Want to Know a Secret? (2)

“Bobby!” I call out.

My only answer is a slight rustling of leaves.

“April?”

I whirl around, my heart pounding. My husband Elliot is standing behind me, dressed in an Armani suit. It’s Sunday, but of course, he’s on his way to work. I wouldn’t expect anything different from my workaholic husband. It used to drive me crazy, but I’ve learned to accept it.

“I’m on my way out,” he says. “Just wanted to let you know.”

“Wait.” There’s a slightly hysterical edge to my voice. “I don’t see Bobby in the backyard.”

Elliot straightens out his tie. It’s his red power tie. He must have something important going on today. I remember the first time I saw him in that tie nine years ago, I swooned. I actually swooned. I had never met anyone like Elliot Masterson before. He was one of the most handsome and charismatic men I’d ever met. There was something in the back of my head, even then, telling me this man would be my husband and the father of my child someday.

But right now, I can’t appreciate how good he looks in his suit and tie. All I can think about is who sent me this text message and where my son is.

“Are you sure he’s not out there?” he asks.

“Yes!” I fish around in my pocket for my phone. “And look at this text message someone sent me!”

Elliot takes my phone and reads the text as he rubs at his scalp. It’s very smooth—he must have shaved this morning. That’s right—my husband shaves his head. He started doing it about four years ago, and I screamed and pulled out my can of mace when he came into the living room with his newly shorn head for the first time. I thought he was going to burgle me—he looked like a completely different person, and I hated it. But after a few weeks, I came around. The shaved head is sexy and virile, and admittedly better than his badly receding hairline.

“It’s probably just a prank,” he says, although there’s a slight tremor in his voice.

“Why would somebody play a prank like that on me?”

“I don’t know! You’re a public figure. People know you. Maybe somebody’s cookies didn’t come out right and they’re angry at you.”

He’s right that I have become a public figure lately. Everybody in our Long Island town seems to know who I am, thanks to my YouTube show. And truth be told, I have received a few creepy text messages over the years from viewers who tracked down my number. But nothing ever came of it.

“Maybe he’s upstairs?” Elliot suggests.

It’s possible. But I’ve been in the kitchen for the last hour, and he would have had to go past me to get back in the house. I would have seen that. So he must still be outside.

“He could be hiding...” I say. Bobby is at an age where he thinks it’s hilarious to hide somewhere, and jump out and startle me at an inopportune moment. Haha, I scareded you! If he wasn’t so darn cute, I would be furious.

Right now, it would not be cute.

“I’ll go check upstairs,” Elliot says.

“I’ll check the side of the house.”

I go out into the backyard, tugging at the bright red blouse that suddenly feels too hot. On camera, I always wear bright, solid colors. Usually, I change shortly after I finish making my video, but there’s no time for that now. I feel my ballet flats squishing against the damp grass. “Bobby!” I call again.

No answer. But that doesn’t mean anything. If he’s hiding, of course he’s not going to give away his location.

I stop for a moment and listen. Even though he’s good at hiding, he is still only seven. At this point, he’s probably giggling to himself. So I listen for giggling. Or crunching of leaves. But I don’t hear any.

I get another sting of panic in my chest.

I venture further out into the backyard. I look along the side of the house, where we keep our garbage cans. It’s a perfect hiding place for a little boy—I’m hoping to find him crouched behind one of the bins. At this point, he’s giving me enough of a scare that I will definitely have to scold him: Mommy was really scared! Next time, don’t hide like that!

I look behind the bins. Nothing.

Then my eyes fall on the gate to the backyard. It’s the only way to get in or out of the backyard without going through the house.

The gate door is wide open.

With a shaking hand, I pull my phone out of my pocket. I bring up the text message one more time:



Your son isn’t where you think he is.



My hands are shaking so much, it’s an effort to respond: Who are you? Where is he?

I stand there, watching the screen. Waiting.

But there’s no reply.





Chapter 2


I rush back into the house, just in time to run into Elliot, who is coming down the stairs. “Was he up there?” I ask.

For a moment, I have a sliver of hope, but then he shakes his head.

“Did you check all the rooms?” I press him.

He nods. “Yes. I didn’t see him.”

That stab of panic is starting to escalate. My legs have turned to jello. “He’s not in the backyard. And the gate is open…”

My heart is doing jumping jacks in my chest, but Elliot still doesn’t seem overly concerned. How does he do that? Is he really not worried or is he just so much better at faking it? He is a lawyer, after all. He’s good at faking it.