The bed was empty, the lamp beside it lit. The bathroom door was open, but the bathroom was dark.
"Daddy?" I called quietly. "Are you here?" I listened and heard nothing.
I checked the other bedrooms and didn't find him, so I went back downstairs. The cars were all there, and no one was in the kitchen. I walked through the house and went to Mommy's studio. There were no lights on, so I was going to go back upstairs, frightened now that Daddy might have fallen asleep or collapsed on the floor beside his bed. But as I turned, I caught a whiff of bourbon and paused, staring into the darkness of the studio. My eyes grew used to the absence of light until I saw his silhouette on a settee. I stepped farther into the studio, slowly approaching him.
Daddy was sprawled naked on the settee with just a small towel over his torso. He looked fast asleep. What was he doing? Why had he gotten undressed to lie in here? I debated waking him and then decided to let him rest. Just as I started to turn away again, I heard him cry out my mother's name.
"Ruby. Go on," he muttered. I drew closer again to listen. "Go on," he continued. "You're a professional. You should have no problem drawing me. I want you to do it. Go ahead," he challenged. Then he laughed. "Ready?" He pulled off his towel and cast it over the back of the settee. "Draw with passion, my darling. Draw."
I stood transfixed, unable and afraid to move. I knew if he discovered it was I and not my mother in the darkness, he would be horribly embarrassed. After a moment he lowered his head to the settee again and mumbled something I couldn't hear. He grew quiet, and I tiptoed out of the studio, closing the door softly behind me, leaving Daddy back there, reliving some intimate moment with my mother.
Troubled but exhausted, I put my head on my pillow and fell asleep in moments, glad my mind hadn't the energy to think one more thought.
I awoke with a start. A mourning dove was moaning her ominous, sad cry just under my window. The sky was heavily overcast, shutting out the always welcome rays of warm sunshine and leaving the world draped in a dull film of dreary darkness. Rain was imminent. I gazed at the clock and saw that I had slept until nearly nine. Recalling what had happened the night before, I rose quickly, washed, and dressed. When I descended, I found Daddy, up and dressed and in his office on the telephone. He was speaking to the police in Houma. I stood in the doorway listening.
"Then you have been to the shack and searched the surroundings thoroughly?" he asked, glancing at me cheerlessly. "I see. Yes. We do appreciate that. You have my number, and please, if there is any expense involved . . . I mean, if there's anything extra you can do but can't afford it, . . . of course. Thank you, monsieur. We're grateful."
He cradled the receiver and sat back. His hair was disheveled, his face unshaven and gray, and he was dressed in the wrinkled clothing he had worn yesterday. To me it looked as if he had woken in the studio, dressed, and come to his office.
"Nothing," he said. "Not even a footprint. Maybe she was swallowed by one of the alligators behind the shack."
"Don't say such a thing, Daddy!"
"What can I say?"
"Did you call the hospital?"
"Not yet." He sighed deeply. "What are we going to do, Pearl?"
"She'll come home or she'll call us," I said. "She will," I insisted when he didn't react. "Did you have breakfast?"
"Just coffee. I don't have an appetite. But you go on. Eat something. No sense in both of us suffering like this," he said. "I'll give Jeanne a call in about twenty minutes. Everyone's going to get annoyed with us for nagging them, of course."
"No, they won't. They'll understand."
"That's good, because I don't," he said bitterly. He was at it again, swimming in a pool of self-pity. I just didn't have the patience for it, so I went to get some breakfast. Afterward I decided we should go see Pierre.
"I can't," Daddy said. "I can't face him and continue to promise him something that I have no idea will happen."
"But we can't not go, Daddy. Our presence is all he has now. We have to go," I insisted. "Get up."
His eyes widened. "Okay," he said. After giving Aubrey detailed instructions about how to reach us should anyone call with any information, he reluctantly drove us to the hospital. We met Dr. LeFevre in the corridor just outside the ICU.
"No word of your wife yet, monsieur?" she asked when she saw it was just us again.
"I'm afraid not," Daddy said.
"How is Pierre doing, Doctor?" I asked.
"He's going in and out of consciousness. Each time he emerges, it's with the expectation he will have his mother at his bedside, and each time he sees she's not there, he retreats into his deep sleep. Have you no idea where she might be?" she asked.
"Some, but there's been no sign of her anywhere," Daddy moaned.
Dr. LeFevre didn't hide her dissatisfaction, which only made Daddy feel worse.
"We're trying to find her, Doctor," I said. "We have the police looking, and we have friends searching."
"Very well," she said. "We'll do what we can," she added with the definite tone that said it wouldn't be enough.
The entire time Daddy and I were at Pierre's bedside he remained asleep. He didn't even move his fingers when I held his hand. He was waiting to hear Mommy's voice, not ours. The sight and the silence drove Daddy mad. He couldn't stay long and left before I did. I found him pacing in the corridor.
"Let's go home," he said. "Maybe someone's called."
No one had. The day seemed to last forever. Every hour fell like another heavy stone on our hearts. Daddy ate a little lunch, but started to drink in the late afternoon. By early evening he was in his own comfortable stupor, and I was left waiting for the ringing of the phone or the buzz of the doorbell. Nothing brought any news.
And then, just before nine o'clock, the phone rang and Aubrey came to the sitting room to inform me that a Monsieur Clovis was on the line waiting to speak with me.
"Clovis?" At first I couldn't recall who that might be,
"He said Jack Clovis, mademoiselle."
"Oh, Jack," I cried and hurried to the phone.
"Sorry if I'm calling too late," he began.
"No, it's fine, Jack. What is it?"
"I don't know if it's anything, Pearl, but just before I was about to leave the fields tonight, I saw a light in a window in the big house. I knew it couldn't be the reflection of a star or the moon, because we've got heavily overcast skies out here tonight," he explained. "To me it looked like a candle."
"Did you go look?"
"I did because of what you told me about your mother and all. I took a flashlight and went into the house. I listened, but I didn't hear anyone. I swear I saw candlelight, though. I didn't see it when I was in the house, and I don't see it now, but someone was walking through that house tonight. I'd swear on a stack of Bibles."
I thought a moment. It was nearly a two-hour drive, but this was the first sign of any hope.
"We'll be out there in two hours," I said.
"Really? I don't know if you should do that, Pearl. I haven't found anything. It might have been a prowler, of course. I can't say I saw a woman. I hate to have you drive out here in the middle of the night for nothing."
"It's not for nothing, Jack. We're coming. I don't expect you to wait around, though."
"Oh, no problem. I'll go sprawl out in the office trailer. If I fall asleep, just knock on the door. Boy, I sure hope you're not coming out here for nothing."
"Don't you worry about it," I assured him.
As soon as I hung up, I went looking for Daddy. To my chagrin, I found him sprawled out on the sofa in his office, his arm dangling over the side, his hand clutching the neck of the bourbon bottle.
"Daddy!" I rushed to him and shook him. He groaned, opened his eyes, and then closed them. "Daddy, Jack called from Cypress Woods. Someone was in the house, walking with a candle. We've got to go up there. It might be Mommy." I shook him again. This time he released the bottle, and it fell to the floor, spilling its contents over the rug and splattering my feet. "Daddy!"