Mother May I(18)

The bottle said the capsules were one milligram each. Google told me a standard dose was one to two milligrams and warned that roofies could be dangerous if they were taken with alcohol. This was Spence, so they absolutely would be taken with plenty of alcohol.

I put my phone away and tipped two capsules into my hand. He was a large man, though, and maybe the pills were old. He might set his drink down unfinished. I tipped out a third, stuffed the bottle back into my purse, and went to Trey’s office.

It was a masculine space with an exposed brick wall, leather chairs, and art deco prints of famous New York buildings. A French bar cart from the 1930s displayed Trey’s mostly full bottle of Pappy Van Winkle between lesser bottles of Lagavulin and WhistlePig rye. The firm would be serving top-shelf tonight, but not Pappy. Pappy was so far over top-shelf that the atmosphere around it was thin. I’d paid almost two thousand dollars for this bottle, a present for Trey’s fiftieth birthday.

In the smoked mirror, I watched as a tall, slim figure, dressed to cause trouble, poured a shot of Pappy into a rocks glass. She pulled three capsules apart, one by one, and tipped fine, white powder into the bourbon.

“You dose Shaw by ten, hear? The drugs work fast, so excuse yourself, quick as you can. Then you text me and say it’s done.”

“Yes. I’ll text you.” I couldn’t hear Robert eating anymore. He must be finished. “Remember, you have to burp him twice.”

“I will. I’ll be sweet with your boy, as long as you are doing what I need. Now, you got any questions on it?”

I swallowed. If I succeeded, the girls might never know that he’d been missing. I wanted this. Innocence was permission to be bold. I’d been raised by a mom who saw monsters under every bed. If it weren’t for Betsy, fearless and strong enough to drag me toward adventure, I might have grown up afraid of my own shadow. Had Mom been right about the world all along?

Maybe, but I didn’t want the girls to know. If I got Robert back tomorrow, unchanged, unharmed, the girls blissfully ignorant, all their lives could continue, normal.

I’d tell Trey, because I wasn’t sure who or what I would be in the wake of this. I had no chance of coming out of this unbroken. I was split in two already. But I hardly cared. Not if all three of my kids could be safe and the same.

“What do I do after I text you?”

“You leave. Don’t stay to watch. Don’t try to find my girl. I’ve left her out of the worst parts. She had no part in taking your baby, understand? That was all me. In the morning I’ll call and tell you where to pick him up.”

“Okay,” I said.

And that was it. She disconnected.





I stirred the bourbon with the silver bar spoon. The drug dissolved easily, disappearing into the amber liquid. I nodded to myself. I could watch for when Spence’s glass got low, then offer to top him off with a shot from Trey’s best bottle. I couldn’t imagine him saying no to Pappy. If he dared, I’d knock him down and pill him like a cat with the other three.

I was tempted to have a sip to make sure the taste didn’t give anything away, but with all three dissolved in there, it must be strong; I needed a clear head. Besides, Google said that roofies were tasteless. It was why they were so dangerous. Girls kept sipping their Cokes or beer with no idea of what else they were getting.

There was a monogrammed silver flask on the bookshelf, right beside a framed photo of Trey on the porch of his frat house with his closest brothers. He looked so young and confident, but my hard gaze went to young Spencer, grinning beside him, one arm hooked around Trey’s neck. This flask was from Spence, too, a gift when Trey made partner. I got it down and carefully poured the shot into it, not spilling a drop.

I screwed the cap on, tight. After Spence signed whatever they wanted him to sign or said whatever they needed him to say or gave them whatever files they wanted, I’d get Robert back. I’d have him in my arms tomorrow. I could peel away this grown-up version of Betsy, with her smoky eyes and bare legs. I would be myself, though I wasn’t sure exactly what that would feel like after this. Perhaps I’d become my mother. I’d heard most women did eventually.

I slipped the flask into my beaded purse. The blinds were open. Of course they were; this was Trey’s space. Even as I closed them, I saw headlights turning up the drive. My Lyft was here. It was time.

Inside, I felt a curtain rising. I was on.





6




When I was fifteen years old, an outdoor mall opened up about thirty minutes away. It had a Gap, and a Claire’s, and a Rave. Everyone at my school was wild to go. One Saturday, Betsy’s mom dropped us off there. I had a little babysitting money, but a cute pair of earrings and an ice-cream cone for us to split cleaned me out. Bets was dead broke to begin with, and we had another two hours to kill.

“Five-finger discount?” Betsy said, eyes gleaming, and then laughed at the horror on my face. “I’m kidding. Mostly. Why don’t we try on the sluttiest clothes in the universe?”

That sounded fun, but still, I shook my head. What if the girls working the stores somehow guessed we had no money and kicked us out? My cheeks burned with imagined shame.

Betsy knew me well enough to read my mind. She affected a snooty accent and said, “Come along, Elizabeth, we’ll max out your daddy’s Visa.”