Wherever She Goes(46)

“I’m sorry, but you’re mistaken. I understand there was a woman on the news who said she saw my sister with a son. She was wrong. Kim didn’t have a child.”

“I’m that woman. I know Kim had—”

“Stop. Please. I just lost my sister. I’m going to hang up now.”

“Denis Zima,” I blurt.

Silence. Then, “I don’t know that name.”

“He’s Brandon’s father. Or he thinks he is.”

“I’m hanging up and phoning the police.”

“Denis knows about Brandon. He’s looking for him. He thinks Kim put Brandon someplace safe. I realize now that I saw a rescue, not a kidnapping. If you have any way to warn the people who have Brandon, please do. Denis Zima is looking for his son. If Kim didn’t want Denis finding him, then I know you don’t either.”

The line disconnects. But she heard me. I know she did.



I’m finishing dinner when Paul texts.

Charlie would like to Skype with you.

She wants to tell you about yesterday.

I stare at the texts and draw a blank. Yesterday? What . . .

The party. The horseback riding. The fact that my daughter was supposed to be here with me today, and I canceled, and I never even said, “Hey, I’d like to talk to her.”

I text back quickly and ask him to have Charlotte call whenever she wants. I’ll have my laptop ready.

I’ve barely got Skype open when she connects, and guilt churns my stomach. My daughter has been waiting, eager to talk to me, and I’ve been caught up in my own concerns.

I forgot her last week for the princess tea. Now I’ve done it again.

“Hey, baby,” I say when she appears. She’s someplace I don’t recognize, with people passing behind her. “Where are you?”

“Train house,” she says.

An announcement sounds in the background. She’s in the Chicago train station. My gut goes cold with a sudden image flashing of Paul bustling her onto a train, out of my life forever.

I push back the panic. Paul would never do that. Even if he tried, seized by a sudden fit of madness, he would hardly have Charlotte call me from the station.

“What are you doing there?” I ask, as casually as I can.

Paul’s voice comes from the background. He doesn’t lean in to the camera, as he usually does. He remains a disembodied voice.

“Gayle’s daughter is going on a school trip,” he says. “We were dropping her off.”

“Ah, did she catch her train okay?”

He doesn’t answer. I’m asking a polite but meaningless question, and he’s not going to bother responding. This is where we stand.

“How Mummy tummy?” Charlotte asks.

“My . . . ?”

“Daddy say Mommy sick.”

I exhale. Thank you, Paul. I’d wondered what excuse he’d given. The easy one would be to say I was busy, and I’d really hoped he hadn’t—I’d never want Charlotte to think I was too busy for her. But he did the right thing, as always. No matter how upset he was with me, he rose above it.

I assure her that I feel much better—probably something I ate—and then I ask about the party. As she regales me with her day of excitement, another announcement blares, and it pokes at my brain. Then I remember the background noise on my call with Ellie. That muffled voice had been an announcement.

She’d been in a train station. Or an airline terminal.

Was she traveling to see Brandon? To take him back from whoever had him?

“Mommy?”

I scramble to remember what Charlotte said. I’m replaying her words when Paul leans down, just for a second, to be sure I’m still there.

“Sorry,” I say. “It’s a bad connection. What did you say, sweetheart?”

She repeats it, and I respond appropriately. I push aside thoughts of Ellie.

Repeat after me, Bree. This is what matters—your daughter. Let Ellie take care of Brandon. If she’s going to fetch him, that’s a good thing.

Charlotte keeps talking, and I corral my thoughts. It’s a struggle, and that gnaws at me. I lost my weekend with Charlotte, and now I can’t afford fifteen minutes to listen to her talk about her day?

I focus until Paul says it’s time to go. This is the point where, normally, he’d come on for a quick exchange of parental information, like telling me she has a dental appointment or that she’s really enjoying a certain book. Today, Charlotte says goodbye . . . and he disconnects the line.

I text him: I can have her next weekend, right?

He replies: Of course.

And that’s it. Conversation over.





Chapter Twenty-Four





I need to get Kim and Brandon out of my head. They aren’t my concern, and they’re interfering with things that are. After that Skype call, I plan my next weekend with Charlotte. We have tea reservations for Sunday. I’ll get her a new dress. We’ll do that on Saturday. Maybe I’ll ask Paul if I can have her Friday to make up for my last weekend.

No, not maybe. I will. In fact, I’m going to do that right now. At the very least, it’ll help me gauge how dire this situation with him is.

I send the text. Then I spend the next twenty minutes freaking out because he’s not replying.