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He threw me a pleading look, then went on into the bedroom he shared with his "wife."

"Cathy, Cathy," I could hear him calling, "where are you?"

A few seconds later he was in the kitchen behind me, checking there--and not finding her. He began to race around from room to room, and finally banged on Bart's locked door. "Bart, are you in there?"

First a long silence, then came a reluctant, surly reply, "Yeah, I'm in here. Where else would I be with the door locked?"

"Then unlock it and come out."

"Momma locked me in from the outside so I can't come out."

I sat on, immersing myself in the show, keeping myself detached, wondering how I was going to survive and grow up normally when I felt so unhappy.

Dad was the type to have duplicate keys to everything, and soon Bart was out and undergoing a third degree. "What did you do to cause your mother to lock you up and then go away?"

"Didn't do nothin!"

"You must have done something that made her furious."

Bart grinned at him slyly, saying nothing. I looked their way feeling anxious and scared.

"Bart, if you have done anything to harm your mother, you won't get out of this lightly. I mean that."

"Wouldn't do nothin to hurt her," said Bart irritably. "She's the one always hurtin me. She don't love me, only Cindy."

"Cindy," said Dad, suddenly remembering the little girl, and away he strode to her pretty room. He showed up minutes later with her.

"Where is your mother, Bart?"

"How do I know? She locked me up."

Despite myself, I was losing my ability to stay uninvolved. "Dad, Mom left her car in the garage a few days ago, and Madame drove us home the rest of the way, so she couldn't have gone far."

"I know. She told me--something wrong with her brakes." He threw Bart a long scrutinizing look. "Bart, are you sure you don't know where your mother is?"

"Can't look through solid doors."

"Did she tell you where she was going?"

"Nobody ever tells me nothin."

Suddenly Cindy piped up: "Mommy went out in rain . . . rain got us all wet . . ."

Bart whirled around to stab her with his glare. She froze and began to tremble.

Smiling, Dad picked up Cindy again and sat down to hold her on his lap. "Cindy, you're a lifesaver. Now, think back carefully and tell me where Mommy went."

Trembling more, she sat staring at Bart and unable to speak.

"Please, Cindy, look at me, not Bart. I'm here, I'll take care of you. Bart can't hurt you when I'm here. Bart, stop scowling at your sister."

"Cindy ran out in the rain, Daddy, and Momma had to chase outside and catch her, and then she came in dripping water, and coughing, and I said something, and she got mad at me and shoved me in my room and slammed the door."

"Well, I guess that explains Cindy's tangled hair," said Dad. But he didn't look relieved. He put Cindy on her feet and began to make a series of phone calls to all Mom's friends, and Madame Marisha. My grandmother said she'd drive right over.

Then he was talking to Emma, who couldn't return until tomorrow because of the storm. I thought of my grandmother on the road, trying to drive here in the downpour. Even in perfect weather, she wasn't what I'd call a safe driver.

"Dad, let's check all the rooms, even the attic," I said, jumping up and running toward the linen closet. "She may have gone up there to dance like she does sometimes, and accidently locked herself in, or fallen asleep on one of those beds . . . or something." I concluded this lamely, thinking he was looking at me in an odd way.