember …

He said, “I think you’d better leave that sort of thing to the experts.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. I mean for your sake. You’d be happier if—”

“Who’s talking about happy?” he retorted. “I’m perfectly happy. You seem to be the one who’s not. You see all sorts of fire where there isn’t any smoke. Maybe you should go and get your head examined, since it’s obvious that’s what you’re babbling about.” He turned abruptly and left the room.

He hadn’t closed the door, but she was still in darkness, over in her corner.

Was she wrong? No, that was part of it. They always denied it.

People who are physically ill, she thought in despair, want to get well. Why does this have to be different?

She remembered Dr. Ballard and his “Catch me, catch me.” It was supposed to be a cry for help, but Carl didn’t want any help. Or if he did, he wanted to be caught like a rodeo steer, roped and thrown to the ground.

Mary Ellen.

He loves her. He loves his daughter. People love their children. But Mary Ellen makes him angry.

People’s children make them angry sometimes.

When did it start? When Adam was born. A male child. A threat? And the second one—when summer began and he knew Mary Ellen would come. And then those blowups

over her clothes. It was not her clothes, it was Mary Ellen herself. How could Barbara have let her come?

She got up from her chair and looked out into the hallway. She
had
heard him go downstairs. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she listened, then picked up the telephone and listened once more.

She dialed Barbara’s number and heard it ring. Again and again. Still gone. How long a vacation? She had to get Mary Ellen out of the house.

Her heart was beating so that she could feel it. She put the receiver back where it belonged.

What do I do now?

Call Frank? Dr. Ballard?

His footsteps on the stairs again. She ran back to the chair, so he would not know she had left it.

Got to do something.

“Are you going to bed already?” she asked when he entered the room.

“Nope. What are you sitting here for?”

“I’m thinking.”

“About?”

“Just thinking.”

There was something ominous in his voice as he asked, “Are you keeping secrets from me?”

“You’ve kept a lot of secrets from me.” As soon as she said it, she was frightened.

Don’t turn on the light, don 9t look at me.

“What do you mean I’ve kept secrets from you?” He moved toward the light switch, but stopped.

“All the things that go on in your mind.” Even that was too much. She retreated. “So you can’t expect to know everything that goes on in my mind. People need some privacy.”

He opened the closet door and took his pajamas from their hook. Then he went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. But he wouldn’t go to bed yet, because he

could sleep late tomorrow. He would be around all day for the next three weeks.

Got to get Mary Ellen out of here. That’s the first thing. But where?

And even with Mary Ellen gone, there was still Gail. And Adam. And herself.

22
 

She wanted to spend the night in the living room with Adam beside her. But that would have left the girls upstairs—with him. And so she lay sleepless on one thin edge of the double bed, feeling his heat and his breathing.

All night she tried to plan what she would do. She could drive into town, ostensibly for groceries, and stop and see Frank D’Amico. But she couldn’t leave the children, she would have to take them with her. And what if Carl decided to go,too?

Or telephone, if he would ever leave the house. She should have called Saturday while he was mowing the lawn. But Saturday she hadn’t known.

And maybe she didn’t know now. Maybe she was wrong. She had no proof. Only his violence with Mary Ellen, and the times he was out. And the clean basement floor.

It was enough.

But what if it wasn’t true? What if she told them, and then it wasn’t true?

Finally the room began to lighten, and Adam kicked and made small waking noises.

She slid out of bed without waking Carl. Perhaps he would get up early and drive into the village for a newspaper. She

carried Adam downstairs and sat on the living room couch, watching the picture window while he nursed. There was no one to see her. No killer out there.

Maybe there is. Oh, please, God.

A killer.
Out there.
Her brain felt heavy from lack of sleep.

After a while she heard him get up. Heard him go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. Adam finished feeding. She went back upstairs and lay on her bed, trying to sleep. She heard the shower go off and then the buzz of his electric razor. He came out of the bathroom fully dressed.

“Go ahead with breakfast,” she told him. “I feel rotten.”

She would call someone as soon as he drove off to buy the paper. But he didn’t go. He came back upstairs bringing her a glass of orange juice. She could never call. He would come into the room at any moment.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Okay.” It might help to wake her up.

He brought a steaming cup, with just the right amount of milk. Why was he being so solicitous? To throw her off the track?

Maybe I’m paranoid. Maybe he’s right.
I’m
the one who needs help.

After a short sleep she felt better, and got up and dressed. She wondered if he had gone for the paper while she slept. He hadn’t. She tried to think of something else he could buy at the drugstore where the papers were sold. Some reason to send him there. Baby powder? Diapers? She had everything, and he knew it.

And then suddenly the car keys were in his hand. “Want anything?” he asked.

Her mouth opened. “A melon.”

“A what?”

“A melon. For breakfast tomorrow.” She hadn’t even

thought of it, the words just came. It would send him to the supermarket, prolong his stay in the village. “And a half gallon of milk.”

“We have milk.”

“I know, but the kids use a lot of it on their cereal. And bananas. Adam’s supposed to eat mashed bananas. Do you want me to write it down?”

He said he could remember it. She tried to think of something in another department. “Baby cereal,” she called after him. “Rice flavor.”

He was gone. She dialed the police station, and kept her eye on the driveway in case he came back for something. Not that Carl would, he was too organized.

Too organized. Of course he was not the one. An organized person would never—never do those things.

“Cedarville Police. Finneran.”

“Oh—” It had rung, and she had forgotten. Brain still foggy. “Is Chief D’Amico there?”

“No, he’s not. Can I help you?”

“No, I—” She could only tell it to Frank, not anyone else. They would come with their sirens screaming and their guns drawn, but Frank would understand. “Will he be there today?”

“He’ll be in later. Want to leave a message?”

“Listen, this is terribly important. Is he home? Do you know where he is?”

“I can take a message. He’ll call you as soon as he can.”

Damn it, didn’t they have radios in their cars? Didn’t they carry walkie-talkies, like the New York police? She had forgotten that this was Cedarville. She left her name and phone number. It was all she could do.

She glanced at the daisy-shaped clock on the wall. He had been gone only five minutes. Would barely have reached the drugstore by now. It was still quite early, but that didn’t matter. Psychiatrists got calls in the middle of the night.

She looked him up in the Westchester phone book. There was only one Ronald K. Ballard, M.D.

A woman answered, “Doctor Ballard’s office.”

“Is he there?” she asked.

“No, dear, this is the answering service. Can I help you?”

Can you help me? Yes, you can all help me.

“Do you know when he’ll be in?”

“Not till Thursday. Would you like another doctor? I can—”

“No, thank you.” She hung up the phone. Huddling into a chair, she clenched her fingers like claws over her face. But then she heard Gail’s bare feet padding down the stairs.

Gail came into the kitchen, wearing her thin seersucker pajamas. She looked around warily.

“He’s gone to do some errands,” Joyce told her.

“Mommy, I want to go back to the city.”

She wanted to go back in time. Before Carl.

“We’ve no place to go in the city, angel.”

“But I hate it here!”

“I know. I’ll try to think of something.”

“Why can’t we go to Pennsylvania?”

Could she? Send Gail there? At least for now. Gail alone might not be too much for them. She was quiet, and would help if called upon.

“I could ask.” And put her on a train, perhaps, or a bus. She could travel alone, if someone met her.

“Don’t ask
him”

“I didn’t mean him. Listen, Gail, do you remember Chief D’Amico? The policeman who asked you those questions? He might be calling me later. If you answer the phone, just get hold of me quietly. Don’t tell anyone else, okay?”

Gail’s face seemed to sharpen and grow taut. How much did she understand? She was a city child, and knew what the police were for. And that infernal television taught children everything.

“I’ll explain later,” Joyce said, hoping to keep her from speculating too much. “Is Mary Ellen up yet? I wonder how she’s feeling.”

“I heard her radio.”

After an hour Mary Ellen came down the stairs looking pale and haughty. She was fully dressed in a pair of dark blue shorts and the tee shirt with the CB lingo. No one could complain about her clothing that morning.

Her father, who had returned from the village and was sitting on the sofa reading a newspaper, looked up as she passed. She moved her eyes, took him in, and showed no flicker of expression as she glided into the kitchen.

So it’s going to be like that, Joyce thought. At least she could stare him down. She’s got the upper hand.

Mary Ellen selected a box of cold cereal and took her place at the table. The telephone rang. Joyce picked it up.

“Frank D’Amico. That you, Joyce?”

“Oh—yes.”

She heard the paper rustle and then Carl stood in the doorway, watching her.

“You called me?” Frank prompted.

“Yes, I—” Her eyes met Carl’s, and retreated.

“I’m sorry I bothered you,” she said into the phone. “It wasn’t really anything.”

“I see. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m sure. Thank you.”

Carl asked, “What was that all about?”

“Nothing. The operator.” She sat down weakly in a chair. Why hadn’t she handled it better? Somehow alerted Frank? Why hadn’t she taken the children and fled while Carl was in the village?

The phone rang again. She snatched at it, but it was only Anita. “Hi, Mrs. Gil, can I talk to Gail?”

Bright, cheerful, and irritating. She called Gail, who answered upstairs. Mary Ellen wailed, “What’s with this telephone? I’ve got a splitting headache, and it won’t stop ringing.”

Joyce looked at her sharply. “You have a headache?”

“And a stiff neck. I took a couple of aspirin.”

“I’m not surprised.” It was the shock. The jarring effect.

After the aspirin began to work, Mary Ellen felt well enough to help with Adam’s bath. She would not have missed it for anything, she said.

“And I like feeding him, too,” she told Joyce, “he’s so cute and messy. I wish I could nurse him the way you do.”

“Good God, don’t let your father hear that. But, Mary Ellen, I was thinking—The way your father’s behaving, I was wondering if it mightn’t be better, when your mother comes home—”

“Oh, I can stand him,” Mary Ellen said airily. “Except for last night. That was a little too much.”

How to explain?

Mary Ellen would not leave—in truth she had no place to go until Barbara returned—but Gail wanted badly to get out of the house. While Mary Ellen fed Adam his mashed bananas, Joyce secluded herself in the bedroom and put through a call to Pennsylvania. Her mother should have been home, but when she realized it was already noon, she was not surprised that no one answered. Mom would be at the hospital, or on her way there.

Carl appeared in the doorway, just as she set down the receiver.

“Who was that?” he asked, with the very faint smile and the calmly cheerful tone he so often used.

“I was trying to call my mother.”

“What do you want to call your mother for? You just saw her.”

“I wanted to find out how Dad’s doing.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to wait until evening when the rates are lower?”

Yes, it would. Also Mom would be home then. She shrugged and said distantly, “It just came over me. I’m really worried.”

He turned his head and listened, hearing a new voice downstairs. “Who’s that?”

“Anita. She called a while ago. Probably wants to play with Gail’s dolls.”

He left the bedroom just as Mary Ellen came in with Adam. Again the cold exchange of looks, but his went farther than her face. Joyce noticed it, and Mary Ellen did, too. There was a sudden hardness about her.