Close Your Eyes

1

The days moved like molasses. In Baghdad, they kept sorting through rubble, trying to find something of my brother. In Austin, I went through the motions of living. Gerry and I ate and we slept, even made love. But I was not present. I was paused, praying that my brother would somehow come home. I began to understand the parents of missing children who said they just wanted to find a body, even if it meant their son or daughter was dead. It was so awful to wonder and wait.

One afternoon Jonesey stopped by my desk, where I was staring into space. I was supposedly on floor duty, but no one had come in all morning. I felt like crying, though there were no tears left.

“Request for you,” he said. “Line two.”

“Send it to voice mail,” I said, rolling my stiff neck back and forth.

“No,” said Jonesey.

I looked up. “I’m about to go to lunch,” I said dully.

“You haven’t had a client in days,” said Jonesey. He put his hands on his hips.

“Oh, jeez,” I said, but Jonesey had whirled around and was walking purposefully to the front desk. He put the call through, and my extension rang.

“Lauren Mahdian,” I said. “Sunshine City Realty.”

“Oh, hello,” said a woman. The connection was bad; I could scarcely make out what she was saying. “I’m … Um, I’d like to find a house. Or maybe an apartment. I don’t have a job yet, but I’ve sent out my résumé.”

I rolled my eyes and mouthed Thanks a lot to Jonesey. “I’d be happy to show you around,” I said. “Is there a date and time that works best for you?”

“How about now?” said the woman.

I pursed my lips and breathed in, but Jonesey was watching. “Sounds great,” I said. “Right now sounds great. Why don’t you come by the office? We’re located in Hyde Park, at Forty-second and Duval.”

“Okay,” said the woman.

“What’s your name?” I asked, my pencil poised, but she had already hung up.

“Good luck,” said Jonesey, tossing his blazer over his shoulder. “I’m meeting Gil at Lucinda’s.”

“Have a great lunch,” I said. I played Scrabble online until I heard the front door open. A pregnant woman in a rumpled black dress stood in the front of the office, touching her hair. Her face was puffy. I stood and made my way toward her. I felt like I knew her somehow, though I did not know her.

“I’m Lauren,” I said, holding out my hand.

“Hi,” she said. She held on too long.

“Have we met?” I said.

“No,” she said. “I just— I’ve heard of you. The website. You look like your picture.”

“So you’re new in town?” I asked.

She sighed. “I just got here. Literally.”

“Great,” I said. “Would you like to sit down here? Or we could grab some lunch.”

“I’m really hungry,” said the woman.

“Fair enough,” I said.

We walked next door to Hyde Park Café. Aaron, one of my favorite waiters, sat us in the front room by a window. “I don’t think you’ve told me your name,” I said after the woman had ordered a lemonade and I’d ordered a Fireman’s Four.

“It’s Syl— It’s Sarah,” she said.

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

“Likewise.”

Aaron returned with our drinks, and the woman ordered a burger and fries. I said I’d have the same, though I really wanted another beer. “Can you tell me what you’re hoping to find?” I asked.

She looked out the window. “I like it here,” she said.

“Hyde Park Café?” I said.

“Austin,” she said. “It strikes me as a good place.”

It seemed I had hooked a nut job. “Would you like me to tell you about some of Austin’s premier neighborhoods?” I said.

“Where do you live?” said Sarah.

“I live east of I-35,” I said. “It’s called French Place.”

“Do you belong to a health club?” she asked.

“Um, no,” I said. “I don’t.”

“I think I’d like someplace in the country,” Sarah said.

“Westlake is very nice,” I said. “Or if you go south, there’s Circle C.”

“It’s just me and my baby,” said Sarah. “But I want him to have his own room. That’s very important. Two bedrooms. And a kitchen.”

“That seems reasonable,” I said.

“I want to be somewhere quiet,” said Sarah. “I want to stay home as much as I can. I want to be with him, you know?”

I had no idea what she was getting at. Had this person been abused? “Let’s talk about price range,” I said.

“I think I can be happy here,” said Sarah, staring out the window.

My phone buzzed, and I glanced down. (Gerry called it “getting figital” when I played with my phone in restaurants.) Detective Brendan Crosby was calling me from Holt, New York. I hadn’t talked to him since my fruitless visit.

“Excuse me,” I said. Sarah nodded and looked teary. I rose, bumping the table, and I went outside as I answered. I stood in the sunshine and watched a bus drive down Duval Street. A man pedaled past on a bicycle. He had two kids in a little buggy attached to the back. Though the father had no helmet, both the kids wore plastic saucers strapped to their heads.

“Lauren,” said Detective Crosby.

“Hi,” I said.

“I’m calling with some news,” said Detective Crosby. “Are you sitting down?”

“No,” I said. I looked around for a bench, but an amorous couple was wedged into the only available spot. I sank down on the front steps of Hyde Park Café. “Yes,” I said.

“Lauren, we just arrested a woman for the murder of your mother,” said Detective Crosby. “She’s in police custody. Her name is Victoria Bright.”

“What?” I said. I put my hand to my throat.

“We’re still getting all the facts,” said Detective Crosby. “We got Victoria’s name from a woman who contacted us with very convincing new evidence. She decided to come forward after all this time. And, well, it looks like Victoria Bright’s fingerprints match a set that was found at your house.”

“What?” I said.

“This is a really good day, Lauren. We have a call in to your father. There will be a new trial.”

“My father?” I said. I started laughing and crying at the same time. I waited for the smoky feeling, but things stayed clear.

“I’ll be in touch, Lauren,” said Detective Crosby.

“Oh my God,” I said. I repeated, “Oh my God.” The sun was hot on my face. I heard the bus pull away from the bus stop, and I saw a little girl standing by the ice cream shop next door, holding a strawberry cone. The pregnant woman came outside and sat down next to me.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to go now,” she said. “I hoped I would be here when you got the call.”

“My father …” I said.

“Thank you for telling me about Austin,” she said. “It seems like a good place.”

“I can’t believe this,” I said.

“Believe it,” said the woman. Without asking, she leaned over and embraced me. Surprising myself, I leaned in to her. I felt comforted, peaceful, in this woman’s arms. Her belly touched mine, and I thought I felt her baby—an elbow or a foot—although that may have been my imagination.

Sarah let me go and stood.

“Please be in touch,” I said.

“I’d like that,” said Sarah.

As I watched, she began to walk south on Duval Street. Something in her stride was familiar. She held herself like Alex, I realized—the way she moved seemed to convey an inner confidence. She turned back and met my eyes. I lifted a hand in farewell. I hoped we would meet again.