The Breaking Point. Mariella Starr

me for wanting a little assistance from my son,” Cybil snarled. “I’m in a wheelchair!”

      “Because you wanted to be in it, and rented it,” Ales said. “It’s a minor fine-line fracture. The hospital issued an air-cast because that was all you needed. It will hurt for about a week, and it’s just a matter of staying off of it until it heals. A wheelchair wasn’t necessary.”

      “I’m the one in pain!” Cybil exclaimed. “I’m your mother, and you should be caring for me!”

      “I should be caring for my wife too, but she’s gone because of what you’ve done!”

      “She’ll be back,” Cybil said dismissively. “That girl knows when she’s got it good.”

      There was a knock on the front door. Ales rushed over, hoping it would be his wife. It wasn’t, and he let his sister in.

      “I sent the boys to the backyard to kick their soccer ball around,” Jill said. She rushed past her mother, went straight to the studio, and looked around. Then she ran through the kitchen, through the small mudroom, and opened the door to the garage, turning on the interior lights.

      Jill returned to the kitchen with a stunned look on her face. “Faith saw that?” she asked again, although she already knew the answer.

      Ales nodded. “She saw it, said “I’m done,” took the suitcase she’d already packed to go to that class she’s supposed to take in Arlington, and drove off. She’s not answering her phone.”

      Jill looked at her mother. “You are not staying here!”

      “I’ll stay where I damn well please,” Cybil exclaimed.

      “Ales go look for Faith,” Jill ordered. “I’m going to take Mother home. If she needs assistance, she can call a nursing service. It’s a broken toe, not a coronary! I’ll come back and start sifting through this mess and see if there’s anything that can be saved.”

      Ales nodded as his sister started pushing the wheelchair toward the door.

      “Stop it!” Cybil screamed. “I don’t want to go home! I’m going to need help!”

      “Enough Mother,” Jill said bluntly. “You’re a hypochondriac, and I’m sick of it! We’re all sick of it!”

      “How can you treat me like this?” Cybil demanded.

      “It’s easy,” Jill said. “I’m treating you like you’ve treated your kids all our lives. The only thing that has ever mattered to you was what you wanted! I learned from the best!”

      Ales shoved his phone into his pocket. Faith wasn’t answering. She’d been upset when he’d called her from work. She had interrupted a class to take his call because they had an agreement not to call unless it was an emergency. Otherwise, they were to send messages, even if that message was to call as soon as they were free. Faith did not consider his mother and her problems an emergency.

      Faith had been insistent that his mother was not coming to their house. She didn’t have the time or the patience to play nurse and be at the beck and call of his demanding mother. “Not this time!” she had said bluntly.

      Cybil Benedetti, his mother, was a demanding woman. After the last time his mother had stayed with them, Faith had stated emphatically that she was not moving out of her studio to accommodate his mother again. Enough was enough, and it was time for another member of his family to take a turn. They didn’t have a spare bedroom, and his mother had a perfectly good home of her own.

      Faith’s art show wouldn’t happen now, thanks to his difficult mother. Cybil never understood any perspective other than her own. It was her way or no way. After a lifetime of her unwillingness to get professional help, all three of her adult children were at their wits end in trying to deal with her.

      Ales had no idea where Faith would have gone. Her best friends were his sisters Jill and Carrie. If his wife had called either of them, they would have called him. He called his younger sister Carrie, but she hadn’t heard from his wife. Carrie had heard from Jill, and she didn’t sound very friendly toward her older brother.

      Faith had a lot of friends and colleagues at the university. Their circle of friends included many of them whom she saw outside of work hours, although, like him, her free time was limited. They would get together a couple of times a year, usually in the summer months, for backyard barbecues or during the holidays for parties. He knew their names, but he didn’t have their numbers on his phone. He called Faith’s university office phone and left a message.

      He didn’t know which direction to go. Would his wife return to work, or had she decided to go southeast and attend the seven-day accelerated sculpture class? Only twenty students would be accepted in the class by a world-renowned sculptor. She’d been thrilled to be one.

      They’d argued over her being gone the week before her summer class was to start. The summer vacation had barely begun when their son, Ricco, had gone to a baseball camp. Faith had signed up for the master’s class in sculpture. The university had approved of her taking the course; it was a credit to her skills to have been offered a place in the class.

      Ales glanced in his rear-view mirror when he heard a siren behind him. He pulled over as soon as it was safe and lowered his window.

      “Sir,” the officer said, leaning over and speaking through the lowered window. “You are driving and using a hand-held device. It’s against the law in Maryland.”

      “I know the law,” Ales said honestly. “I’m usually the one complaining about people ignoring it. I’m...”

      “Are you all right, sir?”

      “No, actually, I’m not,” Ales admitted. “I’m sorry. It isn’t anything you can help me with. I’m looking for my wife. She was upset, and I don’t know where she would have gone. I’ve been leaving phone messages, but she’s not responding.”

      “We all have domestic issues at one time or another, sir,” the officer said. “You still can’t break the law.”

      “I’m not arguing, or making excuses,” Ales said, handing over his license, registration, and proof of insurance cards.

      “Keep your hands on the steering wheel in plain sight, sir, I’ll be right back.”

      Ales watched as the officer returned to his vehicle, and he closed his eyes.

      “Sir?”

      “That didn’t take long,” Ales said, surprised.

      “Sir, what kind of car was your wife driving?”

      “Oh, God!”

      “Calm down, sir. I’m just checking,” the officer said.

      “A Subaru Outback, a two-tone blue, and gray,” Ales said.

      “Do you know the tag number?” the officer asked.

      “Yes, it’s a vanity plate, Art is Lov, and there are three handprints below the rear window, in silver paint—mine, hers and our son’s when he was three.” Ales’ voice broke. “Please don’t tell me she’s been in an accident.”

      “I don’t know anything yet, sir,” the officer said, although he knew there had been an accident with a fatality downtown. He hadn’t been on the scene, so he didn’t know the details. He did know that traffic was at a standstill, and was being diverted from the intersection. “Stay calm, sir, I’ll be right back.”

      Ales watched through his rearview mirror, as the police officer was speaking to someone in his vehicle. Then another police vehicle pulled in front of him, with two officers in it. The three officers converged at his door, and his hands began to shake.

      “Mr. Benedetti,” the first officer said.

      “What? What has happened?” Ales demanded.

      “I am sorry to inform you, sir,