Lost (Fielding, Joy)

When her estranged daughter Julia, a model and aspiring actress, returns years after deciding to live with her father, Cindy finds her home life disrupted by Julia's willful and self-absorbent behavior, but when Julia disappears mysteriously, Cindy fears that the worst may have occurred.

"Has she ever done anything like this before?"

"You mean, stayed out all night?"

Neil nodded. He was sitting beside Cindy on one of two tan leather sofas in her living room. Behind them a wall of windows overlooked the spacious backyard. Facing them were three paintings of pears in varying degrees of ripeness. Cindy couldn't remember the name of the artist who'd painted these pictures. Tom had bought them without asking either her opinion or approval. I make the money; I make the decisions, being pretty much the theme of their marriage. Along with the never-ending parade of other women, Cindy thought, smiling sadly at the good-looking man perched on the opposite end of the couch and wondering if he'd ever cheated on his wife. She ran her hand across the sofa's buttery surface. Find Italian leather. Guaranteed to last a lifetime. Unlike her marriage, she thought. The sofas had also been Tom's decision, as was the checkered print of the two wing chairs sitting in front of the black marble fireplace. Why had she never bothered to change anything after he left? Had she been subconsciously waiting for him to return? She shook her head, trying to excise her former husband from her brain.

"Cindy?" Neil was asking, leaning forward, extending his hands toward hers. "Are you all right? You have this very strange look on your face."

"Yes, she's stayed out all night before," Cindy said, answering his question, wondering how long ago he'd asked it. "But she always calls. She's never not called."

Except once just after she moved back home, Cindy recalled, when she was making a point about being an adult and no longer answerable to her mother. Her father, she'd argued pointedly, had never placed any such restrictions on her. Her mother, Cindy had countered, needed to be assured of her safety. It was a matter of consideration, not constraint. In reply, Julia had rolled her eyes and flounced out of the room, but she'd never stayed out all night again without first phoning home.

Except one other time when she forgot, Cindy remembered, but then she'd called first thing the next morning and apologized profusely.

"Shouldn't you be at work?" she asked Neil, trying to prevent another example from springing to her mind.

"I take Fridays off in the summer."

Cindy vaguely recalled him having told her that last night. "Look, you don't have to stay. I mean, it was very thoughtful of you to come over and everything, I really appreciate it, but I'm sure you have plans for the long weekend...."

"I have no plans."

"....and Julia should be home any minute now," Cindy continued, ignoring the implications of his remark, "at which point I'm going to strangle her, and everything will be back to normal." She tried to laugh, cried out instead. "Oh, God, what if something terrible has happened to her?"

"Nothing terrible has happened to her."

Cindy stared at Neil imploringly. "You promise?"

"I promise," he said simply.

Amazingly, Cindy felt better. "Thank you."

Neil reached over, took her hands in his.

There was a sudden avalanche of footsteps on the stairs, and Heather bounded into view. "I heard the door. Is Julia home?"

Cindy quickly extricated her hands from Neil's, returned them primly to her lap.

"Who are you?"

"Heather, this is Neil Macfarlane."

"The accountant." Heather advanced warily, quick eyes absorbing Neil's black jeans and denim shirt.

"Neil, this is my younger daughter, Heather."

Neil stood up, shook Heather's hand. "Nice to meet you, Heather."

Heather nodded. "I thought maybe Julia was back."

"No," Cindy said.

Heather swayed from one foot to the other. "Duncan and I were just going to head down to Queen Street. Unless you need me for anything."

"No, honey. I'm fine."

"You're sure? 'Cause I can stay if you want."

"No, sweetheart. You go. I'll be fine."

"You'll call me as soon as Julia gets home?"

Cindy nodded, looked anxiously toward the front door.

"You know my cell number?"

"Of course." Cindy pictured a series of numbers, realized they were Julia's. "Maybe you'd better write it down."

Heather walked into the kitchen. "I'm leaving it by the phone," she called back as Duncan came barreling down the stairs.

"Julia home?" he asked.

"Not yet."

He stared blankly at Neil, crossed one arm protectively over the other. "Are you a cop?"

Cindy blanched. Why would he ask that?

"He's an accountant," Heather said, reentering the room. "We should go." She guided Duncan toward the front door. "Remember to call me when Julia gets home."

Cindy nodded, watching them leave. "Do you think I should call the police?"

"If you're worried, yes," Neil said.

"It's only been twenty-four hours."

"That's long enough."

She thought of Tom. Probably she should wait for him to return her call, discuss the matter with him before she did anything rash. "I should probably wait a little longer."

"Have you checked with the place where Julia had her audition, to make sure she showed up?"

"I don't know who to contact," Cindy admitted. "I mean, I know the audition was for Michael Kinsolving, but he's probably just renting some space, and I don't know the address or the phone number." I don't know anything, she wailed silently. What kind of mother am I, who doesn't know anything? "Tom will know," she said. "My ex-husband. Julia's father. He arranged the audition. He'll know." All the more reason to wait until she spoke to him before calling the police, she acknowledged to herself.

Neil walked to the fireplace, lifted a plexiglass frame from the mantle. "Is this Julia?"

Cindy stared at the picture of Julia that had been taken several days after her eighteenth birthday. She was smiling, showing a mouthful of perfect, professionally straightened and whitened teeth, elegant shoulders thrust proudly back in her new cream-colored Gucci leather jacket, a present from her father. Diamond studs sparkled from each ear, another present from Daddy. The night this picture was taken, Cindy had presented her daughter with a delicate necklace with her name spelled out in gold. Less than a month later, Julia had broken it while trying to pull a turtleneck sweater over her head. I forgot I had it on, she'd announced nonchalantly, returning the necklace to her mother to be fixed. Cindy dutifully had the necklace repaired, only to have Julia lose it a few weeks later. "That's an old picture," Cindy said now, taking the photograph from Neil's hands and returning it to the mantle, one finger lingering, caressing her daughter's cheek through the small square of glass.

"She's a very beautiful girl."

"Yes, she is."

"Like her mother."

The phone rang. Cindy raced to the kitchen, tripping on the large sisle rug in the front hall, and banging her hip against the side of the kitchen door. "Damn it," she swore, lifting the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Well, damn it yourself," her mother replied. "What's the matter, darling? Forgot to put on your makeup?"

Cindy raised a hand to her bare cheek, realized she had indeed forgotten to put on any makeup. Still Neil had said she was beautiful, she thought gratefully, shaking her head as he approached, signaling the caller wasn't Julia. "I'm fine, Mom. Just a little busy at the moment. Can I call you back?"

"You don't have to bother. I'm just checking in. Everything all right? Your sister said you sounded pissy, and I'm afraid I have to agree with her."

Cindy closed her eyes, ran her free hand through her hair. "Everything's fine, Mom. I'll call you later. Okay?"

"Fine darling. Take care."

"My mother," Cindy said, hanging up the phone and immediately checking her voice-mail to make sure no one else had called. "My sister told her I sounded pissy when she called earlier."

"I'm sure she meant pithy," Neil offered.

Cindy laughed. "Thanks for coming over. I really appreciate it."

"I just wish there was something more I could do."

Something clicked in Cindy's mind. "You can take me to see Sean Banack," she announced suddenly.

"Who?"

"I'll explain on the way." Cindy grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled a note for Julia, leaving it in the middle of the kitchen table, in case her daughter should return while she was gone. On the way out the door, she called Julia's cell phone again and left another message. There'd been something in Sean's voice when she'd talked to him earlier, Cindy thought, replaying their conversation in her mind, word for word. Something more than cigarettes and alcohol. Something more than fatigue and impatience and hurt feelings.

Anger, she realized.

He'd sounded pissy.

"Is Sean here?"

"He isn't," the young man said, standing in the doorway, blocking Cindy's entrance to the small, second floor apartment that was situated over an old variety store on the south side of Dupont Street near Christie. The man was tall and black, with an athletic build and a shiny, bald head. A silver loop dangled from his left ear. A set of earphones wrapped around his neck, like a noose. He was wearing a sleeveless white T-shirt and black sweatpants, and his left hand clutched a large, plastic bottle of Evian.