Page 28 of Good and Gone

“Tyler?” a man asks. I hear a commotion in the background, then a woman's voice; she sounds like she's crying. "Tyler, is that you?"

“It's me. Who is this?”

"It's Barry. Barry Coburn, FBI."

His introduction is irritating, as though I don’t know who he is. He served a warrant during my daughter's birthday party less than twenty-four hours ago, but I guess formalities are important in his line of work. “What's the matter?” I ask, when what I really mean is why ishecalling. I got the call a half hour ago from the sheriff’s office in Oklahoma that Hailey had been found. “Where’s Hailey?”

“I can't really give you any information just yet,” he says. “But I need you to get here as soon as you can.”

My heart drops. I put my hand on the wall to steady myself. “What's happened, Barry?”

“Do you have someone who can drive you to Lawton?” The line goes quiet for a beat and then he says, “Lawton, Oklahoma. Can you get here?”

“Just tell me — is my wife okay?”

“She’s stable. We're at Methodist Hospital.”

I exhale a sigh of relief. Is this something they train them to do, to evade questions? “I’m sorry,” he says. “I can't tell you more.”

“I’ll get there as soon as I can,” I tell him. Then I hang up and call my in-laws. I don’t know whether they’ve heard. We haven't spoken since yesterday, right around the time I kicked them out of my house and asked them not to return. The warrant drove a deep wedge where there were already cracks.

I can tell that my mother-in-law is weeping. “You've heard I take it?”

“It's all over the news,” Bob says on the other end of the line.

“Did they tell you anything?” Jeannie asks through sobs. “About her condition?”

“Just that she’s stable.”

“Thank God,” Bob whispers. “She’s in Oklahoma…”

“I know. I’m leaving the kids with the neighbor,” I say. “Can one of you come and get them?”

“Which neighbor?”

“I don't know. Kenny—Mrs. Levitt, if I have to. The first one I can get to come to the door.”

“I’m coming with you,” Jeannie says tearfully. “I need to see my daughter.”

“I don't have time to wait. I'm sorry.”

“Tyler—” Bob says.

“I have a long drive ahead of me as it is. I don't want to add an extra half hour. Hailey needs me. I have no idea how long I’ll be there. The kids need someone here.” I sigh. “I can’t take them with me.”

“Hailey needs her mother,” Jeannie tells me. “People always need their mothers.”

“Jeannie,” I tell her firmly. “I'm not waiting for you. I'm not waiting for anyone. I'm going now.”

“But—”

“Mason and Lily need you,” I say. “I trust that you’ll pick them up as soon as possible.”

I hang up the phone and take the kids to Mrs. Levitt. She seems thrilled to have the company. They seem confused, tired, and weepy. Lily begs me not to go. I tell them I'm sorry and that I love them. I promise them their grandparents will be there soon, and I blow out of the house.

Later, I would be sorry for scaring them like that. But right then, I was desperate. The drive from Austin to Lawton is the most excruciating five and a half hours of my life. I make it to Methodist Hospital after midnight, where a deputy with the sheriff's department is waiting for me.

He tells me Hailey is resting. He says he can't tell me anything specific, but he takes me to a waiting room on the third floor. It's quiet, with only one other person in the room. I sit down, and I wait. I don’t have a choice. No one will tell me a goddamn thing, and I don’t want to cause a scene and get arrested.

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