Someone Else’s Life(65)

“I’m sorry.” Serena sobbed as blood ran from her mouth, where Annie had landed a blow. “I didn’t mean to.”

Annie had Serena by the throat now, crazed beyond thinking, knowing only she had to stop this woman.

“Annie, please.” Serena’s eyes bulged as they pleaded with Annie. “I didn’t mean to kill Lindsay. I only wanted my son.”

Annie froze, hands still around Serena’s neck as her senses slowly returned. Oh god, what was she doing? Her hands dropped away and she took a step back. The two women gaped at each other, as the rain pounded and the roar of the storm threatened to wash them away.





39


Laptop ANNIE file


I sat alone in my car in the parking lot of the lake beach that day in late August. I stared at all the happy families taking advantage of the last weekend of summer and wished with all my might that this was my life. I should be sitting inside that fence, at the beach with my family, lying in the sun reading a book, knowing my son was safe running around with the other children. Maybe I’d have wine or a Truly in my cooler, and watermelon and juice for my son. I can smell the suntan lotion, the coconut scent wafting off my skin, mixing with the smell of hamburgers and hot dogs being grilled, which always signifies summer to me. My skin would be warm and slightly pink, my toes buried deep in the sand until I hit a cool spot, my hand on my cold drink.

But instead, I sat in my car, an outsider with no claim to the community that you belong to. So when I saw your son—my son!—walking out of the gates by himself, I got out of the car. Why was he outside without supervision? Even I, a nonmember, knew that all the parents were always shouting for the younger kids to stay inside the fence. I walked over to my son and scanned the bodies on the beach until I found you, stretched out on your chair, eyes closed, a book in one hand dangling down, your other hand holding on to the cup in the beach chair’s cup holder. It was exactly how I’d pictured myself just moments before. For a second, I thought I was watching myself on the beach. But no, I’m the one standing outside and your son, my son, had wandered away and you weren’t even aware. A sense of outraged indignation coursed through me and suddenly, I wanted to teach you a lesson. Let you see how it feels for something to not go right in your world for once. I realized this was the perfect opportunity to take back my son.

I took his hand and he willingly gave it to me before looking up with a question in his eyes. I told him I’d seen a family of turtles sunning themselves on a log near the water and did he want to go see them with me? To his credit, he said he wasn’t supposed to go with strangers but I could see his curiosity was piqued. I said, “They’re just right there,” pointing to the woods next to the beach. “We won’t go far.” He agreed and was about to go off with me when that girl appeared. She came out of nowhere and snatched my son’s other hand and pulled him out of my grasp. “Who are you? What are you doing with him?” The questions came at me fast and furious, with no time for me to answer. My son looked at me fearfully then, and not knowing what else to do, I turned and fled.

I sat in my car, not wanting to leave until my heart calmed. I could see my son talking to the girl, pointing toward the woods, and I knew he was telling her about the turtles. (There weren’t any turtles. I made that up.) I watched as the girl nodded and then they headed into the woods.

I should have left then. I should have started my car and gotten out of there. But I was still so angry that you, the one who had everything, would leave your little boy (my little boy!) to wander around without supervision. How could you be so careless with that precious little boy?

All this time, I’d been grieving for my son, and he is still alive. I grew angrier as I stared into the woods where my son had disappeared. And I was angry at the teenage girl also for getting in my way. My anger propelled me back out of my car and I followed them into the woods. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t know what I was going to do once I saw them. And that was the problem. I wasn’t thinking, only feeling. I’d been hurting and alone for so long and it was finally my turn to be happy. We’ve been living such parallel lives. (Did I mention that we have the same birthday? I found this out during my research. You and I were born on the same day, twelve years apart. How much more proof do you need that our lives are intertwined for a reason?) But it was finally time for me to claim my rightful family.

I marched in and found them deep in the woods, close to the water’s edge. The girl turned at the sound of my footsteps and put the boy behind her. She asked me what I wanted. I made my voice kind, telling her that I was his mother. The girl said, “No, you’re not his mother. His mother is on the beach.” I told her she’s wrong, he’s my son. I reached out to take his hand. But she wouldn’t get out of the way. She actually slapped my hand. I couldn’t believe she slapped me. In shock, I looked at my son and he gazed back at me, as if he knew—he knew!—that I am his mother.

Something snapped in me. I’d had enough. No one was going to tell me I couldn’t talk to my son. Especially not a teenage girl. I pushed her. Hard. She went flying backward and ended up on her butt. I could hear the rush of air as the breath was knocked out of her and my son started to cry. I knew I should have helped her up but when she caught her breath, the girl started yelling at me to get away and leave them alone. So I left. That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? I would figure out a way to get my son another time.