“Scott will find him,” Jack said confidently.
“I think so,” I said. I felt another shot of warmth toward Jack then. I knew everyone else thought I was crazy. They didn’t hide their concern and incredulity well. But I knew what I knew. And that was that Adam was coming home.
If only I felt as confident about Emerson’s health, everything would be OK. Grammy’s death had given her yet another great excuse not to get the tests the doctor recommended.
He nodded and turned, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“Hey, Jack,” I called. He turned and raised his eyebrows. “Thank you. Really. I appreciate it, and I’ll let you know if you can do anything.”
He smiled, and I think he felt better. I felt better just remembering Scott was getting on an airplane to Iraq that night. I wanted to go with him. I honestly considered it. But when I confessed that to Emerson, who was a tiny bit sweeter than Mom or Caroline, she had said, “Oh, no, that’s a great idea, Sloane. Go ahead over to Iraq and get killed. ThenCarolinewill be raising your children.”
I loved Caroline. She was a great sister, but she was not the mother I wanted for my children.
We looked at each other and broke out into hysterical laughter. Like so many things in life, it wasn’t funny, but it kind of was.
I was thinking about Emerson and that laughter we had shared as I picked up my brush. I was proud of her and how she had grown. She seemed to be settling into a real relationship with Mark and was even helping take care of my kids.
I was changing too. I had gotten up my nerve to send AJ and Taylor to Mother’s Morning Out, which they had come to love so much that I was a little jealous. AJ actually got mad when it was Saturday and he couldn’t go. I’m not sure what that said about my mothering, but I was grateful for the time nonetheless. When I was painting or even just doing inventory at the store, my mind was so occupied that I couldn’t think about Adam or Grammy. All I could think about was the task at hand, and that was a wonderful feeling. I wondered what people who didn’t have a creative outlet did to clear their minds. Maybe those were the people who ran marathons. Like Caroline. Caroline couldn’t paint or write or draw or act. But, man, could that girl ever run. So, she ran herself right into that 11 percent body fat she was so obsessed with.
The bell tinkled on the door, and Sandra walked in, breaking me out of my thoughts. I smiled at her, and she smiled sadly back at me, which was when I remembered Grammy was dead, her funeral was this afternoon, and instead of standing here putting paint to canvas, I should have been at home helping my mom and sisters prepare.
“Were you sent here to make sure I hadn’t slit my wrists in the bathroom?” I asked.
Sandra laughed. “Something like that.”
I stood up, wiped my hands on my pants, and curtsied, making Sandra laugh. “I am all in one piece, blood free and not suicidal.”
Sandra nodded and scrunched her nose at me. “But isn’t that what suicidal people say?”
I grinned at her. “Scott is leaving after the funeral to go find my husband, so I’m fine. I’m hopeful.”
Sandra had been like an aunt to me growing up. She was the closest thing my mother had to a sister—except for maybe Emily—and she had always told me the hard things. She was there when I needed advice, and I felt like she knew me better than most people in my life. So when a concerned look passed across her face and she said, “Sloane...” with that air of “you’re delusional,” I wasn’t surprised.
I put my hands up. “Look, I get it. I know it’s insane to think my uncle is going to go to a foreign land and track down my missing husband. But you guys don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like when the love of your life is lost and you are completely powerless to do anything. It’s like when kids go missing and their parents roam the forest looking for them. Are they going to find them? Probably not. But you can’t just sit there and donothing.” I took a deep breath. “He’s coming home to me. He is. And this may very well be how.”
Sandra nodded and pulled me into her. “I think you’re amazing,” she said. “You’ve held up incredibly well in the worst of the worst. I’m not judging you. Just worried.”
“Don’t worry about me. Worry about Adam.”
I was dipping my brush back into the paint when I heard, “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” and my two little monsters tore through the store, Mark and Emerson following closely behind. “Mommy, Mommy!” AJ said, out of breath and sweaty, that little-boy billy goat smell emanating from every part of him. “Mark got me this banana and it had chocolate covering it, and it was so good!”
“Popsicle,” Taylor said.
“Yeah, yeah,” AJ enthused. “It was frozen like a Popsicle!”
They leaned into either side of me, those babies, so soft and warm. I was so grateful for them. Adam was missing this. I couldn’t think about where he might be or what might be happening to him, but he wasn’t here. He didn’t get to hug these sweaty children who we made so well, and raised well, too. And he might never get to again.
I felt unexpected anger burning in my chest that he had left me here alone. To curb the feeling, I smiled up at my sister. “Seems like you two were a big hit.”
Emerson leaned into Mark, and he put his arm around her waist. “This one really knows what to do with kids. It’s kind of crazy. Are you sure you don’t have one?” she asked him, eyebrow raised.
He leaned over and kissed the top of her head in reply. “Not yet,” he said, winking.
They were so adorable it made me want to cry and cheer all at the same time.
I took a deep breath.
“Hey, look,” Mark said, “I’m going to run to the church to help set up chairs.”
