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  BREAKING DOWN BARRIERS

  By Jean Martino

  Other books by Jean Martino

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  BREAKING DOWN BARRIERS

  By Jean Martino

  CHAPTER 1

  Newport Beach, California…June 12, 2003:

  It was 5:00 am; the street lights still bathing the millionaire homes with their impeccably kept lawns and gardens. A tall, tanned young man lifted another suitcase into the trunk of his white Camaro then glanced quickly up and down the street, his brown eyes alert. No one was up yet. Good, he thought, running his hand nervously through his sun-bleached, blond hair. They needed to get going before the sun came up and anyone saw them.

  Hurrying back into the house he saw his wife standing in the middle of the living room, her tall slim body trembling as tears spilled from her black eyes to run down her olive skinned cheeks.

  “I can’t do this to mom,” she whispered in a voice choked with emotions as his arms closed around her. “It will kill her; and your parents too.”

  “It will kill us if we don’t,” he said, bringing his arms forward and clutching both of hers as he stared hard at her. “Listen to me, sweetheart. We’ve gone over this a hundred times. If there was some other way you know I’d do it. Please, honey, don’t crack now. You have to stay strong, for both our sakes.”

  She nodded, wiping the tears away with her fingers before picking up a suitcase. “I know,” she said. “I know.” Turning quickly she walked towards the door, not even looking back, her tear-stained face resigned now.

  The young man, watching her, bit deeply into his lower lip, picked up the last suitcase, took a final quick look around the living room, then turned off the lights and pulled the door closed behind him. There was no room left in the trunk so he pressed it quietly closed then opened the rear car door and slung the suitcase onto the seat. As he reached the front of the car where his wife was already inside, he saw a neighbor two doors down staring in their direction, his newspaper in his hand which he raised in a wave to him. Ignoring him, the young man got quickly into the car, backed it down the drive and onto the street, heading in the other direction; his wife sobbing quietly beside him.

  The neighbor shrugged and continued on inside with his paper.

  * *

  Adelaide, South Australia…June 14, 2003:

  Storm clouds were gathering over the nearby Gulf of St. Vincent waters as Linda Rossi parked her white Nissan Bluebird at the Adelaide airport. The clock in the dashboard clicked over to 11:30 am, but she gave it only a cursory glance before leaning forward and staring defiantly up at the gray sky. “Don’t you dare rain!” she cried threateningly, her husky voice deepening. Another hour; that’s all she needed; just long enough for Cindy’s plane to arrive then drive back up into the hills and toast their toes in front of a blazing fire while they talked their heads off.

  Pulling down the sun visor, she glared disapprovingly in the attached mirror at her highlighted, blond hair. What the hell had that woman been thinking, slashing her hair like that? She tugged at the uneven strands of hair cut just below her ears and spraying across her forehead and gave a long, drawn out sigh. Well at least she’d got the color right if nothing else. Her blue eyes swept quickly over her lightly tanned oval face before she shoved the visor back up again and grinned. She was getting paranoid about how she looked, and that was the last thing Cindy would care about after flying halfway around the world to see her. Her hair would grow back again, the rain would hold off, and now all she had to think about was that her daughter would be stepping off that plane in 35 minutes.

  Grabbing her beige rain jacket and black floppy shoulder bag, she flung open the car’s door. Her long, jean clad legs flew sideways, her black boots splashing into a puddle of water the last rain had left there. Unconcerned, she ducked her head and exited the car, pulling down and straightening the white polo neck sweater over her full breasts and slim hips. As the strong winds whipped around her, she pulled on her jacket, shivering from the cold, frowning with annoyance as the zipper jammed. To hell with it, she thought, letting it go and holding the jacket closed as she stepped briskly towards the domestic terminal building. It was winter and Cindy had been warned and still she had insisted on flying over to celebrate her birthday with her next week.

  “I don’t care about the weather, Mom,” Cindy had told her a week ago when they talked on the phone. “I get enough sunshine here in California to last me a lifetime, and it’s important I be there on your 50th birthday. If Dad was still alive he would expect me to be there. And you know I’m gonna try and talk you into coming back to California to live, don’t you.” She had laughed then, but Linda had known she meant it.

  “We’ll talk about it when you get here,” said Linda. “Love you, baby.”

  “Love you too, Mom. Just don’t forget to be at the Adelaide airport to meet me.”

  Her insides were getting all jumpy with excitement at the thought of seeing her daughter again after almost two whole years. She couldn’t wait to throw her arms around her and hug her tightly to her and tell her how much she’d missed her. Nothing, she thought determinedly, glancing quickly up at the gray sky, was going to ruin this day for her.

  * *

  The wall clock in the terminal building clicked over to 2:30 pm. Linda could feel her nerves stretching to breaking point. She stared anxiously past the crowds and through the glass doors at the wind lashed rain sending people scurrying for shelter. She had never faced a dilemma like this in her life before. What did anyone do when their daughter had gone missing? Did they scream and rant and rave and punch holes in the wall? Or did they react like she had; rushing through the rain from this terminal to the international terminal on the far side of the airport like a crazy demented woman; desperately trying to find someone who could explain to her why her daughter had not been on the plane from Melbourne, when she knew Cindy had been scheduled to arrive there from Los Angeles early that morning and should have been on that flight to Adelaide.

  Shivering in her now damp rain jacket, she could feel the wetness of her white sweater beneath it squashed against her skin. Of all the idiotic things to do, that had to be the most idiotic. Now all she had gotten out of it was soaked clothing and hair that looked like she had just stepped out of the shower. Her five feet six inch, slim body gave an involuntary shudder as people rushed in and out of the building; the humming of voices and the clatter of luggage trolleys whirling around her. Her mind felt like it was coming unglued, her thoughts scattering around in chaos. She had to pull herself together and try and find some logic in all that had happened; maybe then she could find the answer she was looking for as to what had happened to her daughter.

  She remembered arriving there three hours earlier, when the rain was still a distant threat in the gray sky. She could see herself standing in the baggage compartment, unable to keep the grin off her face as she watched for her daughter to come through the doors off the flight from Melbourne. She could feel the confusion that had gripped her when she didn’t appear, the panic when she had rushed to the ticket counter, asking the unconcerned ticket clerk to check why her daughter had not been on the flight from Melbourne as scheduled. And she could even feel the anger she had felt when the woman told her she couldn’t help her and she should check with Qantas at the international terminal.

  It was spitting with rain when she had hurried across to the international terminal, she remembered that much explicitly, her umbrella almost blown inside out from the strong winds. She had closed it quickly, deciding it was of no use, and at that moment a streak of lightning split the skies, thunder rolled in and the rain come washing down in sheets. Thrusting her handbag over her head she let go of her jacket letting
it fly open, cursing the broken zipper as she ran towards the building and rushed inside dripping water all over the place.

  By the time the man at the Qantas information counter had finished his long drawn out phone conversation, she was shivering with the cold and dampness.

  “My daughter flew from Los Angeles to Melbourne last night on Qantas and was supposed to catch the 11:20 am flight from Melbourne to Adelaide,” she told him. “But she wasn’t on the plane and the people at the domestic terminal told me I should check with you in case she’d missed the flight from LA.”

  “Have you tried having her paged at the Melbourne airport?” the man asked; his eyes on the rain that was dripping off the sleeve of her jacket onto the counter.

  “Yes, she doesn’t answer. Please. Can you check for me and see if she was on that flight from LA?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I can’t do that. It’s against our rules.”

  She stood there dumbfounded staring at him, realizing he was more concerned about the water she had dripped on his counter than helping her find Cindy. “Then what am I supposed to do?” she asked angrily, knowing he was hoping she would leave and determined not to give him that satisfaction.

  “Can’t you call her, or someone close to her to find out if she missed the flight from Los Angeles?” he said.

  Linda slumped forward, deliberately leaning the wet sleeves of both her arms on the counter, trying to ignore the rivulet of water that had escaped from her hair and was trickling down the side of her face. “I tried calling her on her cell phone but can’t get her to answer. I tried calling her husband in LA but he doesn’t answer either. Look, there has to be something you can do to help me locate her.”

  For the first time his face showed some interest in her predicament. “Perhaps she’s coming in on the next flight from Melbourne,” he said. “You should check with the people at the domestic terminal. I’m afraid we can’t help you.”

  Can’t, or won’t, she thought bitterly, hurrying outside again, no longer concerned about the rain that was pouring down heavily, blown every which way by strong winds. She was already soaked beyond repair. Her main concern now was finding out what had happened to her daughter, despite her own physical discomfit. Arriving back at the domestic terminal building she hurried into the ladies room, drying off as much as she could with tissues and toilet paper and the help of the wall mounted electric hand drying machine before rushing back to wait an hour for the next flight from Melbourne.

  Cindy was not on that flight either. Using her mobile phone, she tried calling Cindy and Michael’s cell phones again; still no answer. She called their land line phone at their home in California again. No answer there either. Even the answering machine didn’t come on. Something was terribly wrong, she decided, remembering how she had not been able to reach them on any of their phones yesterday either, not feeling overly concerned at the time although curious as to why they didn’t answer. Rummaging through her handbag for her address book, she turned to the M’s and dialed Michael’s office number, knowing it would be close to ten pm Friday night in California now and probably no one would be there but not knowing what else to do.

  “McLean’s Investments,” said a young male voice, “Joseph Baumer speaking.”

  “Oh, thank God,” she said hurriedly. “I was afraid I’d get your answering service. I’m trying to locate one of the stock brokers there, Michael Brampton. This is his mother-in-law speaking. It’s very important I talk to him and I can’t get him on his cell phone or home phone and was wondering if he was there at the office.”

  “Michael isn’t here,” the man said. “I heard he took a two week leave of absence. He left a couple days ago; something to do with a family emergency.”

  “What family emergency?” she cried.

  “Sorry,” he said. “That’s all I know. Actually I was just leaving myself. I only answered the phone because I was expecting a call from a client. If you call back Monday and talk to Anthony Wainwright, our president, then I’m sure he can explain everything to you.”

  Thanking him, she hung up and quickly dialed Michael’s parent’s number in Arizona, knowing it was late there too and they were an elderly couple and probably sleeping right now, but knowing also she had no choice. Perhaps something had happened to them and Michael being their only child he might be there with Cindy.

  The phone rang for a long time before Geoff’s deep guttural voice answered. “Hello!”

  “Hello Geoff,” she said breathlessly. “I hope I didn’t wake you. This is Linda Rossi. I’m calling from Australia.”

  “Is something wrong?” he asked abruptly.

  “Well I don’t know,” she said, feeling guilt flooding her for calling them so late. “I was expecting Cindy to arrive today from California and she wasn’t on the flight. I’ve been calling her and Michael’s phones for almost two days now and no one answers. Then I called Michael’s office just now, and the man who answered told me Michael had taken a two week leave of absence because of a family emergency---”

  “What family emergency?” Geoff snapped.

  Linda took a deep breath of relief; obviously nothing had happened to Geoff and Carmel. “I hoped you could tell me,” she said.

  “Nothing wrong at this end,” he said. “We haven’t heard from Michael for over a month now. Last time we talked he said Cindy was flying over to visit you in June but he couldn’t get away from his work to accompany her. Perhaps she missed her flight and is coming in on a later one.”

  “Of course,” she said, feeling ashamed that she had woken them for nothing. “I’m sure that man at Michael’s office got it wrong. Sorry to worry you like that, Geoff. I’m sure Cindy will contact me real soon and explain what happened. You take care now, and give my love to Carmel. I’ll call you when Cindy arrives and let you know what happened.”

  She snapped her phone shut, her heart beating rapidly. A family emergency? What family emergency? Michael’s parents were alright. And the only family Cindy had, besides Michael and herself, were Jessica and her family here in Australia. Since the day she had married Vito in Las Vegas twenty nine years ago his own family in Brooklyn had turned their backs on them; his parents furious with him for not marrying that “nice” Italian girl they had chosen for him. They had wanted nothing to do with her or Vito; not even acknowledging Cindy’s birth when she sent them a card with Cindy’s baby photo on it. Oh God, please don’t let anything have happened to Cindy.

  She took several deep breaths, trying to fight off the panic threatening to envelope her. She wandered around the airport building, not even concerned that people might be staring at her disheveled appearance as she tried desperately to make sense of it all. If Michael had taken off work for two weeks when he had told everyone he couldn’t get off work to accompany Cindy to Australia, and only two days before Cindy was to fly out here, then that alone was enough to push the panic button. If it was for a family emergency that neither his parents nor she knew anything about, then perhaps something had happened to Cindy. No, no, it couldn’t be that. He would have contacted her if anything had happened to Cindy. She was sure of that. But why hadn’t Cindy or Michael called to tell her of any change of plans? Because, she decided, stopping suddenly and standing in the middle of the crowded airport, oblivious to the noise and rush of people around her, something else had happened, something they hadn’t been able to tell her. Horrible thoughts were rushing through her mind. She tried to push them away but they persisted; images of Cindy and Michael in a car accident, or having been attacked in their home, or even... even... she couldn’t bring herself to think the word but it hung there in her mind like a rock waiting to fall and crush her.

  * *

  A rush of cold air swept in through the opening doors, jolting Linda back to the present. She wished now she hadn’t called Jessica and poured her concerns into her sister’s sympathetic ear. She had only needed someone to talk to, hoping it would help her see things more clearly. But Jessica wouldn’t le
t it stop there. “Bill and I are driving to the airport right now,” she told her. “We’ll be there in a half hour.” No amount of protesting could stop Jessica once she had made up her mind. They both possessed the same stubborn ilk. And now Jessica and Bill were on their way to give her support in the middle of one of the worst rain storms Adelaide had had for a long time. If anything happened to her and Bill, on top of all that had gone wrong today, she would never forgive herself... never.

  Automatically her feet moved her a few steps away from the doors as though some inner force was still somehow controlling her body. She knew she should get out of the way of the people rushing in and out of the building, find herself a corner somewhere and try to think out some plan of action. But now she had the added concern of watching for Jessica and Bill to get there so they would not have to search for her through the crowds.

  She’d been a fool rushing across to the international terminal and back here in the pouring rain, oblivious to the fact she was getting herself drenched. She had panicked. Not like her. Normally she could think things out clearly and act responsibly, and always, when a problem confronted her, she had been able to conjure up Vito’s voice in her mind; knowing he would be waiting, as he did when he was alive, for her to turn to him for advice when a problem became insurmountable. For ten years since his passing she had kept that part of him secure in her mind, never letting go, never expecting that her return to Australia from California almost two years ago would find his memory finally fading. Vito’s voice had become harder and harder to recall lately; his face that had filled her life with so much joy for eighteen wonderful years could only be remembered now from looking at photos.