Second House from the Corner (29 page)

My cell phone chimes from the passenger seat next to me and I feel for it with one eye on the road, hoping with everything in me that it's Preston calling, having found my son.

It's Shayla. I let it roll to voice mail. I can't deal with her right now. But she had better have my house secured. My hands shake against the steering wheel. Calm down, I tell myself. A car accident wouldn't be good right now. Rory. My sweet son. My only son. I remember when I found out I was pregnant with him. I called him little L. Preston and I didn't find out the sex but I knew he was a boy. I knew he would be a rambunctious boy. When he was a toddler, I remember one mother at a playgroup commenting on how much energy he had because Rory was curious and into everything. A smile crept on my face when I responded, “God knew what he was doing when he paired us together.” God did know what he was doing, and my sweet baby has to be okay. I switch lanes.

The traffic is next to nothing after exit 9, and I push the Nissan just above the speed limit. It doesn't take long for me to get to exit 11 and then hop off the turnpike. The Garden State Parkway is also empty, so I gun it for home. Preston hasn't called back. No news has to be good news. Please.

*   *   *

Our home looks the same as I pull in to the driveway. When I get to my front door I realize that I don't have my house key. I lean on the bell and wait. Preston opens the front door and then walks across the enclosed porch and unlocks the second. His head is held low and his eyes don't reach mine. When he moves to let me in, I hear his breath cinch.

“Your hair?”

I run my hands over my short do. “Have you found him?”

He shakes his head.

“Did you call the police?”

“I was waiting for you.”

“Are you kidding me? He's six, for Christ sakes. He could be halfway to New Hampshire.” I push past Preston and walk into the house. It's quiet. The girls must still be asleep. The kitchen is tidy except for a package of bacon thawing on the counter.

“Call the police,” I order.

Preston has crumbled against the banister. Crisis always turns him to powder. It's been my job to handle emergencies in the family, particularly kid calamities. When Rory came down with croup, I had to rock him. Twyla jammed her finger in the door, I had to drive us to the hospital. Preston doesn't do well with trouble. But that's why I'm here. That's why my name is Mommy. I put on my cape and start moving through the house. I grab the cordless phone and call the police. I tell them the little I know and they say they are on their way.

“Where did you check?”

“Everywhere.”

Preston is following me on the stairs. I walk into Rory's bedroom and look around to see if there is any sign of him. His Spiderman sheets are tangled and pulled back, his blue pillow pet is on the floor. I move the covers around.

“Where is his brown plush dog?” I look at Preston. He looks back at me. It's almost as if he didn't hear me. I talk slow and loud so that my words will sink in.

“The brown plush dog that he has to sleep with. Gran gave it to him three Christmases ago. He even drags it into the girls' room when he sleeps with them.”

Preston's face is blank. “I don't know.”

I open the closet and then get down on my knees and reach all the way into the back, but all I feel are his old shoes. I go into the girls' room. Man, I've missed them. Their breathing is rhythmic, like they are dancing together. I peek into the crib and Two is wrapped around Liv. They look like conjoined twins. I think about pulling them apart but I don't want them to wake up. Not yet. I search their closet but it's so narrow that if Rory were hiding in there I wouldn't have to look hard. Our bedroom is next.

“Did you look under the bed?”

“Yes.”

I look again anyway; nothing but Preston's shoes and the vaporizer. In our closet, I find the familiars.

Where are you, darling? Did you leave the house?

On the stairs, I feel Preston's heat as he moves behind me. My pulse is as quick as it gets. I'm in overdrive.
Where is my child?
I head to the basement.

“You look in all of the storage areas, Preston, and really look. Get a flashlight.”

Preston opens his mouth to say something but then bites his tongue. I'm being bossy, but so what?

I check the bathroom, the laundry room, under my desk, and in the space where Preston keeps his tools.

“Rory, Rory, where are you?” I call his name. I crawl around on the play area rug, looking behind boxes of puzzles, as if he could really fit with his plush dog in such a tight space.

“What the fuck, Preston?”

He's standing, looking at me on the floor.

“How the hell do you lose one of our children?” The hysteria has reached my voice. I'm no longer Mommy-in-control. I'm Mommy-maniac.

“I've been getting home early, cooking dinner, and putting them to bed myself. I put Rory to bed last night. We talked about submarines. He wanted to know if people in submarines could breathe or if they need oxygen tanks. It was a ten-minute conversation. I checked on the kids again before I fell asleep in the basement.” He sits on the arm of the sofa.

“When I came up for my middle-of-the-night check, the gate was open and I couldn't remember if I closed it or not and…” his voice trails. “Rory wasn't in his bed.”

“You forgot to set the alarm?”

“I thought I did.”

My hands go to my face and I rub my eyes. I don't want to start blaming Preston but I want to blame Preston.

This would never have happened if I were home. But there is no time for the shoulda-couldas. I have to find my son. I head upstairs, into the kitchen. Preston is behind me. The telephone starts ringing. I walk to the wall unit and peek at the caller ID.

“It's Juju. When did she leave?”

“A few days ago.”

I walk to the refrigerator and open it. Preston answers the telephone. I pour myself a glass of apple juice before it clicks in my mind that I don't like apple juice. I drink it anyway. Gas bubbles are crashing against each other in my belly. Where are the fucking police?

Preston hangs up the phone and asks me if I'd like coffee. I nod.

I hear movement upstairs and I sprint up the steps, two at a time.

“Mommy.” Two says my name loud enough and close enough to Liv's ear to wake her.

“Hi, Pudding Pops.” I lift them both from the crib, one on each arm, and carry them to the glider. I've missed this chair. “How did you sleep?”

“What happen to your hair?” Two sticks her pointer finger in her mouth and starts tracing my face with her free hand. Liv is squirming in my lap. She doesn't seem to know which emotion to go with, happy to see me or mad that I've been away.

“I cut it.”

“You look like a boy.”

I smile at her. “Two, we can't find Rory. Does he have any new hiding places?”

Her eyes get wide.

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“He likes to hide in your bed.”

“I've looked there. Where else?” I'm staring at the extra door in the girls' bedroom and realize I haven't checked the attic.

“Does he go into the attic?”

“Sometimes. But he's scared of the spider.” I stand up and put Liv back in the crib. She starts crying right away. I give her a toy rattle and tell Two to stay with her. The attic steps are narrow and steep. When I reach the top it all looks the same. A mess. I've needed to sort the kids' clothes all summer, but it's always an extra twenty degrees warmer in this part of the house and I've been avoiding the job for weeks.

“Rory,” I call his name softly. “Rory.” I throw back all of the crawl space sliders and peek in, calling his name. He's not up here. I hold back tears.

“Was he there?” Two is crawling out of the crib.

“Does he have another hiding space?”

She thinks. “I have an idea. Follow me.”

It feels fruitless to follow a four-year-old, but I'm at my wits' end and I do it. As we turn in to the hallway Preston is on the steps with a cup of coffee stretched out toward me. I shift Liv onto my other hip and take it.

“Thanks. I just checked the attic.” Then I shake my head. “Maybe you should call next door or knock on the neighbors' doors or something. We should be doing something. How long does it take for the police to get here?”

His shoulders sag, but he doesn't move.

Two goes into the bathroom and pushes back the shower curtain. “Sometimes he hides in the tub when we play hide-and-go-seek.” She looks at the entire tub, like if Rory was in there she might miss him. He's not.

“Mommy, I have to pee-pee.” She starts dancing from one leg to the other. I put my coffee on the sink and hand Liv to Preston, who is right behind me. I pull Two's pajama pants down and sit her on the toilet. We all wait as she pees and washes her hands.

“Oh,” she says. Then she opens the bathroom closet door. The shelves are deep, with sheets, towels, and bins of toiletries. On the bottom space is where I store the oversized bathroom rugs. On top of the rugs is a lump of ill-folded towels. They don't go there. Two pulls the towels away and there is Rory, curled with his plush dog and fast asleep.

“Ta-da,” she presents him with her right hand.

“Rory,” I say his name. “Rory, sweetie.” The tears fall without fanfare. “Baby, wake up.”

“Mom?” My name is soft on his lips. “Mommy.” He slides from his hiding place. “Mama!” He kicks at the pile of towels and scrambles from the floor. Rory throws himself at me so hard I hit the wall, but I don't let him go.

“I knew you'd come back. I just knew it.” He holds me tight.

“You cut your hair?”

“Yes.”

The doorbell rings. Must be the police.

“Son,” Preston calls his name, “I've been looking all over for you.” He takes him from my arms and hugs him. His back convulses in silent tears that will never be shed. “Why're you in the closet?”

Rory jumps down onto the floor and then lowers his face into my knees. “Because I wanted Mommy.”

 

FORTY-ONE

The Sweetness of Home

I make oatmeal for Liv, bacon and toast for Two, and an egg sandwich with cream cheese for Rory. Preston declines my offer to make him breakfast.

“Can I drive the kids to school?”

He nods.

We aren't really talking to each other, just what's necessary to navigate through the situation. After warming up his coffee, he slips upstairs. I can hear the shower running. The kids are seated at the table, rattling off all that I've missed.

“Mommy, guess what?” Rory has cream cheese in the corner of his mouth. “I stayed on the green for the entire week so today I get to pick from the surprise box.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I'm going to pick the red car. That's what Jeremiah picked last week.”

“Good job, honey.” I rummage through the cabinets, looking for snacks to put into their lunch boxes. Once we are finished downstairs, we head up to wash faces and teeth, and get dressed.

“I'll see you guys later.” Preston stands in the hallway and the children run to him for a hug.

“Have a nice day,” I call from the bathroom sink.

He mumbles his thanks, locks the gate, and trots down the stairs.

My phone vibrates from the back pocket of my jeans. I wonder if I worried Gran. When I look at my phone, it's a New York number.

“Kids, go sit in your room and quietly read a book. Rory, take Liv.” I close the bathroom door.

“Hello?”

“Felicia?”

“Yes.”

“Hi, it's Ashley calling from SEM&M. Sorry to call so early. I know you have children so I figured it would be fine.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good news. You booked the Johnson & Johnson commercial we sent you on a few weeks ago.”

“Wow. Really?” I pump my fist. “That's incredible.”

“Congratulations. They're working on the shoot date, but it may be in a week or so. I'll e-mail you all of the contract information. Is your fax still the same?”

“Yes.”

“Great. I'll be in touch with more when I have it. We are really excited for you. Johnson & Johnson have been looking for a repeat mom to appear in a string of commercials. Fingers crossed that you'll be their girl.”

“Yes, that would be wonderful. I'm over the moon. Wow. Please keep me posted.”

I hang up and scream. The kids come running to the bathroom.

“Mom, what's wrong?”

I open the door. “I just booked a commercial.”

“What does that mean?”

“I'm going to be on television.”

“Can I do it with you?” Two's eyes widen with hope.

“We'll see, honey. Let's get going to camp.”

I grab Liv and usher the other two down the steps. Johnson & Johnson. That has to be a national. Commercials pay well, but a national is like hitting the jackpot. Ching-ching. A repeat series, nothing but net. Maybe my luck is about to change. I lock the front door. Then on the bottom of my steps it strikes me. I went on the audition before I cut my hair. Man, I hope that isn't a problem. I scratch my scalp, knowing that it could be.

*   *   *

I drive through the neighborhoods as they change from tightly woven to the sprawling suburbs. When I pull in front of the red schoolhouse, Erica is standing on the curb with McCoy on her hip, saying something to a tearful Coltrane.

“Felicia. Girl, where have you been?” She looks me over. “Wow, love the hair.”

First compliment I've received since I chopped it.

“Thanks.” We do a side hug, since we are both clutching kids.

“You just dropped off the face of the earth,” she comments.

“It's been crazy.”

Two clings to my free hand as we stand at the sign-in table. When the teacher reaches for Two and Rory, they both grab a leg and refuse to go.