Now You See Her Page 0,32
in a strong Irish brogue. “I tried turnin’ the wheel—”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Marcy assured him, her brain absorbing what her eyes already knew: that Devon was no longer standing on the bridge, staring absently at the water below, a breeze blowing wayward wisps of hair into her sad face.
Her daughter was gone.
She’d lost her again.
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