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My plan was to go back to the condo from Norm’s but, like him, I couldn’t bear the thought of being home alone. What he’d told me had been both disconcerting and frustrating. I was still shocked that Larry had left. Was it too much to believe that long-time couples who communicated well and loved each other would stay together forever? I’d always pictured Ella and me years from now hobbling over to the Senior Center to use their state-of-the-art fitness equipment, or strolling down Shore Boulevard, me likely bent over a walker, but still together, still in love. Here was a couple I’d have said were the image of stability and they’d broken up. Was I just kidding myself, believing that marriage worked? My parents’ marriage certainly hadn’t but I was pretty sure Mom had disorders similar to mine and, independent of that, Dad was a bully in his own right. They never stood a chance. But my main concern was that if Larry could do something so crazily out of character, should I be doubting Ella after all? My gut said no, and I wished I could trust it. But over the years, my gut hadn’t always steered me in the right direction. More often than not, it had taken me down the wrong path altogether.
Long before I had a label, I knew I was too emotional about things, but I couldn’t understand why everyone wasn’t the same way. In a session one day, Marion explained it to me. She said people tend to fall into two camps—either too emotional or too logical.
“Believe it or not, some people can’t get in touch with their feelings at all,” she told me. “I’ve known people make really poor decisions because their head told them it was the right thing to do, even though their hearts or guts begged to differ. They became lawyers or doctors because it was well-paid and respectable, then spent the next thirty years living in a straitjacket because what they really wanted was to create music or art, or to be on the road exploring the world. They don’t understand that sometimes we have to listen to our hearts. And then there are people like you, who can’t imagine not letting their hearts rule. They listen to their guts all the time, often to the exclusion of all else. Their default mind is their emotional one. Those are the folks who have to learn how to make logical decisions, despite their emotions.”
“Give me an example,” I said, at a loss to understand what she meant. Why would you choose logic over emotion?
“Some people in abusive relationships stay because they’re still in love with the person. They hate the abuse, but they love the part of that person who is funny or generous or charming. For those people, I have to help them see that if they’re in physical danger, or their children are being emotionally crippled, they have to leave, despite their love. Luckily, you’re not in any situation like that. But do you see how sometimes we have to use our thinking mind rather than our emotional one and vice versa?”
It was a helpful perspective, because I’d never understood why I didn’t always react to things like other people. But it also left me confused, not trusting what I felt. Increasingly, I found myself needing to check in with other people to get their perspective. When I had texted Norm that morning part of me wanted to cry on his shoulder, but the other part needed his feedback about my situation. I didn’t get either, so now I still needed to talk to someone. But what if they judged me the way I judged Norm, doubting him and wondering if he wasn’t telling me everything?
I mulled over who I could trust and settled on Kat, a friend and the owner of a new café I’d invested some money in. She’d always struck me as down-to-earth and logical, but also someone who could get in touch with her emotions when she had to. She’d certainly had her highs and lows with the opening of the café, especially when it almost went under. She’d pulled through, and now her café was the place to hang out. In high season it would be packed at this time of day, but since the snowbirds weren’t back yet, and the weather outside was still stifling hot, I figured the café would be empty and she’d be able to sit with me for a few minutes.
I parked a few blocks away to force myself to get some exercise. Aside from my over-reactive emotions, I had physical stuff going on too. My doctor was always at me to walk more, although I was never entirely sure how much she truly understood my condition. I knew walking was good for me, but it was a constant struggle to find a balance between getting the right amount of exercise to keep my muscles flexible without making everything ache. When I first met Dr. Hanson, I told her I had both borderline personality disorder and chronic fatigue syndrome. It seemed easier for her to believe the former than the latter, probably because she’d seen my outbursts. Sometimes she acted as if I were faking my lack of energy or that it was due to my meds and not CFS.
As I walked, the overhanging oak trees provided a little shade, but by the time I got to Kat’s I was sweating like a pig, my legs hurt, and I was ready to flop into the nearest wicker chair and put my feet up on the closest ottoman I could drag over.
Once seated, my arms sprawled out to the side as if I were a crucified Jesus lying across a chair, I lifted my head to look around. After various trial and error set-ups, Kat and I had agreed that the café needed both the comfy chairs and low wicker tables I suggested, as well as the original wrought iron tables and upright chairs she’d started out with. I’d assumed everyone would be like me and prefer the low, soft armchairs, but today the only part of the café that was occupied was one wrought-iron table. A jolly-looking woman had a book propped in front of her, a large piece of pineapple upside-down cake on a plate next to it.
Cindy, the waitress, came over with a glass of ice-cold water. “You look done in. Everything okay?” she asked, as she placed the water on a coaster on the wicker table in front of me. My girlfriend’s missing, I have a massive hangover, I’m hot, sweaty, scared and mad. I censored myself from speaking, but her small act of sympathy had touched a nerve and the next thing I knew, I was bawling. I could feel my whole body shuddering, and I buried my face in my hands, not wanting to see whether the other customer was staring at me. I had a knack for drawing unwanted attention to myself.
Cindy rubbed my shoulder awkwardly. She was a tiny Vietnamese American, and if she’d tried to hug me, she’d probably have just got smothered by my bosom. Not that she would do that—she was definitely somebody who was uncomfortable with emotions.
“I’ll get Kat,” she said, as I closed my eyes, trying to inhale and exhale slowly, while picturing waves lapping on the beach.
When I opened my eyes, Kat had placed a large slice of Lady Baltimore cake in front of me and was lowering herself into the chair next to mine.
“What’s going on?”
I picked at the walnuts on the frosting. I’d never heard of Lady Baltimore cake until Kat started serving it. When she first opened, she wanted her café to be modeled after the tea rooms that were so popular in the 1920s. She had based her original menu on the same food that would have been served back then. She’d gone into long explanations on her menu, but most people just thought the food was bizarre. The sandwiches were things like the Novelty, which had chopped onions, pitted olives, green peppers and dill pickles mixed with cottage cheese. The Peanut was a mix of finely chopped stuffed olives and peanut butter, seasoned with lemon juice and Worcestershire sauce on brown bread. The Special was cottage cheese with marshmallows, chopped raisins and cherries with salad dressing. Her menu explained the historical significance of each of the items and described how the original tea rooms were nothing like dainty English ones with their crustless sandwiches served on paper doilies. American tea rooms were actually a feminist business venture for many women who used them to gain financial independence.
“I bet they were perfect for lesbians,” she confided in me once. “They were like a precursor to the women’s bookstores of the 1980s—women-owned businesses that mostly attracted a female clientele.” Maybe they were, but it took me, Ella, Jan and Deirdre staging what amounted to an intervention for her to agree to change the menu.
She tried to argue that people just needed to get used to them. “Look at the bizarre things people put together on that TV show, Chopped.”
“When you make it to TV, then you can try it,” Jan told her, “but meanwhile you’re losing customers.” Kat kept her signature cakes because, let’s face it, cake was cake and never went out of fashion. This Lady Baltimore was a soft, layered cake with fruit and nuts and plenty of fluffy icing surrounding it all. Most people ate it with the dainty forks Kat provided, but I always devoured it with a large dessert spoon, shoveling it into my mouth like a pudding.
“It’s Ella,” I said. “She’s disappeared.” I took a large mouthful of cake, ready to launch into my story.
“Disappeared...” She leaned toward me. “Or left you?”
The cake caught in the back of my throat and I coughed, crumbs splattering out of my mouth. I grabbed my napkin and brought it quickly to my lips. What the hell kind of question was that? Kat was meant to be the one who’d be sympathetic and understanding. Had Detective Golders talked to her? But why would she have? I’d mentioned Kat but only in passing, when the detective asked if I had a job, or income.
“I-I’m sorry,” Kat said quickly, “it’s just—”
“Just what?” It came out like a snarl and I pushed the cake away from me angrily.
“It’s just that all day people seem to be talking about folks leaving, and I thought maybe...”
“What do you mean, folks leaving?”
“There was a group of Red Hat women in here earlier. I overheard one of them say that her husband had walked out this weekend. And you know that couple Dustin and Amber? He runs the gym and she works at Publix.” I made an indistinct motion with my head, not wanting to admit I had no idea who they were, nor did I care.
“They’re a lovely couple,” she continued. “No kids yet, but very engaged with our community. Very active in their church. This morning Amber made some excuse and told Dustin to go to church without her. Naturally, he silenced his phone while he was there, so he didn’t check his messages until after the service was over. When he did, he had a voicemail saying she was leaving. By the time he got home, she was gone.”
I must have been staring blankly because Kat took one look at my face and said, “I’m sorry. It’s nothing to do with you, although there’s another two couples that it’s happened to as well. Tell me about Ella.”
She was right; it had nothing to do with Ella’s disappearance, but I couldn’t help thinking how similar it sounded to Norm and Larry. I decided to tell her about them.
Her eyes got wider as she listened. “Is there something in the water?”
I snickered. We were all suspicious ever since the massive sewage spill, when the St. Pete drains overflowed into our bay.
I took another bite of cake. Over the years people had been shocked that no matter what was happening, I always wanted to eat. To me it was simple. I was happy, I ate to celebrate. I was sad, I ate for comfort. Right then, I didn’t know what I felt.
Kat watched me. “You still haven’t told me about Ella.”
I put my spoon down and took a deep breath. “She didn’t come home last night. She had a pretty full schedule yesterday, so I didn’t think anything of it when I didn’t hear from her. Then when I woke up and she wasn’t in bed next to me, I figured maybe it got late and she stayed overnight at Lucinda’s.”
“I thought she always texts you when she’s out for the day. Didn’t you think it was weird that she hadn’t?”
I shook my head, ignoring what I thought I heard in her voice—a slight accusation, a note of incredulity.
“What did Lucinda say?”
“Stupid bitch said Ella wasn’t there and then asked if I’d taken my meds. I slammed the phone down on her.”
Kat nodded her head sympathetically. “What did you do next?”
“I called the cops.”
“You—” she’s about to continue but out of nowhere, the bouncy-looking woman who was at the far table appeared in front of us.
“That cake was divine!” she gushed.
“Thanks, but—”
“I just had to tell you because, I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m the one who let that guy hypnotize me so I wouldn’t be tempted to eat sugar.”
She was talking to Kat, but I remembered the woman. We were at a fundraiser for a program that helped drug addicts and the mentally ill. After the motivational speakers, there had been a guy there who hypnotized people and made them do crazy stuff like dance around the room. Then he offered to hypnotize individuals who wanted to kick a bad habit. He showed this woman slides of cake and chocolate and asked her which she liked the best. She drooled over all of them. Then he hypnotized her and when she came out of the trance they brought in a plate with pastries from Kat’s café.
“It’s your reward,” he told her. “Take one—or better yet, take the plate.”
We all watched in fascination as she turned away from the plate and said, “that’s okay. I don’t really like sweet stuff.” I thought she must have been a plant, his assistant. But right now, who the fuck cared about her sugar-eating habits? Couldn’t she see she was interrupting?
“It worked at first,” the woman said, oblivious to my heavy sighs. “I haven’t been in all month. I thought I was glad to be rid of my sugar cravings, but turns out, I miss my treats way too much. He said it would be forever but thank god it wasn’t true. I’ve been thinking about your pineapple upside-down cake all day so this afternoon I finally gave in and came here. Let me tell you it was even more delicious than I remembered! I’ll be your most loyal customer from now on. In fact, I’ll take the remaining slices of that cake to go.”
I was ready to explode but Kat put her hand on my arm and whispered softly, “I’ll be right back.” She accompanied the woman to the cake counter where she removed the stand from the glass and pulled the cake off it. I was glad for Kat that things were going so well, but for chrissake, couldn’t she have asked Cindy to deal with the woman?
Kat poured herself a glass of water before coming back and sitting down with me.
“Be careful what you wish for, right?” she said. “I remember that event because the entire audience heard her say it was my cake that had made her gain 5 lbs. I remember thinking that I didn’t know whether that was good publicity or not.” She smiled, then looked at me and realized I was one hundred percent not interested in what she was saying.
“Sorry,” she said. “What happened when you called the cops? Are they looking into it?”
“I think so. Some detective I’ve never seen before came over and interviewed me, and then she called a couple of hours ago for more details. I think they’re taking it seriously.”
“That’s good. I remember reading an article in the Gazette about how nowadays if someone’s missing, they don’t wait twenty-four hours to initiate a search. Ella gave no sign about leaving beforehand? No hints?”
“If she did, I was oblivious to them.”
“You know, this whole thing is strange. You, Norm, Dustin...”
“But my situation isn’t like Norm and Larry, or that other couple. Maybe it’s some kind of weird coincidence that made them leave or maybe it isn’t. But they’ve all told their spouses what they were doing and where they were going. Ella didn’t even leave me a note.”
“Oh, Breezy, you poor thing.” She got up from her chair then dropped to her haunches so that she was at the same level as me and enfolded me in a big hug. I felt the warmth of her body and was filled with such a longing for Ella it made my insides ache. I didn’t want to cry anymore, so I pulled back from her. She straightened up and dropped back into her chair.
“You must be beside yourself,” she said as she sat down. “What will you do next? Can you help the cops in some way?”
I felt my chest tighten. She thought I should be doing more. What the hell could I do? I felt the anger rising. Distract yourself, I heard Marion’s voice in my head. Divert the conversation.
“How’s Gordy?” I asked, although I could care less about her partner right then.
“She’s in Mexico.”
“Visiting family?”
“Kinda.”
“You didn’t go with her?”
“It was a sudden thing. I couldn’t leave the café at such short notice, even if she’d asked me to.”
I felt my interest start to rise. The distraction was working. “What happened?”
“Yesterday morning when I came back from my run, she was already packing a suitcase. Said her father had a heart attack and she needed to leave right away.”
“That’s awful. Will he be okay?”
She shrugged. “I hope so.”
“Is he in intensive care?”
“I don’t know.”
I was taken aback. She sounded like she wasn’t being included in any of this. “But what does she tell you? What’s the prognosis according to the doctors?”
“I don’t know. It’s not like her not to call or text, because she’s always in touch when she goes away. But the fact is, I haven’t heard from her since she left.”
A multitude of expressions crossed her face. I couldn’t figure them out, but then in a voice that was barely above a whisper Kat said, “It’s as if she’s disappeared.”