Lost and Found

by Elle Casey

  Cassie’s in her bouncy seat on my dining table and I’m feeding her a bottle of formula, the same brand that’s now stocked in my pantry and outnumbering beers five to one.

  “What do you think, Cassie? Do we want to invite Leah over here for dinner tonight?”

  Cassie blinks and keeps sucking.

  “Blink once for yes, two for no.”

  She closes her eyes for a really long time. I think she’s fallen asleep but she keeps sucking.

  “What does holding your eyes closed mean? Extra yes or extra no?”

  She stops sucking.

  “I’m getting the impression that this conversation is beyond you, Cassie. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

  Her eyes open and she starts sucking again, with renewed vigor this time.

  “Okay, fine.” I consult the contact list on my phone, entertaining the idea of having a conversation with an adult about my situation. Only problem is, the two people I could talk to are not available to me. Or at least one is, because I don’t want to interrupt her girls’ weekend extravaganza.

  I hit the dial button, fully expecting to get a full voicemail box message.

  “Hello,” comes a groggy voice.

  “Hello? Jeremy?” I’ve already convinced myself that he’s lost his phone and this is its new owner. No way is Jeremy answering my call.

  “Yeah. James? What do you want so early in the morning?”

  “It’s noon, Jer.” I roll my eyes and lean in to whisper at Cassie. “Your daddy says hi, baby girl.”

  “What’s that?” he asks. He sounds more awake this time.

  “I was just telling your daughter that you said hello.” It’s hard to keep the censure out of my voice.

  “Where are you? At the house?”

  “I’m at my place.”

  “Is Jana there?”

  “No, she’s not. It’s just me and your beautiful daughter. You should come by. Say hello. Change a diaper maybe.”

  There’s no response for a few seconds. Part of me is worried I’ve said too much and the other part of me has a lot more to say.

  “Nah, I can’t. I have stuff to do.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to respond with some reality, like how stuff to do should include raising his child, but he starts talking again before I can unleash the beast that is my judgment against him.

  “She okay? Why are you watching her?”

  “She’s fine. I’m watching her so Jana can have a break. She’s twenty-five, Jer. She should be out partying with friends, not being a mother to her niece.”

  I hear a lighter flick on and then an inhale. “Did you call me to bitch at me or was there something else?”

  I take a deep breath to control my emotions. “Actually, I called you because you’re one of only two people I can talk to about my life, funnily enough, and I honestly didn’t think you’d answer.”

  Jeremy blows out what I can only assume is a big cloud of smoke. I hope it’s tobacco smoke.

  He laughs. “That’s pretty fucked up, isn’t it? Even I have more than one person I can call during a personal crisis.”

  “Who said anything about a personal crisis?” His humor at my situation pisses me off. Having a drug addict legitimately mock you is not a proud moment.

  “That’s the only thing that’ll get you to call me, other than the need to bitch me out. Believe me, I know. So what is it? You want the ring back? Pissed at me because I threw it in Laura’s fountain?”

  “You remember doing that?”

  “Yeah,” he says, his voice going very sober. “I remember everything. That’s the problem with my brain. I’m considering blowing a hole in it, actually.”

  I grip the phone hard. “That’s not funny, asshole. Don’t even joke about that.”

  He inhales and blows out again. “Whatever. You don’t need to worry about it. So what’s your problem, huh? Need my advice? Need to borrow a few bucks?” He laughs at his joke.

  “Nothing. I don’t need anything from you.” I’m disgusted with both of us. Why did I call him? I should have known it was going to be a disaster. Now I have to worry about the asshole killing himself on top of everything else.

  “Okay, well, you didn’t ask, but I’m going to go ahead and give you this advice anyway.” He coughs up some of his lung and continues. “No matter what happens, do not ignore that little voice that starts speaking to you when your heart hurts.”

  “What?” I’m thinking now it’s not tobacco he’s inhaling.

  “You heard me. Laura used to say this about you all the time.”

  “What’s Laura got to do with anything?”

  “She knew you better than any of us did. She watched you. She saw what you were about. I never listened to her much when she was alive, but I listen to her now. Hell yeah, I listen to her now.” His voice has gone soft. “She used to say that you had a ton of emotion tying you up inside, but you were too busy trying to please our parents to listen to your own heart. She told me the best thing that could happen to you was for you to finally start listening to that heart of yours. When it hurts, when it slows down, when it speeds up, it’s trying to tell you something. You should listen more often to it … even if it is all shriveled up and black from not being used.”

  The insults have been plastered on in so many layers, I don’t know where to start being angry. All I know is, he’s got a lot of fucking nerve.

  “You’re a dick, Jeremy. I don’t know what Laura ever saw in you.” The minute the words leave my mouth I regret them, but he speaks before I can take them back.

  “I know. Me neither. Anyway, I gotta go. Say hi to Jana for me.” And then he hangs up.

  No word about his daughter. No anger at me for being a dick. Just a message to pass on to our sister.

  I feel worse now than I did before I called.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  I GET BACK FROM THE farmers market to find an eviction notice taped to my door. I rip it off and go inside, but stop just past the entrance when I realize something is very wrong in my apartment.

  “Laaarrrryyyyyy!” I screech. That asshole. How dare he! My only happy thought right now is that at least he’s going to be suffering a little. I set a trap, and from the looks of things, he fell right into it. It’s possible I catch of whiff of its remnants right now.

  “You callin’ me?” he says from below.

  “You are so going to get sued for this,” I growl out. I’m breathing heavily from the stress, making me sound like a freight train. I’ve never felt so violated in my entire life. I hate being poor. I hate being in a position to be taken advantage of. I hate everything this apartment stands for.

  “You can’t sue me for evicting you for non-payment of rent, Leah. That’s not how it works.”

  “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about you messing with my stuff. You had no right to go inside, Larry. No right!” My eyes take in the couch cushions, torn and flung across the room. My little knickknacks broken and scattered in every corner. My clothing shredded. What kind of landlord shreds his tenant’s clothes?

  Larry clomps up the stairs and stops in the entrance to my place. He smells like cheap men’s cologne. “Wow. You’re not a very good housekeeper, are you?”

  I spin around to glare at him. “I didn’t do this, idiot! You did!”

  Larry puts his hand on his chest and backs up his head. “You think I did that?” He shakes his head. “No way. I ain’t been in your apartment since you moved in. All I did was tape that notice to your door, and not because I wanted to. My Nona told me I had to, so I did. You don’t know her, but believe me when I say you don’t want Nona mad at you.”

  Realization sets in. If he had been the one to break in, he wouldn’t smell like cheap men’s cologne right now. “If you didn’t do this then …” I spin around and take in the mayhem. Of course it wasn’t Larry. It was … “Oh my god! Again! I’ve been robbed again!” I know immediately what the thief was after, too. “It’s tha
t fucking ring, I know it is!”

  “What ring? You were robbed? I don’t get it.”

  I turn around and push past Larry so I can run down the stairs.

  “Where’re you goin’?” he yells at my back.

  “I’m going to kick someone’s ass, that’s where I’m going!”

  “You gotta be out by next Saturday or I’m gonna put your stuff in storage, Leah!”

  Screw you, screw you, screw you I chant, all the way to the subway. It feels like the hounds of hell are on my heels. Before, I thought this ring just had some bad juju associated with it. Now I know it’s even worse than that. The Devil himself is involved. I can literally feel the terrible mojo coming off that ring through my bag.

  A chance look over my shoulder has me thinking there’s a guy following me. I swear I can smell the perfume I rigged to douse whoever came in through the window. And what are the chances that two people would need to get on the same subway in a huge rush on a Saturday afternoon? My brain tells me the chances are good, this being Manhattan, but my heart and soul are telling me the chances are zero. This guy is out to get me. I think I recognize him from the jewelry store, the one where my purse got jacked.

  My heart is beating so hard it’s like it’s trying to escape my chest. The guy got in another train car, but he doesn’t fool me. He’s going to try and grab my purse again. For a few seconds, I entertain the thought of just letting him take it. Ha, ha! Joke’s on you, asshole! Now try and get rid of that bad karma! Unfortunately, I know how karma actually works, so this plan is crap. You can’t trick karma from your side; you can only do the right thing, and the right thing is not letting some thief do the dirty work for me. The right thing is getting James to see reason, and that’s what I’m going to do. That’s the only reason I’m going to see him again, not because the idea of being with him makes me feel safer than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.

  As soon as the doors slide open, I dash out onto the platform. My thighs and butt muscles are burning by the time I make it up to street-level. I don’t even look back before taking off at a full-out sprint. I have six blocks to go since I didn’t want to risk trying to make a transfer onto the line that runs a block from Trump Towers, and the sandals I have on were not made for running.

  Checking over my shoulder, I see someone running behind me. I knew it! It’s a man. A skinny one. I’m sure he’s the guy. I can smell his sorry ass from here.

  Adrenaline gives me a shot of energy and I surge forward. My breath is burning in my chest, but I can’t slow down. I have to get to James before this thief reaches me. James will save me. James will make everything all right. I believe this with all my heart. Even my brain’s on board. I’m better off with him next to me when shit is going down. After seeing him with his niece, I know he’s a man I can count on went shit is getting real. And it doesn’t get any realer than a thief chasing me down the sidewalk in the middle of the afternoon on Fifty-Seventh Avenue.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  “COME ON, CASSIE GIRL, TIME to go.” I lift her up, mindful of the diaper bag over my shoulder that’s heavy enough to take out a medium-sized house cat. It keeps wanting to swing around and knock things over in my condo. I’ve already broken a vase and a statue.

  I’ve seen mothers loading their kids into cabs, loaded down with the junk that kids need, and I’ve never questioned their skill sets. Now I’m in complete admiration. All I have is one baby, one diaper bag, one carseat, and one stroller, and I’m a goddamn mess. Why did I think going to The Met was a good idea? Oh, yeah. Right. Because I’m going stir crazy inside this condo and I have no reason to go hang out with Leah anymore.

  There. I said it in my head. I want to hang out with Leah. I dumped that ring in her fishbowl and got rid of my problem. I could have told the doormen that under no circumstances were they to accept any packages or let any people up to my condo, and I’d be rid of her forever. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Forever seems like way too long a period to not be seeing her again. Six hours ago is too long. That’s how long it’s been since I walked away from her table at the farmers market. Why did I do that without asking her to dinner first?

  Oh well. What’s done is done. I have a date with my niece and she probably could do with some culture, so The Met it is. They have a special exhibit on French impressionism this month, so we’re in luck. Two paintings from our family’s private collection are on loan for it, so she might as well start learning about her legacy right now. Are three-month-old babies too young to learn? I don’t think so. I plan to hold her up in front of every painting just in case. It’s better than staring at the four walls in here waiting for Cassie to vomit on me again. I’ve gone through three shirts already today and have taken to wearing a dishtowel permanently on my shoulder.

  I call the elevator up and then pull out the red stop button inside. An alarm starts going off. It’s quiet at first but then gets more annoying. The first things in are the stroller and the carseat. I follow with Cassie in one arm and the diaper bag hanging from my other hand. I press the stop button in and the alarm turns off. The elevator begins its descent a few seconds after.

  I grin down at my baby girl. “See that? We can do this. Just a day at the museum, right?” Sweat trickles down my hairline near my temple. I lean over to wipe it on my shoulder and realize the dishtowel is still there. I drop the diaper bag on the floor in time to rip the thing off me as the elevator doors open. I use the rag to dry off my sweaty face before reaching down and grabbing the diaper bag. I fling it out into the foyer in front of the elevators.

  “Need some help, sir?” asks one of the several doormen who man the space near the elevators.

  “That’d be great, thanks.” I reach for the stroller next.

  “Let me do it, sir. You look like you have your hands full.”

  I lift my hand and realize the dishtowel is in it. I wave it around. “Great. Thanks. Yeah, grab that carseat if you would. The thing is heavier than it looks.”

  “Not a problem.” The guy lifts it like it’s an empty shoebox. I decide then that I might need a little more time in the gym. I’m going to work on balancing exercises, where I carry dead weight in one arm and lift things with the other arm. If I’m going to be watching Cassie more often, I’m going to have to develop those muscles for sure.

  She lets out a bleep of noise, and I’m not sure if it’s a happy sound or an I’m-about-to-get-pissed sound. I stare down into her face as I squat to grab her diaper bag. “No crying, Cassie. This is Trump Towers. They have a very strict no crying policy.”

  The doorman snorts as he grabs the stroller and carseat, waiting for me to tell him where to go with them. “If that were the case, half the residents would be outta here,” he says.

  “Lot of crybabies in the building?” I ask, walking towards the entrance to the Towers.

  “You could say that. We tend to call them emotionally fragile, though.”

  “That’s probably a good idea.” I know some of the people who live here, and I also know they wouldn’t take kindly to being called crybabies, even if that’s what they are.

  “Can I call you a cab, sir?”

  “Actually, no, I’ve arranged for a limo service to be out front. I’m taking my niece to The Met.”

  “That’s nice.” He makes sure the doors don’t close on Cassie and me as we walk through. “I didn’t know babies like art.”

  “Let’s hope this one does,” I say, “because if I don’t get out of my condo and into the real world soon, I’m going to go crazy.”

  He laughs. “Good luck with that, sir.” He deposits my baby gear on the sidewalk next to the limo that’s idling there. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  I dig around in my pocket and come out with a ten. “No thanks. Here. I’ll see you later.”

  “Not me, sir. I’m off in an hour. Good luck.” He takes the ten and tips his head at me before going back inside.

  The driver gets out and busies himself wi
th loading the gear into the trunk. When he’s done, I give him instructions on how to install the carseat. I feel like a parent, knowing how it’s done. I’m surprised by the feeling of pride that gives me.

  A parent? Me? I never thought about it much before. I figured I’d end up with a woman who didn’t want kids, and I would have been okay with that. Now I’m not so sure. Every time I try to picture myself with another woman, she looks just like Leah.

  I lean in and strap Cassie into the carseat. The driver gets into the car as I stand and turn around, making sure we have all our things loaded before we leave. The idea of being in The Met without ten diapers, wiping clothes, three cans of formula and bottles, bottled water, five changes of clothing, baby ibuprofen, and four dishcloths has me panicking.

  I’m distracted by the sound of someone running. A streak of yellow is coming at me from the north.

  “James!” she yells.

  It’s Leah and she looks like she’s being chased by an axe murderer the way her eyes are bugging out and her hair is flying all around her.

  I hold out my arms to stop her from bowling me over and brace myself for impact.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  AT THE CORNER OF FIFTH and East Fifty-Seventh I make a hard left. I can see Trump Towers just ahead. If I can just make it to the lobby, I’ll be home free. My legs are so sore and slow it’s like I’m running in quicksand. The adrenaline has worn off. This is my worst nightmare come true; I’m so close, and yet so far...