The Couple Next Door(81)

Anne hurriedly throws on the clothes she’d worn the day before and makes her way quickly downstairs to the kitchen and out the back door. The cool, dewy air hits her and makes goose bumps come up on her arms. She starts off across the wet grass, following in her father’s footsteps. She has no plan; she is operating on instinct.

She runs lightly down the wooden stairs that lead into the forested ravine, one hand on the rail, almost flying in the near dark. She once knew the way well, but it’s been years since she took this path. Still, memory serves her.

It is even darker in here, in the woods. The ground underfoot is soft and damp and swallows up her footsteps. She makes little noise as she moves down the dirt path as quickly as she can after her father. It’s spooky in the dark. She can’t see him ahead, but she has to assume that he’s sticking to the path.

Anne’s heart is pounding with fear and exertion. She knows everything is coming down to this moment. She believes her father has come out here to regain possession of her child and bring her back. Suddenly she realizes that if she stumbles into the meeting, she might ruin everything. She must stay hidden. She stands still for a moment, listening, peering into the murky forest. She sees nothing but trees and shadows. She begins to move along the path again, more cautiously, but as quickly as she can, almost blindly, panting heavily with panic and exertion. She comes to a turn in the path, where another set of wooden stairs leads steeply to a residential street above. She looks up. There, ahead. She can see her father. He’s alone, coming down the stairs that lead up out of the ravine and into the next street. He has a bundle in his arms. He must see her now. Can he tell it is her in the forest, in the dark?

“Daddy!” she screams.

“Anne?” he calls. “What are you doing out here? Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Is that Cora?” She comes closer, breathing heavily. She’s at the bottom of the stairs now; her father is halfway down, coming toward her. It’s beginning to be lighter now—she can see his face.

“Yes, it’s Cora!” he cries. “I got her back for you!” The bundle is not squirming; it hangs like deadweight in his arms. He walks down the stairs toward her.

She stares, appalled, at the unmoving bundle in his arms.

Then, as fast as she can, Anne runs up the steps to meet him. She stumbles, catches herself with her hands. She holds out her arms. “Give her to me!” she cries.

He hands the bundle over to her. She parts the blanket covering the baby’s face, terrified of what she might find. The baby is so still. Anne looks upon the baby’s face. It is Cora. She seems dead. Anne has to peer closely at her to tell if she’s breathing. She is breathing, barely. The baby’s eyes flicker behind her pale lids.

Anne lays her hand gently on Cora’s chest. She can feel the tiny thump-thump of her heart, can feel her little chest rising and falling. She is alive, but she’s not well. Anne sits down on the step and immediately puts Cora to her breast. There is still milk there.

With a bit of encouragement, the weakened baby latches on. And then she is suckling hungrily. Anne holds her baby to her breast, a moment she never thought she would have again. Tears run down her face as she looks at her nursing child.

She glances up at her father, who is still standing over her. He averts his eyes.

He tries to explain. “Someone called again, about an hour ago. Arranged another meeting, in the road on the other side of the ravine. This time a man showed up. I gave him the money, and he handed her to me. Thank God. I was just about to bring her home and wake you up.” He smiles at her. “It’s over, Anne, we’ve got her back. I got her back for you.”

Anne looks down at her baby, saying nothing. She does not want to look at her father. She has Cora again. She must call Marco.





THIRTY-SIX


Marco’s stomach is churning as his cab pulls up to Anne’s parents’ house. He sees all the police patrol cars, the ambulance parked near the front door. He recognizes Detective Rasbach’s car as well.

The cabbie says, “Hey, man, what’s going on?”

Marco doesn’t answer him.

Anne had called him on his cell, just a few minutes ago, and said, I have her. She’s okay. You have to come.

Cora is alive, and Anne called him. What happens next, he has no idea.

Marco hurries up the front steps of the house he’d left just hours before and bursts into the living room. He sees Anne on the sofa, cradling their tiny daughter in her arms. A uniformed police officer is standing behind the sofa, as if protecting her. Anne’s father and mother are not in the room. Marco wonders where they are, what has happened.

He rushes up to Anne and the baby and engulfs them both in a tearful embrace. Then he pulls back and looks carefully at Cora. She’s thin and sickly, but she’s breathing and sleeping peacefully, her fingers curled. “Thank God,” Marco says, trembling, tears running down his face. “Thank God.” He gazes in wonder at his daughter and gently strokes the lackluster curls on her head. He has never been happier than he is right now. He wants to hold on to this moment, to remember it forever.

“The medics have checked her over and say she’s okay,” Anne says, “but we should take her to the hospital and have her thoroughly examined.” Anne looks drawn and tired but, he realizes, also truly happy.

“What happened? Where are your parents?” Marco asks at last, uneasily.