In the past, his separation anxiety had gotten so intense that he couldn’t bear not being in the same room as me. Sometimes he’d even have to sit close enough to touch me while building with Legos or looking at a book.
After we finally escaped his father, Julian’s therapists said it would get better over time. After a few attempted escapes from class in kindergarten, he settled in and eventually found a lot of comfort in the routine that came with the school day.
Once I’d folded the clean clothes, I shuffled across the hall into Julian’s room. “I have pants and PJs,” I called out. “Can you put them in your drawers?” My little guy liked having tasks to complete and Ellie had used my fancy label maker to label his drawers. She’d even made a daily checklist and mounted it next to his door.
Inside the quiet room, I turned in a circle. “Julian?”
All I found was a half-built Lego car on the floor.
Terror rushed through my veins, fast and relentless.
“Girls,” I shouted, dropping the clean laundry onto the floor. “Do you know where Julian is?”
I darted from room to room, wildly searching. Ellie joined me, sweeping through the house, calling his name.
“He’s probably hiding,” she said, though she was rigid with tension just like I was.
He wasn’t on the second floor or anywhere downstairs, and he wasn’t in the driveway.
After I’d checked the small back yard, muscle memory took over, and I ran down the hill, calling out his name.
Dread swamped me. Not again.
How could I have lost him again?
As I ran, my thoughts spiraled. Why did I think living here was a good idea? This place was a death trap. Nothing but machinery, water, and roads traveled by monstrous trucks. Not to mention the bear everyone kept talking about like it was the towns goddamn mascot.
Where the road forked, I headed toward the main barn. Julian liked to tinker, so odds were he’d go there first.
I picked up speed, jumping over a small fence and cutting through a field, rushing straight for the open door and the large dog happily trotting around just outside it.
“Julian.” I launched myself over the threshold, braced to find an accident or disaster or injury.
Instead I found Julian sitting on a barrel, sorting wrenches by size and explainingSponge Bob Square Pantsto Josh, who was crouched nearby, fixing a grease-covered machine.
My eyes blurred and my heart pounded in my ears, my nervous system not quite caught up to my brain.
He was safe. He was perfectly safe.
Calm, focused, and engaged. Probably learning something, for Christ’s sake.
I, on the other hand, was cracking into pieces, pantingand sweating. Wild with rage and frustration and, somehow, relief.
The worst hadn’t happened.
Yet my body still hadn’t received that message. No, its reaction only escalated. My fingertips prickled and my lungs burned as I gasped for breath.
“You couldn’t bother to tell me he was here?” I shouted at Josh as I darted to Julian and gathered him in my arms.
“Mom,” my little boy complained, fighting my hold, his focus drifting to the wrenches and their individual compartments in the tool chest.
“You can’t leave without permission,” I murmured to him. Then I zeroed in on Josh with such fury I was sure lasers were shooting from my eyes. “You have my number. You could have called.”
“He’s only been here a couple of minutes. I told him I’d walk him back to the cottage,” Josh said, his nostrils flaring. “You’ll have to excuse me for delaying three or four minutes. I’ve got my head in an engine.”
The anger continued to roil inside me. Logically, I understood that this wasn’t actually his fault, but I couldn’t temper the emotions or control the words coming out of my mouth. “You know he’s a flight risk,” I said, my voice shaking slightly.
He stood to his full height. My first instinct was to take a step back. He was quite a large man. But I only lifted my chin.
