Home Front(123)

“Where is she?” Lulu said.

Jolene’s fear kicked up a notch, edged toward panic. She kissed Lulu and handed her back to Mila, “Will you put her to bed, Mila? Please?”

Mila nodded. Taking Lulu, she carried the little girl back into the house. The screen door banged shut behind her.

Jolene met the men at the end of the porch.

“They weren’t there,” Carl said. “There was no sign that they’d been there, either.” He looked down at his watch. “It’s ten o’clock. Should we call the police?”

Jolene felt a chill go through her. Betsy was out there, somewhere, in the night, running away from a family that made no sense to her anymore, from a mother who could no longer be trusted. She went to the railing, stared down toward the road. Come back, Betsy. I will explain it all to you, please …

Michael came up beside her, put an arm around her shoulders. She couldn’t help thinking that before all of this, she would have shrugged his comfort away, would have been pacing now, trying to control a situation that wasn’t hers to control. Now, she leaned against him.

How long did they stand there? Long enough for Michael and Carl to call everyone they knew, long enough for Mila to put Lulu to bed and come out to the porch, wrapped in a purple and pink afghan. Long enough to see their friends and family walk over from Carl’s house and stand clustered along the fence line. Long enough to see the red and yellow flash of police lights coming their way.

Jolene saw the bursting bits of color, and she tightened her hold on the railing, freezing cold now, shivering. She was reminded of another night like this, long ago. She’d stood on another porch, all alone, watching her parents drive away. She’d never seen either one of them again.

Tami, bring her back to me.

The police cruiser pulled into the driveway and stopped. The colorful lights snapped off, leaving darkness behind.

Two uniformed officers got out of the car.

Michael tightened his hold on Jolene’s waist. Was he thinking about the night he’d been told about her accident? Hadn’t Ben Lomand come up at night with the news?

The older of the two officers opened a pad of paper. “We’re here about the missing children?”

Missing children.

Jolene gripped the railing so tightly her hands went numb. Think, Jolene. You know Betsy. Where would she be?

She heard the questions being asked and answered beside her; descriptions, names, favorite places, reasons they might have run away. She heard the pause after that question, and then Carl’s halting answer.

“We were having a memorial for Seth’s mom tonight. She was killed in Iraq. Jolene had an … um … flashback and threw herself to the floor. It caused some … I don’t know … upset to the kids, I think. Later, I heard Seth say to Betsy, ‘That picture doesn’t even look like my mom.’ That’s the last time I remember seeing them. It was, maybe, eight thirty or nine. I can’t be sure. There was so much going on.”

Jolene looked up sharply. “What did you say, Carl? What did Seth say about Tami?”

“He was mad at me for using the picture from Iraq. He yelled, ‘That’s not my mom. It’s not even her real smile.’ I should have listened to him, and then Betsy said, ‘My mom hasn’t smiled since she got back.’”

“I know where they might be,” Jolene said.

“Where?” Carl asked.

“They want the last pictures of us,” she said, her throat tight. “The last time they saw their moms.”

“The Crab Pot,” Michael and Carl said together.

“You go,” Carl said to Michael. “I’ll stay here in case you’re wrong.”

Jolene and Michael were already moving, going into the house, grabbing the car keys. In no time, they were in the car, backing down the driveway and turning onto the bay road. Neither spoke as they drove along the water. At some point, Jolene reached out and put her hand on his thigh, needing to touch him. “If anything happens to them…”

“Don’t say it, Jo,” he pleaded.

They pulled up into the Crab Pot parking lot, which was empty. Two solitary streetlamps threw spots of light down on the asphalt.

Michael ran and Jolene limped as fast as she could to the front door, which was ajar. The window beside it was broken. Shards of glass lay on the weathered silver boards at their feet.

A pinprick of light shone in the shadowy interior.

Michael opened the door slowly; it creaked in protest.

Seth and Betsy were huddled together at the wall, holding Polaroid pictures in the beam of a flashlight.

Jolene heard Seth say quietly, “See her smile, Betsy? That’s her.”

Jolene’s relief was profound, but short-lived. She should have been truthful with her children from the beginning. She should have warned them that war could hurt her, change her, change them. Protecting them from the inevitable had only increased their pain and confusion and caused all this collateral damage.

“Hey, Betsy,” she said quietly.

Betsy saw her and grimaced. “We’ll pay for the window. Don’t worry.”

“We aren’t worried about the window,” Michael said.

“I had to get out of there,” Seth said, tears filling his eyes. “They were all telling these stories about her in the Guard. And I missed her so much I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to see her the way I remembered her. Betsy was the only one who understood.”