“Those poor boys…”
“I can’t imagine what she’s feeling.”
“They’re such a good family.”
“No parent should ever go through this.”
I kept moving, eyes staring straight ahead, feeling something dark coil inside me.
Fuck them all.
Although the planhad been for me to go with Kyle to the hospital, that wasn’t what happened. Kyle was loaded into the ambulance, and all I had to do was climb inside. But my legs wouldn’t move. My mouth wouldn’t open. I stood there frozen, staring into the darkness. Scott whispered something to Kyle. Then something else to Deana. Next thing I knew, she was climbing into the ambulance instead. Without a question, without hesitation. She took Kyle’s hand in hers and promised she’d stay with him until he was safe, and then I watched the ambulance drive away without me in it.
A better mother would have fought her for the seat; a worse one might have felt relief. I felt nothing at all. I was watching everything from somewhere outside myself, like I was a stranger observing someone else’s disaster. When I walked back into the house with Emma, after the ambulance had left, she shot me a sharp, accusing look, furious at my lack of anything. But instead of saying a word, she stepped straight into my place, just as Deana had. She gathered her younger siblings and shepherded them down the hall with a steadiness I couldn’t access. I heard her in their room, speaking the comforts I should have been giving. Telling them everything was going to be all right.
I didn’t correct her.
I stood in the kitchen and waited. In case Jake called.
An officer sat at the table behind me, pretending to keep busy. We had nothing to say to each other. The silence did all the talking. I couldn’t tell if he was there to monitor the line—or me.
“Mrs. McKallister,” he said, after a long stretch of me staring at the wall like it might suddenly tell me what to do. “Can I get you some water?”
I shook my head. I didn’t want any comfort that wouldn’t beoffered to my son.He only wanted Jake.Kyle’s words gutted me because I couldn’t stop imagining what that man was doing to him. What he was taking from my boy. And still, selfishly, I found myself begging Jake to hold on. To fight. To come home to me—at any cost.
Then, without warning—not even to myself—I walked to the drawer beside the sink and pulled out the old silver we never used. Under the stove, I found the cleaner and the special rag I’d bought years ago with the express purpose of removing tarnish, though I never had. I sat down and began to polish. No, not polish; scrub. I rubbed the spoon in tight, frantic circles until my wrist ached. I moved to a fork, then another, then another. The officer watched in silent confusion as I scraped away at each piece like I could erase the night if I just pressed hard enough. I was somewhere else. Somewhere I didn’t have to feel anything.
I didn’t stop when my hand cramped. I didn’t stop when the polishing rag turned black. I stopped when the officer said, “Ma’am? Maybe you should take a break.”
That was when I snapped.
A raw, animalistic sound tore from my throat, and before I even understood it was mine, I was on my feet, screaming and hurling the silver across the kitchen. Spoons clattered against cabinets and forks pinged off the floor.
In the distance, my babies cried.
The officer jumped to his feet as I screamed again, louder this time, and swept the rest of the silver onto the ground, metal raining down in violent clinks that echoed through the house.
“Mom. Mom!” Emma burst into the kitchen, her eyes wide and terrified. She rushed to me and grabbed my shoulders with shaking hands. “Mom, breathe. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
But I wasn’t okay, and she knew it. I sagged into her, trembling, empty, my breath stuttering like my body had forgottenhow to keep going. After one long, unbearable moment, I pulled away.
“I need a minute,” I said, though it didn’t sound like me at all. I walked down the hall, feeling the officer’s eyes on me, hearing Emma call to me, “Please come back.” I closed the bedroom door behind me and locked it.
I crossed the room and sat down at my vanity, flicking on the mirror light. My hands shook as I opened the top drawer, pulled out a velvet box, and lifted the lid. There it was. The necklace I’d packed in my carry-on the day I stepped off that plane—the day I left one life behind and stumbled blindly into another. I used to visit the necklace when I needed grounding or when life got too overwhelming. I hadn’t touched it in years. Hadn’t needed to. But now, oh my god, now I needed it.
My fingers moved without thinking, fastening it around my neck. The familiar weight settled against my collarbone. I stared at my reflection. At my glassy eyes. At my trembling chin. The necklace was like a lifeline and, for a second, I almost smiled. A soft, broken ghost of who I once was. Then the tears came. They didn’t trickle; they poured. A full, brutal collapse. Sobs shook my whole body, and I buckled, unable to hold the grief up anymore. When the storm finally slowed, I unfastened the necklace carefully, respectfully, and placed it back in its box. I closed the lid and returned it to its hiding spot.
Then I wiped my face with the back of my hand, picked up the phone, and dialed the number I’d sworn never to need again.
“Melanie,” I choked out when she answered.
“Michelle? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“They took him, Mel. They took my boy.”
34
SCOTT: SINCE U BEEN GONE
