Missing Pieces (43 page)

“Doesn’t look like she’s coming back,” the super repeated ominously as I headed to my car.

“Where are you, damnit?” I shouted into the empty interior of my car.

“She went to visit Colin,” Larry assured me when I phoned him in South Carolina. “Stop worrying about her, Kate. She’s in Raiford, surrounded by armed guards and police officers. She couldn’t be in a safer place.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“Thanks,” I told him. “I’m glad I called.”

“So am I.”

“How’s the family?”

“Terrific.”

“And the golf?”

“Great.”

“Great,” I repeated. “Terrific.”

“Everybody sends their love.”

Send it back,
I heard Jo Lynn say. “Say hi to everyone,” I said instead.

“I will,” he said, then: “I miss you. I love you very much. You know that.”

“I know that,” I told him. “I love you too.”

On Saturday, I went to the Breakers to meet Robert.

I told myself I was going because I needed to know the truth, that unless I confronted Robert, I would never know for sure if the things Brandi had told me were true, and then I would spend the rest of my life wondering and regretting. I’d been wondering for too long as it was, and my whole life was rapidly degenerating into one huge regret.

“Have you heard from Jo Lynn?” Sara asked, coming into my bathroom as I was applying a coat of newly purchased deep coral lipstick.

I jumped, dropped the lipstick to the countertop, watched it leave a large orange circle on the almond-colored marble. Death row orange, I thought, quickly wiping the stain off the counter with a damp cloth, then tossing the lipstick into my purse, trying to appear casual, matter-of-fact. “No, she hasn’t called.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What
can
I do?”

Sara shrugged, leaned against the wall. She was wearing cutoff jeans and one of those loose-fitting Indian blouses she used to favor.

‘Look, I have to go out for a few hours,” I said, determined not to think about my sister for the balance of the afternoon. When she was ready, she would resurface. She always did.

“You look nice.”

“Thank you.” I tried not to sound too surprised by the compliment, wondering if Sara could somehow see through my beige Armani pantsuit and ivory silk shirt to the delicate pink French lace bra and panties beneath.

“Where are you going?” Sara asked.

“I’m looking at some places for Grandma,” I lied, hating myself.

“I thought you were doing that tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow too,” I said, thinking that we hadn’t had such a long conversation in months, wondering why it was taking place now.

“Do you think you’ll find something?”

“I hope so,” I told her, my heels clicking on the marble floor as I exited the bathroom.

“Where’d you get those shoes?”

God, she didn’t miss a thing. “I bought them a few weeks ago. What do you think?”

“They’re kind of high,” she said. “I’ve never seen you wear such high heels.”

“I thought I’d try them. For a change.”

“When will you be back?” she asked.

“Soon. A few hours. Maybe less,” I said. Maybe more, I added silently. “Why?”

“Just wondered.” Again, she shrugged, didn’t move.

“Is everything all right?” I asked reluctantly, guiltily. Normally, I would have jumped at the opportunity to reopen the lines of communication between us, especially
since it was Sara making the overtures. But why did it have to be
now?
“Is there something you want to talk about?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. You seem kind of at loose ends.”

“What does that mean?” Her body tensed, ready to take offense at any possible slight.

“It doesn’t mean anything.” I didn’t have the time, or the patience, to deal with this now. “I really have to get going.”

“Maybe we could go to a movie later,” Sara said, following me to the front door.

“You want to go to the movies? With me?”

“Well, I don’t have any money, and you won’t let me go out with my friends,” she said logically.

“Right,” I said, understanding the situation somewhat better now. “We’ll see when I get back.”

“Don’t be long,” she said as I climbed into my car.

They must have some kind of built-in radar, I thought as I backed out of the driveway, some subtle warning device that signals when their world is about to shift. Don’t we all? I wondered, realizing how often I’d ignored mine.

Twenty minutes later, the twin towers of the Breakers Golf and Beach Club shot into view. Immediately I thought of the new Palm Beach County Courthouse, whose vaulted roofs had been designed as an architectural echo. God, why was I thinking of that now? This was hardly the time to be thinking about my sister or her lousy taste in men.

An uncomfortable thought squeezed its way into my brain, like an earthworm through wet soil. My sister and I weren’t so different after all, it said. We were both pining for undesirable men. My sister was ruining her life for one. Was I about to do the same thing for another?

I found a parking space at the front of the hotel between
a black Rolls-Royce and a chocolate-brown Mercedes and walked briskly along the U-shaped driveway, past the large fountain of sculpted water nymphs, to the entrance of the grand old hotel, a magnificent structure that fairly shouted old money. I hurried past the valets and bellhops with their crisp white shirts and navy epaulets, noting the many luggage carts, golf clubs, and potted palms lined up along the portico as I followed the red carpet through the tall Ionic columns and glass doors into the long expanse of lobby, its vaulted fresco ceiling dotted at regular intervals by huge crystal chandeliers, the marble floor all but covered by richly textured area rugs. There were tapestries on the walls, enormous floral arrangements on tall marble stands, comfortable groupings of sofas and chairs, even small tables set up for chess and checkers. I walked toward the long counter of the registration desk, my feet cramping inside my high heels.

I was early, I knew without having to check my watch. Robert wouldn’t be here yet. Even so, I glanced furtively around, careful not to make direct eye contact with any of the hotel’s many other visitors. I could spend the next half hour browsing through the exclusive boutiques that were located just off the lobby, or I could stroll around the grounds, visit the bar at the back, off the main dining room. Larry and I had come here for dinner once, not long after we’d moved to Palm Beach. Over the years, we’d occasionally talked of checking ourselves in for a weekend. We never had. Now, here I was, about to check in with another man.

I lowered myself into a nearby antique chair, my body immediately obliterated by a hulking hydrangea plant whose bright pink flowers all but leapt into my lap. I heard laughter, turned sharply, the pointed end of a narrow green leaf catching the side of my eye. A young couple was standing not more than six feet away from me,
wrapped in each other’s arms, their lips pressed tightly together, their bodies swaying to imaginary breezes, as bemused onlookers tiptoed gingerly around them, careful not to disturb their passion. Next to the registration desk, a young boy of about six was standing beside his mother, pointing at the couple and laughing. His mother admonished him not to point, then looked away, although seconds later I noticed she looked back, sad eyes lingering.

That’s what I want, I thought, knowing she was thinking the same thing. To be young and desperately in love, to need someone’s arms around me so badly it hurt, to literally ache for the feel of his lips on mine, to be that desired, that carried away, that oblivious to the rest of the world. To be seventeen again.

This was my fantasy: Robert and I in each other’s arms, his eyes gazing lovingly into mine, his lips delicately kissing the sides of my mouth, the bend in my neck, my fluttering eyelashes, my cheeks, the tip of my nose, his hands cupping my face, his fingers twisting through my hair as his tongue twisted gently around mine, our kisses growing deeper, yet softer, always softer.

The reality would be different. It always was. Oh, there might be deep tender kisses, but they would be mere preamble to the main event, and they could only linger so long, time being of the essence. Sara was waiting for me at home; Robert, no doubt, had plans with his wife. We couldn’t be gone too long without arousing suspicions. And so, soft lingering kisses would give way to increasingly insistent caresses. Clothes would be unbuttoned, shed, and discarded. Limbs would entwine, flesh merge. A different flesh than I was used to, a different way of being touched. And it would be wonderful. I knew it would be wonderful. And when it was over, we would lie in each other’s arms, mindful of the moments ticking away, trying to avoid the growing reality of the wet spot beneath us.

That was the difference between fantasy and reality. A fantasy contained no consequences, no mess. When it was over, you felt great, not guilt. Fantasies didn’t leave wet spots.

That’s what I wanted. I wanted the fantasy.

I didn’t need any more reality. I had too much as it was.

I pictured Robert and me sitting on opposite sides of the bed, not speaking, no longer touching, struggling to get back into our clothes. I knew I’d feel awful. I felt awful enough now.

“What am I doing here?” I whispered, catching a long leaf in my mouth, feeling it slither across my tongue. And then I saw him.

He walked through the front door with a comfortable stride, long arms swinging casually at his sides. He was wearing navy pants and a white polo shirt, muscles impressively on display. His hair fell roguishly across his forehead. His lips curled into a natural smile. Could he look more beautiful? I wondered, as every muscle in my body cramped. Was it possible to want someone so much and like him so little?

I gasped, quickly covering my mouth to prevent the sound from escaping, as the truth of my latent observation hit me square in the gut, like a boxer’s fist. And the truth was that I really didn’t like Robert very much, that I never had, and that was the reason I hadn’t slept with him thirty years ago. It was why I couldn’t sleep with him now.

Robert strode confidently across the lobby, eyes straight ahead, looking neither right nor left. He didn’t see me. I wasn’t surprised. The truth was that I was invisible to Robert, that I’d always been invisible. How could you see someone, after all, when the only thing you saw when you gazed into their eyes was the glory of your own reflection?

That was the truth. That was the reality.

I watched Robert speak easily to the clerk behind the
registration counter, then glance carelessly around the large lobby. Get up, I told myself. Get up and announce your presence, tell him you’ve had a change of heart. Instead, I burrowed in deeper behind the potted plant, knowing I was being silly, that even if I wasn’t going to go upstairs with him, at least I owed him the courtesy of an explanation.

Except that something kept me rooted to that antique seat as surely as if I’d been potted myself. For despite my recent epiphany and newfound resolve, I knew that if I left that chair, if I confronted Robert, then I was lost, it was game over, I was as good as naked and lying smack in the middle of the wet spot. And so I remained in my chair, hidden by the giant hydrangea, watching as my would-be lover signed the register and took possession of the room key, smiling securely as he headed for the elevators.

And then I raced for the front entrance of the hotel as if someone were after me, as if my life depended on it.

Perhaps it did.

I
phoned Jo Lynn as soon as I got home. Her machine was still picking up, so I called the motel in Starke where she usually stayed. The manager informed me that she hadn’t seen Jo Lynn in several weeks, then hung up before I could ask her the names of other motels in the area. “Great,” I muttered, debating whether or not to call the police, maybe the penitentiary, deciding against both alternatives. What would I say after all? What could they do?

“I take it she didn’t call?” I asked my daughters.

They shook their heads.

I thought of Robert, wondered if he was still waiting for me at the hotel, if he’d ordered champagne, if he was growing restless, bored, worried, angry. “Did anybody else phone?” I asked.

“Like who?” Sara said.

“Nobody in particular.” I noticed she’d washed her hair, changed into a pair of surprisingly presentable beige pants and matching sweater. “Still want to go to the movies?”

“I guess so.” Sara’s voice strained for indifference, almost succeeded.

“How about you, Michelle? Feel like a movie?”

“Can’t,” she said. “I’m going over to Brooke’s, remember?”

“That’s right. I forgot.” I looked around. “Where’s Grandma? Is she sleeping?”

“She’s in her room,” Sara said. “She’s been acting kind of funny.”

“What do you mean, funny?”

“Hi, darling,” my mother said, as if she’d been standing in the wings, waiting for her turn to resume center stage. She shuffled into the kitchen, purse in hand. “Did I hear you say we’re going to the movies?”

Sara selected a popular movie, and the theater, at barely four o’clock in the afternoon on a beautiful sunny day, was almost full. We managed to find three seats together near the front. “Is this okay for you, Mom?” I asked.

She said nothing. She hadn’t spoken a word since we left the house.

“Was she this quiet while I was gone?”

Sara nodded. “Except for every so often, when she suddenly screams.”

“She screams?”

“Every so often.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I
did
tell you.”

“You said she was acting funny. You didn’t say anything about screaming.”

“Sshh!” someone said, as the houselights dimmed.

She screamed the first time during one of the previews. It was a piercing wail, like a siren, and it scared me half to death, not to mention the people around us, all of whom literally jumped out of their seats.

“Mom, what’s the matter?!”

“Is everything all right?” the woman directly in front of us asked.