Daddy's Gone a Hunting

76

Martha Sloane had been shattered by the phone call that night from her son, Mark, telling her that Harry Simon, the kitchen worker at Tommy’s Bistro, had just been arrested the night before for allegedly murdering another young actress. The victim had been a girl so much like Tracey, waiting on tables and trying to achieve her dream of becoming an actress.

It’s not so much for me, Martha thought, as she tried to keep herself busy with the kind of tasks that she would always assign herself on one of those days when her mind would be filled with anguish at the possibility that Tracey might still be alive out there somewhere and needing her.

But her house was already immaculate, the closets already in pristine order. It was not her day to volunteer at the nursing home and her book group meeting was not scheduled for another week.

Harry Simon. Odd that with all the people she had met at Tommy’s Bistro when she had gone to help find Tracey, and whose faces were now a blur to her, his was very clear in her mind. He had been a thoroughly unattractive human being, with his narrow eyes and pinched face and obsequious manner. He was crying when he spoke to me, Martha remembered, and he tried to hug me. I pulled back and that Nick Greco, who was in charge of the investigation, said something like, “Take it easy, Harry.” And he stepped between us.

But I thought Simon’s alibi was supposed to be so good.

I hate the word closure, Martha thought. I hear the word and I almost go crazy. Doesn’t anyone understand that there’s no such thing? Unless closure means that the person who took your child’s life away will never have the chance to take another life. That is a sort of closure.

The rest of it is that you finally have your child’s body back and it’s in a grave that you can visit and plant flowers there. That’s a form of closure, too. You don’t have to worry anymore that your child is lying in a swamp or being kept prisoner.

Somehow, Martha Sloane had the feeling that soon she would know. Mark had told her that if Harry Simon confessed, or there was anything else new to report, he would call back. Otherwise, he’d talk to her again in the morning.

That was why when her phone rang that evening, after she had wrapped up the dinner she could not force herself to swallow, Martha knew that Mark had something important to tell her.

She could hear that his voice was breaking and he was on the verge of tears when he said, “Mom, they found Tracey.”

“Where?”

Steeling herself, the mother of Tracey Sloane listened to her son’s halting voice. A sinkhole in a parking lot in a furniture factory. She was heartsick. “Was Tracey alive when she was left there, Mark?” she asked.

“I don’t know yet but I don’t think so.”

“Mark, you didn’t believe me, but I told you that in my heart I had given up hope that Tracey was still alive. I think you are the one who still held out some measure of hope. But now we know. Well, I didn’t expect to be coming to New York so soon, but I think I’d like to come tomorrow and stay with you for a few days.”

Martha Sloane did not add that she knew that Mark needed her as much as she needed him.

“I’d like that, Mom. I’ll make a plane reservation for you for the late afternoon. I’ll call you first thing in the morning. Try to get some sleep. I love you.”

“I love you, too, dear.” Martha Sloane replaced the receiver and with slow, measured steps walked out to the foyer and reached for the light switch. For the first time in nearly twenty-eight years, the overhead light on the porch went off.