Now You See Her

NINE


THEY GREW UP ALWAYS checking each other out, looking for signs of incipient depression, a laugh that was too loud or lingered too long, a sigh that split the air with melancholy, a smile that melted effortlessly into a frown, a mood that shifted too abruptly, cascading from high to low and then back again with unnerving speed, like the roller-coaster rides they used to enjoy when they were kids.

Except they never really had a childhood, and roller-coaster rides quickly lost their ability to thrill, especially since their daily lives proved far less predictable, and therefore far more terrifying, than anything an amusement park ride could offer.

“What’s the matter? Are you upset about something?” Marcy would ask whenever she caught Judith looking even vaguely out of sorts.

“What are you still chuckling about?” Judith would demand of her sister after she’d told a moderately funny joke that had Marcy still giggling moments later. “It wasn’t that funny.”

“Are you all right?” Marcy.

“Is there a problem?” Judith.

“Are you depressed?” Judith.

“Is something bothering you?” Marcy.

“Marcy! For God’s sake, where the hell are you?” Judith was shouting now.

Marcy held her new cell phone away from her ear, already regretting her decision to phone her sister. “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t ask how you were,” Judith shot back instantly. “I already know you’re nuttier than a jar of cashews. What I asked is, where are you? Do you know there’s something wrong with your cell phone? I keep calling and getting nothing. So I called Peter and he told me the name of your hotel in Dublin, and I called them, and they told me you checked out. What are you laughing about, for God’s sake?”

Marcy swallowed the few giggles still tickling her throat. Judith had always had a way with words, she was thinking, relishing the phrase “nuttier than a jar of cashews.” “I’ve always admired your ability to express yourself.”

“My ability to express myself? What on earth are you talking about?”

“You don’t pull any punches,” Marcy said, imagining the outraged arch of Judith’s thin eyebrows, the impatient twisting of her lips. “I’ve always loved that about you.”

“Are you high?” Judith asked.

“No, of course not.” Marcy had always been too afraid to experiment with drugs.

“Where are you?” Judith repeated.

Marcy looked around her tiny bathroom in the Doyle Cork Inn. She was sitting, naked, on the edge of the white enamel tub, steam rising like beckoning fingers from the hot water that filled it, as if inviting her to climb inside. “What difference does it make?”

“What do you mean, what difference does it make? How am I supposed to come and get you if I don’t know where you are?”

“Nobody’s asking you to come and get me. I don’t want you to come and get me.”

“Marcy, listen to me. You have to calm down.…”

“I am calm. You’re the one who’s all upset.”

“Because you’re in the middle of some kind of breakdown. Which, don’t get me wrong, is perfectly understandable under the circumstances. Believe me, I know what you’re going through,” she elaborated quickly and unnecessarily. “Your daughter died, your husband left you for another woman. Not to mention our family history …”

“I’m not crazy, Judith.”

“You’re in Ireland, for God’s sake. You went on a second honeymoon alone. You think that’s normal?”

“It might be a little unusual, but—”

“Just like it’s a little unusual to see your dead child wandering the streets of Dublin?”

Cork. Marcy almost corrected her, biting down on her lower lip to keep the word from escaping. “I didn’t see her,” she said instead.

“Of course you didn’t see her,” Judith repeated, stopping abruptly. “What do you mean, you didn’t see her?”

“I didn’t see her. I was wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Judith asked again.

Marcy could feel her sister struggling to understand. “I realize now that the girl I thought was Devon was just a girl who maybe looked a bit like her but wasn’t her. I was just seeing what I wanted to see.…” Marcy pictured the girl standing on the footbridge separating Bachelor’s Quay from North Mall, staring absently into the water below.

“You didn’t see her?”

“It wasn’t Devon.”

Judith’s sigh of relief was almost palpable. “How do you know it wasn’t her?” she asked suspiciously.

“Because Devon is dead,” Marcy told her.

Judith pressed her. “You’re not just saying that because you think it’s what I want to hear?”

That was exactly why she was saying it, Marcy acknowledged silently. “Devon is dead,” she repeated, each word cutting into her throat like a sharp knife, leaving large, gaping holes in her flesh.

She felt her sister nodding her head. “Okay,” Judith said, and then again, “Okay.” Another pause, another nod of her head. “So, where are you and when are you coming home?”

Marcy lied, the same lie she’d told Vic Sorvino. “I’m in Paris.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Marcy sighed. Vic hadn’t believed her either. “I’ll be home by the end of next week.”

“Wait. If you’re really in Paris, I have a great idea,” Judith said quickly. “Why don’t I book the next flight and meet you there? I’m sure Terry won’t mind if I go away for a few days. In fact, he’ll probably be thrilled. We can go shopping and see the sights, just the two of us. Come on, say yes. It’ll be fun.”

Like old times, Marcy was tempted to say, except that their old times had never involved shopping or seeing the sights. Their old times had been anything but fun. “Let me think about it.”

“What do you have to think about?”

“I’ll call you.”

“Just tell me what hotel you’re in and—”

“I’ll call you,” Marcy said again, immediately disconnecting the phone.

She pushed herself off the side of the tub and walked naked into the bedroom, stepping over the clothes she’d left lying on the floor and tossing the cell phone onto the bed. She hated lying to her sister. But what other choice did she have?

You could have told her the truth, Marcy thought, returning to the bathroom and trying to make out her reflection in the steam-covered mirror over the sink. “Who’s in there anyway?” she asked out loud, wiping the mirror clean with her forearm, only to watch it fog up again almost instantly, blending one confused feature into another before she faded from sight altogether.

The truth was that she was more convinced than ever that Devon was alive, that she’d seen her again this very afternoon, and that it was only a matter of time before they came face-to-face. After all, Cork wasn’t that big a city. Tomorrow she’d go back to the O’Connor house, wait for their nanny to emerge, spend the day following her around. She was confident Shannon would lead her to Devon eventually.

If only that damn bicycle hadn’t come flying out of nowhere to knock me down, Marcy was thinking as she lowered herself gingerly into the tub, we might already be together. She gasped as the hot water surrounded her, covering the fresh bruises that dotted her legs and arms.

She heard her sister admonish her: It’s not good to take such a hot bath.

“Go away, Judith,” Marcy told her impatiently, sinking down lower in the tub, the water rising to accommodate her as she stretched her feet out to their full length. She felt it creep above her chin to tease at her mouth, and she closed her eyes as the water reached her forehead, feeling her hair floating around her head like seaweed.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea, she recited silently, recalling the last few lines of her once favorite poem by T. S. Eliot.

By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown./Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

In the aftermath of the discovery of Devon’s overturned canoe, Marcy had tried to imagine what it felt like to drown. Every day for weeks she’d climbed into the tub in her master bathroom and let the water surround her, feeling it tug on her skin like an anchor, weighing her down. Then she’d slip slowly and quietly beneath the surface and open her mouth.

One time Peter had walked in on her.

He’d come into the bathroom to get ready for bed and discovered her submerged in the tub. He’d literally grabbed her by the hair and yanked her up, as if he were some goddamn caveman, she remembered thinking at the time, all the while screaming at her, “What the hell are you doing? What the hell are you doing?” Then he’d forcefully removed the door from its hinges with a wrench and a pair of pliers. The bathroom had remained doorless for the better part of eighteen months. He’d replaced it again only weeks before he moved out, as if underlining the fact that she was no longer his concern.

He needn’t have worried. She couldn’t have gone through with it. The feeling of panic as the water replaced the air in her body was simply too terrifying for Marcy to endure for longer than a few seconds.

Had Devon felt that same panic? she’d often wondered. Had she struggled to survive even as the icy water filled her lungs? Had she cried out for her mother one last time before she died?

Except she hadn’t died, Marcy knew now.

“My baby’s alive,” she whispered as the water licked playfully at her ears. “She isn’t dead. She isn’t dead,” she repeated, the pleasant sound of her words vibrating gently against her eardrums.

Except it wasn’t her words that were ringing, she realized after several moments. It was her cell phone. Undoubtedly her sister, she decided, trying to ignore the persistent sound. Except it couldn’t be Judith, she realized with a start. There was no way Judith could have found out her number, no way she could have traced her call. She’d blocked her number. No, the only person it could be was Liam, and if he was calling her, it meant he’d seen Devon.

Perhaps she was with him right now.

Marcy vaulted from the tub, her wet feet slipping on the tile floor and sending her crashing against the side of the bathroom door. “Damn it.” She cursed, feeling new bruises already forming as she flung herself toward the bed. She’d be lucky to get out of Ireland alive, she thought, flipping open her phone. “Hello? Hello?”

“Hello?” Liam said in reply. “Marcy, is that you?”

“Liam?”

“Are you all right? You sound a little—”

“Have you seen Devon?”

“No,” he said. “Have you?”

Marcy’s response was to burst into tears.

“Marcy, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing. It’s okay. I just thought …”

“You thought that my calling meant I’d seen her,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Of course you’d think that.”

“Don’t apologize. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions.” Marcy told him about having seen Devon earlier.

“Wait a minute,” he said when she was through her story. “You’re saying you got hit by a bicycle? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. A few bruises is all. It was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“You’re sure you’re all right? You could have a concussion.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated, sounding as tired and defeated as she felt.

“Except that by the time you got back on your feet …”

“She was gone,” Marcy said.

“Well, I wish I was calling with some news.…”

“Why are you calling?”

She felt him smile. “There was someone here just now askin’ about you.”

“What? Who?”

“A man.”

“What man?” Was it possible Peter had tracked her down, that he’d abandoned his new love on the golf course and flown all the way to Ireland to bring Marcy home?

“I’m pretty sure it was the man you were with the other day,” she heard Liam say.

“The man I was with …?” What man had she been with? “Do you mean Vic? Vic Sorvino?” Marcy asked incredulously.

“Yep, that’s him. I’m starin’ at his business card right now.”

What was Vic doing here? “Did he say what he wanted?”

“Just that he was lookin’ for you and that he thought you might have come back to the pub.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure what you’d want me to tell him, so I said no, I hadn’t seen you.”

Marcy couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or relieved. What was Vic doing back in Cork? Hadn’t she told him this was something she needed to do alone?

“Did I do the right thing?” Liam was asking.

“You did. Thank you.”

“Do you want his number?”

“I have it.” Marcy reached into her purse and extricated Vic’s card, tearing it into a bunch of little pieces and watching them fall to the bedspread like so much confetti.

“So, what do you want me to tell him,” Liam asked, “assuming he checks in with me again?”

“Tell him you haven’t seen me.”

“You’re sure?”

Marcy felt Vic’s lips brushing gently against hers, felt his fingers tracing delicate lines along her flesh, heard his soft words, You’re beautiful, as they floated tenderly across her skin. It had felt so good to be wanted again, to have a man look at her with something other than pity or contempt. Or worse—indifference. She didn’t deserve to feel so good. Not yet. Not until she’d found Devon. Not until she’d had a chance to make things right. “I’m sure.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“There was just somethin’ about the man that made me a bit uncomfortable,” Liam said.

“Uncomfortable?”

“I don’t know how else to say it. Something just seemed a little off. You know what I mean?”

Marcy shook her head. In truth, she had no idea what Liam was talking about. Vic Sorvino hadn’t struck her as “off” in any way. But then she’d never been a very good judge of character when it came to men.

“Marcy?” Liam asked. “Are you still there?”

“Oh, yes. Sorry.”

“I haven’t insulted you, have I?”

“How could you insult me?”

“Well, if this Vic fellow is a friend of yours …”

“He isn’t.” He’s just a man I met on a bus, she thought, trying not to feel Vic’s warm body pressing against hers or hear his comforting snores echoing in her ear.

She didn’t deserve to feel comforted.

“You hungry?” Liam was asking.

Marcy immediately felt her stomach cramp. “I am a bit, yes.”

“Pick you up in half an hour,” he said.