Rules for Moving (ARC)

by Nancy Star

  retracted.

  “Ma’am, unlock the door and let the girl out.” His

  voice was calm but Lane noticed his hand was resting

  on his gun.

  She pointed to the old man. “He’s threatening us.”

  But now, she saw, he wasn’t. She could hear the old man

  pleading with his policeman to do something about her.

  “Your granddaughter’s okay,” his policeman was say-

  ing. “See? She’s okay.”

  “Ma’am.” All courtesy was gone from her policeman’s voice. “Unlock her door.”

  Numb, she pressed the button and the lock clicked.

  The old man swung the door open and yelled for Francesca

  to hurry up and get out. He struggled to pull her free.

  “I’m stuck, Grandpa. That hurts.”

  Through a haze of confusion Lane told Francesca,

  “You have to unbuckle.” She told the old man, “Her

  seat belt is buckled.” She told the cop, “She can’t get out.

  She’s still buckled.”

  There was a rush of fabric, shirt struggling against

  seat belt, and Francesca was free. Her arms were wrapped

  around her grandfather’s neck. As he ran she asked him,

  “Why are you crying? Grandpa, don’t cry. It makes me

  cry when you cry.”

  The crowd split apart to allow them across the

  lawn. The man, Francesca’s grandfather, clambered up

  the steps and stumbled, clumsy as a bear. The crowd

  gasped. A policeman ran over and ushered grandfa-

  ther and granddaughter to the house. A door yawned

  188

  Rules for Moving

  open to receive them. Several people hurried in. The

  door closed.

  “Miss Fiske went inside,” Henry whispered to Lane.

  “With Miss Abramowitz.”

  She tried to take this in, that someone had called the

  school counselor because Francesca was missing. That

  someone had called Miss Fiske.

  An ambulance careened onto the block. Competing

  strobes from the emergency vehicles cut through the dark

  of the night turning it red, then blue, then white.

  The policeman at Lane’s door left to talk to a team

  of paramedics.

  “Can we go?” Henry whispered.

  Lane flicked on her blinker and pulled away from the

  curb. She could not afford to look in the rearview mirror

  because she knew if she saw Henry’s frightened face now

  she might fall apart, right here, driving the car. She sat up straight and focused on the road, which was why she

  had no idea until she turned onto her block, until sirens

  pierced the quiet of the night, that two police cruisers

  had followed her.

   h h

   h  h

  She saw the rest as if watching from above. The first

  squad car pulled close to her rear bumper. The second

  one pulled ahead and then backed up until that fender

  was kissing hers too. Her car was sandwiched in, as if

  they were worried she might try and escape.

  It was a different policeman at her window now, one

  with a granite face and slits for eyes. “Do you know why

  we pulled you over?”

  She shook her head.

  189

  Nancy Star

  “Why did you flee the scene?”

  “What scene?” she asked but another siren tore through

  the night, drowning out her voice. A third squad car

  turned onto her street. Three sets of cherry lights flashed.

  House lights flicked on next door and then across the

  street and then spread, like a virus, up and down the

  block. The new policeman conferred with the ones who

  were already there.

  The granite cop came back and stood at Lane’s car door,

  pointing his flashlight toward the back seat. Henry lifted up his arm to shield his eyes. “Ma’am, who’s the boy?”

  “My son.”

  “Can you please ask your son to roll down his win-

  dow? What’s his name?”

  “Henry. He won’t speak to you. He doesn’t speak to

  anyone—”

  “Ma’am. Window. Down.”

  She saw Henry fumbling with the buttons on his

  door panel to lower his window and realized with a start

  that he had never raised or lowered his own car window

  before. His parents controlled his windows. His parent, she corrected herself. She pressed the button on her door

  panel and his window slowly lowered.

  The granite policeman moved a few steps back.

  “Henry, right?” Henry nodded. The policeman shined

  his flashlight on Lane. “Can you tell me who this is?”

  He waited a moment and then asked again. “Son, who’s

  sitting behind the wheel of the car?”

  “Hey buddy,” Lane said. “I know this is hard for you,

  but can you try—” Lane saw his eyes fill. Another piece

  of her heart chipped off. Henry tried. He always tried.

  “He can’t answer a question like that,” she told the granite policeman. “He can’t speak to strangers even if he wants

  190

  Rules for Moving

  to.” She could feel her anger surging. It wasn’t going to

  help this situation if she was in a rage. She paused, took in a breath, let it out. “He can understand you and he can nod and shake his head. If you ask him a yes-or-no question, he can answer.” She turned back to Henry. “Don’t

  be scared, buddy. He’s just trying to find out if I’m—”

  “Ma’am. I need you to be quiet now.” The hard surface

  of the policeman’s face was interrupted by a line where

  his mouth was supposed to be. When he turned back to

  her son nothing softened. “Son, I need you to tell me

  who is driving this car.”

  “I told you,” Lane snapped. She stopped. It would not

  help to yell. She took another breath. “He cannot answer

  that kind of question.”

  Two cops hurried over, hands on holsters. Granite

  cop stepped away. The three cops huddled. Even as they

  discussed how to proceed, granite cop’s eyes remained

  fixed on Lane. When they split up, it was a different cop

  who came to the car. A younger cop, whose face hadn’t

  turned to stone.

  “How you doing?” he asked Henry. Henry didn’t

  move. “Not so good, huh? Me neither. I’m going home

  soon, though. I got a son your age at home. You’re seven,

  right?” Henry shook his head.

  Lane watched through the mirror, hands clenched

  on the wheel.

  “My mistake,” the cop said. “Eight?” Henry shook

  his head again, this time with more conviction. “Don’t

  tell me you’re six. You’re too big to be six. Are you six?”

  Henry nodded. The policeman pointed to Lane. “You

  know this lady?” Henry nodded. “She a neighbor?”

  Henry shook his head. “Friend?” Henry shook his head.

  “Relative?”

  191

  Nancy Star

  “He wants to know if we’re from the same family,”

  Lane explained.

  Henry nodded.

  “Is she your aunt?” the cop asked. Henry shook his

  head. “Is she your mom?” Henry nodded.

  Lane didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath.

  It came out in a rush. “Why are you questioning hi
m?

  What’s going on?”

  Granite cop was back. “Because of the girl. The one

  you locked in your car.”

  “Francesca?” This made no sense. “Her mother asked

  me to take her to book group.” Her voice got louder. “As

  a favor. She asked me to take her and I took her and I

  brought her home.”

  For a moment both cops, granite and young, stood

  still. They looked as confused as she felt. When they

  stepped away to join the third cop for a conference, she

  felt her heart racing. Her eyes took in the small crowd

  that had gathered across the street. The old woman from

  the corner house—she met her the first time she picked

  up Henry at the bus—was standing in her bathrobe next

  to her neighbor, the man Dana told her lived alone with

  his five daughters. There were other neighbors, neighbors

  she’d never seen before, all of them standing with mouths

  agape, watching the drama unfold as if this was their own

  personal episode of Law & Order.

  A walkie-talkie broke the silence. Two of the cops

  peeled off to respond, their squad car squealing as they

  raced to the next emergency. Only granite cop and not-

  yet-granite cop remained. They stood close, granite cop

  glancing over his shoulder at intermittent intervals to

  make sure Lane had not fled again while not-yet-granite

  cop spoke on his phone.

  192

  Rules for Moving

  When not-yet-granite cop was done with his call he re-

  turned to the car. “Appears there’s been a misunderstanding.

  I apologize. I’m sure you can understand that when we get

  a report about a crime in progress we have to check it out.”

  He turned to Henry. “Sorry if we frightened you, sport.”

  “What kind of crime?” Lane asked.

  “Abduction. We got more than one call.”

  “I abducted Francesca? Her mother asked me to take

  her to book group. I told her aunt that’s where we were

  going. Did you talk to her mother? Did you talk to the

  aunt? Francesca told me her aunt was mean. What did

  her aunt say?”

  “We’ve been in contact with the mother. She’s embar-

  rassed. There were complicating factors. It was a confus-

  ing situation. I apologize. But calls come in—more than

  one—that a woman grabbed a child off the sidewalk, we

  have no choice but to respond.”

  Lane thought about the car that drove down Francesca’s

  street, the one that would have hit the girl if Lane hadn’t pulled her out of harm’s way. Was that who called? The

  glaring driver with the big eyes? Or was it the mean aunt

  with the tortoiseshell clip who wouldn’t open the door more than a crack? “Something is not right in that house,” Lane said. “Instead of questioning me you should look into that.”

  “It’s an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

  “Are you going to explain that to my neighbors?” She

  gestured to where they stood, watching. “Are you going

  to report that to my son’s teacher?” She didn’t mean to

  be shouting. She wasn’t a shouter.

  “Ma’am. I understand. And I apologize. Are you okay?”

  She had to be okay. Henry was watching her closely.

  She took a deep breath. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine if we can

  go inside. We both want to go inside.”

  193

  Nancy Star

  The cop opened the door. “You know what I think?”

  he asked Henry. “I think you deserve an extra cookie

  tonight. What do you say, Mom?”

  “Yes.” Lane got out of the car. She could feel

  her neighbors watching, hungry for details. Should she

  go over to them to tell them what happened? She started

  toward them, but Henry tugged at her sleeve so she

  stopped. He wanted to go in the house. So inside they

  went.

  They were there just long enough for her to find—to

  her relief—that there was a box of cookies in the cup-

  board, when the bell to the side door rang. Henry stood

  up, ready to bolt.

  “Hang on, buddy. I’m sure it’s just a neighbor checking

  to see if we’re okay. Will you stay with me? You don’t

  have to talk.”

  He nodded.

  She didn’t recognize the man at the door, even after

  he introduced himself.

  “Nathan,” he said. “Nathan Knapp. Silent K.” He

  waited. “Your landlord.”

  “Oh. Of course. I’m sorry. Come in.”

  “I’m the one who should be sorry,” he said as he

  walked into the kitchen. “Dana’s been telling me about

  all the things that have gone wrong here. I apologize. I

  had no idea. I thought I kept the house in great shape.”

  He noticed Henry and smiled. “Hey pal.”

  Henry moved behind her. Lane moved her hand be-

  hind her back and Henry held on to it.

  “Sorry to intrude,” Nathan said. “But when the police

  called, I figured I better come over.”

  “They called you?”

  194

  Rules for Moving

  “Not exactly. The monitoring company called the

  house. When no one answered here, they called Dana’s

  cell. That’s the first number on their list. Dana’s out of town—overnight, I don’t know where—so she told the

  monitoring company to call the police. Then she called

  me. She told me she’s going to call the monitoring com-

  pany tomorrow to get your cell added to the list.” He

  saw her confusion. “The alarm went off. Dana tried your

  cell. You didn’t pick up.”

  Lane pulled out her phone and saw the long list of

  missed calls.

  “Everything’s fine,” Nathan told Henry. “No intruder,”

  he told Lane. “The alarm company says something went

  kerflooey in the electric panel.” He saw something in

  Lane’s face that he couldn’t read. “You okay?”

  And just like that the events of the night hit her; she

  felt unsteady on her feet. She gently moved Henry so that

  she could sit down on the closest chair. Henry sat down

  beside her. “I’m fine,” she told her landlord. She turned

  and saw Henry was studying her face. “I’m fine, buddy,”

  she told him and then leaned over to give him a hug.

  “I apologize,” Nathan said, “for all the stuff that’s gone wrong with the house. I swear I thought it was in great

  shape. I asked my contractor if he ever heard of a house

  all of a sudden going bad. He said sometimes it happens

  with an old house. But it’s nothing fatal. It’s like a phase.

  It will pass. Everything can be fixed. I wouldn’t set the

  alarm tonight, though. Are you okay with that? They’re

  coming tomorrow between noon and two to check it out.

  I can let them in, if you can’t be here. I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s not a problem. I’ll be here.” It really was the least of her problems. Henry looked up at her and leaned over

  195

  Nancy Star

  and rubbed her arm and she gave him another gentle hug,

  this time longer.

  Later Nathan told her it was that moment, seeing

  Henry gently rub her arm, seei
ng her lean over to give

  him that tender hug, when he had the surprising thought:

  Could a woman like this ever be with a man like me? He knew right away the answer was no. This woman had the world

  ahead of her and he was like his house, in a bad phase,

  except with him the phase was probably not going to pass.

  What Lane remembered about meeting Nathan that

  night was thinking, This man, watching this sweet domestic scene, he really has no idea.

  196

  May 15, 2017

  Ask Roxie!

  Roxie Reader Good News Alert! Our poll deadline has

  been extended!

  Are you excited for Roxie’s Live-Chat Wednesdays?

  Would you be even more excited if a Roxie podcast

  started soon?

  Click here to enter the Roxie Sweepstakes Poll and let

  us know!

  Be one of five lucky readers to win a free one-year sub-

  scription to Guild-Plus!

  Dear Roxie,

  Something is weighing on me and though I’ve tried for

  some time to navigate the best way forward, I finally

  realized this is not something I can figure out myself. I

  need your help.

  Here’s my question: When is the right time for a

  parent to reveal themselves to their child? I’m talking

  about their deep down true self. The person they start-

  ed out wanting to be before certain things happened,

  the way things do, that turned their life’s path into a

  dead end.

  Some days I think it’s best to do this early on. Share

  your story when your children are young. If that’s correct, 197

  Nancy Star

  it’s too late for me. Other days I think a person should

  wait until the children are grown, with children of their

  own. If that’s the case, the time for me to tell is now.

  Some days I think the answer is never. Some things are

  never okay to share. Some days I think the most loving

  thing a parent can do is to die with their story untold.

  This comes up now because it’s just occurred to

  me that my children don’t know me at all. Not really. At

  least not the person I started out to be, before my life

  took a turn.

  Sadly, I’ve been through this once before, with my

  mother. When she was alive, we were close. People

  were jealous of how close we were. They’d say so all

  the time. But after my mother passed away, I learned I

  only knew a fraction of who she was. I was only a frac-

  tion of her story.

  Now I’m on the other side of that equation. I’m not