Mother May I(10)

I met my own eyes in the rearview, and I was shocked to see that I’d been crying. Black mascara streaked down my face. My breasts ached and pulsed like they were heavy with milk, the way they had when the girls were little and I went too long without nursing. It was a phantom pain, because Robert was a bottle baby. He’d been three weeks early, and his suck reflex had been poor. Nursing had burned up more calories than he was getting, so I’d had to supplement. My lazy baby liked the bottle so much better. He started fussing and turning away when I offered my breast. It hurt my feelings, trying to get him to latch while he struggled and squalled. When I offered a bottle, he snuggled close and smacked and cooed.

“You could just give him formula,” Trey told me, and we had, though it made me feel weepy and, in the swamp of my postpartum hormones, like I was failing at motherhood. Trey said I was too hard on myself. “Bottle-fed babies do just fine. Why not enjoy him? He’s our last one.” That was Trey, always on my side. God, I wanted him here now, confident and decisive, helping me know what to do. But the note said not to call him. I was too afraid to disobey.

It was my turn at the stop sign. I was sweating so hard the salt stung my eyes. Next I’d turn onto a four-lane road, and then I could go faster. I was bare minutes from my house.

I put one shaking hand up to wipe at my eyes. I’d come this far on such a wave of adrenaline I could barely remember the drive, but now my brain was beginning to work again. That woman, she had taken his diaper bag. Did that mean she meant to keep him? She had extra formula, diapers and wipes, a change of clothes, and a blanket that smelled like me. Surely she didn’t mean to keep him? GO HOME, the note said, but I was finally asking, why take the diaper bag if she was going to meet me now? And, looming larger, why Robert? Of all the babies in the world, why mine?

The answer was obvious. It was money. Had to be. Trey made so much of it. His family had even more. She’d taken Robert because he was worth a lot of money.

I should call the police. Trey would have already. Any of the Cabbats would have. But—the note said not to. It said to GO HOME, and I was almost, almost there. I would see if she was waiting for me, meeting me now, because once I called them, it couldn’t be undone. I had to think, be careful, do everything right. She had Robert.

If this was about money, I had to figure out exactly how much I could get my hands on. I wanted Trey with me again then, so fiercely. He would know. I ran our household budget, but he handled the big-picture stuff: investments, retirement, his trust. He could tell me how much cash we could lay hands on, but I couldn’t call him. The note said not to, so I couldn’t. She could have partners, watching me.

But after she told me how much, surely she would let me call my husband. To get the money. He could decide if we should call the police. Or some kind of professional. There were people whose job was to negotiate with kidnappers, freelancers who didn’t care about catching bad guys or any of the rules. I’d seen a movie about one of them, or a TV show. They only cared about getting the baby back. Maybe it would be better, safer, smarter, to call that kind of person. Trey would know. I found my head nodding itself, up and down, and I could breathe better. Soon I wouldn’t be alone in this. Together Trey and I were stronger. We’d get him back.

I was at the turn into my neighborhood, but the light was red. An outsize SUV was in front of me, blocking my way in. My watch said I had six more minutes. The light stayed red and stayed red, and I screamed, a long, harrowing howl, beating my hands against the wheel. A woman in the car beside me, a young mother with a toddler strapped in the back, turned to look at me, openmouthed. The toddler looked, too, eyes as round as quarters. I stared back, and I hated her. She had her baby buckled in safe behind her. She had everything I wanted. Whatever she saw in my face made her hastily turn forward again. As soon as the light changed, she took off.

I was in my neighborhood now, but in my panic I’d forgotten about the girls. Safe with Marshall but on their way to my anxious little mother’s place. If they showed up unannounced, if Marshall mentioned how odd I’d been on the phone, she would assume the worst. She always assumed the worst.

“Hey, Siri, call Mom.”

She answered on the second ring. “Hi, sweetie!”

I had to sound normal. I had to do a better job than I had with Marshall anyway. I thought about Anna-Claire, the way she slipped so easily from role to role. I’d just watched her channel Rizzo, and yet her own essential self was alive under every line. She was a girl inside a girl, and both were true.

She’d gotten this from me. A bug, Trey called it fondly. She got bit by your acting bug. Now I had been boiled down to an animal, wild with terror and fury, wholly feral. But I also had to be Bree Cabbat, wife and mother, busy and happy. That person felt so distant, so foreign. I had to make her true. I felt myself nod, thinking. In this scene Bree calls to ask for a favor, and nothing in her tone upsets her mother.

“Hi, Mom! I was wondering if the girls could spend the night at your place—maybe even the weekend?” I was turning onto my street. I sounded good, though inside I was little more than something howling.

“Well, I would love that! But we didn’t plan it. Is everything all right?” She sounded worried. That was all it took.

“I have a little stomach virus. It’s going around, and it’s so contagious. Robert’s safe—he’s too young to catch it, but if the girls come home, they’ll have it in five minutes.” I made myself laugh, a light little sound. I manufactured it inside my body, then released it.