Poison at the PTA

by Laura Alden

  “Beth, stop it!” Marina grabbed my arm and pulled me around to face her. “You can’t spaz out. Not now. Deep breath, okay?”

  I stopped screaming my children’s names. Nodding, I pulled in a deep breath. The air rushing into my body interrupted my panic attack and let my brain start working. “Okay,” I said. “Okay. I’m good. Now let’s go.”

  “Boots, gloves, hat.” Marina flung open the closet door and handed me articles of clothing. “For you and for the kids.”

  Taking the time to dress myself warmly felt like an impossible delay, but I knew she was right. I pulled my cell from my purse and pushed Pete’s number. “I’m going to follow Jenna’s tracks. You go ahead and look for Oliver in your van. Take their stuff, okay?”

  Marina, a coat under each arm and two boots in each hand, gave me an awkward hug. “We’ll find them, Beth. Don’t you worry. Ten minutes and we’ll all be back inside.” She released me and hurried outside as Pete answered the phone.

  “Hey, sweetie. What’s up?”

  As quickly and concisely as I could, I told him what had happened. “Can you help?” I asked.

  “In the truck and headed your way.”

  Just knowing that he was coming made the tight band of fear at my neck ease the tiniest bit.

  “But I’m in Madison,” he was saying, “and you know what the weather’s like. I’ll call when I get closer and I’ll find you. You called the police?”

  “Next thing.” We made quick good-byes. As I dialed the three numbers, I wondered at my knee-jerk reaction to call Pete first and law enforcement second, but pushed the thought away as I pulled on my boots. When the 911 dispatcher answered, I gave her the information with only a few stuttering sobs breaking up the telling. “And now I’m going out to look for them,” I told her, pulling on one glove, then the other.

  “Ma’am, please wait at your house until an officer arrives.”

  “Yes,” I said, “I know I should wait, and it’s silly for me to go out into that storm, but my children are out there and there’s not a snowball’s chance in you know what that I’m going to wait inside while they’re out in that cold.” I zipped up my coat.

  “Ma’am, please—”

  “How long until an officer can get here?” I asked.

  There was a short pause. “Ma’am, children in danger are placed as the highest of priorities.”

  Which wasn’t any kind of real answer. “How long?” My question was nearly a shout.

  “All officers on duty have been called to an accident on the expressway. It may be some time before—”

  “Thank you.” I hung up, jammed a hat on my head, and ran out the front door.

  • • •

  The wind beat at me as if it had no intention of stopping. The treetops tossed and churned and roared, sounding like distant waves coming to get me, coming to get my children, to suck them up and pull them away and—

  “No!” I shouted into the wind. “They’re going to be fine!”

  Jenna’s and Oliver’s footprints, though only minutes old, were nearly obscured by the blowing snow. The panic that had overtaken me earlier came back with a sharpened vengeance, only this time Marina wasn’t here to help me snap out of it.

  Deep breath, I told myself. Don’t be afraid. They can’t be far. Besides, Pete will be here soon. The police will be here soon. Plus, maybe Marina has found them already.

  But my cell phone was in my hand and she hadn’t called.

  I shoved the panic down into a small imaginary box and nailed the lid shut. When the kids were warm and dry and hugged and kissed and given punishments that would last until they were thirty years old, that’s when I’d think about panicking. Until then, my children needed me. I had to use my brain; I had to focus.

  So I did.

  The snowy tracks showed that they were moving south and east, away from the downtown area, out toward the edge of town, out away from the friendly streetlights and toward the—

  No. Don’t worry about the swampy areas out that way. Don’t worry about the ice that might not be thick enough to support their weight. Don’t worry about what might happen. Think.

  Even as I was worrying, I rushed ahead, losing the tracks every so often, but making ever-widening circles until I found them again.

  Where on earth were they going? Had Jenna gone out to find Oliver? Where was Oliver going? Why hadn’t she come to me?

  Over and over again I lost my way. Over and over I found the faint trail. I went farther and farther out, where the gaps between the houses were wider and wider, where the howling wind pushed the fast-forming drifts higher and higher.

  Oh, my dearest Jenna, where are you?

  My sweet Oliver, why did you go out into this storm?

  No. Don’t think about it. Think about finding them. Everything else can wait.

  I hurried on, following what I had to assume was Jenna’s trail. The possibility that someone else could be out in these conditions wasn’t one I was going to consider. Jenna was ahead of me and I would find her. I would find Oliver. I was their mother and I would find them.

  My cell trilled. Hope leapt in my heart and I thumbed the button to talk. “It’s me,” Pete said. “Where are you?”

  I gave him the name of the street. “About halfway between the house and that swamp on the edge of town.”

  He made a noise of surprise. “You’re about a mile out already. Hang on, sweetheart. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  When the line cleared, I called Marina and told her my location. “I’m still on Jenna’s trail.”

  She whistled. “That far? That’s getting close to that stinky swampy place that—” She stopped. “Right. I’m a few blocks over. I’ll move closer and keep on the grid pattern until you tell me different.”

  I told her that it might be a while before the police showed up. “But Pete is almost here.”

  “We’ll find them,” she said, no question in her voice.

  Because I wanted to believe her, because I needed to believe her, I did. “Any minute now,” I said, and hung up. But after I did, a wave of loneliness battered at me. A dark and vacant future yawned in my face, taunting me with its emptiness.

  “No!” I wanted to beat at the wind with my fists, to scream at its howls. “No,” I said more quietly. If we hadn’t found them by now, it could only mean that they were still moving, that they were still okay.

  Of course they were. They had to be.

  I hurried through the snow as fast as I could, tripping and falling and getting up again, not caring that my lungs were burning, not caring that my fingers and toes had lost all feeling, not caring that I’d lost my hat half a mile ago.

  They were fine.

  I’d find them.

  The houses were far apart now, and set back from the road. I lost count of the times I’d thought I’d seen a vague Jenna shape through the gusting snow only to run close and find that it was a mailbox or a small tree or nothing at all.

  So when I saw something far ahead of me, I tamped down the excitement.

  It’s probably just another mailbox. Don’t get your hopes up, don’t assume it’s them, don’t . . .

  My cell rang. “I see something,” Marina said. “The light’s crappy out here, but I think they might be crossing that big field—you know, the one where kids take kites? I’m at the far end, but I think maybe it’s them.”

  For a second I couldn’t talk. “I see something, too.” My phone beeped. “Hang on, Pete’s calling.”

  “Beth, that big field—”

  “We know,” I said, breaking into a jog. “Call Marina. You can’t drive straight across with all the snow, but figure out which way they’re headed. I’m going after them.”

  Even before I’d hung up the phone, I started running toward the two shadowy shapes. Running toward my children, ignoring the knee-deep snow, feeling myself pulled toward them, feeling the last gasps of fear whispering in my head, chasing them, needing them . . .

  “
Jenna?” I hurtled forward. “Oliver?” But their names were more a gasp than a shout. “Jenna!”

  The taller of the two shapes stopped. Turned. “Mom?”

  Relief almost dropped me to the ground. I staggered a few steps, then finally, at last, reached my children. I held their shivering bodies close. “We have to get you out of this weather right now.” I turned on my phone and hit REDIAL. I couldn’t remember who I’d last called, Marina or Pete, but it didn’t matter. “I have them. We’re almost to the road on the east side of the field. Can you—”

  “No!” Oliver shrieked. “I have to warn her!” He pulled out of my arms, dodged away, and ran.

  I stared at his back for a fraction of a second, then rushed after him. “Jenna,” I called over my shoulder, “get into Mrs. Neff’s car. Or Pete’s.”

  But my daughter was at my side and running with me. “I’m really sorry, Mom,” she said earnestly. “I couldn’t stop him. He kept running ahead of me, just like this, so I went after him. I didn’t know what else to do. I’m really sorry.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said, panting out the words between short breaths. Our swinging hands brushed up against each other’s, and I grabbed her bare hand, squeezing it tight. I wanted to stop and pull off my gloves and force them onto her hands, but there wasn’t time because my son, her brother, was running as if the dogs of war were on his heels.

  We followed him out of the field, down a street, and up a long driveway to a small ranch house. Headlights came from both directions, bathing the three of us in light that created long, sharp shadows.

  A car door opened, then another. Pete and Marina pounded up the driveway after us.

  Oliver scrambled up the front stoop and banged on the door. He gripped the handle, couldn’t turn it, released it, and started pounding again. “Open the door!” he shouted. “I have to tell you something!”

  As I ran toward him, he kept on banging and shouting, making more of a racket than I would have thought possible for my shy and quiet son. I had no idea whose house this was, and no idea what was going on, but a few steps more and I’d have Oliver and we’d go home and—

  The outside light flicked on and the curtain in the large window next to the door moved.

  “Oliver!” I called, but he didn’t turn. What on earth was the boy doing?

  The front door opened and bright light from inside outlined the shape of a woman. “Oliver Kennedy! What are you doing out there without a coat?” She looked past my son. “Mrs. Kennedy?” She looked farther out and saw Jenna and Pete and Marina, all three slowing to a stop next to me.

  “I think you’d all better come inside,” said Stephanie Pesch.

  • • •

  For the first half hour, we shared no conversation beyond what was necessary to get the kids warm and dry.

  Our entire group trooped into the small entryway, all of us except Stephanie dripping snow onto the carpet in great plops. Stephanie looked at the shivering children, then looked at me. “I have two bathrooms. What does Mom say about a quick shower for these two?”

  I did not want to believe this woman was capable of murder. “Thanks, Stephanie. That would be perfect.”

  Pete called the police department to let them know that what had been lost was now found. Jenna went into Stephanie’s master bathroom, and Oliver took the guest bathroom. While the kids were running the hot-water tank empty, Stephanie gathered up their sopping-wet clothes and put them in her dryer. The two of us sorted through her collection of sweatpants and sweatshirts and found clothing that would work to keep the troublemakers covered until their clothes stopped tumbling.

  I knocked on the door to the master bath and popped my head into the steamy room. “Jenna? Here are some things for you to wear.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Thanks, Mom. Um, is Oliver okay?”

  “He’s fine, sweetheart.”

  When I knocked on the door to the other bathroom, opened the door, and mentioned the clothes, my son didn’t say a word.

  “Oliver?” I asked sharply. “Are you all right?”

  “. . . I’m good.”

  Something was off. Oliver wasn’t being Oliver. I stood there, half of me in and half of me out of the doorway, undecided. “Well, okay. These clothes will be too big, but push up the sleeves. Your own things will be dry soon.”

  His wet head poked around the shower curtain. “What clothes are those?”

  “Right here on the counter.”

  Drips of water coursed down his face. “They’re Ms. Stephanie’s clothes?”

  “Well, yes. I know, they’re girl clothes, but it’s just a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants, so—”

  He disappeared behind the shower curtain. The water turned off and a boy’s hand appeared. “Can I have a towel, please?”

  I left him to dry and dress and went down the hall to the kitchen. Stephanie and Marina and Pete were sitting at a round table, talking nonsense about the wind and the snow and about the biggest storms they remembered.

  The talk broke off when Pete looked up. “Hey,” he said, half standing. “How are they?”

  Making sit-down gestures, I smiled at him, at Marina, at Stephanie. My children were safe and sound. All was right with the world. “They’ll be along in a minute. Thanks again, Stephanie, for the clothes and the showers.”

  “No problem,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to do search and rescue. Do they like hot chocolate?” At my nod, she stood and went to a slightly battered white refrigerator. She poured milk into a large glass measuring bowl and put it in the microwave to heat. As she opened cupboards and pulled out containers of cocoa and sugar, she said, “Sorry, but I don’t have any marshmallows.”

  I hastened to reassure her that neither Jenna nor Oliver would turn up their noses at nonmarshmallowed hot chocolate and that she was, in fact, spoiling them for the packet hot chocolate I made them. Then I thanked her again for taking us in.

  “And just as soon as my children get here,” I said, “we’ll be able to explain why we’re here at all.”

  She stopped measuring out cocoa. “You mean you don’t know?”

  I shared glances with Marina and Pete. “Not a clue.”

  Hesitant footsteps came toward us. I looked up and smiled. “Ms. Stephanie is making hot chocolate for you two.”

  “Cool. Thanks, Ms. Stephanie.” Jenna slid into a chair.

  “Come sit on my lap, Ollster.” I patted my legs and my son climbed up. He was getting so tall so fast. I leaned my forehead against the back of his head. “Now,” I said. “How about telling us why you went out in the snow like that?”

  He said something in a low voice.

  “Sorry, Oliver. I didn’t hear you.”

  His shoulders heaved. “I had to warn her.”

  “Warn Ms. Stephanie?” I asked. “About what?”

  “About what you and Mrs. Neff were saying.” He slid off my lap and stood in the middle of the kitchen’s linoleum floor. “That Ms. Stephanie might be a murderer. You’ve sent bad guys to jail before lots of times. I had to warn her that you wanted to send her to jail forever and ever!”

  I gaped at him. He’d overheard everything Marina and I had said. How could I have been so stupid? I’d known Oliver had a huge crush on this young woman. Why hadn’t I realized his ears would swivel when we’d spoken her name? Why hadn’t I anticipated what could happen?

  Stephanie tinked a measuring spoon on the side of a mug, emptying it of its cocoa contents. “I’ve killed a few spiders in my time, but I don’t think they send you to jail for that.”

  “No,” I said, “they don’t. Oliver’s talking about . . .” I faltered. “. . . About something Marina and I were speculating about.” Starting and ending a sentence with a preposition. Excellent work, Beth. “Wild speculation,” I added lamely.

  Pete stirred. “How did you know where Ms. Stephanie lived?” he asked.

  “That computer Dad gave us for Christmas,” Jenna said. “I was showing Oliver how to use Google
Earth last weekend. You know how it works, right? We drove it all over Rynwood, and we looked up the houses of all our friends and teachers.”

  “Oh,” I said faintly. And here I thought they’d been looking up answers to some of Oliver’s homework questions.

  “And how about you?” Marina tucked a lock of Jenna’s towel-damp hair behind her ear. “Why were you out in the snow without a coat or boots or mittens or hat?”

  “She went after Oliver,” I said.

  Jenna nodded. “I’m supposed to be helping take care of Mom. You said to, remember? And I didn’t want her to worry about Oliver. I thought I could catch up to him and bring him back, but he kept running ahead of me. . . .” She dipped her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  I kept in the tears that threatened to pour out of me only by looking at my daughter’s long face. “You did fine. You left a big enough trail that I could follow you,” I said firmly. “You did a wonderful job.”

  She nodded, and a little bit of the pain eased off her face.

  Oliver, on the other hand . . .

  I looked at my son and had no idea what to do.

  “Stephanie?” Marina asked. “Do you have some games the kids could play while us boring old adults have a little chat?”

  I nearly fell upon her neck and wept with gratitude. Of course Marina knew the right thing to do. She had four children, three of whom were fully functional adults, and she ran a day care business so successful that she had kids who weren’t even conceived on the waiting list.

  “Sure.” Stephanie gave final stirs to the mugs of hot chocolate and handed them over. “I have a Wii setup. How about Mini Golf? Or Jeopardy!? And there’s this I Spy game that’s fun.”

  In less time than it would take to tell, Stephanie had the kids settled in the adjacent living room, close enough for me to hear their banter, far enough so that I didn’t get distracted by every word they said.

  Both Marina and Pete started talking, but I let their words wash over me as I forced my brain into action. When Stephanie came back to the kitchen, I was ready. Or at least as ready as I was ever likely to be in such an unexpected, awkward, and bizarre situation.