Capturing Angels (16 page)

Barb wanted us to meet at the Ivy in Santa Monica. She was always on the lookout for Hollywood celebrities and chose restaurants where this one or that one had been seen. Driving toward the ocean, of course, brought back my assignations with Sam. I even took a street that would cause me to pass by his apartment building. He had told me that when he was with me, he was reminded of feelings and excitement that he had experienced as a teenager. I was feeling the same way. It titillated me to approach that building and look up at his patio, where we had first kissed.

The two women were waiting at a table when I arrived. I had the sense that they had been there a good fifteen minutes before me so they could plan how they would behave, what they would say, and what they would tell me about their lives. They expected me to be unstable. I could see the anticipation and anxiety in their faces.

Barb never looked older than a teenager herself because of her diminutive facial features and small frame. She bought her clothes often in the teenage sections of department stores. It helped that she had nearly perfect skin and thick light brown hair that she kept in the new pixie style.

Netty, on the other hand, was like one of those girlfriends you have in order to draw a strong contrast and bring more attention to yourself. She was at least fifteen pounds overweight, never seemed to wear the right shade of lipstick for her complexion, and, despite the heaviness in her face, always cut her hair too short, which highlighted her plumpness.

I could see the surprise on Barb’s face when she set eyes on me. “You look great,” she burst out when I approached the table.

“Yes, you do,” Netty said.

“Thank you.” I sat across from the two of them.

“I know you’re doing your own hair. It’s fine, but you’ve got to try this new hairdresser I found,” Barb said. “She has the magic touch or something. I’m not talking about just me, but everyone I see who uses her.”

“You didn’t tell me about her,” Netty said.

“Oh, I didn’t?” Barb dug into her purse and produced a card, which she handed to me. “When you call, mention my name. She’ll be more accommodating.”

“You never gave me that card,” Netty said.

“That was my last one. I’ll get another one for you.”

The waiter took our drink orders.

“You know who I think I just saw? Charlize Theron,” Barb said, nodding toward some tables on our right.

“No, that woman was too short,” Netty said. “Although, I will admit she looked like her.”

Barb shook her head. “It was Charlize. So, tell us what you’ve been doing, Grace. We haven’t seen you in so long. How do you spend your nights? I know it has to be so difficult for you. We want you to know we’ve been thinking about you almost every day.”

“We do,” Netty said.

“I do what I have to do to get through the day,” I said, and looked at the menu. Neither spoke, but I saw them glance at each other.

When the waiter brought our drinks, I ordered the Chinese chicken salad, and then, as if they wanted to make me feel good about everything at the table, the two of them ordered the same thing. Barb continued to talk about hair, makeup, and clothes she had recently bought. She spoke quickly, like someone who was afraid to hear the other person speak but especially afraid to have any long moments of silence. She went on to talk about new restaurants she and her husband, Bob, had found or had recommended to them. Netty parroted everything she praised.

“Molly Middleton called to tell me about that detective interviewing her recently,” Barb went on without skipping a beat.

The waiter brought our food.

“Yes, she called me, too,” I said.

“I’m glad they are still putting in the time to find Mary,” she added, and started eating.

I did, too. It didn’t surprise me that Molly would call to tell our friends about Sam’s interviewing her.

“What’s the connection? Why interview Molly about her son and Mary?”

“I don’t know, Barb. They run down leads. That’s what they do.”

She nodded and then brought up another restaurant she and her husband and Netty and her husband had gone to last weekend.

“I ate so much,” Netty said. “It was a feast.”

“I told you not to choose the buffet. You never know when to stop,” Barb told her.

I smiled to myself. These two were no different from how they had ever been. For a while, at least, I thought it had been smart of me to meet them for lunch. This was a good distraction.

“I know you and John haven’t gotten out that much,” Barb continued. “I think it’s a good idea that you’re taking your father-in-law out tonight. It must be difficult for him, too. I mean, having lost his wife after so many years together.”

“John told you we were going to take his father out tonight?” I asked, surprised. John was not one to talk with any of my girlfriends on the phone for a second more than he had to, and he certainly wouldn’t have introduced new topics of conversation.

“Yes, he mentioned it.”

“Why?” I said, smiling, still finding it out of character for him.

“Why? He wants you to get out more, do more socializing. He’s naturally worried about you, as are we all,” Barb said.

“Absolutely,” Netty echoed. “We’ve always talked about getting you out to lunch with us and maybe do some shopping afterward. We didn’t need him to suggest it.”

Barb looked at her sharply.

“Excuse me?” I said. “What do you mean, him to suggest it? When did you see John, Netty?”

“Oh, I didn’t see him.”

“Barb?”

“I didn’t exactly see him, Grace.”

“He called you? John called you and told you to go to lunch with me?” I asked, lowering my fork.

Barb gave Netty another sharp look. She had obviously gone off the script. “Netty’s right. We’ve been talking about going out to lunch with you all the time, but we didn’t know when we should call, when you were ready, when—”

“Ready? You mean, when I could put my daughter far enough out of mind to be able to sit and talk about hair and makeup and gape at movie stars?”

“No, no, of course not,” Barb said, biting down on her lower lip.

“When did John call you?”

Both were silent.

“When?” I demanded, raising my voice.

“Last night. He said you had gotten to the point where you were going out by yourself, and he thought that you would be more apt to accept an invitation to lunch and—”

“I see.” I stared down at my food. The little appetite I had worked up dissolved.

“Where do you go by yourself?” Netty asked.

I looked up at her and at the way she had emphasized “yourself.” Was I being paranoid? Were the two of them on a fishing expedition, one that John had ordered? “Where do
you
go by yourself, Netty?”

“Me? Nowhere. I mean, I go to the grocery store. I get my nails done. I . . . I don’t go out at night by myself.” She looked to Barb for some help.

“We don’t want you to be by yourself, especially these days, Grace,” Barb said. “It’s been so long since we were all together to do anything. We want you to know that’s not because of us. Don’t be angry at John. He’s only looking out for you. You have a wonderful husband. I mean, other husbands . . .” She stopped herself.

I smiled. “Would have blamed me for everything and deserted me by now?”

Neither spoke. I reached for my light sweater.

“Grace, please,” Barb said. “I didn’t mean to imply something bad.”

“I don’t blame you for anything, either of you. I know how hard it must be to say the right things, do the right things. I’d be just as flustered, probably. I want you both to know I’m okay. I’m going to get Mary back. I don’t need to be handled. I’m fine. I’m stronger.”

I started to take out some money.

“Oh, no, this is on us,” Barb said.

“No, it’s not,” I said, throwing down a hundred-dollar bill. “It’s on John. Be sure to give the waiter no more than a fifteen-percent tip. That’s John’s standard tip.”

I smiled at their shocked faces and then turned and left the restaurant. I slowed down once I was outside but continued toward the parking garage. Why was I so sensitive? What would they think? Would I have reacted like a paranoid if I hadn’t been with Sam? I almost stopped and turned back. But I didn’t. All I wanted now was to get away from them.

And talk to Sam.

13

There Are Lies, and There Are Lies

He didn’t answer when I called his cell phone. I left a message: “Call me as soon as you can.”

Then I drove out of the parking lot. It was often overcast until one or two o’clock in Santa Monica. It added to the bleakness inside me. Following San Vicente into Brentwood, I crossed into blue sky and felt as if I had popped up in a pool or in the ocean and could breathe.

Sam didn’t call back for nearly three hours. I was home trying everything I could to calm myself, from redoing my clothes closet to washing some windows. Eventually, I had to succumb to taking one of my tranquilizers. Then I sat in the living room and stared out the front window at the manicured properties on our street, the perfectly trimmed palm trees, the cropped hedges, the rich bougainvillea that in some places looked dabbed onto a Matisse canvas, the occasional vehicle, and the even more occasional pedestrian. At times, with no activity and barely a breeze moving the oleander, eucalyptus, maple, and oak leaves, it seemed I was staring at a photograph. Even the birds barely flitted and looked as if they had been artistically placed. I didn’t know if the deep silence was floating out of my house to the street or from the street into my house.

Finally, Sam called. I lifted the receiver so slowly I was sure he thought no one was going to respond. My “Hello” seemed to come from a place I had never known inside me.

“Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”

“I’m not having a good day. Did anything come of the interview with Margaret? What are you looking for specifically now, Sam? Please, tell me something,” I begged.

“Listen. David Joseph is doing me some big favors here. He’s been treating me as if I was part of the FBI team. I have to follow their protocol. We have to work with unsubstantiated theories. There are a few going, all of which could be dead ends. I know it’s practically impossible for you, but try to be a little more patient. Trust me.”

“John’s leaving for Vegas tomorrow. He’ll be gone for three days.”

“Really?”

“I want to see you,” I said.

He was silent a moment. “I’ve got to go someplace tomorrow, out of town.”

“Overnight?”

“No.”

“Can I go with you?”

“Grace, this isn’t smart.”

“It is for me,” I said. “I want to see you, and it’s not just to talk about the case.”

I could practically feel his mind working. “How can you work this out, going with me?”

“John leaves early, before eight. What time are you going?”

“I was planning on leaving about then,” he said. There was another pause. I sensed that he was trying to come up with another excuse.

“John lied to me for the first time,” I said, practically in tears. “He told me two of my girlfriends called last night to invite me to lunch. Only they didn’t call. He called them to get it set up.”

“That’s not so bad a lie. He wants you out and about for your own good.”

“You’re defending him, defending his deception?”

Sam laughed. “It’s not a mean deception, is it, Grace? What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. That’s what you’re good at saying,” I said, and hung up.

Seconds later, the phone rang.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll leave at nine. Drive over to my place to park your car.”

“Good.”

“I’ve got to get back to work,” he said. “You all right?”

“No, but I’ll be better.”

“Sure you will,” he said. “Tomorrow,” he added, and hung up.

Having something to look forward to buoyed my spirit. I rose and directed my energies to things I had neglected cleaning for so long. John was home from work earlier than usual. He said he wanted to get his packing done for Vegas so he wouldn’t have to do it when we returned from dinner with his father, but the next thing out of his mouth was, “How did the lunch go with the girls?”

“You mean, you didn’t get a report?” I asked. He paused on the stairway.

“Excuse me?”

“Why did you tell me they called to ask me to lunch when you had called them to arrange it?”

He came down a step. “They said that?”

“Not voluntarily. Netty has a loose tongue, and Barb had to confess to the conspiracy.”

“There’s no conspiracy, Grace. I met Bill Locken at Rudy’s Deli, and he mentioned that Barb wanted to call you to have lunch, but she was afraid of being turned down again or upsetting you. I said I would let her know when she should try. That’s all. Instead of resenting the effort people are making to help you, you should show some appreciation.”

“I don’t like being lied to,” I said. It was a weak comeback because he was right. Even Sam had said so. John was the reasonable one, and now that I heard him say what would be the simple truth to anyone who heard it, I felt guilty about blowing off Barb and Netty.

“There are lies, and there are lies,” he said, fixing those dark blue eyes on me so intently I had to look away.

I knew I shifted my eyes the way anyone who was guilty of some indiscretion might. It made me feel smaller still.

“Nobody was out to hurt you, Grace. Nobody wanted to bring you any more pain, least of all me,” he said in a softer tone.

I looked up at him. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have understood all that.”

He came down the stairs and surprised me by hugging me and kissing my forehead and then stroking my hair lovingly. I looked into the smile that had once captured my female imagination entirely.

“That’s my girl,” he said, and brought his lips to mine. It felt like our first kiss. It was as if he truly had the power to send me sailing back through time to our early days together, when infatuation matured into love and a world of wonderful promise. “You will be restored,” he said. “My prayers will be answered.”

He hugged me again and then turned and headed back to the stairway, pausing midway.

“Dad’s really looking forward to tonight,” he said. “Let’s show him he doesn’t have to worry about us.” He flashed his smile again and hurried up to do his packing.

I stood there staring after him, stunned. What was really happening here? What had I done? Was it me? Had I been driving him away? Was I the one destroying this marriage? Was I turning on him as a way to avoid turning on myself, keeping my blame and my guilt over what had happened to Mary subdued, if not completely buried?

Would I have been happier if my husband had collapsed and become a blubbering idiot, unable to function? What was I blaming him for anyway—his strength, his reasonableness, his clear logic, and his clear vision of what was real and what was not?

I should have let Barb finish her sentence at lunch, I thought. She was right. It was something I thought about all the time but refused to credit John with doing. Was it only because of his faith that he did not turn on me, blame me for the loss of our daughter, or was his love for me that strong after all? Was I angry because he had the strength to forgive? It struck me that many hated Christ for the very same reason. They wanted to hate, to fight, and to get their revenge, and Christ stood in their way with his damned turning the other cheek and letting he who was without sin cast the first stone.

I felt so confused, so lost. I looked up the stairway after John. Once I had rushed to him whenever I had fears or doubts, and he was always there with his calmness, his clear thinking, and his careful logic. His religious devotion kept him centered, and although I refused to accept it as deeply as he did, I didn’t hesitate to draw comfort from him. Maybe I was a hypocrite.
You go pray. You attend church, and you say the prayers at dinner, but I don’t mind enjoying God’s graces thanks to you
. Was that who I was?

I started up the stairway, determined to do what John had asked, be solid and comforting for his father. I worked harder and with more interest on my hair and my makeup. I chose a bright pantsuit and put on earrings and the matching necklace John had bought me for my last birthday. He had finished packing for his Vegas trip, showered, and dressed and sat waiting for me in the living room.

“Wow,” he said when he saw me coming down the stairway. “Dad won’t have any trouble understanding why I fell in love with you.”

I started to respond with typical feminine humility and then stopped, smiled, and said, “You’re only saying that because it’s true.”

He laughed and gave me another hug and a kiss. Later, in the car on our way up to Sherman Oaks to pick up his dad, he asked me if Margaret had called or stopped by.

“To fill you in on the interview she had with the detective,” he said when I didn’t respond.

“No, I haven’t heard from her. You didn’t speak with her?”

He shook his head. “When would I speak with her?”

“I thought you might have called her from work.”

“No, I figured if she had anything to say, she would have said it to you.”

“Sometimes people are told not to say anything,” I offered.

He looked at me as if that idea had never occurred to him. Then he nodded. “Well, if there’s anything to tell us, they’ll tell us,” he concluded.

His father was so happy to see us looking brighter and wanting to enjoy ourselves that he didn’t mention or ask a thing about the investigation. We all skirted around any references to Mary, and even to John’s mother. Before we dropped him off after dinner, he did say, “I’m confident things are going to turn out all right for you.”

“For all of us,” John corrected.

“Yes, for all of us.”

He kissed me good night, then looked at John and said, “No doubt as to why you fell in love with this one.”

Both of us looked at each other and laughed.

“What?” his father asked.

“Like father, like son,” I said, and he nodded, understanding.

I realized it was a good laugh, a full laugh, the sort of laugh that makes you feel warm and hopeful. As we drove home, I looked to the stars, and for the first time in a long, long time, I prayed silently that God would look down upon Mary and comfort her wherever she was. I felt confident that He would.

Later, John made love differently from the way he had been making love. It wasn’t solely mechanical. He was more tender and did whisper his love for me. I fell asleep more easily than I had for some time and woke only when I heard him moving around the bedroom. He was already dressed.

“Oh, I’ll get up to make you breakfast,” I said, moving quickly.

“No, no. Rest, Grace. I’m having breakfast with some of my associates at the airport.” He glanced at his watch. “Perfect. Okay, I’ll call you tonight.”

“Have a good trip,” I said.

He kissed me good-bye and left. I did lie there for quite a while, thinking, analyzing everything John had done and I had done. Somehow I had constructed a wall between us, but not where I intended that wall to be. It was a wall closing out any expression of affection. How many times had John offered it before and I had refused to recognize or acknowledge it? Did he turn from me because I had turned from him? Was he afraid, tiptoeing around me with his love because he was afraid of rejection? I lay there thinking about all of this for so long that when I looked at the clock, I realized I would never be able to meet Sam at nine. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, but I reached for the phone and called.

“I think it’s better I don’t go,” I said when he answered. “You were right. I’m sorry if I held you up.”

“It’s okay. You okay?”

“Yes, I’m good.”

“You sound good. I’ll call you later.”

“Sam,” I said quickly before he could hang up.

“Yes?”

I hesitated. Did I want to risk losing his interest, which might sabotage his renewed determination to solve Mary’s abduction? And if I was holding on to him for solely that reason, wasn’t I using him just the way he thought he might be using me?

“Wherever you’re going today, does it have to do with Mary’s abduction?”

“Yes, it does,” he said. “I’m going to visit one of those mothers whose daughters were said to have done something miraculous.”

“What are you looking for?”

“A connection. A reason to believe there’s a well-organized plan to this madness.”

“Now I feel guilty about not going with you.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. If there’s anything to come of it, I’ll find it.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Maybe we can meet tomorrow,” he suggested.

“Maybe,” I said.

After he hung up, I got out of bed and went down to get some breakfast. While I sipped my coffee, I thought about yesterday and picked up the phone to call Barb. I apologized for how I had behaved. Of course, she kept saying I needn’t, that both she and Netty understood. I had no doubt, however, that they had both told and retold the story about what had happened at lunch, pollinating the phone lines with their increasingly exaggerated descriptions of this unbalanced, close-to-a-nervous-breakdown friend they had tried to help. It would become a game of Telephone during which one listener would tell another, and that one would tell another, until the original story would be so expanded that the last one hearing it might expect to see me on the nightly news after being arrested for running wildly through a mall stabbing people with a pair of scissors or something.