I don’t know why I decided to go. Lisa had been missing for two weeks and I’d begun to cave in, to think the worst. I wanted my wife back or at the least, just to know for sure she was dead. Waiting was hell. So the same afternoon that Madge Blalock called, I left work to meet her. She had seen someone who looked a lot like Lisa on a bus to New Orleans the day she disappeared. Unlike most of the crackpots who’d been calling me, Madge Blalock sounded reasonable; her voice reminded me a little of my mother’s. So this thin new strand of hope pulled me up and out to Madge Blalock’s house to see what she was about.
It was early November, Thursday, and I agreed to meet at her house because she said a “Passel of kids” would be in and out and she needed to be at home. Now I sat in her kitchen stirring the cup of coffee she’d given me, not asking if I wanted it but what I wanted in it, as a tall boy with braces ran through calling, “Hi, Mom,” and tossing a book bag in a chair. He closed a door somewhere down a hallway and turned on some music.
It didn’t seem to bother Madge that I was a stranger. She talked to me as if she were quite used to having strays pull up to this yellow pine table to listen and drink coffee as she cooked dinner.
“I’ve been visiting my daughter Ellen in New Orleans,” she began. “She has a new baby girl, Maggie. Isn’t it amazing how fast you can fall in love with a baby?” Madge rinsed her hands in the sink and wiped them on a dishtowel. “I went down on the bus just to help Ellen a few days and ended up staying way too long.”
My collar felt tight and I pulled on the knot of my tie to loosen it. The heat accumulating in the kitchen was making me sweat.
“My husband and the boys finally insisted it was time for me to come home. I got back yesterday. This morning I got out the newspapers B. G. stacked up for me while I was gone and tried to catch up on all the news. It was a bit overwhelming after two weeks. But I just started in the beginning, at the bottom of the stack. The only story I read was about your wife’s disappearance. I was shocked when I saw her picture.”
I cleared my throat to speak. “You’ve seen her?”
“She’s the very person who sat beside me on the bus to New Orleans that day. I left Charlotte on Trailways at eleven.”
My heart lurched forward; but I didn’t want to get my hopes up again for nothing. “How sure are you?”
“Well, her hair was pulled back different from the picture. And she didn’t smile at all. It’s hard to be certain, but when I read that her husband’s name was Frank, I decided to call you. That’s too much of a coincidence. It has to be her and I hope for your sake, and especially for hers and the baby’s, that you're the Frank she spoke about and you’ll be able to trace her from there.”
She must have seen the disappointment in my face. “What’s the matter?”
“We don’t have a baby.” I swallowed hard. “Did she tell you she had a baby?”
Her expression clouded and her eyes grew distant. I could almost see her thoughts pull inward behind her eyes. Turning away, she stirred some sautéing onions with a wooden spatula. Then she shifted back and looked right at me, her hands on her hips like a mother who thinks her kid is telling a lie. “You don’t have a baby?”
I took a long breath. I didn’t want to go into a lengthy explanation, so I simply said, “No, no children.”
“Well, I guess that changes everything.” Madge squinted as if remembering required more concentration now. “Her baby girl, Angela, was the whole reason for our quick friendship. I was on my way to meet my first granddaughter, you understand.” She looked at me with sad eyes. “I’m really sorry. I must be all wrong about this.”
“It’s no problem,” I said, standing to go. Hers wasn’t the first false lead, but this one wrung me out. Never had it been so close. I wanted to go out and come back in, start over and get it right.
A timer went off and Madge opened the oven. She took out an iron skillet of crusty brown cornbread and closed it quickly to avoid the escaping heat. The kitchen door swung open behind her and a linebacker of a young man came in and kissed her on the cheek. “Yumm,” he said, lingering over the stove moving his face from pan to steaming pan.
“Gerald, this is Mr. Frank Despin,” she said, and to me, “This is my oldest son, Gerald, Jr.”
He looked at me and put his hand straight out. “Pleased to meet you.” He smiled handsomely. “Here for dinner?”
“No, I was...”
“Do stay for dinner,” Madge said without hesitation. “It’s the least I can offer after putting you through this.”
“No. Thank you, but...”
“You have dinner plans already?”
“It’s not that.”
“Well then, stay. My other son and Big Gerald will be here within the hour and the table’s set. We’ll just add another place. That’s all there is to it.”
“Give up, Mr. Despin. You can’t argue with my mom about dinner.”
“Well...” I wouldn’t have argued with Gerald about anything. “If you're sure...”
“Good,” said Madge. “Gerald show him to a more comfortable place to sit and you two can get to know each other while you wait.”
It was early November, Thursday, and I agreed to meet at her house because she said a “Passel of kids” would be in and out and she needed to be at home. Now I sat in her kitchen stirring the cup of coffee she’d given me, not asking if I wanted it but what I wanted in it, as a tall boy with braces ran through calling, “Hi, Mom,” and tossing a book bag in a chair. He closed a door somewhere down a hallway and turned on some music.
It didn’t seem to bother Madge that I was a stranger. She talked to me as if she were quite used to having strays pull up to this yellow pine table to listen and drink coffee as she cooked dinner.
“I’ve been visiting my daughter Ellen in New Orleans,” she began. “She has a new baby girl, Maggie. Isn’t it amazing how fast you can fall in love with a baby?” Madge rinsed her hands in the sink and wiped them on a dishtowel. “I went down on the bus just to help Ellen a few days and ended up staying way too long.”
My collar felt tight and I pulled on the knot of my tie to loosen it. The heat accumulating in the kitchen was making me sweat.
“My husband and the boys finally insisted it was time for me to come home. I got back yesterday. This morning I got out the newspapers B. G. stacked up for me while I was gone and tried to catch up on all the news. It was a bit overwhelming after two weeks. But I just started in the beginning, at the bottom of the stack. The only story I read was about your wife’s disappearance. I was shocked when I saw her picture.”
I cleared my throat to speak. “You’ve seen her?”
“She’s the very person who sat beside me on the bus to New Orleans that day. I left Charlotte on Trailways at eleven.”
My heart lurched forward; but I didn’t want to get my hopes up again for nothing. “How sure are you?”
“Well, her hair was pulled back different from the picture. And she didn’t smile at all. It’s hard to be certain, but when I read that her husband’s name was Frank, I decided to call you. That’s too much of a coincidence. It has to be her and I hope for your sake, and especially for hers and the baby’s, that you're the Frank she spoke about and you’ll be able to trace her from there.”
She must have seen the disappointment in my face. “What’s the matter?”
“We don’t have a baby.” I swallowed hard. “Did she tell you she had a baby?”
Her expression clouded and her eyes grew distant. I could almost see her thoughts pull inward behind her eyes. Turning away, she stirred some sautéing onions with a wooden spatula. Then she shifted back and looked right at me, her hands on her hips like a mother who thinks her kid is telling a lie. “You don’t have a baby?”
I took a long breath. I didn’t want to go into a lengthy explanation, so I simply said, “No, no children.”
“Well, I guess that changes everything.” Madge squinted as if remembering required more concentration now. “Her baby girl, Angela, was the whole reason for our quick friendship. I was on my way to meet my first granddaughter, you understand.” She looked at me with sad eyes. “I’m really sorry. I must be all wrong about this.”
“It’s no problem,” I said, standing to go. Hers wasn’t the first false lead, but this one wrung me out. Never had it been so close. I wanted to go out and come back in, start over and get it right.
A timer went off and Madge opened the oven. She took out an iron skillet of crusty brown cornbread and closed it quickly to avoid the escaping heat. The kitchen door swung open behind her and a linebacker of a young man came in and kissed her on the cheek. “Yumm,” he said, lingering over the stove moving his face from pan to steaming pan.
“Gerald, this is Mr. Frank Despin,” she said, and to me, “This is my oldest son, Gerald, Jr.”
He looked at me and put his hand straight out. “Pleased to meet you.” He smiled handsomely. “Here for dinner?”
“No, I was...”
“Do stay for dinner,” Madge said without hesitation. “It’s the least I can offer after putting you through this.”
“No. Thank you, but...”
“You have dinner plans already?”
“It’s not that.”
“Well then, stay. My other son and Big Gerald will be here within the hour and the table’s set. We’ll just add another place. That’s all there is to it.”
“Give up, Mr. Despin. You can’t argue with my mom about dinner.”
“Well...” I wouldn’t have argued with Gerald about anything. “If you're sure...”
“Good,” said Madge. “Gerald show him to a more comfortable place to sit and you two can get to know each other while you wait.”
In the den, Gerald pointed to a sofa. “Where do you work?” he asked, switching on the television.
“I’m an accountant. With First Accounting, uptown.”
“Oh yeah? I’m studying to be an accountant.” His eagerness was tiresome. For a moment he watched the weatherman then he turned back to me. “I started a small business last year landscaping, for neighbors mostly. I’ve had to invest in some big equipment and get some help.” As another man entered the room, he stood and said, “Hi, Dad. Come meet Mr. Despin. He’s with First Accounting.”
“Well, I declare.” The older man, whose size and appearance was nearly identical to the younger, thrust out a hand. “Gerald Blalock; B. G. for short.”
He sat down across from me and Gerald said, “Dad, I was starting to tell him my experience with accounting.” They shared a smile and Gerald looked back at me. “I’ve been doing my own books, but it’s getting ahead of me. There’s so much to keep up with. Especially the taxes.”
They both looked at me then and waited. I sat in awkward silence, wondering what comment they expected.
“I’d...well, sure,” I said after a moment. “I’d be happy to go over your records. Call my office tomorrow and set up a time.”
“Great.” He seemed satisfied and as the conversation lulled momentarily, we all turned to the television screen where a still photograph of a child was underlined with, “Have you seen me?” I thought of Lisa. Her picture had been on television like this for a week, requesting information surrounding her disappearance. Now, she’d been replaced.
Something plucked at my mind, like movement near the corner of my eye. I turned my head, but nothing was there. What on earth am I doing here? I stood up to go but Madge walked in calling us to dinner. Gerald and his father stood up too, smiling and commenting on my readiness, and I moved with the tide into the dining room and was cornered into a chair and there I sat.
From someplace within the house, Madge had gathered three sons whose appetite at the table reminded me of how I felt about my mother’s meals at their age. The roast and rice with gravy looked and smelled like one of my mother’s Sunday dinners. Hot cornbread, iced tea with lemon, green beans. Like B.G., my dad sat at the head of the table.
More introductions. The boy I’d seen earlier was Robert. Jake, younger, wanted to hear about New Orleans, and Eddie, four or five, focused intently on his mother’s descriptions of his new niece.
“We’ll see her Thanksgiving,” said B.G., “And that won’t be long.”
“She won’t be so tiny then,” Madge told Eddie. “You can hold her.”
“I wanna see her now,” said Eddie. I knew the feeling, but something else was connecting in my mind about a baby - about the baby that actually disappeared around the same time Lisa did. As they talked, my achy emptiness filled with apprehension.
Eddie looked up at me and asked, “Do you have a baby?”
My chest tightened vice-like and I couldn’t speak. I shook my head no as I reached for my tea.
Tell us about your wife,” said Madge, her eyes soft and sincere. “What does Lisa like to do?”
The tea wouldn’t go down. I coughed and Gerald stood up preparing to hit my back.
Madge disregarded the coughing. I noticed that Madge was speaking in the present tense as if she knew how much I wanted to talk about Lisa. Even good friends had stopped mentioning her name like she’d never existed.
“She’s a dancer,” I said finally, “Ballet.”
“Lovely,” said Madge. “I always wished for a daughter who would be a ballerina. She swept the boys with her eyes as if challenging them to find her one.
“That’s Lisa’s passion,” I said. “She’s elegant and graceful...and beautiful. She used to teach ballet in a studio off South Boulevard until enrollment dropped and we had to close it. Now she dances various parts for the civic ballet and sometimes travels out-of-town to dance a lead role or two.”
“We're going to the Nutcracker,” said Jake. “I have to go. My Mom’s making me.”
“Lisa used to dance in the Nutcracker.” My fork fell, clattering on my plate. “Sorry.” I grabbed it. “Anyway, this year she didn’t get a part.” I didn’t tell them how hard she’d worked to get back in shape for tryouts, how she’d refused to eat, what a tough time it had been...that life had become an express train with no opportunity to get off.
Everyone was looking at me, waiting. “She went to Tulane, actually started out in medical school, but it didn’t take her long to discover that she was a dancer.” I smiled, and added, “She’s always in a hurry; always running, usually on her toes. I remember one of her friends asked, 'Why are you always running,' and she said, ‘the faster I get there, the longer I can stay.'“
Madge and B. G. smiled politely.
“And she’s always making do with broken things, and worn-out things because she won’t take the time to get them fixed or get a new one.” I laughed nervously, wishing I could shut up. “Like her handbag, for instance.”
“Her handbag?” B.G. acted as if he were genuinely interested in my meager attempts at conversation. He helped himself to another load of rice and passed it to me.
I nodded. “This gray leather thing...”
From the green beans on her fork, Madge’s eyes swept up at me.
Her look stopped me momentarily, then I finished, “...with a broken zipper.”
She gaped. It became as clear to me as the realization in Madge’s eyes: she had seen Lisa on the way to New Orleans. Confusion faded into light-headedness. Madge closed her mouth, but I had already panicked.
“I’d better be going,” I said, pushing back my chair against stubborn carpeting. “I’m sorry to eat and run, but I have to get home.”
“You didn’t bring your car?” asked Eddie.
Robert tousled his hair as everyone laughed.
Standing, Madge said, “Everyone, please tell Mr. Despin goodnight.”
“Thank you, Madge.” I nodded, “B. G.”
Madge walked me to the door. “The handbag!” she exclaimed in a whisper, eyes wide with astonishment. “Lee, on the bus, had a gray leather bag with a half ripped-out zipper!”
“I’ll call you as soon as I sort it all out. I can’t thank you enough.” I started out the door, but paused when I overheard Eddie say, “He’s like a Teddy bear, with hard clothes.”
“I’m an accountant. With First Accounting, uptown.”
“Oh yeah? I’m studying to be an accountant.” His eagerness was tiresome. For a moment he watched the weatherman then he turned back to me. “I started a small business last year landscaping, for neighbors mostly. I’ve had to invest in some big equipment and get some help.” As another man entered the room, he stood and said, “Hi, Dad. Come meet Mr. Despin. He’s with First Accounting.”
“Well, I declare.” The older man, whose size and appearance was nearly identical to the younger, thrust out a hand. “Gerald Blalock; B. G. for short.”
He sat down across from me and Gerald said, “Dad, I was starting to tell him my experience with accounting.” They shared a smile and Gerald looked back at me. “I’ve been doing my own books, but it’s getting ahead of me. There’s so much to keep up with. Especially the taxes.”
They both looked at me then and waited. I sat in awkward silence, wondering what comment they expected.
“I’d...well, sure,” I said after a moment. “I’d be happy to go over your records. Call my office tomorrow and set up a time.”
“Great.” He seemed satisfied and as the conversation lulled momentarily, we all turned to the television screen where a still photograph of a child was underlined with, “Have you seen me?” I thought of Lisa. Her picture had been on television like this for a week, requesting information surrounding her disappearance. Now, she’d been replaced.
Something plucked at my mind, like movement near the corner of my eye. I turned my head, but nothing was there. What on earth am I doing here? I stood up to go but Madge walked in calling us to dinner. Gerald and his father stood up too, smiling and commenting on my readiness, and I moved with the tide into the dining room and was cornered into a chair and there I sat.
From someplace within the house, Madge had gathered three sons whose appetite at the table reminded me of how I felt about my mother’s meals at their age. The roast and rice with gravy looked and smelled like one of my mother’s Sunday dinners. Hot cornbread, iced tea with lemon, green beans. Like B.G., my dad sat at the head of the table.
More introductions. The boy I’d seen earlier was Robert. Jake, younger, wanted to hear about New Orleans, and Eddie, four or five, focused intently on his mother’s descriptions of his new niece.
“We’ll see her Thanksgiving,” said B.G., “And that won’t be long.”
“She won’t be so tiny then,” Madge told Eddie. “You can hold her.”
“I wanna see her now,” said Eddie. I knew the feeling, but something else was connecting in my mind about a baby - about the baby that actually disappeared around the same time Lisa did. As they talked, my achy emptiness filled with apprehension.
Eddie looked up at me and asked, “Do you have a baby?”
My chest tightened vice-like and I couldn’t speak. I shook my head no as I reached for my tea.
Tell us about your wife,” said Madge, her eyes soft and sincere. “What does Lisa like to do?”
The tea wouldn’t go down. I coughed and Gerald stood up preparing to hit my back.
Madge disregarded the coughing. I noticed that Madge was speaking in the present tense as if she knew how much I wanted to talk about Lisa. Even good friends had stopped mentioning her name like she’d never existed.
“She’s a dancer,” I said finally, “Ballet.”
“Lovely,” said Madge. “I always wished for a daughter who would be a ballerina. She swept the boys with her eyes as if challenging them to find her one.
“That’s Lisa’s passion,” I said. “She’s elegant and graceful...and beautiful. She used to teach ballet in a studio off South Boulevard until enrollment dropped and we had to close it. Now she dances various parts for the civic ballet and sometimes travels out-of-town to dance a lead role or two.”
“We're going to the Nutcracker,” said Jake. “I have to go. My Mom’s making me.”
“Lisa used to dance in the Nutcracker.” My fork fell, clattering on my plate. “Sorry.” I grabbed it. “Anyway, this year she didn’t get a part.” I didn’t tell them how hard she’d worked to get back in shape for tryouts, how she’d refused to eat, what a tough time it had been...that life had become an express train with no opportunity to get off.
Everyone was looking at me, waiting. “She went to Tulane, actually started out in medical school, but it didn’t take her long to discover that she was a dancer.” I smiled, and added, “She’s always in a hurry; always running, usually on her toes. I remember one of her friends asked, 'Why are you always running,' and she said, ‘the faster I get there, the longer I can stay.'“
Madge and B. G. smiled politely.
“And she’s always making do with broken things, and worn-out things because she won’t take the time to get them fixed or get a new one.” I laughed nervously, wishing I could shut up. “Like her handbag, for instance.”
“Her handbag?” B.G. acted as if he were genuinely interested in my meager attempts at conversation. He helped himself to another load of rice and passed it to me.
I nodded. “This gray leather thing...”
From the green beans on her fork, Madge’s eyes swept up at me.
Her look stopped me momentarily, then I finished, “...with a broken zipper.”
She gaped. It became as clear to me as the realization in Madge’s eyes: she had seen Lisa on the way to New Orleans. Confusion faded into light-headedness. Madge closed her mouth, but I had already panicked.
“I’d better be going,” I said, pushing back my chair against stubborn carpeting. “I’m sorry to eat and run, but I have to get home.”
“You didn’t bring your car?” asked Eddie.
Robert tousled his hair as everyone laughed.
Standing, Madge said, “Everyone, please tell Mr. Despin goodnight.”
“Thank you, Madge.” I nodded, “B. G.”
Madge walked me to the door. “The handbag!” she exclaimed in a whisper, eyes wide with astonishment. “Lee, on the bus, had a gray leather bag with a half ripped-out zipper!”
“I’ll call you as soon as I sort it all out. I can’t thank you enough.” I started out the door, but paused when I overheard Eddie say, “He’s like a Teddy bear, with hard clothes.”
I went racing home only to lie in our bed and wait for dawn, groping for sleep that would not come to silence the spinning questions. Could Lisa kidnap a baby? What if she did? What if she and the baby had both been kidnapped? Had she pretended that things were normal to keep from being killed? Finally, I got up and made myself a cup of coffee to clear my head. It was the right thing to do, I decided, and phoned officer Blackburn to report my suspicions.
“There’s a possibility,” I said, “That my wife and the baby that disappeared at the same time are together.” I couldn’t bring myself to say what I feared.
“I appreciate your call, Mr. Despin, but it’s our job to consider all the possibilities and I assure you it was one of the first things that came to mind. We’ve been working on the possibility she kidnapped that baby from the beginning.”
He said it. I didn’t have to. All along, that’s what they were thinking. A sense of dread stole my breath, as I prepared to tell him about Madge Blalock.
“Everyone is a suspect, but no one is presumed guilty. It’s an open investigation and anything could happen. You need to prepare yourself for that.”
I hesitated. “Where are you looking now?”
“Everywhere. Hey look, Mr. Despin, if you know something...”
“I - I just thought of it.”
“I’m with somebody right now.” Blackburn’s gruff voice was cautious. “How long’ll you be there?”
“Well...”
“What say I drop by your office? Be there in an hour.”
“Sure,” I said, preferring the delay. “That’s fine.”
I hung up the phone and opened the refrigerator. Little remained of what Lisa had bought. Just condiments and some old celery that I’d soon have to throw out. I closed the door. Not much appetite. I walked down the hall to the baby’s room and leaned on the doorframe, looking at the piled-up boxes of gifts never returned. Something had to be done about them. Lisa couldn’t do it. Now I would have to decide, especially about the crib and baby chest.
Through the window, I saw that it was raining. I wondered if my folks had gone to the beach. Who had prevailed, my mother or my sister, Nan?
As usual when Mother had called she asked how I was doing. “Fine,” I lied. It was a game: meaningless question, meaningless answer.
“Your Dad and I are going down to the beach,” she said, “And we were hoping you’d come along and get your mind off things.”
“I can’t Mother...There’s too much to do.”
“Holden Beach is exquisite this time of year. I wouldn’t miss it for anything. We’ve rented a house with a fireplace and two extra bedrooms. Billy and Nan are coming too. I told them we wouldn’t go if it rains, but Nan’s bringing her knitting and says she wants to go especially if it’s raining. She wants to sit by the fire and work on another baby blanket. She’s already on her second, and she’s only four months along.”
I almost said it was too soon to be doing that, but I caught myself and didn’t say anything.
“Oh, Frank, don’t worry about Nan. Nothing’s going to happen. She’s so...”
“So what?”
“So healthy. All my daughters have had healthy babies. You know that.”
She didn’t mean to say things that hurt, but there was so little to say that didn’t hurt.
“I’ve really gotta go. It’s time for work.”
“Okay, but Frank, can I tell Nan what you’ve decided about handing down the crib and chest?”
I didn’t know how I would do it, but I said, “Tell her I’ll ship it.”
Now, as I considered how hard it would be to actually go through with the promise, the phone rang. I jumped, then rushed to the kitchen and jerked it up, hoping.
“Frank? This is Madge Blalock.”
“Madge. Hello.”
“It may be none of my business, but I’d like to help.”
I was silent for a moment, unsure of her intentions, unsure of my own. “Do you know about the missing baby?”
“I do now.”
“Have you called the police?” My breathing stopped, waiting for her answer.
“Not yet.”
I took a quick breath. “I did, just now. Blackburn said they’d been working on the possibility she’d stolen the baby since the beginning.” I stalled. “I’m going to New Orleans and see if I can find her. Could you give me some lead time before you call?”
“All night I’ve been thinking. A woman out there is desperately missing her baby.”
“I know.”
“But Frank, you don’t know. I kept imagining my daughter without little Maggie, the joy suddenly ripped from her arms, the hurting, the torment. Only a woman can understand that.”
“Dammit!” I shouted, hitting the kitchen wall. “I do know! Four months ago, we had a baby, Lisa and me. She wasn’t just a baby; she had a name. And she looked so healthy and cried so loud. You couldn’t see anything wrong. Nothing at all. How were we supposed to know she had a heart defect? Something so rare it happens only once in 100,000 births? They didn’t even know, till she died."
“Oh Frank...”
“When she was four weeks old.”
“I should have...”
“How do you prevent something when no one knows what causes it?”
“I’m so sorry.”
"And why do women think they're the only ones who feel? That’s a bunch of crap!” My legs trembled, near buckling. “The father’s supposed to hold things together,” I told Madge, “Stay in control. The father goes to the hospital to pick up the baby’s things. He signs the autopsy report, makes the funeral arrangements. A mother can fall apart and the doctor gives her valium to get through the funeral. The father gets his act together and goes back to work to pay the useless bill. What am I, some robot? Am I supposed to just keep on going, like nothing ever happened? Like we never had a baby? Like she never existed?”
Madge was silent.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally,” I didn’t mean to shout.”
“How can I help Frank?”
“Just wait to call the police, that’s all.”
“Let me give you my daughter’s phone number. Do you have a pencil? I’ll call her so she’ll be expecting to hear from you.”
“You have your own family to worry about,” I said, but I was thinking of mine. They’d been hard on Lisa, blaming her endless dieting and her rigorous performance schedule. And I’d never had the guts to defend her. I felt comfortable in their camp, being strong, because at least they weren’t blaming me. I never said it wasn’t Lisa’s fault; nobody’s to blame, and I had to wonder, Did I ever say it to Lisa?
“There’s a possibility,” I said, “That my wife and the baby that disappeared at the same time are together.” I couldn’t bring myself to say what I feared.
“I appreciate your call, Mr. Despin, but it’s our job to consider all the possibilities and I assure you it was one of the first things that came to mind. We’ve been working on the possibility she kidnapped that baby from the beginning.”
He said it. I didn’t have to. All along, that’s what they were thinking. A sense of dread stole my breath, as I prepared to tell him about Madge Blalock.
“Everyone is a suspect, but no one is presumed guilty. It’s an open investigation and anything could happen. You need to prepare yourself for that.”
I hesitated. “Where are you looking now?”
“Everywhere. Hey look, Mr. Despin, if you know something...”
“I - I just thought of it.”
“I’m with somebody right now.” Blackburn’s gruff voice was cautious. “How long’ll you be there?”
“Well...”
“What say I drop by your office? Be there in an hour.”
“Sure,” I said, preferring the delay. “That’s fine.”
I hung up the phone and opened the refrigerator. Little remained of what Lisa had bought. Just condiments and some old celery that I’d soon have to throw out. I closed the door. Not much appetite. I walked down the hall to the baby’s room and leaned on the doorframe, looking at the piled-up boxes of gifts never returned. Something had to be done about them. Lisa couldn’t do it. Now I would have to decide, especially about the crib and baby chest.
Through the window, I saw that it was raining. I wondered if my folks had gone to the beach. Who had prevailed, my mother or my sister, Nan?
As usual when Mother had called she asked how I was doing. “Fine,” I lied. It was a game: meaningless question, meaningless answer.
“Your Dad and I are going down to the beach,” she said, “And we were hoping you’d come along and get your mind off things.”
“I can’t Mother...There’s too much to do.”
“Holden Beach is exquisite this time of year. I wouldn’t miss it for anything. We’ve rented a house with a fireplace and two extra bedrooms. Billy and Nan are coming too. I told them we wouldn’t go if it rains, but Nan’s bringing her knitting and says she wants to go especially if it’s raining. She wants to sit by the fire and work on another baby blanket. She’s already on her second, and she’s only four months along.”
I almost said it was too soon to be doing that, but I caught myself and didn’t say anything.
“Oh, Frank, don’t worry about Nan. Nothing’s going to happen. She’s so...”
“So what?”
“So healthy. All my daughters have had healthy babies. You know that.”
She didn’t mean to say things that hurt, but there was so little to say that didn’t hurt.
“I’ve really gotta go. It’s time for work.”
“Okay, but Frank, can I tell Nan what you’ve decided about handing down the crib and chest?”
I didn’t know how I would do it, but I said, “Tell her I’ll ship it.”
Now, as I considered how hard it would be to actually go through with the promise, the phone rang. I jumped, then rushed to the kitchen and jerked it up, hoping.
“Frank? This is Madge Blalock.”
“Madge. Hello.”
“It may be none of my business, but I’d like to help.”
I was silent for a moment, unsure of her intentions, unsure of my own. “Do you know about the missing baby?”
“I do now.”
“Have you called the police?” My breathing stopped, waiting for her answer.
“Not yet.”
I took a quick breath. “I did, just now. Blackburn said they’d been working on the possibility she’d stolen the baby since the beginning.” I stalled. “I’m going to New Orleans and see if I can find her. Could you give me some lead time before you call?”
“All night I’ve been thinking. A woman out there is desperately missing her baby.”
“I know.”
“But Frank, you don’t know. I kept imagining my daughter without little Maggie, the joy suddenly ripped from her arms, the hurting, the torment. Only a woman can understand that.”
“Dammit!” I shouted, hitting the kitchen wall. “I do know! Four months ago, we had a baby, Lisa and me. She wasn’t just a baby; she had a name. And she looked so healthy and cried so loud. You couldn’t see anything wrong. Nothing at all. How were we supposed to know she had a heart defect? Something so rare it happens only once in 100,000 births? They didn’t even know, till she died."
“Oh Frank...”
“When she was four weeks old.”
“I should have...”
“How do you prevent something when no one knows what causes it?”
“I’m so sorry.”
"And why do women think they're the only ones who feel? That’s a bunch of crap!” My legs trembled, near buckling. “The father’s supposed to hold things together,” I told Madge, “Stay in control. The father goes to the hospital to pick up the baby’s things. He signs the autopsy report, makes the funeral arrangements. A mother can fall apart and the doctor gives her valium to get through the funeral. The father gets his act together and goes back to work to pay the useless bill. What am I, some robot? Am I supposed to just keep on going, like nothing ever happened? Like we never had a baby? Like she never existed?”
Madge was silent.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally,” I didn’t mean to shout.”
“How can I help Frank?”
“Just wait to call the police, that’s all.”
“Let me give you my daughter’s phone number. Do you have a pencil? I’ll call her so she’ll be expecting to hear from you.”
“You have your own family to worry about,” I said, but I was thinking of mine. They’d been hard on Lisa, blaming her endless dieting and her rigorous performance schedule. And I’d never had the guts to defend her. I felt comfortable in their camp, being strong, because at least they weren’t blaming me. I never said it wasn’t Lisa’s fault; nobody’s to blame, and I had to wonder, Did I ever say it to Lisa?
I took the ten o'clock flight out of Charlotte Douglas Airport and arrived at the Hotel Monteleon in New Orleans before eleven their time. I regretted leaving Madge wondering what happened to me, but I hadn’t had time to think it over until I got on the plane. I just did what I had to do. She’d said she had to call the police, and though I understood, I also knew that I had to try to find Lisa first.
I slipped my key card into the door several times before the light flashed and I was able to turn the handle and get into my room. I tossed my carryall with its two changes of clothes on the bed and opened the bedside table looking for the phone book. There was a name in the back of my mind of a friend that Lisa had known in college. I flipped to C and put my finger at the top of the column. Slowly I came down pronouncing the names. On the plane I’d been through the Ca-Co-Clu-Chi-routine mentally to no avail. It would come to me, I thought, when I saw it in writing.
On the third page, Cra...Craven. That was it. Now which one? Probably near Tulane, but then I don’t know the streets. I reached for my map. He was a professor. Biology, something scientific that she didn’t like. Not biology then.
I walked to the bathroom and took out my toothbrush. That’s it. Anatomy. Gross Anatomy with the accent on gross.
I flipped to the back pages. Tulane Medical School. I dialed the number.
“Hello, I’m looking for a Doctor Craven, an anatomy professor. Is there someone by that name on your staff?”
“Yes, but he’s out for lunch. May I take a message?”
“When do you expect him?”
“He has class at one, but he usually checks his messages when labs are over at six.”
“Thanks,” I said and hung up. I’d have to go catch him before he went to class.
I was annoyed by the laughter in the slow elevator. The door opened onto a crowded lobby, clots of tourists stopping the flow. Finally, I hailed a taxi on Royal Street in front of the hotel as St. Mary’s cathedral chimed noon.
Out St. Charles Street, the taxi stopped in front of Charity Hospital. From there, I found the Tulane School of Medicine Building, its core swarming with men and women in brown coats. When I asked a secretary for Dr. Craven’s office, she pointed toward a tall man with an armload of papers.
He looked up. “May I help you?”
“Frank Despin,” I said, holding out my hand.
“Andy Craven.” He shook my hand formally, then a flash of recognition. “Sure...” He shook my hand vigorously, smiling. “You're Lisa’s husband. What brings you to New Orleans?”
“I’m looking for her, actually. I was hoping you’d seen her.”
“Here?” I detected genuine surprise. “I haven’t seen Lisa in…three years?”
“She’s disappeared and I have reason to believe she came here.”
“Disappeared? How do you mean that?”
“She just disappeared. I mean missing person, all that.”
Andy shrouded his face with long, spreading fingers. “Why do you think she’s here?”
“A tip,” I said, pulling a snapshot from my pocket with a sweaty hand. “This was labor day weekend.”
Andy studied the snapshot then handed it to the secretary who had stood up to look around his high shoulder, and held out her hand for it.
Her glance arced from the photo to Andy’s face. “It’s the woman I told you about,” she said, as if pronouncing herself right. “It’s the one with the baby, remember?”
“You thought she was lost?” Andy’s eyes widened.
“This is the same lady. She was lost all right.” She shook her head as she plopped back into her chair.
Andy perused my face, for a long time, and perhaps a little suspiciously. Then he handed the stack of papers to the secretary and said, “Could you take these exams to my classroom and pass them out?”
“Sure. Should I stay?”
“Yes. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He turned to me and motioned down the hall.
“Oh.” The secretary stopped, and spun around on the ball of her foot. “Check your messages. One’s from a police lieutenant.”
“Thanks,” he said, stiffening, but still walking. In his office, he nodded for me to sit. “What happened? Did you split up?”
“No, it’s not like that,” I said, wanting to be as quick as possible. “We lost a baby in June and she’s had a tough time.”
Andy kept his eyes on me as he slipped behind his desk toward the window.
“Not long after it happened,” I added, “She had a big audition and failed to get a part, any part, even a small one.”
Andy raised the blinds slowly, letting light flood the metallic space.
“She was wasted,” I said, in words like a squeak. “So was I, but I couldn’t...” My throat tightened and I couldn’t swallow. “I was trying to be strong, and just keep going, and let her know I loved her anyway. She may have misunderstood.”
Andy tipped his head back slightly to one side, moving one ear closer, like he heard exactly what I meant and agreed. He nodded sideways and pursed his lips into a pensive frown. He propped an elbow on his crossed leg and took his chin in hand.
“A few weeks later,” I continued, “She disappeared from the dance studio, without her car...with nothing, like she’d been kidnapped. The police are looking all over, but not just for Lisa. They think she’s kidnapped a baby.”
His brow fell, his hand slipped up over his eyes. “And you think she came to me.” He studied the floor, his shoes, mine, all the time shaking his head. Why?”
“Because she came to New Orleans and you're here.” This was the hard part; I’d always resented their friendship. I gripped my chair and swallowed. “She said you weren’t lovers, but it doesn’t matter now. If she’s here, I just want to talk to her.”
He pulled his chair closer to mine and leaned toward me. “She’s right. We weren’t lovers.” He shrugged it off with a shoulder. “I would have liked it that way, but she was in love with you.”
My heart rose and fell.
“Passionately,” he said. “There’s no one more attractive than a woman who’s passionately in love. And it was you, the handsome man from a loving family who would give her everything she wanted in life...a rock to stand on.”
He knew her well, I thought, glancing away. Lisa’s parents had withdrawn support when she quit medical school to pursue a career in dance. They called her vain and irresponsible.
“So,” he said carefully, “You know about the abortion.”
Blinking, I tried again to look at him. “What abortion?”
“I thought she’d tell you eventually...” He leaned his face into both hands now. “After you married.”
“She didn’t.” I recognized this as something I neither wanted to know or not to know. My heart grew brittle, like glass.
“I was new here,” he said, “And still a sucker for a pretty girl’s tears. Lisa cried through a whole class one day, and when it was over, I pulled her aside. I took her to my office to do something, I don’t know, like give her a special assignment. She was failing the course. We agreed on a contract to get her grade up to a D and I felt like the Hero, until I found out she wasn’t crying about failing my class. She was crying about an abortion.”
“Your baby?” I asked with steely dread.
He looked up sadly. “Yours. Mardi Gras? 1975?”
The glass shattered. “Why?”
“Sleeping Beauty was never cast as a pregnant woman.”
My posture, I noticed, was just like his, now. I sat up straight. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Your family, your values.”
“Damn my family!”
Andy lifted a hand to quiet me. “She said if you found out, you’d be ashamed of her.”
“She told you!"
“At a weak moment. She regretted it. But, it was the beginning of a good friendship, and I’m thankful for that. Still, if she’s here now, I haven’t seen her.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, getting up like an old man. “Your class...”
He stood. “No, I’m sorry. If I see her...”
I gave him the hotel number and left.
There was no time to waste. If she weren’t here, I’d try the Theatre of the Performing Arts. What if the police already have her? I all but ran. Down the hall, down flights of stairs, down another hall toward the entrance, past a student lounge. In the lounge, something caught my eye and I stopped. A gray leather purse lay on the coffee table, and beside it, a diaper bag.
My heart thundered. I turned to the small room, but how slowly my feet crept.
Lisa studied the selections in a coke machine. The fuzzy head of a baby bobbed over her shoulder. She turned toward me, reaching for her handbag.
“Lisa.”
Blankly, she smiled. “No, I’m Lee,” she said, fumbling with the zipper of her purse. “You must be...” When she lifted her gaze fully to mine, her eyes widened. What was there? Something less than recognition, but more than dismissal.
“Frank,” I said, reassuringly, reaching for the purse.
She jerked it, protectively, to her chest.
“I’m Frank,” I reassured.
“Hi,” she said. She waited, suspiciously, as if to see what I would do.
What would I do? I stepped backward and drew a deep breath, trying to relax my chest. I nodded at the purse. “I know how to fix it, remember?”
“Fix what?” She shifted the baby, but her eyes remained steady, on me.
“The zipper, remember? I can always get it.”
Her stare cut to my soul. In her eyes, though, something powerful was dissolving. Slowly, I reached out, and this time she let me take the purse from her hands.
Her mouth fell open and she staggered backwards into the coke machine, her face crumpling in recognition. She closed her eyes as if dropping a sheet over things intolerable, and the baby wailed.
I slipped my key card into the door several times before the light flashed and I was able to turn the handle and get into my room. I tossed my carryall with its two changes of clothes on the bed and opened the bedside table looking for the phone book. There was a name in the back of my mind of a friend that Lisa had known in college. I flipped to C and put my finger at the top of the column. Slowly I came down pronouncing the names. On the plane I’d been through the Ca-Co-Clu-Chi-routine mentally to no avail. It would come to me, I thought, when I saw it in writing.
On the third page, Cra...Craven. That was it. Now which one? Probably near Tulane, but then I don’t know the streets. I reached for my map. He was a professor. Biology, something scientific that she didn’t like. Not biology then.
I walked to the bathroom and took out my toothbrush. That’s it. Anatomy. Gross Anatomy with the accent on gross.
I flipped to the back pages. Tulane Medical School. I dialed the number.
“Hello, I’m looking for a Doctor Craven, an anatomy professor. Is there someone by that name on your staff?”
“Yes, but he’s out for lunch. May I take a message?”
“When do you expect him?”
“He has class at one, but he usually checks his messages when labs are over at six.”
“Thanks,” I said and hung up. I’d have to go catch him before he went to class.
I was annoyed by the laughter in the slow elevator. The door opened onto a crowded lobby, clots of tourists stopping the flow. Finally, I hailed a taxi on Royal Street in front of the hotel as St. Mary’s cathedral chimed noon.
Out St. Charles Street, the taxi stopped in front of Charity Hospital. From there, I found the Tulane School of Medicine Building, its core swarming with men and women in brown coats. When I asked a secretary for Dr. Craven’s office, she pointed toward a tall man with an armload of papers.
He looked up. “May I help you?”
“Frank Despin,” I said, holding out my hand.
“Andy Craven.” He shook my hand formally, then a flash of recognition. “Sure...” He shook my hand vigorously, smiling. “You're Lisa’s husband. What brings you to New Orleans?”
“I’m looking for her, actually. I was hoping you’d seen her.”
“Here?” I detected genuine surprise. “I haven’t seen Lisa in…three years?”
“She’s disappeared and I have reason to believe she came here.”
“Disappeared? How do you mean that?”
“She just disappeared. I mean missing person, all that.”
Andy shrouded his face with long, spreading fingers. “Why do you think she’s here?”
“A tip,” I said, pulling a snapshot from my pocket with a sweaty hand. “This was labor day weekend.”
Andy studied the snapshot then handed it to the secretary who had stood up to look around his high shoulder, and held out her hand for it.
Her glance arced from the photo to Andy’s face. “It’s the woman I told you about,” she said, as if pronouncing herself right. “It’s the one with the baby, remember?”
“You thought she was lost?” Andy’s eyes widened.
“This is the same lady. She was lost all right.” She shook her head as she plopped back into her chair.
Andy perused my face, for a long time, and perhaps a little suspiciously. Then he handed the stack of papers to the secretary and said, “Could you take these exams to my classroom and pass them out?”
“Sure. Should I stay?”
“Yes. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He turned to me and motioned down the hall.
“Oh.” The secretary stopped, and spun around on the ball of her foot. “Check your messages. One’s from a police lieutenant.”
“Thanks,” he said, stiffening, but still walking. In his office, he nodded for me to sit. “What happened? Did you split up?”
“No, it’s not like that,” I said, wanting to be as quick as possible. “We lost a baby in June and she’s had a tough time.”
Andy kept his eyes on me as he slipped behind his desk toward the window.
“Not long after it happened,” I added, “She had a big audition and failed to get a part, any part, even a small one.”
Andy raised the blinds slowly, letting light flood the metallic space.
“She was wasted,” I said, in words like a squeak. “So was I, but I couldn’t...” My throat tightened and I couldn’t swallow. “I was trying to be strong, and just keep going, and let her know I loved her anyway. She may have misunderstood.”
Andy tipped his head back slightly to one side, moving one ear closer, like he heard exactly what I meant and agreed. He nodded sideways and pursed his lips into a pensive frown. He propped an elbow on his crossed leg and took his chin in hand.
“A few weeks later,” I continued, “She disappeared from the dance studio, without her car...with nothing, like she’d been kidnapped. The police are looking all over, but not just for Lisa. They think she’s kidnapped a baby.”
His brow fell, his hand slipped up over his eyes. “And you think she came to me.” He studied the floor, his shoes, mine, all the time shaking his head. Why?”
“Because she came to New Orleans and you're here.” This was the hard part; I’d always resented their friendship. I gripped my chair and swallowed. “She said you weren’t lovers, but it doesn’t matter now. If she’s here, I just want to talk to her.”
He pulled his chair closer to mine and leaned toward me. “She’s right. We weren’t lovers.” He shrugged it off with a shoulder. “I would have liked it that way, but she was in love with you.”
My heart rose and fell.
“Passionately,” he said. “There’s no one more attractive than a woman who’s passionately in love. And it was you, the handsome man from a loving family who would give her everything she wanted in life...a rock to stand on.”
He knew her well, I thought, glancing away. Lisa’s parents had withdrawn support when she quit medical school to pursue a career in dance. They called her vain and irresponsible.
“So,” he said carefully, “You know about the abortion.”
Blinking, I tried again to look at him. “What abortion?”
“I thought she’d tell you eventually...” He leaned his face into both hands now. “After you married.”
“She didn’t.” I recognized this as something I neither wanted to know or not to know. My heart grew brittle, like glass.
“I was new here,” he said, “And still a sucker for a pretty girl’s tears. Lisa cried through a whole class one day, and when it was over, I pulled her aside. I took her to my office to do something, I don’t know, like give her a special assignment. She was failing the course. We agreed on a contract to get her grade up to a D and I felt like the Hero, until I found out she wasn’t crying about failing my class. She was crying about an abortion.”
“Your baby?” I asked with steely dread.
He looked up sadly. “Yours. Mardi Gras? 1975?”
The glass shattered. “Why?”
“Sleeping Beauty was never cast as a pregnant woman.”
My posture, I noticed, was just like his, now. I sat up straight. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Your family, your values.”
“Damn my family!”
Andy lifted a hand to quiet me. “She said if you found out, you’d be ashamed of her.”
“She told you!"
“At a weak moment. She regretted it. But, it was the beginning of a good friendship, and I’m thankful for that. Still, if she’s here now, I haven’t seen her.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, getting up like an old man. “Your class...”
He stood. “No, I’m sorry. If I see her...”
I gave him the hotel number and left.
There was no time to waste. If she weren’t here, I’d try the Theatre of the Performing Arts. What if the police already have her? I all but ran. Down the hall, down flights of stairs, down another hall toward the entrance, past a student lounge. In the lounge, something caught my eye and I stopped. A gray leather purse lay on the coffee table, and beside it, a diaper bag.
My heart thundered. I turned to the small room, but how slowly my feet crept.
Lisa studied the selections in a coke machine. The fuzzy head of a baby bobbed over her shoulder. She turned toward me, reaching for her handbag.
“Lisa.”
Blankly, she smiled. “No, I’m Lee,” she said, fumbling with the zipper of her purse. “You must be...” When she lifted her gaze fully to mine, her eyes widened. What was there? Something less than recognition, but more than dismissal.
“Frank,” I said, reassuringly, reaching for the purse.
She jerked it, protectively, to her chest.
“I’m Frank,” I reassured.
“Hi,” she said. She waited, suspiciously, as if to see what I would do.
What would I do? I stepped backward and drew a deep breath, trying to relax my chest. I nodded at the purse. “I know how to fix it, remember?”
“Fix what?” She shifted the baby, but her eyes remained steady, on me.
“The zipper, remember? I can always get it.”
Her stare cut to my soul. In her eyes, though, something powerful was dissolving. Slowly, I reached out, and this time she let me take the purse from her hands.
Her mouth fell open and she staggered backwards into the coke machine, her face crumpling in recognition. She closed her eyes as if dropping a sheet over things intolerable, and the baby wailed.
©Diana Renfro, 2001
Previously published in Racing Home, New Short Stories by Award-Winning North Carolina Writers, 2001, The Paper Journey Press, Sharlene Baker, ed.
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