I turned toward her slowly. “That’s what itis.”
She swirled her drink, gaze lowered but pointed. “He leaves you here alone with all of this. With the kids… with the press… with the fallout. And then he shows up and acts like the savior.”
“He’s not leaving me alone. I have you,” I said sharply. “And he’s doing everything he can to bring our boy home. No one could ask for a better father.”
“He just let Keith walk out the door.”
“Is that a problem?”
“He was going out to get stoned, so yeah, I’d say so.”
I sighed and lowered my head. We’d been dealing with Keith’s pot addiction, and more, since middle school, when he’d fallen in with the wrong crowd… and then become their leader. Itdidn’t help that he was a funny stoner. Any program we put him in to scare him straight turned into a munchie-centric stand-up routine. His first group counseling session in rehab:I’m trying to be open and honest, but all I can think about is nachos.His time in jail waiting for us to bail him out:So, hypothetically… if someone wanted Hot Cheetos, how many cigarettes would that cost?
We’d thought we had him back on track, but Jake’s kidnapping had derailed him. “It’s not your place to critique our parenting.”
“I wasn’t critiquing yours. I was critiquing your husband’s.”
“Even worse. Be careful, Melanie, because if you ask me to take sides, I’ll choose his.”
“Oh, I know.” She took another drink, her controlled polish slipping with every sip of her drink. “Let’s just hope you still have a place to live.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He hasn’t been to work in two weeks.”
“Because his son is missing!”
Melanie raised her brows and took another drink. Why did she always insist on turning my husband into the villain?
“His coworkers pooled their vacation time. People on his route have donated money. That’s how much they love him.”
She looked up then, and the pity in her eyes made my stomach twist. “But is that really enough? What happens in a month from now? In six months? Will they still be financially supporting him? You could lose the house. Then what?”
“What would you have him do, Melanie? Give up? Pretend his—our—son doesn’t matter?” Tears filled my eyes. “Just chalk Jake up as a loss?”
Melanie never said it outright, but I knew. She thought Jake was dead. That Scott’s hope was delusion, not devotion. And though I’d never admit it, part of me did too. The statistics were brutal. Children taken by strangers rarely survived the firstnight; and Jake had been gone fourteen. Jake was strong, but strength doesn’t beat the odds or a loaded gun.
“Of course not,” she said. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”
I sighed, too worn to challenge her, and picked up my drink, tossing it back. The liquor burned going down. I deserved that. Melanie poured more, warming to her role.
“You want to talk about what happened at the press conference?” she asked.
“Not really. Why? What did you hear?”
“Emma filled me in.”
I took another drink.
“The media… they’re vultures,” I said. “They think I deserve this because I won’t perform for them. Because I don’t cry on cue. Like that somehow means I don’t love my son. Like I’m not dying inside.”
“Because people like them don’t understand people like us,” Melanie said. “They don’t understand composure or how you hold grief in place. To them, restraint looks cold, and stoicism looks suspicious. And what happened today? They’ll turn it into something it’s not.”
I nodded, taking another sip to dull the sting.
“Well… at least the press hasn’t connected this to us,” she said. “Small mercies.”
“Us?”
