“What’s wrong?” Trudy asked as I squeezed her tighter than I ever had before and couldn’t bring myself to let go.
Quickly, I wiped at the tears in my eyes and set her down on the floor. “I just missed you, that’s all.”
She giggled up at me. “Where’s Mommy? Where’s the baby?”
Danny had already grilled me about this in the car. It wasn’t an easy question to answer.
“Mommy’s still at the hospital,” I replied. “She was awake for a long time having the baby, so she’s very tired and resting now. We have to wait a little while before we can see her.”
Danny dropped his lunch bag and moved past me to play with his toy airplanes in the living room. “And the baby still doesn’t have a name,” he told his sister.
Trudy swung Polly, her oversized, blue rag doll, around and around in a circle and looked at me strangely. “How come?”
Taking in a deep breath, I strove not to reveal how guilty I felt about that. “We just haven’t made up our minds yet, that’s all. What have
you
been doing all morning?” I asked, deciding a change of subject might at least buy me some time to figure out how to answer these difficult questions.
“We made cookies.”
“Real cookies or Playdough cookies?”
“Real ones,” she replied with another giggle.
“Are there any left?” I asked.
She nodded and pointed toward the kitchen.
I turned and saw my neighbor, Joan, standing in the kitchen doorway. At seventy-six, she was an affable woman who dyed her hair red and wore floral leggings, bulky sweaters and colorful scarves. She had grandchildren of her own but they lived in Texas and only visited a few times a year.
Her shoulders rose and fell with a sigh as she dried her hands on a dishtowel. “Any news?”
“Not yet,” I replied, wishing this was all just a bad dream.
“You look like you could use a cookie,” Joan said. “Have you eaten breakfast?”
“I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday.”
She gestured for me to follow her to the kitchen.
Trudy hugged my leg and stepped onto my boot. I played along and lugged her and Polly across the hall.
*
A half hour later, I assured Joan that I was fine with the kids and insisted she go home to her husband, Harry.
“You’re sure you’ll be all right?” she asked as she gathered her purse and coat from the front hall closet.
“I’ll be fine. Carol’s with Lois for now, and I need to be here.”
“I understand. Call me if I can do anything. I can be here in a heartbeat, day or night.”
“Thanks Joan.” I said good-bye at the door, then gently closed and locked it.
Turning to look at Danny and Trudy watching television in the living room, I noticed a surreal—almost trancelike—sense of calm in the house, as if everything were perfectly normal and I had not been to hell and back over the past twenty-four hours.
I wished I could be in their heads, just for a moment. To be unaware of the truth. To be sheltered from it.
Moving to the sofa, I sat down to watch
Arthur
with my children. Trudy crawled across the cushions, lay her head on my lap, stuck her thumb in her mouth and hugged Polly.
I stroked her fine golden hair away from her face and thought about my other daughter—the baby with no name—who was somewhere else in the world at that moment.
Where? With whom?
Would I ever see her again in this life?
My stomach churned with acid. The house felt eerily quiet, even though the television blared and Danny kicked his leg back and forth, banging his heel against the upholstered chair in the corner of the room.
Both my children were oblivious to anything but the cartoon on TV. They knew nothing of the physical pain their mother had endured the night before…the blood and the panic in the OR. They felt no fear or dread about their lost sister, of whom they knew nothing. They had no notion of their parents’ suffering, and I knew it was our job to protect them from it as best we could.
Or was it?
My thoughts were interrupted by Trudy rolling onto her back, pulling her thumb out of her mouth and looking up at me. “What’s the matter, Daddy?”
Somewhat mystified, I blinked down at her. “Nothing’s the matter.”
“You’re sad.”
A lump the size of a golf ball formed in my throat. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re crying.”
I felt my eyebrows sink downward. “I’m not crying, sweetheart.”
“Yes, you are.” With her tiny, four-year-old hand, she poked me in the chest. “You’re crying in here.”
The earth seemed to shift on its axis. I wet my lips and inclined my head.
“Are you sad about the baby?” she asked.
I glanced across at Danny who was no longer watching television. He was staring at me intently.
Picking Trudy up to sit her on my lap, I slid a lock of hair behind her ear. “What do you know about the baby? Did Joan say something? Or did Nanny call and talk to you?”
“No.” Trudy’s cheeks flushed with color, as if she’d been caught doing something bad.
“Then what is it, sweetheart? Why do you think I’m sad?”
“Because she’s gone.”
I felt the color drain from my face. “How do you know that?”
“The lady told me.”
I swallowed hard and fought to remain calm as I sat forward slightly. “What lady?”
From the television, Arthur began to sing about library cards. Growing sleepy and distracted, Trudy glanced back at the screen, snuggled down on my lap and slid her thumb back into her mouth.
“The lady who came to the house this morning.”
“Danny, do you know anything about this?” I asked my son.
“No,” he replied with a look of alarm.
My heart began to pummel my ribcage. A little too firmly, I picked Trudy up again and plunked her down in a sitting position on the sofa beside me. She gaped at me with surprise.
“Who was the lady?” I asked. “Did you know her?”
“No.”
“What did she look like?”
Trudy shrugged a shoulder.
“Try, honey. Was she an older lady like Joan? Or young, like Mommy?”
“Like Mommy.”
I began to breathe faster. “What time was it? Was it before or after Joan came to take care of you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Please think, Trudy. Try to remember. Was Nanny here looking after you, or were you with Joan? Was it when you were baking cookies?”
She shook her head. “I was in my jammies. It was dark outside.”
“So, very early then,” I elaborated for her. “Did the lady come to the door? Did Nanny let her in?”
“No. The lady was already in.”
“Already inside?” My stomach turned over with sickening dread. “
Where
, inside?”
“In the baby’s room. She was standing over the crib.”
Though I was screaming inside my head, I fought to keep my cool. “Did you hear something and get out of bed? Or were you up already?”
“I was in bed. I thought it was Mommy. The light was on.”
“So you got out of bed and went into the baby’s room…but it wasn’t Mommy,” I added, seeking to understand, encouraging her to tell me more. “What did the lady say to you?”
“I don’t know.”
I shut my eyes briefly, willing myself to speak in a mollifying voice. “Try to remember, sweetheart. It’s very important. Did she know your name?”
Trudy shook her head.
“Was she nice, or mean?”
“She was nice.”
I bent my head closer. “Did she tell you
her
name?”
Trudy shrugged again.
This was like getting blood from a stone.
“What did she say to you?” I asked in a more demanding voice. “
Think
, Trudy.”
She hugged Polly closer. “She told me not to be scared.”
Oh God
. “What else?”
“She said she loved the baby. She promised to take good care of her.”
My breaths came fast and short. Immediately, I dug into my pocket for my phone, went to the kitchen and called Detective Miller. I told him everything Trudy had just said, word for word.
“Was she able to give you a description?” Miller asked.
“Not yet, but I’ll keep trying.”
“Don’t overwhelm her,” he added. “I’m on my way. And don’t touch anything in the baby’s room. We’ll be gathering evidence and dusting for prints. Was there any sign of forced entry?”
“Not that I know of, but I haven’t checked around yet.”
“Don’t touch a thing,” he repeated. “We’ll do a thorough search. Who was with your children at the time? Was it your mother-in-law?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll definitely need to talk to her again.”
I cupped my forehead in a hand and shut my eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“This is good news, Riley,” Miller assured me. “It’s a solid lead. You should call your wife and let her know.”
I nodded in agreement, hung up and prayed this would get us somewhere.
Six Months Earlier
Jenn Nichols
Someone very wise once told me that our greatest purpose in life was to find joy. That seemed rather self-indulgent to me at the time, and I couldn’t help but wonder about all the sickos in the world who got their jollies out of hurting others. Surely that should never be someone’s higher purpose, under any circumstances.
But that wasn’t the kind of joy this person was referring to. She was talking about something else entirely. Something far more pure. It took me a long time to truly understand it, but in the end, I finally got it.
*
Since I’m about to bare my soul to you, I suppose I should formally introduce myself. My name is Jenn Nichols and I turned thirty a few weeks ago. I’ve always been a bit of a dreamer, but in a good way. When I was young, I imagined myself doing amazing things like becoming a television reporter who covers wars and weather disasters, or an ER nurse who remains cool headed under pressure and helps people feel safe when they’re gravely sick or injured.
When I say I’m a dreamer in a good way, what I mean to suggest is that when I aspire toward something, I feel confident enough in my intelligence and abilities to achieve it. I don’t just dream about it. I understand that I have to take action, and I do.
I’ve always found it rather sad that most of us go through life believing there’s plenty of time to make our dreams come true. “Someday I’m going to…” Any goal could be inserted there. You’ve probably been guilty of that yourself at some point, haven’t you?
Or some of us get stuck in a rut and can’t stop focusing on the past. We see only the possibility of the status quo instead of looking toward a different future.
Well, I have news for you. Life is short. It flies by faster than you think, and you never know when the rug will get pulled out from under you, so if you really want something more, you need to get busy.
Where do you want to be five years from now? Ten years? Don’t just dream about it. Start the ball rolling
now
so that when those years are behind you, you won’t still be standing at the bottom of the mountain looking up.
*
If you’re wondering what qualifies me to give advice about goal setting and making your dreams come true, I promise I’ll reveal that to you later. But first I want you to know what kind of person I am.
I won’t start at the
very
beginning because that would be boring. I’ll simply disclose that I enjoyed a normal childhood with one older sister who was sometimes difficult to be around because she was overly dramatic as a teenager and frustratingly pessimistic and surly. She went a bit wild and made some bad decisions, and I now recognize that she may have had some mental health issues, even back then.
As for me, I was always sensible, levelheaded and emotionally content growing up. I was a slightly above average student in high school where I played on the volleyball team. I wasn’t gorgeous by any means, but I wasn’t hideous either. I didn’t struggle with any self-esteem issues. As far as adolescence goes, mine was pretty much a cake walk.
Now let’s fast-forward to young adulthood: I went to my local college, graduated with a business degree and wound up working in the human resources department of a retail office supply chain. It was a decent job for a kid fresh out of college.
That’s where I met my husband Jake—on the very day he quit. He worked in the printing division but was leaving to join the army.
The physical attraction I felt for him was immediate. He was tall and muscular, with dark hair and giant, deep-set blue eyes. And extremely polite. When he sat down in front of my desk to collect his Record of Employment, I lost my breath. I was only twenty-four at the time and he was twenty-seven, but when he answered my questions, he addressed me respectfully with ‘Yes, ma’am.’ ‘No, ma’am.’