Shelter Us: A Novel (23 page)

We are going to the park. It’s a typical scene when we arrive. Half a dozen toddlers dig in the sand. A few sit in strollers, and the littlest ones are passed between nannies. The women speak Spanish with each other and with the children in their care. I feel a familiarity toward them, although I don’t speak to them much—my Spanish is practically
nada
. Bibi wanted her daughter to be “all-American,” so my mother and I lost the inheritance of native speakers.

From the nannies’ facial expressions and body language, I can glean that their conversation is gossipy, conspiratorial. In any case, it’s animated. As usual, they’ve brought tantalizing bags of sand toys, which (also as usual) I have neglected to pack for Izzy. They sit around a picnic table with elaborate snacks spread out for their little ones. I ought to take notes.

I stand at the edge of the sandbox, too disoriented to sit. I feel different. The sky looks like it was put on backward, a mirror of the old, true sky. The colors seem crooked. It’s as if someone has turned everything ninety degrees. I keep waiting for my phone to ring, then hoping that it won’t. I can’t stop worrying about Michael and Victoria,
Josie and Tyler, wondering if I’ll hear any news, and if it will be good or bad.

Izzy has rejected the small yellow plastic shovel and cracked purple bucket that happened to be in our car and has moved toward the other kids’ toys. He approaches an enormous yellow cement mixer that a little blond boy is pushing up a sand hill that he built. Even I can see it’s a gorgeous truck, impossible to resist. Izzy starts to pull it out of the boy’s hands.

“Izzy,” I call, and lurch toward him across the sandbox. At that moment my cell phone rings. My heart skips at the sound. I paw the bottom of the bag searching for it. Meanwhile, the truck incident is working its way into high drama. With one eye I watch Izzy and the poor little boy he’s bullying. Where’s that kid’s nanny, and why can’t she save him?

I find my phone just as the ringing stops. M
ISSED
C
ALL
, the display announces. I look back at Izzy in time to see him push the other boy. “No, Izzy!” I say, hustling over to them with my phone in my hand. “Izzy, no pushing, no grabbing. Tell him you’re sorry.” Izzy crosses his arm and flops into the sand. “Are you okay, sweetie?” I ask the truck-lucky kid. “He’s sorry,” I say, apologizing for Izzy. The boy trudges off in tears. I sigh and pile this fail on top of my burnt French toast. I glance at my phone, terrified and hopeful to find an Oakland area code.

It’s Robert’s cell. That’s odd. He’s usually in class and unreachable at this time of day. I look up in time to catch the nannies looking at me. They turn their heads away. “
Ven aqu
í,” says a woman with a long, straight ponytail to the little boy Izzy assaulted, her arms outstretched. Dutifully, he goes to her. She hugs him and says something in his ear. She points to the truck, then to Izzy. “No!” The boy stomps, shaking his head and balling his hands into fists at his sides. She smiles at me and shrugs, lifts her hands as if to say,
I tried
.

“That’s okay,” I say. I wave my hand, motioning an apology for Izzy, for myself. I point to my phone and signal like I’m nuts. Izzy gets up and runs toward the swings, kicking sand in his wake. “Push me,
Mommy,” he calls in his sweet, high register. I hope I will remember that voice a decade from now. I follow him and put the phone in my pocket, admonish myself to give Izzy my attention, be in the moment, start over. I do wonder, though, what Robert might have wanted. I hope nothing’s wrong.

I help Izzy into the swing; he insists on the big-boy one, like his brother. “Hold on tight,” I caution. I pull the swing back toward me as high as I can. I hold him there a moment. He shrieks in anticipation of takeoff. “Five, four, three, two, one, blast off!” I shout, and give a giant push. I pay attention, applying just the right pressure to just the right place, so he won’t fall off. I get into a rhythm; I feel as if I could push forever. It’s hypnotizing—the tempo of the chains, the weight against my hands and arms. I wonder what parks Josie will take Tyler to, if the parks in Oakland are better than those in downtown LA. I shake my head and repeat to myself,
Be here, Sarah
. That will be my new mantra.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.
Don’t look. Be here
, I counsel myself. But it could be Robert again. It could be important. Just one quick peek. My stomach drops at the sight of the 510 area code, not Josie’s.

Hi. U OK? Call me. B
.

A bright red flush spreads through my chest and forehead. My left eye begins to twitch. This has to end.

I’m fine. U have to leave me alone
.

“Moommmeeeee! Push me!” comes Izzy’s voice through a fog. I’ve missed a couple pushes. I try to take deep breaths, in and out, in and out, in and out, and focus on pushing Izzy in that swing, forward and back, forward and back, forward and back.

“Okay, Iz.” I concentrate on getting my hands in the precise middle of his back. When I miss, he veers off to one side and gets impatient with my bad form. I rededicate myself to doing this one thing right. “Whee!” he says, happy now. After I’ve pushed for fifteen minutes, the bright sun gets to be too much. I need to lie down. I need to think. “It’s time to go, Iz.”

“Nooo,” he says on cue.

I take a deep breath, think of all the good-mommy strategies I’ve ever learned, mentally preparing to get him to leave the park without undue commotion. “Ten more pushes, and then we’re going. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and one. Okay.” I stop the swing. “Time to go.”

“Noooo, I don’t wannnnnna go,” he says. I don’t want another scene, after the brawl over the dump truck.

“Yes, it’s time.”
Be here. Be loving
. Summoning an idea for a smooth departure, I say with a sly smile, “We’re going to have something special for lunch today.” He seems interested, so I make my move, wedging my hands under his arms and lifting him out of the swing as I continue to fabricate a tale. “I don’t think I can tell you what it is,” I say with a grin. “It’s a secret!”

His face opens with a smile. A secret! I’ve got him. “Tell me, Mama!”

I reach into my depths and gather every bit of magic and patience I can find. I talk about a fairy who will bring a magical bag with yummy things to eat and a secret message just for Izzy. I keep it up as I walk, grab my bag, and pass through the gate toward our car, until he’s buckled in his car seat. I feel proud of myself. We have left the park. We will eat lunch and we will nap. I will be calm, loving, and present. The world is my oyster.

M
y cell phone
rings again as we pull into the driveway. I scramble to pull it out of my pocket. I’m faster this time. It’s the 510 area code again. “Listen, this has to stop.” I have to put an end to Brian’s pursuit.

There’s a short pause before the caller speaks. “Sarah? It’s Josie.”

My brain delays a second. “Josie! I’m so sorry—I thought you were someone else.” I jump out of the car. “Is—is there any word on Michael?” My entire body clenches in anticipation of her answer, preparing for the worst.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m calling.”

I hold my breath.

“We found him. He’s safe.” I drop to the grass.

“Oh, thank God. Thank God! Oh, Josie! That is fantastic! That is the best thing I’ve heard in my whole life. Oh my god! What happened? Where was he?” I scoot to the dappled shade of our sycamores, pushing the phone tight against my ear so I won’t miss a word. The air is gentler here than at the park.

“Are you ready for this? He was in LA.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I wish.”

“What do you mean? What was he doing here?”

She pauses and in a quieter voice says, “Apparently he was looking for me.”

I gasp. “Oh my.”

“I know. I feel awful.”

“How do you know that?”

“Last night around nine thirty, Nell from downstairs—I think you met her, the one with the twin boys Michael’s age?—she started pounding on my mom’s door. She burst in talking so fast we could barely understand her. She said that her boys just told her that Michael might have gone to LA to look for me. He wanted to bring me home. Apparently, he’d told them his plan a couple months ago. They’d asked Michael how he planned on doing that, and Michael told them he was saving money for bus fare. They said they’d forgotten about it until last night. They thought he was just talking.”

“Wow.”

“So we called the Oakland police to tell them, and they called LAPD to let them know. Arnold went rushing out to the bus station here, just in case. Around midnight the police called and said they had Michael. They found him at the Greyhound Station in LA. I can’t believe he was so close to me!”

“He was still at the bus station?”

“Yeah. I guess the LAPD went to all the shelters for homeless teenagers, but no one had seen him. So they went to the bus station to see if anyone remembered a kid traveling alone. They found him right there. He never left the station. He got scared when he realized he had no way to find me. I don’t know what he was thinking, like I was just going to be walking by or something.” I’d had the same fantasy when I went looking for her downtown, and it worked out for me. “He didn’t have enough money to get back. Just for vending machines.”

“Poor kid. He must have been so scared. Why didn’t he call, or ask someone for help?”

“He said he was afraid. I don’t get it.”

“Maybe he was in shock or something.”

“Maybe. I talked to him from the LA police station. He sounded pretty shook up. They put him on a return bus. Arnold’s still at the
station, waiting for him. They should be here soon. I wanted you to know.”

“I am so glad you called me. So how’s your mom doing now?” What does it feel like when you’ve prepared yourself for the worst and it doesn’t come to pass?

“She won’t talk to me. She blames me.” A quiet static in the connection. “Honestly, I don’t know if I can stay with her.” I get up and walk across the lawn, as though moving will help me understand. For a moment my hopes rise; will she come back? Izzy has been in the car with the doors open, looking at his board books, and he’s just now starting to push against his seat belt. I go back to get him out of his seat. I crank my neck ninety degrees to squeeze the phone between my ear and shoulder, while I use both hands to release Izzy. The phone slips out of my tenuous hold. When I pick it up, Josie is still talking. “There’s just so much tension between us. Nothing from before was resolved, and now there’s this. I don’t know if she wants me to live with her anymore. And I don’t know if I want to.”

I hear a stifled terror under a surface of calm in her voice. “Josie, can’t you talk with her? If she knew about what happened here, she would never in a million years push you out on your own.”

“I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry. I just wanted to give you the news about Michael.” I start to picture our sofa bed again, made up with new sheets and stuffed animals for Tyler, but an invitation to stay with us stays silent in the back of my mouth. Izzy spins in circles and falls down dizzily on the grass, then crawls around, inspecting the white weed-flowers popping up all over the lawn, pulling up handfuls of grass with his small fingers. I watch him throw clumps up in the air; they land in his hair and fall down the back of his shirt. I’ll have to give him a bath before his nap so his sheets won’t get gritty. “I’m sorry I mentioned the living situation,” she says. “It’s not your problem.”

“I was just trying to think if there’s some way I can help, that’s all.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“Call me again soon. I want an update on everything. All right?”

“Sure. Bye, Sarah.” She hangs up. Izzy has sat down in the flower bed and is picking up soil and drizzling it over his legs. He is a creature of the earth and elements. I stand him up, brush chunks of dirt off his legs and clothes, and lift him to me. I hold him tight and kiss his face. “I love you, my angel.”

Inside the house, I attempt to fulfill my promise about a fantastical lunch. I write a fairy note and sprinkle some glitter on it. He is intrigued by the revelation that fairies exist, that I’ve been keeping them from him all this time. I bathe him and put him down for a nap. I go to my own room, crossing my fingers that he’ll fall asleep and I’ll get a nap, too. I lie down on my bed and close my eyes. I listen to him complaining from his crib on and off.

The sound of my cell phone buzzing opens my eyes, alerting me to the fact that I’ve dozed off and so has Izzy. I rush to answer it. A 510 number, but whose, I can’t tell. “Hello?” I say, hoping for Josie.

“Hey, you.” A man’s voice. I roll into a tight ball with the phone. “Are you there? It’s Brian.”

“I know. I’m here.” My pulse goes double-time.

“How are you doing?”

My face heats up as I remember the scene when I left his apartment. “I’m doing fine.” The green light on the monitor on my bedside table starts to flutter.

“I wanted to be sure you got home okay.”

“I’m okay.” My staccato answers are meant to shut down conversation, but he keeps pressing.

“I hope I didn’t get you in trouble,” he says.

“You didn’t do anything.”

“That’s not how I remember it.”

Izzy’s sounds are morphing into a cranky whine. “I just meant it wasn’t your fault. I was there, too.”

“I remember.” He sounds flirtatious.

“Listen, Brian, we can’t talk like this. We’re not in high school. You can’t call me. I’m married. I have kids. I have a life. That night, the whole thing, it never happened. Do you understand?”

He sighs. “I just wanted to be sure you were okay. You were really freaked out when you left.”

“I appreciate your concern. I’m really fine.”

“You can call me if you ever need someone to talk to.”

“No, Brian, I can’t. Please, don’t call me again.”

“Mama! Mama!
Mama!
” Izzy’s cries have moved to his throat.

“I’ll be right there, Izzy! Brian, I have to go.”

“Sarah, if you’re confused, maybe we need to talk about this, about us.”