Water from Stone - a Novel (11 page)

“Anyway,” Mar shrugs, “what about you?”

“No rest for the weary. Tomorrow we have Christmas for all the kids. You’re coming to that. First a big breakfast, then opening the presents, and then general chaos until lunch, which is around 2:00. Football, of course, for your Dad, Dylan and whoever else wants to watch. And then, after all the kids go home, some blessed peace and quiet. Other than that, I don’t have plans until Junior here shows up. Just spend some time with Kristina and the kids. They’re here for another week or so and then Shawn’ll take the kids home and Kris will wait for the baby with me.”

“Where is she? I haven’t seen her yet,” Mar asks, referring to Shirley’s daughter, Kristina.

“Probably upstairs with the kids. Kadeem’s teething and it takes both her and Shawn to put him down. Sabrina, on the other hand, is an angel and she’s probably napping. Man, I wish I could join her.”

“Pretty soon, mama bear. You’ll be taking naps with the baby every day.”

“True. True. But, then, I’ll be up all night with him, too! OK, sweetie, we gotta get back to the fiesta, but before we go, I wanted to give you this.” Shirley passes an envelope across the desk to Mar.

Mar shoots a questioning look at her friend. “Just open it,” Shirley urges.

Mar’s hand begins to tremble and she sets the sketch on the desk. Whatever it is, it can only be about Lizzie. The envelope, when she picks it up, offers a faint hint of rosewater. Her eyebrows rise. “Nice. I didn’t think people did that anymore.” Flipping it over, Mar sees the return address. And freezes. “But then, just that one whiff would probably feed several small nations.”

“They’re not bad people, Mar. Rich doesn’t mean bad. Now, are you going to open it, or not?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mar mutters. She removes the single sheet of vellum. The name engraved across the top reads ‘Edwina Ferrin.’ “You know, that is just the stupidest, ugliest name I’ve ever heard. What were her parents thinking?”

Shirley rolls her eyes. “Go on, Mar. It won’t bite.”

“Dear Ms. McGowan,” Mar reads aloud, “Firstly, we’d like to thank you for the attention you have given to our case. As you know, we are very eager to adopt a child and the sooner, the better for us. We have given quite a bit of thought to the little girl, Elizabeth Jones, who is now available for adoption and, while we have found her to be an adorable child, we continue to be concerned about the affects that her birth mother’s drug addiction might have on her health and well-being. Being that we will be older parents, we feel that a child with better health prospects would be a more appropriate match to us. Therefore, while we thank you for your efforts on our behalf, we would like to ask that our names be dropped as this child’s potential adoptive parents and that we be considered for any other child that fits our parameters. Thank you again. Sincerely, Davis and Edwina Ferrin.”

Mar scans the letter again and looks up at Shirley. “Jesus! These people are so messed up! Nothing is wrong with Lizzie!” She looks down at the letter. “They’re ‘concerned’ about her health and well-being. Bullshit! They’re concerned about themselves, how it would look if they got a kid that isn’t their version of perfect.”

“Hey, down girl! Chill! Don’t you get it?”

“What? Get what? These people are assholes?”

“No, honey. What it means is that there’s no more competition for that sweet little girl of yours. There was going to be a hearing so that the judge could determine the best home for Lizzie, with social workers and everyone involved, just like with Max. But that’s not going to happen now. I spoke with the judge and it’s his opinion that you’re the best parent for her and that the formal adoption proceeding should progress as quickly as possible.”

Mar stares at Shirley’s beaming face. She searches it for the ‘but’ that is sure to come. A moment passes and Shirley continues to grin and then begins to nod as if to confirm her words. Mar gasps. She wants to shout for joy. She wants to dance. Instead, she does the only thing she can do. She bursts into tears.

Shirley heaves herself up and moves around the desk to pull Mar to her. “Hey there.
Shhh…shhh
. Honey, why you crying? Why you crying, Mar child?”

“Ohmygod, Shirley! I don’t know. I just don’t know. I just can’t believe it, I don’t know if I should believe it, I want to believe it but after Max and everything, I’m afraid to believe it. It was too easy…” Mar turns her neck and presses her forehead into Shirley’s swollen belly. “This is just too good, too good.”

“Mar, honey, believe it. I wouldn’t tell you about it if it wasn’t true. Lizzie’s gonna be yours, with the judge’s signature and everything, and there’s not a damn thing anyone can do about it. Now stop your crying. Come on!”

Shirley reaches over her desk and pulls a handful of Kleenex from the box. “Here, now, dry your face. You’re all red and puffy.”

Mar grabs the tissues and swipes at her eyes. When she looks up at Shirley, she is beaming. “Really?” she asks, “Really, really?”

“Really, really, babe. For true.”

“Well, hot damn!” Mar jumps up and, as best she can without hurting her friend, she throws her arms around Shirley. “Oh, man, Shirley, you’re the best! This is the best Christmas ever. Thank you thank you thank you. Oh my god! OK, let’s go, I gotta go tell my dad.”

At the door, she turns back. “When’s the judge gonna sign the papers?”

“January 8th.”

“OK, let’s go!” And with that, Mar runs to find her daughter.

Seventeen

Jack.

Jack sits at his desk, the lights of New York blinking unseen outside the large picture window of his home office. The reflected light of the monitor turns his skin a sickly pale, darkens the hollows of his cheeks. He jots down another statistic and flags the site. It is something he wants to check against the information he’d gotten from NCMEC, the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. Granted, Mia hardly fits into any of the statistics. Most abducted children are taken by the non-custodial parent and those who are taken by strangers are usually older than pre-school age. Still, if he is to find her, he needs all the information he can get his hands on.

The phone rings. Jack keeps clicking. He vaguely remembers a site that offers a link to an artist who does age projection pictures. Thank god one of the nurses in the neo-natal unit had taken a picture of the freshly bathed Mia Westfield. True, the photo was slightly distorted by the Plexiglas incubator in which she lay, but it is all that he has. Maybe it will be enough.

The ringing starts up again. Jack lifts the handset. “Yeah?” he mumbles.

“Jack?”

Jack glances at the I.D. “Mom?”

“Jack? Honey? Merry Christmas,” her voice is tentative.

Jack glances at the monitor’s clock. He’s been at it for more than five hours. No wonder his stomach is rumbling. “Hey, Mom,” he answers.

“Merry Christmas, honey. It’s just after midnight. I thought maybe you were at a party when you didn’t answer before.”

He can hear the defeated hope in her voice and catches the sigh of annoyance before it escapes his lips. The guilt floods through him. Leave it to Mom. “I’m OK. I just have a lot of work.”

“But, Jack, on Christmas?”

“It’s important.”

“Oh, well, OK, then. I just thought…”

Jack rakes a hand through his hair and counts to five. She means well. She always means well. She wants him to jump back into life, to move on. “I know. I know what you thought. And, thank you.”

Her voice brightens considerably, “Did you get the packages we sent you?”

Did he? He isn’t even sure. Jack rubs his eyes and smiles grimly. “Sure, Mom. Thank you.”

“And?”

“And, I’m waiting to open them in the morning. Some friends are coming over,” he lies, “and we’re going to do it together.”

“Oh, really?” she asks and Jack imagines the smile that undoubtedly spreads across her face.

He shakes his head, feeling like a good and true shit. “Really,” he soothes. “For brunch.”

“Well, then. That’s good, honey. That’s really good news. Now here’s your father. Tell him. He’ll be so happy to hear it. And call us, OK? After your party? Just for a minute to let us know how it went?”

“I will, Mom. I will.”

“Merry Christmas, Jack. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Merry Christmas.”

After he says his goodbyes, Jack gently returns the phone to its cradle. Lindsey’s face floats across his screen saver. He watches it fade and reassemble itself in another corner of the screen. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
Merry Christmas, sweetheart
, he sends out to her. And then, with a click of the mouse, she disappears completely and is replaced by more statistics on missing children.

Eighteen

Mar.

Christmas Day dawns bright and clear. Though cold, and with a foot of snow on the ground, the day promises to be glorious. Mar’s house is nice and warm when she awakes to the sounds of Elizabeth playing in her crib.

“Hey there, pumpkin, whatchya doin’?” Mar leans on the edge of the safety bar.

Startled from her game, Elizabeth looks up. Confirming that Mar really is there, awake and ready for her, Lizzie drops the toy she is holding and pulls herself up to a standing position. She laughs as she throws her arms open to Mar.

“Yes, pretty girl, time to get up. Do you know what day it is? Do you know who came here last night while you were sleeping? Santa Claus.” Mar lowers Lizzie onto the changing table.

“How about if we change into your Santa suit?” she asks when she’s finished fastening a dry diaper. “Or do you want your elf suit?
Hmmmm
? Should we wear the elf suit Dee gave you? What do you think?”

Lizzie claps her hands together and laughs some more. “OK, then, elf suit it is,” Mar says. “Now don’t move. Stay there.” Mar bends to pull the elf pajamas from a drawer, one hand holding Lizzie firmly down.

“Mama,” Lizzie says as Mar unsnaps the bottom of the pajamas.

“
Hmmm
?” Mar asks absently as she maneuvers the outfit over Lizzie’s head.

“Mama.” Lizzie repeats as her head pops through the top of the elf suit.

Mar freezes. She grabs the changing table for support. “Baby?” she whispers. “What’d you say, honey?”

“Mamamamamamamamamama,” Lizzie replies, clapping her hands together.

“OHMYGOD! Mama! You said Mama! DAD! Come here!” Mar snatches Lizzie up into a fierce hug and spins her around. “You said Mama!” she laughs.

Don Bloom hurries into the room, one half of his face covered in shaving cream, the other freshly shaved.

“What’s wrong, Mar?” Don asks. “Is Lizzie OK?”

Picasso, who had followed Don into the room, pushes her snout into Mar’s crotch, looking for reassurance.

“No, no, Picasso, stop that,” Mar laughingly pushes the dog away. She turns Lizzie to face her father. “She spoke! She finally spoke! She said Mama!”

At that, Lizzie starts her chant again, “Mamamamamama!”

“Can you believe it?” Mar grins up at her father. “It’s like she knows.”

Don Bloom puts his arm around his daughter and granddaughter and squeezes. “Maybe she does, honey. Maybe she just does.”

Nineteen

Sy.

Sy watches Jack standing against the window, his back to the room and he shudders, spooked. Every time he comes to see him, Jack is at the window, looking out. One time he asked him,
What’re you looking at out there, Jack?
and he got no answer. The weather outside is gray. Gray on gray on tired gray. He can feel its bitter chill even from the distance of the client chair he always sits in. It is almost like the building heat doesn’t reach this office, that it stops dead at the door. He isn’t a superstitious man, but this window thing is beginning to creep him out.

“I should have been there with her,” Jack breaks through his thoughts.

“With who? Lindsey?”

“We knew the baby was coming. I could have taken second seat, left someone else in charge of the case, consulted. I could’ve spent more time with her, with Lindsey, helping her buy things for the baby, decorate.”

“Aw, Jack, don’t go there.”

Jack continues as if Sy hasn’t spoken. “You know, that morning? It was almost as if I knew something was going to happen, as if I knew the baby was coming. And I went anyway. I went to court anyway and left Lindsey alone.”

“You didn’t know, Jack, don’t say that.”

“I could have spent more time looking for my pager. If I’d just called the number, I would have found it.”

Sy’s stomach begins to churn, his ulcer acting up. “Jack,” he tries to cut him off.

“No, really. And, you know what? There was a part of me that was almost glad I couldn’t find it. Like, this thought went through my head that if I didn’t have it, I wouldn’t have to worry about it going off and I could concentrate on the trial. For half a second there, I thought that. And now that’s going to be with me forever.”

“We all get thoughts like that sometimes. You’re busy, you’re rushing, you got things to do and you don’t want anything to knock you off schedule. It doesn’t mean you don’t care.”

“Yeah, well, I should have found it.”

“That wouldn’t have made no difference.”

“I’d’ve been there with her. When she called, I would have gotten a car and gone to pick her up. She wouldn’t have needed to take a cab, to take that cab.”

“You couldn’t know.”

“No. But I think about it all the time.” Jack sighs heavily and leans closer to the window. “So what you’re telling me is that there’s no hope.” His voice is flat.

Sy rubs at his forehead, hard, looking for the words. “No, Jack,” he finally replies, his own voice tinged with fatigue, “I’m not saying there’s no hope. I’m telling you there’re some leads I followed up. One really good one. But, crap, maybe not good enough. The thing is, oh hell, I’m beginning to think that maybe people really can just disappear.”

Beyond Jack, the first of the day’s snow begins to fall. “Tell me about this girl again,” he says.

Sy, looking crumpled and feeling worse, sits forward and picks up the frayed file he’d left on Jack’s desk. It isn’t much fatter than when Jack had first given it to him a year ago, and he really doesn’t need it, he has the damn thing memorized, but he opens it up anyway, giving himself something to look at other than Jack disappearing into the gray, keeping his fingers entertained.

Sy begins to go over the highlights of the case.
Fuck, highlights, my ass.
He shakes his head and continues, even though Jack has heard it all already. A year of looking for Elie Burrows has led to a dead end. She has disappeared, kaput, is gone. It seems almost impossible to him that not one, but two, women have disappeared, the kidnapper and Burrows. Makes him feel like a helluva detective alright.