The Perfect Mother(83)

I’ve always been this way. A bad little girl. My father said it all the time. “Leave her alone,” my mom would yell at him. “Do better,” she’d whisper to me when he wasn’t around. “Stop giving him reasons to be mad.”

I thought becoming a mother was going to change me, but I was wrong. The baby just made everything worse. And now everyone is going to know the true me. It was inevitable, right, that they’re on to me? Francie, that nosy, meddling twit.

Midas’s blanket. Why didn’t I take care of that earlier? Why

Why

Why why why

My thoughts are unraveling. I have to remain calm. I hear a booming voice in my head, as if it’s speaking through a megaphone. I can picture the voice. It’s mustached and wears a large top hat, circular wire glasses, and emerald shoes that curl up at the toes.

Hey lady, it yells through its megaphone. You must remain calm. This is no time to get hysterical.

(Ha, guess what, voice? I’ve done it. I’ve become exactly what my father said all women become. Hysterical.)

We’re going to disappear. I know I keep saying that, but this time I mean it. Tomorrow. The problem is, well . . .

The cash is almost gone. I’ve been too afraid to look, but I did. Yesterday. $743.12. That’s it.

I had no choice but to tell Joshua.

“But don’t worry,” I said last night, keeping my back to him so I wouldn’t see the shock and anger in his eyes. “Not all of it.” (For the first time in months I’m happy Dr. H isn’t around. “I said it a million times: be careful with that money,” he would say, his expression a study in disappointment, as if I were still a teenager.)

Then today Francie showed up, distracting me from the money, reminding me we have bigger problems. What if they don’t believe me? I finally spoke that question out loud. What if they see through the story we’ve created?

What if I go to jail?

But Joshua just turned away from me. I know even the mention of it terrifies him. Later, as we ate our dinner in silence, I was well aware what he was thinking.

Little Miss Clever can’t get us out of this predicament. Miss Tenth-Grade Math Whiz, and you still haven’t figured out a solution to a very simple equation of where to go?

I can’t waste any more time. Not with the way they’re closing in on me. Tennessee. Montana. Alaska. We’ll drive until we find where we want to be, or run out of gas. We’ll settle down. I’ll get a job. We’ll rent a cabin. Joshua is hoping for something remote and private. Land on which we can lose ourselves, start over. Somewhere we can never be found.

I want that too. I think I do, at least, when I try to picture it. A garden in the back. Maybe some chickens.

A gun nearby for protection. Just in case.





Chapter Twenty



Day Twelve



To: May Mothers

From: Your friends at The Village Date: July 16

Subject: Today’s advice

Your baby: Day 63

It’s been nine weeks since you gave birth, and it’s time to talk about BALANCE. We know how it is. Taking care of the baby. Buying groceries. Getting back in shape. For some of us, preparing to go back to work. It’s not easy. The best thing you can do for yourself—and your baby—is to strive for the right balance in your life. Maybe you hire a mother’s helper a few hours a week, or ask a friend to babysit so you can go to the gym. Maybe you spend a little extra money having your groceries delivered. Find what works for you. After all, a happy mother, a happy home.





Nell’s body feels as if it’s made of cement, her legs cast in plaster. She hears the crying, but it’s muffled. The baby is calling to her from under water. She tries to move, but she doesn’t have enough strength.

“Nell.”

She smells the trace of vanilla in her mother’s hand lotion and opens her eyes. Margaret is standing over her.

“Am I late for work?” Nell asks.

“No. It’s not yet seven.” Her mom crouches beside her. “I hate to wake you, but you need to see something.”

Nell notices the look on her mom’s face. She sits up. “Is Beatrice okay?”

“Yes, sweetheart. She’s fine. She’s sound asleep. Sebastian just left for work. But come out to the living room with me.”

Nell lifts herself from the warm sheets and follows her mom down the hall. Margaret arrived yesterday evening, leaving work immediately after Nell called, driving the four hours from Newport to Brooklyn without stopping. She slept on an air mattress in the living room, the monitor beside her, tending to Beatrice so Nell and Sebastian could have their first full night of sleep since the baby was born.

The television is on in the living room, and Nell sees that Mayor Shepherd is standing at a podium, stepping aside to give Rohan Ghosh a place at the bank of microphones.

Nell looks at Margaret. “What happened?”

Ghosh is holding up his hand. “I’ll speak when you all quiet down,” he says, pausing to sip from a bottle of water. “Last night, we were led to conduct a new search of the car owned by Winnie Ross, in which we discovered a blue baby blanket stuffed into the tire well. The blanket matches the description of the one taken from Midas’s crib the night he was abducted. Our forensic team has confirmed that the fibers of the blanket contain traces of Midas Ross’s DNA, as well as evidence of his blood.”