Gail

Maya slept on the center of the bed while Gail packed. Gail’s eyes were twitchy from exhaustion, her shoulders sore from the clenching. When she managed to drift off the night before, Maya soon woke her with that crackling cry. They fed and changed her, but sometimes she wasn’t hungry or wet. She seemed to wake because she, too, felt edgy, as if the tension between Jon and Gail clouded her dreams.

When Gail had everything packed and stacked by the door, she thought about lying down on the bed next to Maya. She wanted to breathe in those pears, maybe close her eyes for just a while. But she might wake Maya, and Jon would be back soon, and she’d probably just lay there and brood. So she pulled the laptop out of Jon’s bag. She sat on the chair in the corner, booted it up, and connected to the motel’s Wi-Fi. She clicked through to her email. If there was more bad news coming, she might as well know about it.

Fifteen unread emails filled her in-box, and she scanned them from the bottom up. Mostly Pottery Barn Kids and Pinterest and the messages from the reporter and the FBI and Paige that she had read over Jon’s shoulder. She scanned to the top and her tired, itchy eyes locked on the most recent message. Carli Brennan. Gail stared for a long moment at that name and the subject line: Please Bring Maya Home. Her finger rested on the Delete button. She knew that she wasn’t ready for what the email said, that the hardness hadn’t come to her yet. But she knew she couldn’t just delete it, that she had to read it. She could leave it for later, but then it would just be sitting there in her in-box, and that would be all she could think of, and that would be no good, either. Finally, she clicked it open.

The message was short, but she had to read it twice to digest it, and then a third time to believe it. Her feet tickled, and her stomach twitched as she clicked open the attachment. She scanned the familiar document and then paged down to the signatures. Carli’s scrawl perched on the correct line, Paige had witnessed it, and the notary had stamped it. Gail melted into the chair, her clenched muscles relaxing. Her eyes landed on Maya in the center of the bed, and she seemed to see her with a sharpness and clarity that had been missing. The key rattled in the lock. Tears leaked into the corner of her smile. But then Jon stumbled in with his sleeve torn and bloody, his eyes wild.

“We need to pack,” he barked.

Gail’s smile faltered. “What happened—”

“We need to pack now!”

“We’re packed.”

“Put Maya in the car seat. We need to load the car.”

“Jon. What’s—”

“The cops are after us, and we need to leave now!”

Gail didn’t move. “Jon. It’s over.”

Jon’s eyes widened and darted around the room. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

“The final consent. Carli emailed it to me.” She spun the computer around on her lap so that he could see for himself. “We can go home.”

Jon stared at her for a moment, his eyes still wild. Finally, he walked to where she sat, knelt down on one knee, and read the email. Maya started to whimper. He, too, clicked open the attachment, and Gail watched his face, waiting for that smile. But it didn’t come. And when he looked up from the screen, his eyes had hardened.

“Are you really that stupid?” he asked.

Gail’s shoulders clenched again. Maya started to cry. “What are you talking about?” she snapped.

“You really think this is legit? The cops were waiting for me at the garage. The FBI is involved, Gail. It’s a trick.”

“But—”

“Gail! Snap out of it. Home is Winnipeg now.” He lifted the computer from her lap and sat on the bed. He pounded the keys and peered at the screen. “Pack the goddamn car.”