Don't Look for Me(42)

She caught her breath.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Then she was gone.





17


Day fourteen





Hannah and Suzannah have very different kinds of mothers. Hannah’s mother is perfect. She’s sweet, kind, obedient. She has long, real blond hair, wears no makeup. She doesn’t need to because she’s so beautiful. And her body is thin. Hannah says she feels strong when she hugs her.

Alice never deviates in our game.

Suzannah’s mother, who is my invention, is strong-willed and defiant. She hates Suzannah’s father and has no problem telling him. It upsets Suzannah because her father has a temper and she is worried about what he might do to her mother.

“Sometimes I think he might hurt her,” Suzannah says.

Hannah grows quiet. Alice grows pensive.

The familiar wave of guilt races through me but I do not succumb.

“She should just be happy being my mommy!” Suzannah says. Then she starts to cry.

Hannah wakes up now. She feeds on the emotional turmoil of her friend, and gives back empathy that is exaggerated but also self-serving.

“You are so beautiful, Suzannah! Any mommy would be lucky to have you as her little girl, and she should not do anything that would take her away from you! If she really, really loved you she wouldn’t do things like that! Things that might get her killed!”

I hold my breath, waiting for more information to seep out through the cracks of this emotional outburst. But all I get are tears.

Suzannah nods her head. “Thank you, Hannah. You are the best friend I could ever have!”

Alice pulls Hannah to her chest and hugs the doll, lost now in our characters and the game we play. Suzannah and I sit quietly until all is calm again.

We have been playing with the dolls all morning. We have not done any schoolwork and Alice grows antsy.

“I’m supposed to have it done before noon,” she says. “Did you know that the morning is the most productive time of the day? It’s when our brains are smartest.”

We used to talk about these things in faculty meetings and I wonder how she knows them. Someone took the time to become educated about children and how they develop. I can’t imagine it was Mick. When he comes now, with the food or to collect Alice, he seems agitated and distracted, like he has too much on his mind. Or maybe his mind is overwhelmed by what he’s done and the consequences that are looming. I try to put him at ease with my docile behavior, but then this seems to repulse him. I have been thinking about this dilemma. What does he want from me? What will make his mind settle? He cannot go on forever in the state he’s in.

“Okay,” I answer. “Why don’t we finish this game and then have some lunch. The morning has already passed and the other thing that helps us be smart is food.”

I need to finish what I started today. This is further than we have ever come in talking about the mommies of these little plastic dolls and I need to know more about Hannah’s. I need to know how old she was, what she looked like, where she slept, and why she wanted to leave. I need to know the things she said and did and how she wore her hair. I need to know how she was like my daughter. Like Nicole. I need to know so I can be more like her myself. Draw him to me and not my daughter.

Their paths can never cross again. Not ever. But what if she comes back here to look for me? What if the search is not really over?

I run through the facts of my disappearance. The car with no gas, my phone still there in the charger. No dead body found, so I must be somewhere. Won’t they start to wonder how I am surviving in my new life as a grown-up runaway? If he’s used the credit card again, he would have risked being detected. That would be foolish, and he does not seem foolish to me.

I step outside the details and think that maybe they just know. They will know that I would never leave them. Not after I took Annie from them.

Or maybe I’m thinking about this all wrong. Maybe they will see it as a gift—finally freeing them of my presence. The miserable, sad reminder of our family tragedy.

Suddenly, Alice speaks and I force myself to leave these thoughts. These horrible thoughts that have caused beads of sweat to run down my face.

“Let’s keep playing,” she says.

I continue the game. Suzannah asks Hannah more about her mommy.

Hannah’s mommy is a fantasy. She is the mommy Alice wants, the one she might even believe she once had.

Her mommy died because she got lost in the woods. And yet, somehow I know she didn’t.

“Does your mommy ever take you shopping?” Suzannah asks Hannah. “Have you ever been to the mall? It’s so awesome! They have every kind of store you can imagine. Like the one in that TV show we watched—remember? And they have a whole floor that’s just food. All kinds of food! Have you ever had Chinese food? We used to go all the time, but now my father won’t let us. I think that’s why my mommy is so mad at him.”

What does Alice know of the real world? Did her first mommy tell her things about it? How many times has she left the house, wearing her mask?

I want answers to these questions so I can understand my captor. But I also want my little blond prison guard to wonder about the life that Mick keeps from her. I want her to taste it. And to feel angry about it. Angry at him.

I am the one who can give that to her. I am the one who can save her.