The Family Next Door(22)
Isabelle nodded. “The foundation was created by friends and family members of Abigail’s. It’s dedicated to the safety of all children, and the recovery of missing children.”
Essie sucked in a breath. The recovery of missing children. It felt so immediate, so terrifying. Something that could happen to you, rather than something that happened to other people.
“And,” she said, clearing her throat, “what do you for the foundation?”
“Our goal, of course, is reunification of families. I do everything I can to facilitate that.”
Essie she wasn’t entirely clear whether Isabelle had answered her question, but she nodded anyway. Isabelle seemed to have gone into work mode at this talk of work, even sitting straighter in her chair. Or maybe Essie was just imagining it.
“Does that happen often?” Essie asked. “Reunification?”
“It depends. In a lot of cases a parent or relative is involved and it’s just matter of finding them. In other cases, sex traffickers or pedophiles are involved.”
Essie winced.
“And then there are the baby snatchers,” Isabelle continued. “Women who steal a baby and raise it as their own. Those are the hardest cases for reunification, because the child itself doesn’t know it has been stolen.”
Essie felt a twist of unease. Isabelle had become so serious all of a sudden. But then, how could you not be serious when talking about missing children?
“So … how do you find these children?” Essie asked.
“The best leads we get are from the community. You’d be surprised by how many children have been recovered become someone follows their instincts and asks questions when something doesn’t feel right.”
“Did you come to this area for a particular case?” Essie asked.
“Yes.”
“You think one of your missing children might be in Sandringham?”
“Yes.”
Isabelle watched her steadily. Essie shifted in her seat. Talking about lost children reminded her about what she’d done that day, leaving Mia in the park. She thought of what might have happened if Mia hadn’t been there when she returned—how much worse it could have been.
“Well, I’d better get going,” Essie said, standing.
“I hope I didn’t scare you away.”
“No…” Essie fumbled for her bag which had become wedged under the couch. “I just want to get away before the meeting is out. If anyone spots me leaving your place and tells Ange I’ll be in all sorts of trouble.” With a heave, her bag came free.
Isabelle smiled. “Well, we don’t want that.”
“Thank you for tonight,” Essie said, babbling now. The wine had clearly gone to her head. She headed for the door. “It was much more fun than a neighborhood watch meeting.”
“It was,” Isabelle said, following Essie. “I really wasn’t expecting to make any friends in Pleasant Court.”
Friends. They stepped outside into the warm night air. Essie couldn’t help feeling a thrill at that word. At the same time, she suddenly found it hard to meet Isabelle’s eye. It was such an unfamiliar scenario to her. What was the protocol for two grown women saying good-bye after an evening together? A wave? A handshake? A hug?
“We should do this again,” Isabelle said as Ange’s door opened and the gentle hum of chatter carried across the road. The silhouettes had disappeared from the window and presumably everyone was about to spill out onto the street.
“Uh-oh,” Essie said, “I’d better make a run for it.”
Isabelle chuckled, leaning back against the wall. “Go on, then. Run!”
Essie took a step toward her house. But at the last minute she quickly turned back and planted a kiss on her new friend’s cheek.
*
Essie’s house looked like it had been ransacked. Peas were all over the floor, dirty dishes were in the sink, and toy trains lay on their sides alongside the longest continuous train track that Ben and Mia had made to date. The laundry basket was in the exact spot she’d left it, footprint and all.
Essie put down her bag, sighing. She swept the floor, put the trains away, put the laundry into the machine ready to turn on in the morning. Then she took a minute to fluff the cushions and set the throw rug before heading for the bedroom. Ben was a large mound in the bed, surrounded by the cushions he constantly bemoaned. (Cushions, Ange had recently proclaimed, were responsible for more divorces in America than infidelity or alcoholism. Funny, Essie thought it would be sheets.)
“How was the neighborhood watch meeting?” Ben murmured as she climbed into bed. His eyes were still closed, his face still collapsed against the pillow. “Is Pleasant Court the safest place in the world?”
Essie opened her mouth to tell him she’d been to Isabelle’s instead. That they’d had takeout and wine and spent the night chatting. But then Polly started to cry.
“Safest in the universe,” she said, and headed to Polly’s room as Ben drifted back to sleep.
14
ISABELLE
The street was silent. Everyone had waved good night and finished up their conversations after the neighborhood watch meeting and were now safely back inside their homes, probably tucked up in bed. Isabelle’s was the only light left on in the street, despite the fact it was just after 11 P.M. Pleasant Court really was a sleepy suburban street. So very quaint. So very ominous.