Hannah and Adam take separate cars to the station. Sam goes with Adam. They arrive at the same time and wait at the front desk. Two women officers nod but don’t get up. No one comes to help.
Hannah raps her fingers on the counter. She can’t stay in here for long. She has to keep moving, keep looking, get back home, try all the neighbors’ houses. God, Gabby. How could she not have thought of Gabby? Of course that’s where Alicia would go. Hannah takes her phone out of her pocket and finds Gabby’s number.
She picks up after two rings. “Hi,” she says cheerfully.
“This is Mrs. Jenkins. Is Alicia with you?” Hannah holds her breath.
“No. I haven’t seen her since the other night when I babysat. Is something wrong?”
“She didn’t come home after school.” A policeman who looks about eighteen approaches. Adam makes a motion for Hannah to get off the phone.
They sit on the orange vinyl chairs in the lobby of the new station.
“My name is Officer Kadlik. I’ll be taking the report.”
“Our daughter didn’t get on the bus this afternoon,” Adam says. “We’ve checked everywhere, and we can’t find her.”
Officer Kadlik has light green eyes, and his smooth skin looks like it has no pores. He would be easy to photograph.
“You checked with all of her friends?” he asks.
“Of course,” Hannah says. “We tried everyone.”
“And you’re sure she’s not asleep at home somewhere?”
“Yes, I’m sure she’s not asleep at home.” Hannah knows she sounds snarky, but this guy doesn’t seem to be getting the urgency of the situation.
“Ma’am, I need to ask. It’s funny how many times the child is sleeping at home.”
Nothing is funny about this. “She’s not home. I’m sure.”
“And has this happened before?”
Hannah glances around. They need someone older and wiser.
“No,” Adam says. “It hasn’t happened before.”
“Is that a real gun?” Sam asks.
Officer Kadlik smiles. “It is, but it’s locked.”
“I want to be a cop when I grow up.”
“Sam, not now,” Adam says.
“Cute kid,” Kadlik comments.
“This is a picture of Alicia.” Hannah displays the photograph.
“I just have a few more questions before we get to that,” Kadlik tells them.
She’s ready to scream. “Maybe someone else should be here to listen as well.”
“If you want, Officer Green is supposed to be back in like”—he looks at his watch—“twenty minutes or so.”
“No, we don’t want to wait,” Adam says. “We want you looking for our daughter as soon as possible.”
He nods and glances at his clipboard. “She’s not at home?”
“No,” Hannah and Adam say at the same time.
“And is someone at the house right now in case she comes home?”
“I called my mother,” Hannah says. “She should be there by now.” The walls are an asparagus color, the wrong shade for a police station. In fact, everything about this place feels wrong.
“Good. Because you want to make sure someone is there. In case—”
“Yes, we understand that,” Hannah says. “We need you to start looking.”
“As soon as I get the report,” he says. “Um … It’s just that we have to tell you, when you file a missing child report in Massachusetts, DCF will automatically have to investigate,” he whispers, not wanting Sam to hear.
“DCF?” Adam asks.
“Department of Children and Families.”
“Why?” Hannah can’t sit much longer.
“Possible neglect.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Adam says.
Officer Kadlik shrugs. “Sorry, it’s the law. That’s why I asked you those other questions. Just wanted to make sure we had all the bases covered before making an official report.”
“She’s not at home. We want to make a report,” Hannah tells him.
Kadlik nods. “Okay. What did you say her name was?”
“Alicia. Alicia Jenkins. She’s nine, almost ten. She has blond hair. She’s a little over four feet. Blue eyes. And she’s thin.”
“How do you spell Jenkins?” he asks.
“J-E-N-K-I-N-S,” Adam overenunciates.
“Have you ever been in charge of a case like this?” Hannah asks.
“No, ma’am. This is my first … missing child,” he says carefully.
She flinches.
“I think we need someone with more experience,” Adam says.
“If you don’t mind waiting.” Kadlik is about to stand.
“We do mind. Can we just get on with it?” she asks.
“Any reason you think your daughter might not have wanted to come home?”
“She was upset this morning. She overheard my wife and me having an argument.”
“About?”
Adam glances at Sam, then back at Kadlik. “Personal matters.”
“It might be better if just one of you gave the answers,” Kadlik explains. “There’s a lot of, you know, private stuff. I have to know about all of her relationships. If there’s anyone in the family who might want to cause a problem. Who doesn’t like her, that sort of thing.”
Hannah turns to Adam. “Why don’t you take Sam home? Check the houses on Forest Ave. I’ll do this part.”
She answers all of Kadlik’s questions quickly and efficiently. When her phone rings she jumps, sure it’s Alicia. But then she looks at the caller ID. It’s Bridget. Hannah can’t talk. Not now. She’ll explain to Bridget later that she wasn’t trying to avoid her, that she’s not angry anymore about what happened in group. Hannah ends the call and turns her attention back to the young police officer.
* * *
It’s been hours. Not a word from anyone. Hannah paces from one end of the living room to the other as Adam sits on the couch next to the lamp, which projects a round glow onto the ceiling.
“I feel like we should be doing something,” Hannah says as she begins to bargain with God. Take my life, just let my daughter be okay.
“I know. But they told us the best thing we could do is wait here. She could come home any second.”
“I just keep thinking of all the things I should have done differently.”
“Don’t torture yourself like that.”
“I can’t help it.” She stops in front of him. The dim lighting shades his eyes. “I’ve been grouchy and tense with the kids. Alicia’s sensitive. I should have been more aware, not so wrapped up in my own pain. I should have—”
“Stop.” He stands to hold her, but she takes a step backward, as if he’s about to strike. “Please don’t blame yourself. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I put you in that pain.”
“What if I would have talked more about myself in group? What if I would have told them what was really going on? I’m so caught up in appearances.” Please God, do anything you want to me, just don’t let Alicia be hurt.
“We can what-if ourselves to death. It’s not going to change anything.” He sits.
She begins to pace again. “I blame you. But I have a part in this too. I’ve been so ashamed of you, of us. So frightened of everything, of people finding out you might be gay, of the children learning.” She shakes her head. I’ll be okay with anything if she’s okay.
“Hannah, I’m not gay.”
She doesn’t reply. She keeps pacing, from the portrait of the children back to the light switch on the other wall.
“Hannah, did you hear me? I’m not gay.”
She stops and looks at him. “How do you know?” He can be gay if Alicia is all right.
“I love you. I love making love to you. What I’ve done with other men isn’t about you. It’s a compulsion. Something I have to keep working out.”
“But will you? Work it out?”
“Yes,” he says without a beat or pause.
“And then?” She would give up her husband for her daughter.
“I don’t know. Maybe we can move past this. Maybe we can’t.”
“I hate the maybes.” She’s moving again. “Maybe they will find Alicia. Maybe they won’t. I need something more solid.”
“I love you. You’re a wonderful, kind mother.”
“I’m going to call the station again.” She veers off her path, eyeing her phone on the glass coffee table.
“They’ll call us the minute they know anything.”
“I have to do something.”
Adam stands. He puts an arm around her. “Let’s go for a walk around the block.”
“What if she comes home?”
“Your mother is here.”
“I can’t leave the house.” She wants to scream, kick the wall, smash the lamp.
“Okay, then we’ll stay here. We’ll pace together.”
“If they find Alicia, I’m going to call Bridget and Lizzy and Gail and tell them I’m sorry. Tell them I want to keep meeting with them. That I’ll talk to them, work through all this mess inside of me. I’ll volunteer more at Sam and Alicia’s school. I’ll spend more time with my mother. I’ll—”
Adam wraps his arms around her. “Shush,” he says. “They’ll find her.”
“You don’t know that.”
He holds her tighter. “They’ll find her,” he says again.
Her weight shifts into his. She believes him. She has to.