My Name Is Venus Black(64)

This is just one of many routines Inez has developed for herself since she lost her family. She likes to think that in this small way she’s become more like Leo. She understands better now the comfort of having a few small things you can count on to stay the same.

Leo is always on her mind, but this week more than ever. It’s been a week now since his face was first featured on milk cartons across the country. She’s been told not to put too much hope in the project, but they needn’t have cautioned her. After six years of searching, waiting, and wondering, Inez isn’t easily carried away. She was both gratified and angry when Congress passed the Missing Children Act of 1982, which did away with the seventy-two-hour wait to declare a child missing.



The law was a no-brainer. But it left Inez wondering how differently things might have gone for Leo had it been in place sooner.

She’s grateful for the milk-carton project, an initiative of the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children, established in 1984. But she doubts a six-year-old grainy photo of Leo at age seven is going to do much good. She didn’t even rush out to get a carton of her own, figuring that would make it one less carton circulating. But if she’s honest, another reason might be that she hates seeing the word MISSING above Leo’s face. Even back when she was plastering the state of Washington with MISSING posters, the word made her feel exposed and ashamed, like she had misplaced her child the way you might lose your car keys.

She has gone over that night in her head so many times. If only she’d insisted on keeping Leo with her. If only she hadn’t become so hysterical. If only she had called a neighbor. But most of their neighbors resented the Miller family, because Ray kept the junky cars he was working on out front of the house. And so, under threat of having Leo put in the care of children’s services, Inez had phoned Shirley Cavanaugh, a friend from work who’d watched Leo a few times. She had rushed right over with curlers in her hair to get Leo.

Later that night Inez had packed a bag for herself, too—and eventually joined Leo. Her home was a crime scene and they couldn’t stay there. Of course, she now regrets choosing Shirley’s. And not being there when Leo disappeared. According to Shirley, he’d been happily playing in the sandbox just outside her glass slider while she was watching TV. “He was so happy in the sand. But I could see him—he was right there!”

Inez should have wanted to strangle this woman, but for reasons she can’t explain, she’s never held Shirley personally responsible for “losing” Leo. Maybe there was already so much hate and blame going around that she couldn’t deal with more. Eventually, she found herself accepting Shirley’s desperate pleas to help her look for Leo.



She still thinks it was a smart move, since Shirley’s enormous guilt made her more motivated to find Leo than anyone else in the world—apart from Inez, of course. But Shirley did more than help her hang a zillion MISSING posters of Leo. When Inez was immobilized by grief and depression, it was Shirley who kept her from disappearing into her couch. It was Shirley who visited several evenings a week and knocked on her door until Inez opened it.

Still, given Shirley’s culpability, Inez was as surprised as anyone when their casual friendship deepened. It was as though working in tandem to find Leo forged a bond between them strong enough to save them both. Inez still thinks of Shirley and herself as the guilt sisters.

At times, she knew Shirley was worried Inez would take her own life, but the option of suicide was never on the table, a fact Inez almost resented. She had no choice but to go on—just in case Leo came home. When people told her she was brave, or wondered aloud how she managed to keep going in the face of so much heartache and loss, she wanted to scream. Brave had nothing to do with it. It was hope that held her hostage.

Her coffee ready, Inez pours a cup and takes the paper to the couch in the living room, where one cushion is noticeably sunken and worn. She reads several pages but doesn’t get far before her phone rings. Who would be calling so early on a Friday morning? She won’t even let herself believe someone has reported seeing Leo.

Her heart is racing as she sets her coffee on the side table and rushes to the kitchen. When it’s only Shirley, Inez is annoyed. “Seriously? You’re calling me at seven in the morning on a Friday?”

“Well, I knew today meant a week without hearing…I just wanted to check in with you. The carton and all.”

“I’m fine,” she tells Shirley.



“Have you finally got one? A carton?” she asks.

“No,” Inez says. “I told you I’m not sure I even want to see it.”

“I understand,” Shirley quickly replies. “And if you don’t want to see it, there’s nothing wrong with that. It doesn’t mean you aren’t glad they’re out there or that you can’t hope it works.”

“I’m just trying not to get my hopes up. It’s such an old picture. And after all these years…”

“Well, I’m worried they’re not doing a good job, Inez. Yesterday I had to go to several stores to find a carton with Leo on it. Albertsons had it. But why doesn’t everyone?”

Inez sighs heavily. “It’s not all brands, you know that, Shirley.” She can’t help sounding exasperated.

“Yeah, honey. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.”