A Seahorse in the Thames (13 page)

I
spend the night tossing and turning on the sofa bed, my mind filled with unanswered questions. I finally fall asleep sometime after three in the morning. I awaken a few minutes before eight, groggy and with a sizeable headache. I head into the kitchen to make coffee, pouring in an extra measure of grounds with hopes that the padded caffeine level will chase away the pounding in my head. There is no sound from the bedroom. Priscilla and Isabel are presumably still asleep.

I am halfway through my second cup when the phone rings. I catch it after the first ring so that it hopefully won’t awaken my guests. I answer; unable to keep myself from hoping it is the Falkman Center telling me Rebecca has come home. But it is not the Falkman Center.

It is Stephen.

“I didn’t call too early, did I?” he says.

“No, no. I’m up,” I manage to say. I am surprised to hear his voice.

“I just wanted to know how your day went yesterday,” he says. “Did you go over to your old neighborhood? Did you drive by the McNeils’ house?”

I have this feeling he is on to me. Like he suspects it is quite possible I did more than just drive by. I don’t see how he could know this, though. My meeting Lisa McNeil in the middle of her street was purely coincidental. I didn’t plan it.

“Well,” I begin, wondering how he will react to what happened yesterday. “I did go to my old neighborhood. And I did drive over to the McNeil house.”

“And?”

“And I sort of met Kevin McNeil’s wife.”

A second of silence hangs between us.

“You did?” he asks.

“I didn’t expect I would. I was just sitting in my car at the curb. And then this little dog ran out of the McNeil garage, followed by a little boy chasing it. I got out of my car because another car was approaching and I was afraid the driver wouldn’t see the little boy. Lisa McNeil happened to see me stop the car as she ran after her child. She came back to thank me. And we met.”

“So did you tell her anything?”

“Just that I was Rebecca’s sister, that she had run away and that I had found something in her room that I thought would be of interest to her father-in-law. He’s still living by the way. He and his wife live in Arizona.”

“And how did she react to that?”

“She was very nice, Stephen. She asked what it was I had found and I just apologized and told her I didn’t think it was my place to say. I gave her my number to give to Kevin and told her to tell him I would be home in the evening if he wanted to give me a call.”

“So did he call you?”

For some reason I don’t want to tell Stephen how the conversation went with Kevin McNeil.

Well, it’s not “some” reason. I know why I don’t want to. I think he will be bothered by it. I like that. And I don’t like it.

“Yeah, he called me.”

“And?”

“I think he knows about the check. He kind of got defensive about it, first telling me he had no idea what I was talking about and then telling me it wasn’t any of my business.” I try to sound nonchalant about the whole conversation. “And he accused me of being in cahoots with Mindy Fortner, like she and I are up to something. I haven’t seen Mindy since a few weeks after the accident.”

“Who’s Mindy?” Stephen asks. He sounds a little upset.

“She and Rebecca and Leanne were all high school friends who roomed together at UC Santa Barbara that first year. But like I said, I haven’t seen Mindy since a few weeks after the accident. She transferred to Pepperdine University afterward. I don’t think she wanted to go back to Santa Barbara after what happened.”

“So I take it you are not going to meet with him?”

“Well, I doubt there will be a meeting anytime soon. He practically hung up on me.”

“So what are you going to do?”

While staring sleepless up at my living room ceiling last night I had come up with a plan. I share it now with Stephen.

“Well, I am going to try and locate Mindy.”

Stephen pauses for a moment.” Are you sure that’s what you should do?” he asks. I appreciate that he doesn’t say, ‘Are you sure that’s wise?’

“What is the harm in talking with her?” I realize I haven’t actually told Stephen I suspect that Mindy got a check of some kind, too. And that she didn’t stop with just one.

“Perhaps none at all. But just keep in mind that people sometimes do crazy things when they feel cornered, Alexa. I’m just a little worried for you, that’s all.”

I smile in spite of feeling like I’m being mothered.

“I promised you I would be careful,” I say.

“I am going to hold you to that,” he answers right back, and I like the way it sounds.

I may have not had much luck with men the last few years, but if I’m not mistaken, Stephen is as interested in me as I am in him. It is a wonderful, scary feeling. The minute I contemplate this, though, I remember I am falling in love with a sick man.

“You have your appointment with the oncologist today,” I say, changing the subject.

“Yep. At ten-thirty.”

“How are you getting there?”

“Mom drove up last night and stayed with me. She wants to come to this first appointment. She’s probably afraid I will leave out any juicy details if she doesn’t get to talk to the doctor herself. Besides, I am not supposed to drive because of the medication I am on. So I guess it’s meant to be that she drives me there. At least for this first one. I am going to have to make some other arrangements when I start treatment, though.”

I am secretly wishing I didn’t have to go back to work on Monday. I wouldn’t mind taking Stephen to his treatment appointments.

“I wish I could help you out there,” I say. “I have to go back to my job on Monday.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to sound like I was fishing for favors,” he says quickly.

“No, I mean, I really
do
wish I could take you to some of them, Stephen.”

He pauses for a moment. “Thanks. That’s nice to know.”

Then he changes the subject. “If it’s not too late for you, call me when you get home and tell me how it went with your dad tonight.”

“Okay.” I can’t help smiling.

“Well, I’ll catch you later, then.”

“Bye, Stephen.”

I hang up and I see that Priscilla is walking toward me in her pajamas.

“Prince Charming?” she says effortlessly, grabbing a coffee cup from the dish drainer.

I just nod my head, realizing as I do that the headache has all but disappeared.” Yup.”

She pours a cup and sits down across from me. “So, I suppose you were up all night speculating.”

“I couldn’t help it, Priscilla.”

“So?”

“So, I’d like for us to go to the Falkman Center this morning and get something out of Rebecca’s closet.”

“The Falkman Center,” Priscilla says, eying me, wondering what I am up to.

“You can show Isabel where Aunt Rebecca lives,” I say, getting up to pour myself some more coffee.

“Mmm,” Priscilla says, watching me.

At that moment Isabel appears in the living room and makes her way to the kitchen.

“Bonjour, mon ange,”
Priscilla says.
“Tu as bien dormi?”
And I can’t help but be in awe at how lovely her French sounds.

“Oui, Maman, mais j’ai faim. Je veux des oeufs.”
Isabel says, a little choppy, but still amazing for a three-year-old, even one as bright as Isabel.

“You are teaching her French,” I say.

“Well, why not?
Eh, cherie
?” Priscilla says, pulling Isabel onto her lap. Then she turns her head toward me. “Do you have any eggs?”

“Sure,” I say. “Coming right up.” I walk over to the fridge and pull out a carton of eggs.

“So what’s in Rebecca’s closet?” Priscilla says as I take a skillet out of one of my cupboards.

“I am pretty sure Mindy Fortner got married quite a number of years ago. I need to know her new last name if I am going to look her up.”

“So…”

“So Rebecca’s closet is where I will find her married name.”

Priscilla hasn’t been to the Falkman Center in a long time. And the last time she was there, she spent no time looking in Rebecca’s closet. She does not know Rebecca has kept all her old wedding invitations, and that they rest on top of her shoeboxes, bound by a silver ribbon, on the top shelf of her closet.

Frances looks up from the resident she is speaking with in surprise as Priscilla, Isabel and I walk into the Falkman Center. She has never met Priscilla, and I suppose she doesn’t think very often about the fact that Rebecca is the older sibling to a set of twins. She excuses herself from the resident and comes to us.

She hesitates just for a second before addressing me first.

“Alexa! Good morning,” she says and then she turns to Priscilla. “I am Frances Newkirk, the day manager. You must be Rebecca’s sister, Priscilla.” She holds out her hand and Priscilla takes it.

“Nice to meet you. This is my daughter, Isabel,” Priscilla says and I can see that Priscilla’s faint British accent also surprises Frances.

“You are visiting from England, then?”

“Yes. Just a short visit. We leave Sunday.”

“Oh. Oh, dear. We’ve heard nothing from Rebecca, I’m afraid,” Frances says. “We would have called you, Alexa, if we had.”

“No, I know that, Frances. We didn’t come here expecting to see Rebecca or even that you would know where she is. There is something I need to get from her room.”

“Oh. Of course.”

Frances starts to walk with us down the hall to Rebecca’s room. “Alexa,” she says and I detect uneasiness in her voice. “Your sister’s account is paid up through the month, but if she does not return by then, you might want to think about… about…”

Frances is having a hard time completing her sentence. She does not want to say, “You might want to think about moving her things out.” But I know she is thinking it.

“I know, Frances. I just don’t want to think about that yet.” I can’t imagine giving up Rebecca’s room at the Falkman Center. I doubt she would get back in. The waiting list is enormously long.

“I do understand,” Frances says. “We can talk about it another time. I’ll leave you, then.” And she walks back to the lobby.

We arrive at Rebecca’s room. Marietta is not here; she’s no doubt in the work shed sitting at a loom. I see right away that Rebecca’s fishbowl is now sitting on Marietta’s dresser. And he appears to be thriving. I had forgotten all about Rebecca’s fish. The one instruction Rebecca left is the first thing I completely forgot. I will have to remember to thank Marietta next time I see her.

“So is this Aunt Rebecca’s bed?” Isabel is saying.

“Yes, love,” Priscilla says.

“Are these her books?” Isabel says, pointing to a woven basket filled with books of all shapes and sizes.

“Yes, Izzy.”

I turn to the closet, open it and reach up on tiptoes to the top shelf where the little bundle of wedding invitations rests, by itself, since the shoeboxes are all at my house.

I am reaching for the bundle when I hear Isabel ask Priscilla about a book she has found in the basket.

“That’s Rebecca’s baby book,” Priscilla answers.

“Is this Rebecca’s baby?” Isabel asks. She has placed the open book on Rebecca’s bed, along with Clement, and is looking at a photo of Rebecca as a wrinkly, week-old infant.

“No, love, that’s Aunt Rebecca when she was a baby.”

Isabel continues to turn the pages and I undo the ribbon on the stack of invitations. There are probably eight or nine of them, all of them dating back to at least a dozen years ago, when her high school and college friends still kept in touch. Mindy’s is near the bottom of the pile. I peel it away. Inside the invitation is the yellowed newspaper announcement from the wedding itself.

The wedding announcement includes a picture of Mindy and her then new husband Ronald Bettendorf. Mindy Bettendorf. The last line on the announcement reads:
The happy couple resides in Redondo Beach
.

Perfect.

I have a name and a city. It’s possible she no longer lives in Redondo Beach. But at least I have a place to start.

“How come there’s nothing on this page?” Isabel is asking.

“Lex,” Priscilla says.

I turn to my sister. Priscilla is looking at the page in the baby book. I look at it, too. In scrolled, gold lettering the page headline says:
Baby’s Birth Certificate.

But there is nothing there besides empty, black photo corners.

Rebecca’s birth certificate is gone.

Ten minutes later I am sitting in Frances’ office with the baby book. Priscilla has taken Isabel outside to the landscaped grounds in the back.

“So Rebecca didn’t give you the certificate for safe-keeping?” I ask Frances.

“No, she didn’t.”

“And no one from the Center would have taken it and put it in her file?”

“Alexa, we would never take a resident’s personal belongings without their knowledge.”

“Can you just check, please?”

Frances stands and heads over to a file cabinet. She opens it and skims across file tabs, stopping at one, reaching in for it and looking at its contents.

“It’s not in here.” Frances says.

I sigh in frustration. I have no idea how long the birth certificate has been gone. But it concerns me that it is. I think of how easy it is to steal someone’s identity with a just a copy of a birth certificate and a Social Security number. Rebecca always carries her Social Security card with her. It’s the only important card she carries in her wallet and she knows it. It’s why she insists on carrying it.

So I picture her now out in the wicked world, with a Social Security card and a birth certificate in tow, naïve as Goldilocks.

“We have always stressed to our residents and our residents’ family members that it isn’t wise to keep valuables in their rooms,” Frances is saying.

“No, I know it’s not your fault,” I say quickly, rising from my chair. “Thanks, Frances.”

I leave her office and make my way to the lobby and then the double doors that lead out to the patio and the back lawns and gardens.

I see Priscilla standing next to a man with pruning shears in his hands. Isabel is near them, peering into the goldfish pond and talking to Clement who she holds in one hand. The man and Priscilla appear to be in conversation with each other. When I reach them, Priscilla turns to me. I see something like shock or alarm in her eyes.

“Lex,” she says and she sounds troubled. “This man’s name is Manuel. He is a gardener here at the Center. He’s new. This is only his third day on the job.”

So what?
I am thinking. “Hi, nice to meet you,” I say rather absently.

Priscilla continues. “Manuel got called in by the contractor for the landscaping company that the Center uses. They had a guy who quit last Friday because he was leaving the area. The guy who quit worked here for three years. Lex, his name was Cosmo.”

I know my face is being drained of color. I can feel it happening. In spite of having heard everything Priscilla has just said, I utter the word, “What?”

“The guy who quit on Friday is named
Cosmo
,” Priscilla says.

Cosmo. My mind somersaults with images. First of the blue-and-silver fish. Then of the two chinchillas named Tim. Then of Tim himself, the disabled man from long ago, whom Rebecca had begun to love and who was snatched away from her. Cosmo! She had named her fish Cosmo! Am I crazy to be imagining what I am imagining now? That the gardener named Cosmo knew Rebecca? That she knew him?

No, I am not crazy. Priscilla, the rational one, is thinking it, too. I can see it in her eyes.

I had never asked Rebecca why she named her fish Cosmo. It didn’t occur to me to ask. I never once imagined she had named her fish the same way she had named her chinchillas. Cosmo! My gut is telling me Rebecca didn’t run off alone. Rebecca has run away with a man. A gardener named Cosmo.