I could tell by the ease at which the words came out and the accepting way Lulu nodded her head, this was a familiar discussion. Lulu had apologized more than once for her son’s survival, and Ronda had told her every time to knock it off. I actually had thought it a little odd Lulu was so enmeshed in the group considering her luck, but perhaps I’d been too quick with the word luck. I’d have given anything for Charlie to be in Sam or Aliyah’s shoes, but at the same time, it was unrealistic to imagine if he were, we’d be okay at this moment.
Sherry, who I had figured out by now was the quiet one, commented dryly, “Well, all of this diet talk is making my stomach growl; let’s go get some tacos.”
After loading our table with a variety of gourmet tacos, we settled back in. I still didn’t feel completely comfortable, they were just too new to me, but I wasn’t exactly an outsider. I knew I belonged here. When Sherry casually asked about my classroom, I steeled myself for questions about our lockdown that fateful day, but they kept it light and casual.
“Why second grade?” she asked.
I thought about it. The truth was I’d sort of fallen into the early years almost by accident. My daycare experience made me comfortable with younger children and my ascent into elementary school coincided with Charlie’s entry into the school system. Of course, I’d thought about branching out and trying something different, but even when Charlie had moved on to middle school, I’d stuck with what was familiar.
“By second grade, most kids are reading; they’re capable of sitting still most of the time. They’re still young enough. They’re moldable, teachable, and many of the parents are still involved. I know from peers that tends to taper down each year,” I explained.
Lulu said, “That makes sense, it kind of goes back to what we were discussing at Ronda’s house. That’s the time to identify the at-risk kids.”
“Yes! I can tell you right now which kids are going to be the loners, which kids just don’t fit in at all. It’s all obvious in play dynamics by this age.”
Ronda asked, “If it’s so obvious, why aren’t there already programs in place to reach them?”
“As teachers, our hands are pretty tied in what we can do. No one wants teachers being parents, and they see any step outside of basic curriculum decisions as encroaching on a parent’s role. They fight any social programs we suggest.”
Lulu nodded, “Republicans, right?” and I didn’t have a chance to reply before Sherry interrupted.
“Hey now! I’m a republican and I would support that!”
“Whoops, sorry, I don’t mean to start a political debate. Lulu’s right though, republicans do often fight us on any social issues. That said, I can’t say the democrats do me any favors either. Almost every local administrative issue that’s tied my hands as a teacher has been at the behest of democratic board members. The truth is the parties both say they want better schools, better teachers, safer kids, and both parties completely tie the hands of the people most qualified to make that happen in the process.”
The sad truth was as teachers we didn’t earn a high enough salary to be considered important enough to make those kinds of decisions. We were too far down the administrative food chain to create our own meaningful changes. Everyone in the city had a better way we should be teaching, better programs we should be working under, every parent in the city knew best how to manage a classroom, every school board member and state education officer knew best. Teachers, with their boots on the ground as it were, had to work with whatever tools and parameters we were handed.
I blushed, realizing I sounded an awful lot like what my friends and I jokingly called my old teachervangelist self. Teaching had never been my calling; I’d fallen into it as a necessity, but it had become my passion. Sitting at lunch in that brewery, I realized that was the first time I’d felt a spark of that old passion since the shooting.
Ronda pointed out the political lines made the gun safety issue so difficult to address. “We all know it’s polarized now. Our challenge is getting both sides to hear us without talking over us. I don’t want our goals to be hijacked, so I think we need to be really clear and specific in what it is we want to accomplish, and let’s be real, that may not be exactly what any one side wants. As an attorney, I know that the true mark of a successful judgment is when both parties walk away feeling a little unsatisfied.”
I felt a little embarrassed because it hit me that until that moment, I hadn’t actually known what it was she did for a living. I’d been so self-absorbed, it hadn’t occurred to me to even wonder. Ronda as an attorney made perfect sense. I could only imagine the groans of opposing counsel when they learned she was going to be their nemesis.
“What kind of law do you practice?” I asked.
“The ugly kind!” she quipped. “Family law, I mostly represent divorcees, I bust balls for a living.”
That elicited an earnest laugh from me that was echoed by the others. It suddenly struck me how naturally our conversation flowed. I didn’t feel like a newcomer, a stranger; we could have been any four women meeting for lunch and a beer, anywhere. The few patrons in the brewery didn’t glance at us. There was no telltale neon sign over us. It felt almost nice to be this normal again, just four girlfriends hanging out and sort of having fun. The word fun startled me out of my reverie, though. With it came the crushing reminder that for Charlie, there would be no more fun.
Ronda was eyeing me keenly and said, “So tell us about your story; we know you’re a teacher, but what about your personal life?”
“What do you mean?”
“Where’s your ex in all of this?” she asked.
“Narek? He’s in Armenia,” I said dully. I was still numb from the chilling reminder of why I was here.
Lulu leaned in, “Is he from there?”
I didn’t want to talk about Narek. I didn’t want to remember Narek. Somehow just saying his name, on top of the reminder of Charlie’s absence, filled me with ice water and I didn’t want to say anymore. What I really wanted was to be far away from this place.
I said, “Hey, I'm sorry, I have to get out of here; I have an appointment I can’t miss. It was nice seeing you all.”
I saw the look of concern in their eyes, but they, too, were members of this club no one ever wanted to join. They, too, understood putting on the mask and walking away quietly. They, too, understood we were really just pretending to be four normal girlfriends.
26
It’s been four days and I should stop texting, but I continue to hope you’ll reply.
As the waters of the Chesapeake Bay warmed in anticipation of summer’s imminent return, I steeled myself for another season without Charlie. For the first time since I had begun teaching, I wouldn’t be heading back to Michigan. My mother wasn’t happy about that. She wanted the opportunity to serve me, to help me heal, to witness my recovery in person. I understood exactly why it was hard for her, but the prospect of watching the blessed, the ignorant, the innocent, in summer play on the shores of Lake Michigan was too much to bear. I thought of the old hurricane rule I’d learned when first moving to Virginia, “June too soon.”
I had been healing, at least a little, I thought. I wasn’t entirely trusting of my own self-analysis, though, because I recognized that when the numbness had finally worn off, when I’d finally started to feel emotions again, they often swung wildly. That small improvement in emotional health was stilted all over again with the lack of response from the child. My anxiety rose with each passing day, or passing hour if I wanted to be honest with myself, that C didn’t reply.
I had just picked up the fragile pieces of what was left of my life when C disappeared. If I’d felt guilt over not being there when Charlie needed me, I’d always known intellectually that guilt was unreasonable. He was at school that day because he needed to be there. I was at my school teaching because I needed to be there. There wasn’t some reasonable alternative that would have kept us together and safe. With C, it was different. He’d t
urned to me for help and I’d had a chance to reach him in time. I’d failed at convincing him to trust me enough to give me a name. I’d failed to protect him. With each passing hour of silence, I believed more strongly that I’d failed to save him.
I’d started ignoring calls again, first the tribe, and then my mother. I didn’t want to engage in casual conversation, but neither did I want to share the burden of my guilt with anyone else. I had once again started to lock myself up in the house, afraid to leave the safe walls and the steady, dependable stream of Wi-Fi. It had been only four days since my last interaction with C, and I was already unraveling, undoing any hint of earlier progress.
The one person whose calls I did answer was Morris. Each time my phone rang and I saw his number on the screen, I’d force myself to pick up for what always turned out to be a meaningless check-in that would serve to only confirm that C was still anonymous, still missing. Morris assured me that police were not giving up, he tried lulling me with the vague suggestion that perhaps we had misread the entire situation, but it didn’t help. I felt certain the child had come under some serious harm. We’d lost our opportunity. But then, on the sixth day, everything changed again.
I’m ok, he brought us to my grandmothers house and she doesn’t have wifi
It took me a few minutes to truly catch my breath, as the waves of relief threatened to drown me. I squeezed my eyes shut to fight the tears that rolled. My heart pounded and I reread the text several times, thinking carefully about my reply. Trying to quell my shaking hand, I replied.
I’ve been so worried, but I’m glad to hear you were somewhere safe. Is grandma's house safe?
Yeah, he leaves me alone there bcuz hes so busy. It’s nice too cuz she has a dog
I sank back into my couch, and closed my eyes in relief for a moment.
I used to have a dog, when I was a kid.
What kind?
The fat kind! I don’t think he really had a breed, he was a bit of everything, his name was Stoagie. That’s what the old folks used to call cigars.
I wish we could have one but I wont even ask bcuz he wouldn’t allow it
I don’t really know why we don’t have one. I mean, when I was living with Charlie’s father I couldn't because he was allergic but I should have gotten one after that.
U still can
I guess. Actually, it’s funny this comes up because I’ve had a bunch of weird dog-related dreams lately. Maybe the universe is telling me something.
I did have a bird 4 a while
His name was Dr Pepper
Oh that’s a fun name, what kind of bird was he?
Lovebird. Mama got him from Deke.
Deke? Is that your father?
Lol no. He was an old man Mama used to clean for and when he died she took the bird.
Oh, so she cleans houses?
Idk. Anyway we didnt get to have him long. He would make these sounds, like he was sad and mama said he wanted a mate. Lovebirds wasn’t meant to live alone.
:-( Did you give him away?
No. My dad hated it, he would yell at him to shut up and then one day I came home from school and he said he set it free outside
I’m sorry. You know if we get you out of there maybe you could have another bird.
Would rather a dog tbh. Nanas dog loves me more than Dr Pepper ever did. I can lie on top of him and he just lets me. He sees me.
What do you mean?
Well my dad just has angry eyes when he looks at me. And my mom doesn’t look at me at all. At school no one sees me usually and if they do it’s to make fun of my clothes and stuff.
Do you have any friends at school?
No.
Who do you sit with at lunch?
Don’t go to lunch. Usually dont bring any and no one would sit with me. Usually I just hide somewhere.
Once I tried to sit with some of the other kids who don’t have a lot of friends. Dill was there. And it seemed okay at first but then one of the girls pointed at my dress and said she saw me wear it the day before and even the kids no one likes laughed at me.
I squeezed the phone in my hand, studying my milky white knuckles that contrasted against the light tanned skin of my hands. I’d caught the clue. Careful, careful, I told myself, as I struggled to respond.
I’m sorry that happened to you. You know you won’t always feel this way, though. You will find people who appreciate you.
No I won’t. I’m stupid and ugly. Everyone hates me. My parents and kids at school and u would too if u met me.
C they’re all wrong. Your life can change, you can be happy.
I don’t think so.
I lied 2 u before. He does hit me. Not a lot tho. But sometimes he hurts me in other ways 2 and my mom gets mad then. Things are very bad today. They’re fighting and I have to hide in my closet.
C do you really have a gun?
I have to go now.
C?
C please answer me...
Of course, there wasn’t an answer. I quickly dialed Morris’s number. When he answered, I blurted out, “It’s a girl.”
He said, “Slow down, what?”
“C is a girl!” I explained and then shared the latest conversation. He was quiet for a long moment and then said he was at the station and would start working through the student lists again. The resolute tone of his voice was a steadying force. He believed me, believed her, and he would find answers. Before hanging up he asked if I would be around later in the afternoon when his shift ended, and I told him yes, I’d see him then.
In the meantime, I had an idea of my own that I wanted to pursue. I’d assumed this was all to be kept quiet outside of official channels, but no one had actually told me I couldn’t tell anyone else. I was in it this far, I decided it was time to go full detective on my own. Biting my lip nervously, I dialed Ronda’s number. She didn’t sound surprised to hear from me. I’d worried after my lunch exit a few days earlier and my avoidance of her calls she might not want to hear from me at all, but it was as if nothing had happened at all.
“I’m glad you called; I was going to actually call you tonight to see if you could make our first official board meeting on Tuesday,” she said.
“I, uh, well maybe. So, I actually have a situation and I feel awkward coming to you with it, but I think I may need your help,” I explained.
“Mhmm, I have a meeting with a client in fifteen minutes, but I’m free after that. Your house or mine?” she said, without hesitation.
I felt relief flood me, of course, Ronda Jenkins would be up for helping. I just hoped the actual nature of help I needed didn’t turn her off.
“Mine please, someone else is coming over this afternoon and I don’t want to miss him.”
We said goodbye and then I tried to make my house and my person presentable for two anticipated guests. I was far more worried about impressing Hurricane Ronda than Lt. Morris. My little home was probably about the size of her garage. I knew she wouldn’t judge me for it, but I felt like both my home and my person were pretty lackluster compared to Ronda. It made me feel a little embarrassed.
I wasn’t concerned with Morris’s opinion. I knew with the nature of his job, he surely had seen much worse, regularly, than my humble little ranch house. I wondered what sort of neighborhood he lived in. I’d noticed he didn’t wear a wedding ring, so I assumed he was single. I couldn’t quite picture him off duty, cozy and relaxed in his own home. It felt like Morris was just always on duty, always to be found at the police station.
When the doorbell rang, I steeled myself and swung the door open. Lime green. She wore a lime green dress that hugged every curve, and the requisite matching shoes. This time I’d armed myself a little too, though, I was wearing a summer dress and a bright red lipstick. I hoped she recognized the effort for what it was, a pledge to join her well-groomed army of one. It was imperative she see me as an ally today, that she knew my intentions were good.
I welcomed her into my home, and as I’d guessed,
she didn’t raise an eyebrow at its simplicity or size. She followed me into my small galley style kitchen, and we chatted casually as I set a kettle of water on the stove. After pouring two cups of tea, I sat down at my table with her and began to explain the texts I’d been receiving and what we had tried so far. Her eyes occasionally widened dramatically as I gave the full back story, but she listened intently without interrupting. When I finally got to the last conversation and C’s abrupt departure as she’d avoided the gun question, she visibly winced and put a hand over her mouth.
“So, the reason I wanted to meet with you, is I had an idea. I know you’re understandably very protective of Aliya. She’s been through so much and doesn’t need to have any more exposure to the worst elements of this world, but…”
Her chin lifted and I saw the stoicism in her raised eyebrows. She might truly feel for this child and want to help her, but Ronda had made it clear from the first time we met; Aliya was completely off-limits. I knew this wouldn’t be easy.
“I’m just thinking if anyone could help identify this child, it might be another child. We know she’s in middle school, she’s probably low income. She mentioned not having lunch. We know she was sometimes friendly with Dill Hobert. She’d be a quiet girl, someone who has no friends. Sometimes she falls into another child’s focus and they make fun of her, but mostly she’s in the periphery. Invisible. She isn’t a kid who has a cell phone. She lives in a house, not an apartment, it has a tree in the backyard. Mom may clean houses. She doesn’t have a dog. Her parents probably aren’t the type who show up for school plays and concerts. We don’t know how she got Charlie’s phone, but I think it’s likely she was in that science wing on that morning. Maybe all of that would ring a bell with Aliya.”
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