Vanish (2 page)

He knocked and let himself in the front door. “Sorry I’m late.”

Marta’s voice called out from down the hall. “In the kitchen.”

Conner moved down the hallway into the breakfast nook. “I ran into some construction. You know how it goes.”

“Yeah.” Marta was rinsing some dishes at the sink. She turned around. Her lips were drawn tight in the familiar smirk.

Conner sighed. “What now?”

Marta shook her head. “It’s just that there always seems to be construction or extra-heavy traffic or
something
that makes you late whenever you’re coming to pick Rachel up. But when it’s time to drop her off again, somehow you manage to be a few minutes early.”

Conner shrugged. “That’s because I’m always coming from
downtown
when I pick her up and from
home
when I drop her off.”

“Mmm.” Marta seemed to brush off his explanation and went to the back stairway. “Rachel,” she called. “Your father’s here.”

“It’s not a conspiracy, you know,” Conner persisted.

“She hasn’t eaten supper yet.” Marta wiped the table.

“I’ve got it covered.”

“And I’ll be over Sunday at eight thirty to pick her up for church.”

“Church?” Conner raised an eyebrow. “You make her go to church now too?”

“She wants to go. She even joined the youth choir.”

“You sure
she
wanted that?”

“I haven’t pressured her to join anything,” Marta said. “You know Rachel. No one can make her do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

Conner frowned. “She sings, too?”

“She’s got a beautiful voice. They’re doing a special number this week. You should come.”

Conner chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah… I don’t think so.”

“Not even to hear your own daughter sing?”

“That’s pretty low,” Conner said. “Using our daughter to get me to church.”

“You know it’s not always about you, Connie,” Marta shot back. “Did you ever stop to think what it’d mean to Rachel? to have her father there to hear her sing?”

“You think I don’t care about her?”

“No, it’s just that for the past two years I’ve been watching you two grow more and more distant.”

“Look—” Conner’s expression darkened—“I’m doing my best
here. Okay? It’s not like I don’t have any other responsibilities.”

“This isn’t about your work, Connie. It’s about our daughter. Rachel’s growing up—she’s
fifteen
—and you’re missing everything.”

“I come to her birthdays,” Conner offered. “I see her every other weekend.”

“And even then it’s like you’re miles away. It’s like she’s just an imposition on you.”

Conner rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Marty—”

“You had
two
children, Connie.” Marta’s tone iced over. “Only one of them died.”

She pushed past him and headed for the hallway.

Conner caught her arm and spun her around. “Don’t take a cheap shot like that and just walk away.” He loomed over her small frame. “You were the one who pushed me out of her life, so don’t start complaining about it now!”

Marta didn’t back down. “This started long before the divorce, Connie. After Matthew died,
you
were the one who pushed
us
away—”

“
This doesn’t have anything to do with Matthew
!”

They turned to see Rachel in the back hall with her coat and backpack. She stared at them, chewing a piece of gum. Then she shook her head.

“I’ll be out in the car.”

As she walked away, the anger drained from Conner. He felt a little sheepish for having gotten so easily rattled. Why was it every conversation with Marta ended in an argument? “Look… I—”

“No, you were right,” Marta said. “It
was
a cheap shot. I’m sorry.”

Conner sighed. “I know I’ve been working a lot, but I was planning to spend the whole day tomorrow with her. We’re going to the Cubs game.”

Marta nodded. “She’ll like that. And
talk
to her. You know, ask her about what’s going on in her life. She’s not a cynical teenager. She
wants
to be with you.”

“It’ll be good,” Conner said. “We’ll have a good time. We’ll bond.”

Conner and Rachel drove home in silence. Rachel stared out the window with her headphones on, humming to a song. Conner felt a bit relieved at not having to make small talk and a twinge of guilt for feeling relieved.

For all his efforts, he still couldn’t shake the sensation that had plagued him all day. He found himself peering at every pedestrian and into every passing car. His behavior was so obvious it even prompted a remark from Rachel.

“You looking for someone, Dad?”

He chuckled a bit. “No, it’s just been a very strange day.”

They turned up the elm-lined boulevard to Conner’s condominium.

They ate supper in further silence. The soft clinking of forks on plates was broken only by an occasional cough. Conner picked at his food, shifting his gaze between his plate and his daughter. He brooded over conversation topics with which to engage her other than the church choir. He didn’t want to risk providing an opportunity for her to invite him to the service, but still he wondered whether her motives for joining were genuine or if her mother had pressured her. Finally, he decided to take the risk.

“So your mom tells me you joined a choir.…”

Rachel looked up and stared at him almost placidly, as if waiting for him to finish the sentence.

After a few grudging seconds, he obliged. “…at church.”

Rachel smiled and nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

He thought he saw a glint of amusement in her eyes. She went back to her meal, offering no further details. Conner drummed his fingers on the table, then tried again.

“So… you like it? Is that something you enjoy?”

Rachel smiled again. “Yep.” And went back to her meal.

“Because… I just want to be sure it’s something
you
wanted to do. Not… y’know, not because your mother—”

“I like it, Dad. Okay? I
wanted
to join.”

“That’s fine,” Conner said. “It’s just that your mom can be a little pushy about her religion.…”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “I can sign an affidavit if you want.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Take a polygraph?”

“Look, I just want to be sure you’re not…”

“Not what?” Her pleasant tone had evaporated. “Not being brainwashed? Is that what you think? I’m part of a cult or something?”

Conner’s jaw tightened. “You’re
my
daughter too, you know. And I think I have a say—”

“That doesn’t give you the right to dictate what I can believe.”

“I’m not trying to dictate anything. I just want to expose you to diverse points of view. And to appreciate the fact that there’s more than one way of looking at the world.”

“Then why don’t you practice what you preach?”

Conner shook his head. “
What
?”

“Why don’t you even
try
to respect Mom’s beliefs?”

“I’ve never denied your mother the right to her own beliefs. I just don’t want her pushing them off on you to the point where you’re biased against my views.”

Rachel leaned back and stared at him for several seconds. “Do you know why I started to go to church with Mom? Because I watched how you both reacted when Matty died. All you did was get angry. It was like you didn’t even want to look at us anymore. But Mom found something that gave her comfort.”

Conner scowled. “Comfort in an outdated book written by religious bigots?”

“Comfort in God,” Rachel said softly.

“
God
?” Conner leaned over the table. “Let me tell you something about God. If He has the power to create the universe but can’t spare a few seconds to keep a little boy from drowning in his own pool—if He even exists at all—He’s either too selfish or stupid to care about what happens to any of us!”

Rachel’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth as if to answer him but couldn’t seem to find the words. Finally she shook her head and got up. “I think I’ve had enough pleasant conversation for one night.”

Conner blinked and looked down at his clenched fists, white knuckled on the table. He straightened up. What had come over him? “Rachel, I—”

“You know, I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

She left the room and Conner sat staring at his plate. He shook his head, dizzy from his rant.

A half hour later, he had retreated to the solace of his study and retrieved a bottle of Scotch from his liquor cabinet. He downed his first glass, poured a second, and sank into his leather armchair.

Outside, the low rumble of thunder signaled the approach of a late-summer storm. Conner rolled his neck. He had been sore all day, and his squabble with Rachel hadn’t helped any.

As he downed his second glass, his eye caught a framed photograph on his desk across the room. It was Rachel’s picture from her tenth birthday. Conner moved to the desk and frowned. Ten? Rachel was fifteen now. He picked up the picture and ran his finger along the frame. Had it been that long since he had gotten an updated photograph of her?

His gaze drifted to one of the lower drawers. He slid it open and retrieved another photograph. It was the last picture they had taken together as a family. Five years ago at Disney World. He couldn’t stand to look at it, but he couldn’t bear to throw it out.

His finger cleared a path through the veil of dust on the glass. Matthew gazed back at him like a phantom. Tousled blond hair. Mischievous grin. Blue eyes squinting in the sunlight…

Conner’s gaze moved to Marta: the slope of her nose, the curl of her lips. His chest ached as he tried to pinpoint exactly when during the last five years he had stopped loving her. It was as though a hedge had sprouted the day Matthew died and grown taller day by day. Their grief kept them from even speaking in the days after the funeral. But days soon turned into weeks and weeks into months. Eventually they were miles apart under the same roof.

Conner had withdrawn into his work, refusing to talk or even to see a counselor as Marta had suggested. He didn’t want to console or be consoled. His anger consumed him. Anger at circumstance and blind chance. And at a God he didn’t believe was there. Soon he found himself avoiding Marta and Rachel altogether. He watched their suffering but could find nothing to say to them. His anger allowed him no room to comfort them. When Marta turned to religion, his anger found a new target. And when she tried to push her faith on him… that was the end.

Thunder rumbled louder now, low and sustained. Flashes of lightning lit up the night sky. Conner went to the patio doors.

Something wasn’t right. For one thing, no rain had been predicted in the forecast he’d heard earlier. For another, this storm was rolling in from the east. Off Lake Michigan. The clouds churned and billowed like the black, acrid smoke of a chemical fire. Lightning flashed inside the billows. Long, sustained flashes of multiple hues. Red, amber, and blue.

Conner’s frown deepened. He called back into the house. “Rachel? You see this?”

The cloud bank extended north and south as far as he could see, rolling westward quickly. Like a blanket stretching over the sky. The peals of thunder grew louder as it approached.

Conner stood, gaping at the sight. “Rachel,” he called again. “Come take a look at this.”

It rolled over the house. No more than a couple hundred feet, Conner guessed. The clouds swirled directly overhead and the deep rumbling shook the house.

Conner’s mouth went dry. This was no storm.…

“IT WASN’T ANYTHING PERSONAL, Helen. They were just looking for someone a little… younger.”

Helen Krause leaned back and leveled a gaze at her agent. “They’re a brokerage firm, Rex. They’re advertising an IRA. A
retirement
account.”

Rex gave Helen what she could tell was a forced smile. “Well, y’know… they wanted it more geared to people who’re just
starting
to think about retirement.”

“They said they wanted a middle-aged career woman. What exactly do they consider
middle-aged
?”

“Uh… well…” Rex’s smile evaporated. “Thirty.”

“Thir—” Helen started to laugh but then just stared. “
Thirty
?”

“Well…” Rex squirmed in his seat. “Thirty-
ish
.”

“I see.” Helen folded her arms. “So… at forty-seven, what does that make me?”

Rex started to say something, but Helen cut him off. “Don’t answer that.”

Maybe forty-seven wasn’t exactly accurate. But she didn’t need Rex to remind her.

They sat in silence. Helen finished her drink and looked around the lounge. A perky twentysomething blonde chatted with a businessman at the bar. A dozen other couples engaged in small talk dotted the pub, oblivious to each other. Helen couldn’t see anyone who looked older than forty. Other than the man across from her. But then again, Rex was sixty going on twenty-one.

Finally Rex spoke up. “Y’know, Helen, you’ve really become successful
behind
the camera. You’re one of the few models who’ve managed to transition into… other roles.”

Helen grunted. “Other roles?”

Rex sighed. “Look, it’s a tough business. You know that. When you started thirty years ago, you were taking jobs from other models past their prime. You weren’t too concerned about
their
feelings at the time, were you? So the cycle continues. I thought you were content moving on. You’ve done well as a consultant. You’ve got a great eye. What’s so terrible about moving into the next stage of life?”

“I know.” Helen’s voice softened. “It’s just… I was hoping for another gig. I miss it. I miss being in front of the camera. It was hard enough to think of myself as
middle-aged
. Now I find out I’m too old even for
that
.”

“I know it’s hard, sweetie.” Rex nodded. “You were one of the top models in your day—”

“You’re not really helping, Rex.”

He looked down. “Sorry, kiddo. I’m just trying to cheer you up.”

The sun had set by the time they left the bar. The downtown streetlights cast an amber glow onto the pavement, and a cool breeze wafted in off Lake Michigan. Rex walked Helen to her car. “We’ll keep our eye out for something,” he said. “There’ll be other opportunities.”