The Perfect Mother(87)

“He thinks I should talk to Scarlett,” Francie told Colette. “He thinks it’s a really good idea. But I’ve e-mailed her several times and she’s not responding. Token said I should trust my instincts and keep trying. I want to track her down. We both think this might be our last hope to find Midas and help Winnie.”

“Francie, that is a crazy idea,” Colette said.

“No, it’s not. We didn’t even realize Winnie was depressed. Plus, she’s one of those women. She always knows what to do. I’m telling you. We need to talk to her.”

Colette hasn’t been able to shake the desperate look in Francie’s eyes, and it’s still with her as she hurries alongside Nell down the hill. “Okay, so what’s the plan?” Nell asks.

“We’ll let her drop off this letter. And then I’ll suggest we go get coffee. We’ll talk to Francie there, tell her how concerned we are about her.”

“I wish we could skip this part and go right to the coffee. Imagine what Scarlett is going to think when she reads this letter?”

“I know, it’s ridiculous, but it’s the best I could do.” A clap of thunder echoes around them as the rain begins to fall harder. Colette moves closer to Nell, shielding her with her umbrella. “I talked to Charlie’s editor. She went through this after her first was born. She gave me the names of three therapists.”

“Good,” Nell says. “If Francie says she won’t make an appointment, we’ll call Lowell. He needs to understand there’s something larger going on here.”

They turn the corner, and Colette sees Francie waiting in front of a building at the end of the block. Someone is standing with her under her umbrella.

“Is that Lowell?” Colette asks.

Nell squints. “That’s Token. Did she tell you he was coming?”

“No. I thought it was just going to be the three of us.”

“You’re late,” Francie says as they approach. She holds up the envelope. “You guys want to read it? Token”—she looks at him—“sorry, Daniel thinks it sounds okay.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Colette says. “What did you write?”

Francie licks the envelope and seals it. “Just what I told you last night. That we’re wondering if she knows something that might help.”

“Great,” Colette says.

Francie takes a deep breath and walks up the stoop. Token steps closer to Colette.

“You mind?” he asks, nodding at her umbrella. Colette and Nell move aside to make room for him. His shoulder is against Colette’s, and she can feel his breath on her neck as they watch Francie bend under her umbrella to look at the names on the mailboxes. “I was right! It is her apartment,” she says, just as a woman opens the front door from inside, knocking Francie’s hip.

“Sorry,” the woman says. She holds the door open. “You coming in?”

Francie glances back at them, and Colette shakes her head. “No,” Colette says. “Just leave it—”

Francie reaches for the door. “Yes, thanks.”

“Goddammit,” Nell says, under her breath.

“Come on,” Colette says, watching Francie disappear inside the building. She runs up the stoop, Nell following, and catches the door before it closes. “You coming?” she calls to Token.

“No,” he says, pulling up his hood. “I think it’s probably better if I stay here. Just in case.”

“Yes, keep watch,” Nell says, and then lowers her voice to an exaggerated whisper. “If we’re not back in three days, call the police.”

Colette and Nell enter the foyer. “Francie,” Colette calls up the carpeted stairway. “Drop off the letter and let’s go.”

“I seriously don’t have time for this,” Nell says, heading up the stairs. “My mom is leaving today.”

Colette follows Nell to the third floor, where she sees Francie’s wet umbrella leaning against the wall next to an open door at the top of the stairs. Colette steps inside the apartment, entering a small kitchen. Neatly stacked packing boxes line the hallway, marked in bold letters: Pots and Pans. Linens. Dishes. The counter is crowded with baby bottles, prenatal vitamins, Chinese herbs, and boxes of lactation tea.

Francie is standing in the living room, separated from the kitchen by a white tiled island, examining the room. “How did you get in?” Nell asks her.

“The door—it just opened.”

Colette looks at the doorknob, which is battered and loose, noticing a screw on the floor. “Francie, did you force your way in?”

“No. The knob was loose.”

“This has officially gone too far,” Colette says. “Leave the note outside.”

“I will.” Francie’s voice is distant as she walks past Colette, down the hallway, sliding past the boxes, toward the bedroom. “Just give me a minute.”

Colette sighs and then notices Nell, who is paging through a notebook on the kitchen counter. “Check this out,” Nell says. “It’s a chart, tracking the baby’s feeding and diaper changes.” She turns another page. “God, she even writes down every time she hears a burp.”

“You don’t?” Colette asks.