I ask. I tilt the phone away from my ear so that Officer Stamm can hear what Kylie is saying.
“She’s still in the bathroom.”
“Good. That’s good,” I reassure her. “Where’s your mommy?”
Kylie’s voice quivers. “I don’t know. The bedroom door is locked. There was yelling and loud noises and then it stopped. I was afraid to knock. Should I go knock?”
“No, no, Kylie, stay right here with me,” I say in a rush, desperate to keep her on the line.
“Tell her we’re coming to the door,” Officer Stamm instructs.
I cover my hand over the phone. “Can’t I go to the door to get them? The kids know me. They won’t be afraid of me.”
Stamm shakes his head. “No. Too dangerous. Stay down here and you’ll be the first person they see when they come out. Tell them that two police officers are coming to the door.”
“Kylie, honey,” I say. “Two nice police officers are going to come to the door. You open it up for them and then they’ll be able to check on your mom, okay?” I nod at Stamm and the two officers move toward the front door.
“Okay,” Kylie answers. “Should I go back to the bathroom and get Krissie?”
“No, no. Lay the phone down but don’t hang it up. The police officers are almost to the door. Okay, Kylie, go open the door. I’m right outside waiting for you.” The front door opens a crack and a short beep indicates that I have another call coming in. I ignore it.
Shouts come from behind me, and when I turn I find that a handful of people are not watching to see what is happening in the house. They are turned in the opposite direction, their backs to the drama unfolding right in front of them. I face the house again. Stamm and the other officer cautiously enter the home, hands near their weapons. More hollering from behind me, this time urgent, frantic sounding. The commotion behind us has also caught Jade’s attention and I can tell she is torn between attending to what is happening in the home and the flurry behind us.
I hang up my phone, confident that the officers are in the house and will bring the girls out safely.
Immediately my phone begins to buzz. I look at the display. Three missed calls, all from Adam. I shove the phone into the pocket of my skirt.
The screen door opens and, to my relief, Kylie and Krissie are being led out of the home. As they exit, I see the fear and uncertainty on Kylie’s face and it breaks my heart. I rush forward to meet them, taking comfort in that I will be a familiar face to them and I will whisk them to safety. But I also know that they will hate me. I will be the one who may have to place them in a new foster home, the one who may take them away from their mother whom they love unconditionally, without question, without asking for anything in return. I hope that the entire situation was just an awful misunderstanding. I pray their mother is still alive.
Before I can gather the girls into my arms there is a sharp crack and the sound of broken glass. The crowd behind me has grown and I see that they have gathered around the source of the broken glass. My van. Someone is breaking into my car in broad daylight, a police officer less than a block away. The nerve. But very quickly I realize that these thieves aren’t wayward teenage boys with too much time on their hands, but a group of women and a lone man. Mothers and grandmothers by the looks of them, and an old man wielding a crowbar. He steadies himself by placing a hand on the hood of the van, his chest rising and falling heavily. The crowbar slips from his hand, clanking to the ground. A heavyset woman reaches through the broken window and violently flings open the sliding door. She disappears for just a moment and then emerges. It’s then that I see what they already know. A flash of pink, a dangling shoelace.
“Oh, my God,” a voice I don’t recognize as my own erupts from my throat. “Please, no,” I whimper. I run toward the van.
It’s a terrible thing when you discover your child’s life is in danger. God or evolution or whatever you believe in must equip our bodies, our minds, our souls with some sort of talisman. At first I can’t believe that it’s Avery. She should be at the babysitter’s house gnawing on a graham cracker, playing with the other one-year-olds, piling big plastic blocks on top of one another. How did she get in the van? I know I didn’t put her there. Did I? No, it was Adam, I think, remembering how I met him coming back into the house just as I was leaving. How could I not even know she was strapped into the seat directly behind me?
The world becomes silent, I see mouths moving but no sound emerges. A numbness has crept into my limbs; a curious heaviness weighs down my extremities. I pray that what I’m witnessing right before me is all a terrible mistake. The bluish tinge that rings Avery’s lips is just the slant of light through trees. The way her hands lie limply at her side just means that she is very tired. It is just about time for her morning nap.
Too soon, much too quickly, I realize what I am so desperately trying to deny.
I reach for Avery and the minute she is in my arms I know that nothing will ever be the same, will ever be right again. The heat is rising from her skin searing into my own. There is no flutter beneath her eyelids to let me know she is just sleeping, no discernible rise and fall of her chest. There is nothing. Just as quickly as I have bundled Avery into my arms she is pulled away from me and I am left empty-handed with only the sound of my own cries and the question roiling over and over in my head. What have you done? What have you done?
Jenny was a bit disappointed as the bus made its way into the town of Cedar City. It looked identical to what she knew of Benton. She had been hoping for something new, something greener, maybe. More flowers, more trees, maybe a cornfield or two. Instead, there was just a whole lot of swaying power lines, stores and restaurants with desperate weeds poking up through the cracks of the gray cement.
The bus pulled into the bus station and Jenny hesitated. Should she get off the bus now or continue on to Dubuque, maybe try to find Matthew, her father’s friend? With a hiss the bus shuddered to a stop and several passengers stood, gathered their belongings and disembarked. Jenny looked down at her father’s overstuffed duffel at her feet and knew she wouldn’t be able to drag it very far. Quickly she examined the contents one more time, searching for items of value. In a side pocket she found some loose change and a pack of gum. She shoved these into the front pocket of her jean shorts. Buried beneath a pile of her father’s socks and underwear was a charger for the cell phone and as Jenny slid it into her backpack the driver made one last call for anyone getting off the bus.
With one last swipe, Jenny grabbed her father’s favorite t-shirt from the duffel and held it briefly to her nose, inhaling the familiar, slightly smoky scent that was her father. The t-shirt was washed and had been worn so many times that it was faded to a water-washed indigo-blue, and the motorcycle emblem on the back was cracked and peeling. Finding no more room in her backpack, Jenny tied the t-shirt around her narrow waist, wiggled into her backpack and, holding tightly to the envelope, made her way up the aisle toward the exit.
“Hey,” Dave called after her, “take care, niece!”
“You, too, Uncle Dave.” Jenny smiled in return. She felt slightly better knowing that she had Dave’s number in the cell phone, but knew she would never use it. On shaky legs, Jenny descended the bus. The air outside was warm and thick with moisture. Jenny squinted up into the sky where white horsetail clouds filtered the sun. Jenny tried to remember the real name of the clouds,
