After a twenty-eight-hour flight, nothing had ever been as welcome as Minnesota’s clear skies and green-checkered cornfields. We circled the Minneapolis St Paul International Airport, and Alex took my hand, the engagement ring still awkward on my finger, and told me not to worry. We were landing into a new life as a family.
The plane shuddered to the ground and the captain announced the temperature in Minneapolis was a very pleasant eighty degrees. The local time was 11:00 a.m. I had been waiting for the announcement indicating that cell phone use was permitted and I anxiously called the children to tell them we were on our way home. No answer. That was strange. When I’d talked to them the other day they were heartbroken about Hope, but excited we were coming home. I made a mental note to put an ad in the paper and contact the animal shelter and pound again as soon as we got home.
It took longer for the passengers to deplane than it took to pour thick maple syrup out of a bottle. I listened to my voicemail. Dahlia had left a message saying she and Stan were going to church and out to brunch with some old neighbors but Caleigh and Dane preferred to stay home and wait for us. I called Dahlia’s cell phone but got her voicemail. Maybe the kids had decided to go out with their grandparents after all.
Our luggage was circling the carousel by the time we got to the baggage claim. The shuttle to the Bloomington Park ’n’ Fly was waiting. Alex smiled encouragingly, grateful everything was moving smoothly. Despite my exhaustion, I felt a shiver of pleasure at the prospect of Dane jumping into my arms and hearing about Caleigh and Dahlia’s shopping trip to the Mall of America.
Within minutes we were heading south on Highway 52. I tried calling again, letting the phone ring six times before hanging up. “Alex, there’s no answer. I know I’m silly to worry but something doesn’t feel right.”
Alex attempted a wrinkled smile and reached for my hand. “Are you worried about what Dahlia said about Caleigh?”
“Yeah, and the fact that they’re not answering the phone.”
“Maybe they’re outside. It is a beautiful summer day. Try not to worry. I’m sure we’ll get everything straightened out once we get home. If Caleigh really is cutting herself, we’ll get her into therapy, maybe go as a family.”
It wasn’t like them to not answer the phone but Alex tried to convince me we’d get home and there would be a perfectly logical explanation. He was right. The children had both seemed to adjust to the idea of us getting married. Still, I tried calling again, picturing the hollow ring of the phone in the empty house.
An hour later, the wheels of the jeep crunched on the rocky driveway. The newspaper lay in its flimsy plastic sheath on the sidewalk. The green shutters, the front porch and tire swing, all as familiar to me as my right hand, looked strangely foreign. I pushed open the heavy kitchen door, inhaled the smell of home and rushed into the house. “Caleigh! Dane! We’re home.”
I was greeted by silence and the smell of something wrong. The house was empty, the children’s books and toys scattered about the living room floor. Sketcher did not rush at me, wagging his tail, nor did Dane run jumping into my arms. The breakfast dishes sat on the table, runny egg yolk dried on the plates. Half-filled glasses of juice stood waiting to be finished.
Sketcher barked from his kennel and I was irrationally relieved, as if he could tell me where the children were. I opened the door to the back porch and ran outside, catching myself before spilling headlong into the grass. The gate to the pen was closed and when I opened it, Sketcher jumped on me, wagging his tail, wild with excitement. He licked my hands and cocked his head at me, whimpering.
“What is it, boy? Come on, Sketcher, let’s get inside.”
My eye was drawn to a sheet of paper on the kitchen counter I hadn’t noticed earlier. It was folded into quarters. I fumbled with the stiff, heavy sheet of paper thinking it was a note from the kids.
The bold printed letters were in stark contrast to its brightness.
YOUR CHILDREN ARE GONE. THIS IS WHAT YOU DESERVE. I’LL BE IN TOUCH.
“Oh, God!” My fingers were numb as they clenched the creased white paper. A sob swelled in my throat and erupted in a strangled cry. “Alex!” I screamed.
“Grace, what is it?” he called from the landing, a suitcase in each hand. He rushed downstairs and I pointed dumbly at the note.
“What is this?” he demanded.
I rose and sprinted up the stairs, two steps at a time. I flung the door open to Caleigh’s room. The bed was unmade and clothes were strewn over the floor. The room resembled a gothic cathedral. Candles and incense burners sat on the desk, dripping wax had dried on the ceramic candleholders we had made together at Color Me Mine. The faint woodsy odor of sandalwood lingered in the air. It was almost reassuring to see her room in the same state it had always been in.
I raced to Dane’s room and opened his door. He was the most responsible six-year-old I had ever known. His room was as tidy as always.
I flung the bathroom door open. Toothbrushes and hairbrushes lined up matter-of-factly along the sink. I leaned against the wall. The sound of my breath could have qualified for a prank phone caller’s as I forced it in and out of my lungs.
I looked out the window, remembering back to a tornado scare we’d had last summer. The light had scattered, turning the sky green. The tornado sirens had wailed and I’d quickly filled the bathtub with pillows and blankets from my bed and yelled for the children to take cover. Through the small, rectangular window, we could see willow branches flowing like silvery locks of hair in the wind. An eerie calm settled before hail hammered the roof top and winds licked the shingles. A strange train-like whistling noise filled the air.
We were holed up with Sketcher in the downstairs bathroom for the duration of the storm. I had read Harry Potter aloud to the kids and encouraged Dane to think of it more as a slumber party than a potential disaster.
I barreled downstairs. “We have to call Dahlia! Where’s my phone?” My eyes darted frantically around the room.
“Sweetheart, here.” Alex picked it up from the cluttered counter and I inexplicably blanked. I looked at the phone and all I saw was the random flicker of snow on an empty TV screen. I couldn’t remember the number I had called just that morning and had called several times a week for years.
I frantically pressed speed dial and hoped Dahlia would answer. The phone rang three times before Dahlia greeted me. “Grace! Welcome home!”
“Are the children with you?” I spit, my mouth a lint trap.
“What are you saying?” Dahlia asked calmly. “Stan and I are home. We met the Hendricksons for brunch after church this morning. Caleigh told us she and Dane would be fine for an hour or two, so we left around ten.”
There was a sickening sense of foreboding crawling in my gut. “Were they okay when you left?”
“Yes, I made them breakfast and Caleigh said she’d clean up afterwards. They wanted to stay home and wait for you. She said she watches Dane all the time. Oh, my God, what’s wrong?”
My heart pounded dully in my chest. “I got home and the kids were gone. Dahlia, the kids are gone!”
“What do you mean they’re gone? Did you call the police?” She had begun to shriek. “Grace!”
“I’m calling them right now.” Alex was already running out the door. I had a crazy, irrational thought my in-laws must have had something to do with this. “There’s a note, Dahlia. I was hoping maybe there was a misunderstanding and you had the kids.”
“We’ll be right over,” my motherin-law said before the line went dead.
“Grace, did you call the police?” Alex demanded. “Grace!” Alex shook me. “Call the police! I’m going outside to look for them.”
“I’m doing that now!” I trembled violently as I picked up the phone and dialed 911. Alex was already running out the door.
“Operator. What is your emergency?”
“My children are gone!” I screamed into the phone. “I came home and they’re gone.” I began to cry, loud sobs I could not control. “There’s a note!”
“Ma’am, please calm down,” the dispatcher said. “What does the note say?”
I gasped for air. The words stuck in my throat. “‘Your children are gone. This is what you deserve. I’ll be in touch,’” I finally whispered, certain I would remember it for the rest of my life.
“Ma’am? I’m sending someone right over. What’s your address?”
“Five sixty-five Spring Road.” My harsh, shrill voice was unrecognizable to me. “Hurry!” My voice was frozen in a scream.
“It’ll just be a few minutes,” the dispatcher assured me. “What are the names and ages of the children?”
“Caleigh Rendeau. She’s thirteen and Dane Rendeau. He’s only six years old.” I swayed as I walked to the living room, hoping Alex would burst in with the children, and it would all have been some sort of bizarre joke. Alex rushed into the room with Sketcher on his heels. He shook his head and jammed his hands into his pockets.
“I went all around the yard and into the path they like to walk on in the woods. There has to be a logical explanation for this.”
I nodded mutely and sat stone-faced, my arms wrapped around me. I felt shell-shocked as I sat staring at the wooden-plank floor.
“What did Dahlia say?” Alex sat down next to me. “Grace! What did she say?”
The coffee I drank on the flight rose to my throat. “They don’t have the children. They’re coming right over. Oh. God, I’m gonna throw up!” I ran to the bathroom with Alex following. The sound of muffled sobs and retching filled my ears. When I emerged, Alex brought me back to wash my face. My eyes were almost swollen shut.