Little Secrets(7)
Lila Figueroa is the youngest member at thirty-four. She’s a mother of three, a dental hygienist, and married to Kyle, a pediatric dentist. Together, they have two toddler boys. The child who’s missing is Devon, her eldest son, from a previous relationship. He was picked up from school one day by his biological father, who did not have custody, and was never seen or heard from again. This happened three years ago, when Devon was ten, and the last place he and his father were spotted was Santa Fe, New Mexico. Though Devon isn’t a victim of stranger abduction, his father is abusive, Lila has said. When Devon was a baby, his father burned their son’s leg on the stove on purpose when he wouldn’t stop crying, which is the primary reason she took Devon and left.
Simon Polniak is the only father in their little group. He manages a Toyota dealership in Woodinville and every few months pulls up in whatever new car he’s demoing. He and his wife, Lindsay, used to come to group together, but they divorced six months ago. She kept the Labradoodle, and Simon kept group. He likes to joke that she got the better end of that deal. Their daughter, Brianna, was thirteen when she was lured away from home by a stranger on the internet, someone who’d pretended to be a sixteen-year-old boy named Travis. The investigation showed Travis to be a twenty-nine-year-old part-time electronics warehouse employee who still lived with his parents, and when Brianna disappeared, so did he. This was four years ago, and neither has been heard from since.
Every first Tuesday of the month, the four of them meet in a small room at the back of Big Holes. Occasionally someone new will find them—Frances keeps a Facebook page, and there’s a sign on the St. Augustine Church bulletin board and on their website, and the group is searchable online—but they don’t always stick around. Group meetings, especially this group, aren’t for everyone.
Tonight, there’s someone new. Frances introduces her as Jamie—no last name, at least not yet. When Marin enters the back room, it’s clear by Jamie’s body language that whatever her situation is, it’s fresh. Her eyes are puffy, her cheeks hollow, her hair damp from a shower that she probably forced herself to take before leaving the house. Her clothes hang on her like she’s recently lost weight. It’s hard to tell how old she is, but Marin is guessing late thirties. Her Coach bag sits on the floor beside her, and her Michael Kors–sandaled feet are bobbing up and down. She looks like the kind of woman who’d normally have a pedicure, but she doesn’t have one now. Her toenails are long, unpainted.
Marin says hello to everyone. Before she takes her seat, she selects a toasted coconut donut, exchanging a knowing look with Simon. It’s always interesting to see how long a new person will last. Many of them don’t even make it through their first meeting. The reality of living life this way is too much.
The guilt is too much.
“Who wants to start?” Frances asks, looking around the room.
Jamie drops her head. Lila clears her throat, and they all subtly turn toward her, giving her the floor.
“Kyle and I aren’t doing well.” Lila looks thinner than the last time Marin saw her; her undereye circles are more pronounced. She’s wearing jeans and a thick cable-knit sweater with a giant sequined raspberry on the chest. She likes to dress in “kitschy clothes” for the kid patients at the dental office. Her old-fashioned glazed donut is untouched, but she’s powering through her coffee, lipstick faded, the cracked lines in her dry lips exposed.
“I don’t know how much longer we can pretend we’re okay. We fight all the time, and the fights are ugly. Screaming, punching walls, breaking things. He hates that I come here. He says I’m dwelling.” Lila looks around the room, exhaustion seeping out of every pore. “Do you guys think that’s what we do here? Dwell?”
Of course that’s what they do. But Marin doesn’t say it, because it isn’t what any of them want to hear.
Simon is on his second donut, and she’s predicting he’ll have a third before they leave tonight. He’s gained weight since he and Lindsay split, all of it in his belly and face, and he’s started growing a beard to hide the softening chin. His hair is a mess of kinky curls. There are several things Marin could do at the salon to soften those curls, but she has no idea how to offer her skills without sounding like a snob. She suspects they already think she’s pretentious, and showing up here tonight in the Chanel dress she wore to work probably doesn’t help.
“So what if we ‘dwell’?” Simon asks. “It all has to go somewhere. The thoughts. The wondering. What are we supposed to do with it if we don’t bring it here?” He polishes off the last bite of his donut and wipes his hands on his jeans. “Lindsay thought this wasn’t healthy for her towards the end. She wanted to stop thinking about it, stop talking about it. She said sometimes she felt worse after group, because you were all a reminder that there will probably never be a happy ending.”
They all heave a collective sigh. While it’s hard to hear, Lindsay is correct. That’s the thing with a missing-children support group. If you’re one of the rare few whose child is eventually found, you stop coming here. Alive or dead, your child is no longer missing, and therefore whatever support you might need, it isn’t this. It isn’t them. A breakup with the group is always inevitable, and it’s mutual every time. Especially if your child is dead. Nobody in group wants to hear about it.