Page 38 of Good and Gone

At the very least, I can plant something, a camera or a recording device. That way, I can hear what they’re saying. Suddenly, an idea begins to form in the back of my mind, and I start to feel a little more confident in my chances of success. I just have to find a way to make it happen.

I turn back around and walk away from the house, trying not to attract any attention. As I walk, I visualize the layout of the house in my mind.

I continue walking south, and then an alleyway catches my eye. It's dark, quiet, and surrounded by tall fences. It's perfect. I pivot down the alley and walk to the end, where I am completely hidden from the street.

I pull out my cell phone and dial the boss's personal number, waiting on the other end for him to answer.

“Hello?”

“I need your help with something, Boss,” I respond.

“Any luck today?”

“A little.”

“My patience is wearing thin,” he huffs.

“I know. And I’m on it.”

I can practically hear his teeth grinding through the phone. “What is it you want from me?”

“I need a uniform.”

26

Hailey

I’m sitting on the side of the bed, staring blankly at the wall, when my mother comes home with my children. I haven’t seen or heard from either of them in days, and they both look perfectly fine. Their hair is neat, their faces clean, their teeth brushed. They’re fully dressed. Not a wrinkle in sight. It makes me realize that my mother is so much better at this than me, so much better than I’ll ever be, especially now. I tell myself I’m not ready to go back to the way things were. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. I don’t have the energy to be a mother. But I have these children, and they depend on me. That’s the reality.

“Hi, Mom!” My son runs to me, his arms open wide. He’s the first one to reach me, and I go to scoop him up in my arms, but I can’t do it. I can’t.

I hear my daughter following behind him, but I’m already on my feet and moving down the hall. I don't know where I'm going. I just want to get away from there.

Mason and Lily call after me, but my feet keep on walking. I feel like I’m in a vacuum, like I’m not there. It feels like the walls are closing in on me. I’m suffocating.

I run out the front door, still dressed in my pajamas, the same as the day before. It’s dark outside. Those men are out there, watching and waiting. I know I’m supposed to run, but I can’t decide which way.

Then I wake up.

I have this same nightmare over and over, although it’s not the worst of them.

This time, when it happens, I jolt awake in bed. I’m freezing. I sense the man outside my window. But I can’t think about that now because I feel an intense need to pee. My back aches. I’ve been having a lot of intermittent back pain lately. Sometimes the pain wakes me up. I need to roll over in bed, but it feels like there’s a big heavy barbell on my back. I need to change positions, but I can’t. It takes me almost an hour to move. By the time I find a way to get up, I feel dizzy and drop to the floor. I’m sweating uncontrollably. I call out to Tyler.

The clock on the nightstand reads 4:00 a.m. He’s not beside me, and I realize I’m not the only one having bad dreams. He must be with Lily.

I call his name repeatedly, and he doesn’t come. He’s most likely gone downstairs to the couch, and I don’t want to yell loud enough to wake the kids. I crawl from the bed to the bathroom. Dr. Bennett says that emotional pain almost always manifests into physical symptoms, but I’m not so sure.

A whole range of scenarios run through my mind: One of the kids brought home the flu, the onset of some terrible, but obscure disease. Then my mind lands on the most likely culprit. I imagine the IUD lost in my body, lodged somewhere it shouldn’t be.

I resolve to call the doctor’s office as soon as they open at eight. I know I can’t keep putting this off. Eventually, though, I pass out and when I awake at eight, I’m feeling better, and I tell myself I’ll call tomorrow. I’m too tired to dress and face anyone. Not today. Tomorrow will be better. My mother takes the kids to school. I lay in bed with my phone, scanning through hundreds of emails. It feels utterly overwhelming sifting through everything. What’s important? What’s not? Deciding takes a lot of energy, and I feel exhausted after the first dozen.

It’s getting more and more difficult to keep up with the days and weeks. Especially if you sleep all the time. I sleep through my kids’ classroom parties and PTA meetings. I sleep through dinner and bath time. Thank God for my mom. She’s always around. She drives me to my appointments. She cooks and cleans. She gets the kids off to school and picks them up in the afternoon. She texts me reminders of things I need to do. Simple things like shower and eat. She reminds me to pay the electricity bill, which I pass off to Tyler. I can’t remember the password, and I’m in tears partway through what should be a simple task.

Reading emails appears to be no different. I put my phone on the charger. Maybe a nap will help. I convince myself it’ll be a short one. Optimistically, I set an alarm for a half hour. But right about the time I doze off, my phone rings, jarring me awake. It’s my assistant Lauren. I responded to a few of her emails, so I am not surprised to see her name pop up. “Hello?”

“Oh, sorry. Were you asleep?”

“It’s fine. What’s up?”

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