I'm Fine and Neither Are You(7)

“Here we are,” said Russ as he pulled up in front of the brick community center where the kids were attending the summer camp Sanjay’s mother had subsidized so he could spend less time on what she deemed the womanly art of tending to one’s children. “Nine and a half minutes. You’re welcome.”

“Thanks. I owe you,” I said, hoisting myself out of the deep seat.

“You’ll make it up to me,” called Russ, but I was already running through a double door. The clock hanging in the lobby revealed that I had arrived with one minute to spare, which almost excused Russ from saddling me with the Blatner proposal.

The victory was short-lived. “You’re late !” said Miles as he barreled toward me. I gasped as his forehead slammed into my stomach.

“Where were you?” said Stevie in a whiny baby voice from beneath the table where she was . . . hiding? Foraging for leftover lunch crumbs? It was anyone’s guess.

“I’m not late,” I said to my ungrateful spawn once I had regained the wind Miles had just knocked out of me. “I’m on time. And I was at work.” The same as every other day, except today I left early to get you because your father is busy living his best life.

I was about to direct them to the hurricane of clothes and food storage containers they had scattered under their cubbies when I realized that there was a little girl sniffling on a beanbag in the corner—and this girl happened to be Cecily.

“Cess?” I called. “Where’s your mom, sweetie?”

Her big blue eyes were brimming with tears. She sniffed. “I don’t know.”

“Aww, honey, it’s okay,” I said, kneeling beside her. I put my hand on her back.

“No touching, please,” called the camp counselor, whose name started with a B —Brittany, maybe, or Becca—from across the room.

“She’s my best friend’s daughter,” I said.

“I’m sorry, but it’s against Knowledge Arena’s policy. Only parents and counselors are allowed to have direct contact with the campers.”

I was pretty sure I was first on Cecily’s emergency forms, which made me the next closest thing to her parents, but arguing with the counselor wasn’t going to help. Besides, Jenny would swoop in any second and save Cecily as well as me and my children, who still needed a ride home.

“No touching,” I said, holding my hands palms up like a crime suspect. I winked at Cecily, who managed a small smile. “How about Stevie, Miles, and I hang out here with you until your mama shows up?” I asked, and she nodded.

We sat on the rug and read one book, and then another, and even after a third there still was no sign of Jenny. I called her again, but she didn’t answer. Then I texted Sanjay to say that we needed a ride and to call me immediately.

Twenty dollars in late fees later, neither the camp nor I had been able to reach Jenny or Matt. He was home this week, so he was probably in the middle of a meeting or a conference call.

But where was she ? Had she forgotten? That had happened once a few months earlier, but unlike me, she generally did not need to be reminded about things like picking up her children. Had she been felled by E. coli, or gotten in a car accident, or stopped to rescue a random person from something terrible? Only the last scenario was actually feasible—I could already imagine a self-deprecating post about how she had been walking through her neighborhood and happened upon an elderly woman who had fallen and couldn’t get up.

I had just stood to look outside when the door opened. “See?!” I said triumphantly to the kids, who were rooting through my bag for snacks; even Cecily was peering into it with the wild eyes of a woman in the middle of a weeklong juice fast.

But it was just Russ. His tie was missing and the top of his shirt was unbuttoned, and for a second I wondered if he had returned from the golf course. “Everything okay?” he asked. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

I stared at him, as incredulous as I was grateful. “You’ve been waiting? For me?”

“And your kids,” he said. He did a double take. “There are three of them?”

“No, Russell. That’s my best friend’s daughter.” I glanced back at the counselor, who was sighing heavily and repeatedly looking at the clock. “I should be listed on Cecily’s emergency forms. Can I sign her out?”

“Let me confirm,” she said.

She returned with her approval, and I refrained from making a remark about whether I was allowed to make contact with Cecily while taking her home. Then I texted Jenny to update her and hustled the children out of the building.

“Now what?” said Russ, looking in bewilderment as Stevie, Miles, and Cecily ran around the parking lot.

“Now I call my husband for the seventeenth time,” I said.

Sanjay, who was probably blowing out his eardrums beside an amplifier in his friend Christina’s garage, did not pick up. Nor did Jenny respond to my text. I was starting to feel shaky, and while I wanted to believe this was the result of my having three cups of coffee for lunch and the fact that the past hour had been a complete catastrophe, the truth was that a different sort of dread had come over me.

Motherhood had primed me to anticipate unlikely worst-case scenarios, and I tried to reassure myself that my internal disaster sensor was on overdrive, as per usual. But this feeling wasn’t like when you realized your house had been quiet for thirty seconds too long only to find your beloved son practicing his penmanship in permanent marker on your beige sofa cushions.