The Twisted Window (14 page)

After a time Brad opened the glove compartment and extracted a cassette, which he inserted into the tape player on the dashboard. The voice of Barry Manilow came on at low volume. "I write the songs," he sang, "I write the songs."

The tiny slice of moon that Tracy had seen last through the window in the Carvers' kitchen had now climbed to the peak of the sky, where it hung suspended from the edge of a tattered cloud. The words of the lullaby on the tape recorder in Mindy's bedroom drifted back into her mind: The moon is wise, the moon is old, and all her songs come wrapped in gold. The moon in the sky tonight was far from gold; it was pearly and iridescent, a moon to be wished on.

She tried to think of something wonderful to wish for and found she was too exhausted to make the effort.

Would it truly work out? she asked herself, letting her eyes fall closed. Would she be able to build a life with Brad and his family? The idea of living with strangers was oddly appealing, like starting over again with a whole new identity. When she had gone to live with her aunt and uncle, her former life had gone with her. Every time she gazed into her aunt's face, she had seen a distorted version of the mother she had lost. To leave all the pain behind her and become another person would be so much easier than having to deal with the remnants of her former existence,

She wondered what Brad would be like on his own turf. Would their relationship be that of brother and sister? At their first meeting, he had given her the impression that he was attracted to her, but that might have been only because he needed her to help him. In the past few days he had treated her like a trusted but platonic partner, not like a girl in whom he had a romantic interest.

"What's Albuquerque like?" she asked him now, more to make conversation than because it mattered.

"It's a nice place to live," Brad said. "It's a good-sized city with a lot going on, but it's located in a sort of a bowl that's surrounded by mountains. You can drive up into the forest area, and in only about twenty minutes you feel like you're a million miles from anywhere."

"The closest thing to mountains I've ever seen were high-rise office buildings," said Tracy. "It's hard to picture the sort of place you're describing."

"It's more beautiful than anything you could ever imagine," said Brad. "The best times I ever had in my life were the weekends my dad and I spent up in the mountains. Dad bought some land in the Pecos with a cabin already on it, and he and I worked together to fix it up. We'd go up there in the spring and summer to fish, and in the fall we'd make it our base for hunting trips."

"Since your father died, do you still spend time there?" asked Tracy.

"I used to, back when Mom was first married to Gavin. There was all the lovey-dovey, newlywed stuff going on at home, and Mom didn't seem to care if I was there or not. Later on, when the bloom was off and they started having arguments, she wanted me around for moral support. Since the divorce, I haven't been up to the cabin once. I miss the place. It's more home to me than our house in town."

"I guess it must bring back a lot of happy memories."

"Yes, everything about it reminds me of Dad. When I wake up there in the mornings I lie in my bunk and listen to the sound of the stream rushing by outside the window, and I picture Dad out there in his boots and waders. Sometimes I even think I can hear his footsteps on the porch. I feel like any minute he might start yelling, 'Get up, you lazy kid! We've got trout for breakfast!'"

He paused and then asked, "What do you remember best about your mom? Was there some special place you used to go together?"

"To the theater," Tracy responded immediately. "We spent a lot of time at the theater. And at art galleries. The Metropolitan Museum of Art was right on the subway route, and we used to go there on Sunday afternoons. And Central Park—as a kid I used to love to go there. It's like a big green island in the middle of the city, with playgrounds and flowers and paths and a little lake. We used to make boats out of paper cups and put sails on them, and when it was breezy we'd take them to the park and race them."

"You and your mother?"

She hesitated and then said, "No."

It surprised her to recall it had been her father who had sailed boats with her. Richard Lloyd had been the one who had knelt beside her at the edge of the lake and sent a fleet of Dixie cups out to face the waves. It was he who had pushed her on swings so she soared high above the earth, like a bird who was taking flight into the bright summer sky. It was he who had carried her piggyback along flower-bordered paths and had plucked a petunia and tucked it behind her ear.

During her early years she had loved her parents equally. They had seemed so special, the two of them, handsomer and brighter than other children's parents—like a god and goddess, too good for the world they lived in.

Her mother had told her how she'd hated growing up in Winfield. "The instant I graduated, I took off for New York," she had said. "I had talent and looks and a dream of becoming an actress, and I wasn't going to let anything stop me from making it. Your Aunt Rene and I are as different as a plow horse and a racehorse. Rene was happy to stay in Winfield and look after our parents. After they died, she married Gory, who had been her boyfriend in high school and had gone on to business school to become an accountant. I don't imagine their marriage is the world's most romantic love match, but I'm sure the two of them have a lot in common."

The sway of the car and the drone of Manilow's voice were a hypnotic combination. Tracy did not mean to fall asleep and did not realize that she had done so until she opened her eyes to see that the moon was gone. When she brought her head forward she saw it resting on the edge of the horizon like a beached canoe and noticed the sky behind it was lighter than it had been.

The car felt somehow different. The road seemed rougher. She realized it had been the jolting sensation that had wakened her. "What's happened?" she asked. "Are we still on the highway?"

"No," Brad told her. "There was a roadblock at the state border a few miles south of here. When I saw it up ahead I turned off onto a side road. I thought I'd go north on that for a while and then try to find another road leading west."

"They were probably just making an insurance check," said Tracy. "Gavin would never have had the nerve to call the police. What on earth would he have told them? 'A baby I kidnapped has been taken back by her brother'?"

"I don't think he'd do that either," Brad agreed. "The Carvers might, though. For all we know, Gavin may have told them he's the custodial parent. If that's the case, they could think we're the ones who are pulling a child-snatch—either that or that Mindy has been kidnapped by strangers."

As though in response to her name, the child in the back seat spoke.

"Mommy?" she murmured drowsily.

"Go back to sleep, baby," Brad told her. "We haven't gotten home yet. You're going to see your mommy in a couple of hours."

"I wet," Mindy announced in a pathetic voice.

"Oh, no!" Tracy exclaimed, suddenly guilty. "I forgot I was supposed to have taken her to the bathroom."

"We'd better stop here, then, and get her changed," said Brad. "We can't let her stay in wet pants all the way to Albuquerque."

He pulled the car over to the side of the road and brought it to a stop. When he opened the door to get out, the ceiling light popped on, illuminating the car's interior. Tracy turned to glance behind her and saw that the child was sitting upright, still holding her monkey.

Her face was flushed from sleep, and her eyes were frightened. She blinked at the flood of light and started to whimper.

Brad opened the rear door and leaned in to smile at her.

"Hi, Mindy," he said gently. "Remember me?"

Mindy jerked away from him and began to cry in earnest.

"Mommy!" she wailed. "Want Mommy!"

"She doesn't seem to recognize you," said Tracy.

At the sound of a female voice, Mindy stretched out her arms imploringly.

"I wet!" she sobbed.

"You'd better come back here and change her, Tracy," Brad said. "She's so worked up she's not going to let me touch her."

Tracy got out of the car and stepped onto the shoulder of the road. A thick growth of ragged weeds felt like clusters of wire against the calves of her legs as she went around to take Brad's place at the rear door.

Mindy's hopeful expression vanished when she caught sight of her.

"You not Mommy!" she said.

"It's all right," Tracy told her soothingly. "I'm your baby-sitter. Your Aunt Sally must have told you a sitter was going to be staying with you tonight while she and your Uncle Doug went out to dinner. My name's Tracy, and we're going for a little ride."

"A ride?" Mindy repeated, glancing about her. Obviously she had not realized she was in a car.

Tracy got into the back seat and held out her arms. Too limp with sleep to resist this offer of comfort, Mindy let herself be drawn close and cuddled. The odor of urine was all but overwhelming. The little girl's pajama bottoms were soaking.

Pressing the child gently back onto the blanket, Tracy pulled the wet clothing off her and dropped it onto the floor. Then she rummaged through the contents of one of the sacks in search of dry pants.

Brad shut the rear door and climbed back into the driver's seat. He raised his hand and adjusted the switch so the ceiling light would remain on once the car doors were closed. Then he turned the key in the ignition and started the engine. "We might as well get back on the road while you change her clothes," he said. "We've still got a good way to go, and it's best to keep moving."

Digging down in the bag, Tracy finally located a second pair of pajama bottoms. "Whose are these?" she asked, holding them up so the child could see them. "Do these Smurf pajamas belong to Mindy?"

"No," Mindy said. "Those jammies Cricket's."

"Cricket's your nickname," said Tracy. "Mindy's your real name. Don't you remember how everybody used to call you Mindy?"

"Juicy Yan," said Mindy. "Cricket Juicy Yan."

"Juicy?" Tracy repeated in bewilderment. "Like Juicy Fruit gum?"

"Cricket," Mindy said firmly. "Cricket's jammies."

"All right, you can be Cricket if you like that better," Tracy said. "How about giving me some help putting Cricket's pajamas on?"

The child obligingly thrust her feet into the air to allow the dry pants to be slipped up over her ankles. The car was going too fast for the road it was traveling. It kept dipping in and out of potholes, making it hard to accomplish anything that required coordination.

With difficulty, Tracy managed to work the pajamas past the child's damp buttocks and slide them up around her waist. She was in the process of adjusting the waistband when suddenly she froze.

Slowly, she drew the elastic away from Mindy's stomach.

"Brad," she said, "didn't you tell me Gavin once burned her?"

"Back when she was a toddler," Brad said, nodding. "He was working on his car stereo with a soldering iron. He forgot she was out there with him and burned her belly."

"Was it a serious burn?"

"Bad enough," Brad said. "She didn't have to have skin grafts or anything like that, but when she grows up she won't want to wear a bikini." He adjusted the rearview mirror so he could look back at them. "Why are you asking that? Oh, I see—you're looking at the scar."

"Mindy doesn't have any scar," said Tracy.

CHAPTER 14

Are you blind?" exclaimed Brad. "Of course, there's a scar!"

"No, there isn't," said Tracy, staring down at the smooth, unblemished skin of the child's pink abdomen. "There's not a mark on her, Brad."

"That's impossible," Brad said. He was silent a moment. Then he said, "Maybe Gavin had it removed. He knew it was something we could use to have her identified. If his plan was to start all over, changing her name and disguising her history, then it would make sense that he would have gotten rid of the scar."

"You can't just wipe away a scar as though it never existed," Tracy protested. "At least, not when it's from a burn like the one you described. Mindy's stomach is perfect. There's not even a scratch."

"This light's too poor to see anything much," said Brad. "Or it might just be the scar has faded. That could have happened. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it seemed at first."

"Or, maybe..." Tracy began, and left the sentence dangling. The idea that had slipped into her mind for one terrible second was so outrageous that she would not even allow herself to put it into words.

Brad reached up and flicked off the ceiling light, and once again the world within the car was plunged into darkness. Mindy gave a sigh and burrowed her head into Tracy's side as though it were a pillow, twisting and turning until she found a comfortable position on the seat and then making a nest there. Once she had settled herself into place, it was only a matter of minutes before her body went limp and her breathing grew deep and steady.

Tracy was too wide awake to contemplate sleeping again. Holding herself as still as possible so as not to disturb the child, she sat gazing out through the side window into the night. Eventually the sky in the east began to grow lighter, and a thin strip of pink appeared along the horizon. As the blackness lessened, flat fields studded with what appeared to be boulders gradually materialized on either side of the car. Then in one magical instant the sky exploded into crimson, and the hulking shapes proved to be cattle, standing motionless, with their heads buried deep in grass as though they were ostriches.