Chris shrugged. “I can handle it.”
Jeff shook his head. “You still have guts, Chris,” he said. “Don’t let anyone tell you anything different.”
Jeff left the cottage, and Chris watched him walk across the yard. Jeff may have said he wasn’t interested in making friends in Valle Rosa, but his actions tonight contradicted his words.
Clearly, he wasn’t a man who enjoyed being alone. Then again, Chris thought, neither was he.
He slowly repacked his memorabilia, saving the Cy Young award for last, wrapping it carefully in the towel before setting it on top of the other items.
The day he’d received the Cy Young award had also been Augie’s sixty-second birthday. Carmen had insisted on throwing a party to celebrate both events, despite the fact that she was five months pregnant. Chris had tried to talk her out of it, worried about the stress it might cause her. Stress, he was certain, had been the culprit when she lost their first baby nearly two years earlier, the day after her cousin’s wedding. Carmen had insisted on having the reception for the wedding at Sugarbush, hoping that with that gesture, she might be able to heal the long-standing rift between herself and her aunt and uncle. But that wasn’t to be. On the day of the reception, her relatives shunned her in her own home, taking advantage of her hospitality and talking about her when her back was turned—and, sometimes, when it wasn’t. All that night, Carmen cried with the pain of wanting a family that didn’t want her. When she miscarried the next day—a miscarriage followed by a dark, crippling depression—Chris had no doubt at all of the cause.
At the time he won the Cy Young award, though, Carmen felt very well, and very confident that she would carry this baby to term. So confident, in fact, that she planned to announce her pregnancy on Sunrise the following week.
Chris watched her during the party. There was an unmistakable glow about her. It radiated from her, touching everyone in the room, and he felt very proud that she was his wife. All was right with his world: he was surrounded by friends, by the woman he admired and loved, by his father who had coached and guided and nurtured him. And in a few months he was going to be a father himself.
In bed that night, though, he felt Carmen trembling in his arms and knew she was crying. She tried to deny it.
“Just chilly,” she said, but he touched her cheek and felt the tears.
“What is it?” he asked.
She was quiet a moment, and he could hear her breathing deeply, trying to gain some control over her emotions, something she could usually do quickly, easily. “I wish you didn’t have to go tomorrow,” she said.
He was leaving on a road trip, a long one.
“I know.” He pulled her closer. “I wish you could come with me, at least for part of the time.” Even though she didn’t fit in well with the other wives, Chris loved having her with him. There was nothing in the world he enjoyed more than the way she rubbed his arm after a game, the way she would pretend to swoon when her hands kneaded his sore muscles. Ordinarily, she would have joined him for a weekend or two during a trip of this length, but her doctor had advised against traveling.
There was little he could do to take away the source of her unhappiness, so he settled for holding her through that night, while she cried off and on and chastised herself fiercely for the tears.
When he got into his hotel room the following night, there were three messages for him to call her. That alarmed him. She rarely called when he was on the road; she hated to appear that needy.
She answered the phone quickly when he dialed the number for Sugarbush.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she said. “And I think everything’s going to be okay, but I wanted to let you know Augie’s in the hospital.”
“Augie? Why?”
“He woke up this morning with chest pain, but it seems it was just a false alarm. He’s okay now. They’re keeping him overnight and if all’s well in the morning, they’ll release him.”
Chris’s own heart was pumping hard. “What caused it, though?” he asked.
“He said he had a little indigestion from my cooking last night.” She laughed, and Chris smiled. His father felt well enough to joke. That was a good sign.
“I should come home.”
“Absolutely not. He was adamant about that, Chris. It’s too late for you to call him now, or he could tell you that himself.”
“Well, did you get a chance to talk with his doctor?”
“Uh huh. All the tests on his heart were perfectly normal. He’s fine, Chris.”
“I just wish I could talk to him.”
“Tomorrow.”
“And how about you?” he asked. “You took it easy today, I hope?”
“Didn’t lift a finger. Lolled around all day with my feet up. The bebito on the other hand has been a little hellion. I don’t think he’s going to play baseball, Chris. It’s going to have to be hockey or soccer or something where he’ll be moving all the time. He’s got a ton of energy.”
He could picture her lying in their bed as she talked to him, stroking her swollen belly with her long, dark fingers.
“I’ll call Augie at the hospital in the morning,” he said.
“I love you, Chris. I wish you were here beside me.”
“Wish I was there, too, Car.”
He didn’t sleep well that night, and when he called his father’s room early the following morning, there was no answer. A clerk at the nurses’ station told him Augie was in the bathroom, and he left a teasing message for him, something about the length he’d go to for a little pampering and TLC, a message that would haunt him for years to come.
It was evening by the time he returned to his hotel, and he was stunned to find Carmen there. She’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, but she rose quickly to her feet when he let himself into the room.
“Carmen.” He froze in front of the door. “What are you doing here?”
Her face was ashen. “I didn’t want to tell you over the phone,” she said.
“Augie?”
She pressed her hands together in front of her. “I’m sorry, Chris.”
He felt his heart slip away from his body, leaving him momentarily numb. “When?” he asked. “How?”
She took a step toward him. “It was this morning. He—”
“But you said he was fine.” He heard the childlike tone of his voice, the unfounded sense of betrayal. Suddenly furious, he pounded his fist into the door. “He can’t be dead. You said I didn’t need to come home.”
She moved close enough to put her arms around him, and he had a fleeting thought that she was brave to do that. She was unafraid of him when he was, at that moment, afraid of himself. He buried his head in her shoulder and clung to her.
“It wasn’t his heart,” she said. “His heart was fine, and they were going to release him today. It was an embolism, very sudden. No one suspected it.”
He couldn’t speak. Carmen tightened her arms around him and only then did he realize he was shaking with deep, gut-wrenching sobs.
“Oh, baby,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I feel terrible about telling you not to come home last night.”
“I know.” He spoke into her shoulder. “I only wish I could have talked to him one last time.”
She leaned away from him, looked him squarely in the eyes. “There was nothing you didn’t say to him, Chris. No secrets, no feelings held back between the two of you, ever. He always knew how much you loved him.”
He nodded slowly and pulled her back into his arms. “I should be mad at you for coming here,” he said, “but I’m so glad you did.”
They flew home that night, quiet with one another on the plane, but close, holding hands. He felt her strength, and he gave in to his need for it, letting her take care of him once they reached Sugarbush, letting her make the phone calls, run his bath, settle him in bed.
In the middle of the night, he woke up to find himself alone in the room. For a moment, he coul
dn’t remember where he was. Then he saw the moon through the skylight above him, and Augie’s death drifted back to him like the threads of a bad dream.
He sat up in the bed. “Carmen?”
He ran his hand over her side of the mattress and cringed at the cold wetness there, and he pulled back the blanket to reveal the dark stain.
God, no, not again.
He raced into the bathroom, where he found Carmen shivering, crying, bleeding. Later that night, as he sat next to her hospital bed, and felt the lifelessness in her hand and saw the opaque blackness of her eyes, he knew the depression that was settling over her would be even worse than the last time.
Her obstetrician was sympathetic but stern when Chris dragged Carmen to the follow-up appointment two weeks after the miscarriage. “I wasn’t speaking lightly when I said ‘no undue stress,’” she said.
Carmen looked out the window. She didn’t seem to care what her doctor was saying. She didn’t even seem to hear. Yet the tears were there. Chris saw one shimmer in the light as it slipped over her chin. The tears were constant, and terribly silent.
“My father died,” Chris said. “We could hardly control that.”
“But she didn’t have to throw a party. That’s what triggered her last miscarriage, having to entertain a house full of people.” The doctor sighed, leaning forward, her elbows on the desk. “Listen you two,” she said. “Carmen. Look at me, Carmen.”
Carmen turned her head slowly to face the woman on the other side of the desk. Chris was no longer sure if her sluggishness was from the antidepressant she was taking or from the depression itself.
“Any pregnancy you have is going to be extremely high-risk,” the doctor said. “We don’t know what causes you to spontaneously abort, but next time I’ll insist on complete bed rest. That will at least rule out excessive activity as a cause.”
“There won’t be a next time,” Chris said, impulsively.
Carmen jerked her head toward him, and although the suddenness of her response surprised him, he was pleased to see any reaction out of her at all.
“I don’t want you to go through this again,” he said to her.
She didn’t seem to have the strength to argue, although he knew what she wanted to say: She couldn’t imagine her life without a child in it. Children had always been part of their plan. He knew that if Carmen pulled out of this depression, and if she was still motivated and willing to follow her doctor’s orders to the letter, he would agree to try once more.
He never guessed how fervently he would one day regret that decision.
15
CARMEN FOUND NO CABRIOS listed in the Springfield, New Jersey, telephone directory, although there were two Blackwells. Women answered at both those numbers, and neither of them had heard of a Steven or Robert Blackwell, so Carmen widened her search. She actually spoke with a Robert Blackwell in Roselle Park, but he was ten years older than Jeff, and he knew of no other man with his name.
She found one single Cabrio—Cabrio, S. G.—listed in New Providence. Her call to the number was answered by a machine. The message, delivered in a soft, feminine voice with a mild, but unmistakable New Jersey accent, was succinct: “Hello, there. Leave a message, please.”
Carmen wouldn’t chance leaving a message, which could be ignored or lost. Besides, what could she say?
She called the number regularly for four days in a row without success. Finally, while loading the dishes in her dishwasher one evening, she tried again. It would be close to eleven o’clock in New Jersey. Maybe by now S. G. would be home.
The voice that answered with its expectant “Hello, there,” sounded exactly as it did on the tape, and Carmen nearly hung up before realizing she had reached a live human being.
She quickly shut the door of the dishwasher and gave the phone her full attention. “Excuse me for disturbing you at this hour,” she said. “My name is Carmen Perez, and I’m calling from television station KTVA in California.” She would leave out the city. She would get as much information as she could while revealing as little as possible. “I’m trying to reach S. G. Cabrio. Is that you?”
“This is Susan, yes.” The woman seemed hesitant, but Carmen detected curiosity in her voice.
“Susan,” she asked, “do you know of an Elizabeth Cabrio?”
There was a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line, then silence, and Carmen knew she’d hit pay dirt. She grabbed a notepad from a kitchen drawer and sat down at the table. This call should be taped, but she couldn’t take the chance of scaring Susan Cabrio off by telling her she was being recorded.
“Ms. Cabrio?” she prompted.
“Who did you say you are again?”
Carmen repeated her name. “I’m from television station KTVA in Mira Mesa, California.” Ordinarily she would tell someone that KTVA was in San Diego, even though it was physically located in Mira Mesa. She was hoping the latter would be a more forgettable name.
“And why do you want to know if I know Elizabeth?”
Carmen laughed, trying to convey a lightness, an embarrassment. Trying to keep Susan Cabrio at bay until she understood better how her players fit together. “I know this will sound strange, but I’m calling you cold. I’m not exactly sure yet what I’m looking for. I’m following up on a story out here, and her name has come up.”
There was another moment of silence on the other end of the line, and Carmen bit her lip. Susan Cabrio was struggling to determine how to handle this call, and Carmen felt sorry for her. Still, she could use this woman’s curiosity to her advantage.
“What kind of story?” Susan asked finally.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Cabrio, but I don’t know the answer to that myself. And I realize it’s not fair for me to ask you questions when I’m not even sure yet why I’m looking for the answers. What if I call you back when I have a clearer sense of what I need?”
“No, wait!” Susan paused, but only for a second. “Beth is my older sister. Do you know where she is?”
Carmen smiled to herself, and wrote “E. C.’s sister” beneath Susan’s name and number. “No, I don’t,” she said. “I was hoping you might be able to put me in touch with her.”
She sensed Susan Cabrio’s hesitancy once again. “There’s nothing I’d like better than to speak with her myself,” Susan said finally, “but I haven’t seen her since I was fourteen. I think you should at least tell me if she’s in some kind of trouble.”
“No, I’m certain it’s nothing like that, but as you can tell, Susan, right now I’m grasping at straws. I promise you, though, if I do manage to learn her whereabouts, I’ll let you know.”
“Don’t get off!” Susan said quickly, although Carmen had no intention of hanging up yet.
“Would you like to tell me about Elizabeth?” she coaxed.
Despite Susan’s reluctance to get off the phone, she seemed even more reluctant to speak.
“I don’t think I should,” she said. “It was a family matter. A private matter. I—”
“But the more I know about her, the more likely it is that I can find her.”
Susan seemed to hold her breath for a moment before letting it out in a long sigh. Carmen imagined her sitting down, settling in, finally ready to talk.
“Well,” Susan said, “Beth left home when she was fifteen.”
Carmen did some quick arithmetic in her head and was surprised to realize that Susan Cabrio was close to fifty. She sounded much younger.
“Really?” Carmen said. “And you haven’t seen her since then?”
“No. She didn’t leave on her own, exactly. My parents kicked her out because… how much of this do you want to hear?”
“I’d like to hear anything you’re willing to tell me.”
“Well, Beth was pregnant.”
Carmen closed her eyes. Yes.
“That was punishable by death back then, especially in my family. None of us ever heard from her again. She simply fell off the face of the earth. I cried mysel
f to sleep at night for about a year before I began to accept that she was never coming back.”
“Maybe she got married?” Carmen suggested. “Maybe she ran off with the baby’s father?”
“I don’t think so. She refused to tell my parents who it was, and she really never talked about having a boyfriend, at least not anyone in particular.”
“Does the name Steven Blackwell mean anything to you?”
“Who’s that? You’re not saying that’s the father, are you?” Susan’s voice rose with excitement. “Do you know something about…”
“No, no.” Carmen interrupted her. “That name’s cropped up, and I wondered if he might be connected in some way.”
Susan was quiet for a moment. “You’ve got names cropping up all over the place, don’t you?” she asked.
Carmen cringed, but let out a small laugh. “It must seem that way, I guess.” She liked Susan Cabrio. She wished she could tell her the little she knew, but it would be a mistake. And what could she say? I think I know where your nephew is, but it looks like he’s involved in criminal activity, which I’m trying to uncover?
“Well,” Susan said, “I’ve never heard of a Steven Blackwell. I guess it’s possible that Beth mentioned the name of the baby’s father to me at some time and I’ve forgotten it.” She paused for a long time. “I tried to find Beth myself a few years ago,” she said finally. “Sometimes I get so angry with her. She cut me out of her life.”
“Can you tell me about the search you mounted for her? What did you learn?”
That long sigh again. “Not much. I did find out that, after she was kicked out of our house, she moved into the home of a woman who lived in Newark. I spoke with her. Beth cooked and kept house for her in exchange for room and board. Once the baby was born, though, the woman told Beth to find another place to live. She couldn’t handle having a baby in the house. She wasn’t certain where Beth went, but she thought it might have been some sort of home for wayward girls. Something along that line. I gave up then, because I figured it would be almost impossible to get into the records of a place like that, and I really didn’t know where to begin.”