The Color of Joy (17 page)

“Should you call him back?” Holly asked. “This is torture.”

I glanced at the clock. “It’s only been five minutes.”

The phone rang. I immediately picked it up.

“Hello? Yes, it’s me.” Turning to the others, I whispered, “It’s Miller.”

“I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” he said, “but I just received some information that might give us something to go on. I’m checking it out right now.”

“What is it?” I asked. “Can you tell me?”

Through the phone, I heard the sound of Miller’s car door lock beep just before he opened the door. “There was a report filed this evening about a missing person who was last seen at the hospital. She was there as a patient for blood work early this morning and was supposed to stay for an appointment at noon but never showed up for that. She hasn’t been seen since and her sister is worried because she has a brain tumor and hasn’t been herself lately. Get this… It was in the report that she had a miscarriage not long ago but she doesn’t remember having it. Apparently, even though she was no longer pregnant, she was fixing up the nursery this week. She bought a crib and hung curtains. Holmes and I are heading over there now to talk to the sister. I’m sending a team to the hospital as well.”

“You think this woman might have taken our baby?”

“We don’t know that for sure yet,” Miller replied.

“Can I meet you there?” I asked. “Can I talk to the sister, too?”

“No, just stay put. Let me do my job. I’ll get back to you as soon as I know anything. I have to go.”

“Thanks.” I hung up the phone and turned to my family. “He has another lead and it sounds strong. A woman went missing from the hospital yesterday. He said she has a brain tumor and had a miscarriage recently, but she has no memory of it.”

My mother covered her mouth with a hand. “Oh, God… What if she’s not sane?”

I raked my fingers through my hair and felt a muscle clench at my jaw. “I have to call Lois and tell her.”

As I picked up the phone to dial the hospital, Josh stood up and laid a hand on my shoulder. “This is good news, Riley,” he said. “It’s a solid lead.”

“Better than a ghost,” I replied. “But still, I won’t relax until I’m holding my baby in my arms.”

Jenn

Waiting for Jake

“What’s your baby’s name?” an older lady asked while she waited for her husband to collect their suitcases off the baggage carousel.

I adjusted the strap of the diaper bag on my shoulder and turned slightly to show off the baby’s face inside the BABYBJÖRN carrier.

“Her name is Alyssa,” I replied with a smile.

The woman touched her soft head. “She’s so adorable. She must only be a few days old. I’m going to be a grandmother soon,” she added with a sparkle of joy in her eye. “My son and his wife are expecting.”

“Their first?” I asked.

“Yes—so it’ll be a first for all of us.”

The woman’s husband arrived with their suitcases. “Ready to go?” he asked, giving me a curious look.

“Yes,” the woman replied. She turned back to me. “Unless you need help getting your bags? My husband would be happy to pick them up for you if you like.”

I shook my head. “No need. I don’t have any bags here except for this one.” I gestured to my diaper bag. “I’m just waiting for my husband’s plane to land. He’s coming home from Afghanistan tonight.”

“Oh, isn’t that wonderful?” she said. “He’ll be excited to see you no doubt. Please thank him for us—for his bravery and service.”

“That’s very kind. I’ll tell him.”

The woman took hold of her suitcase handle and followed her husband toward the main doors.

Looking down at Alyssa sleeping soundly in the carrier, I felt an immense surge of excitement in my heart. “Wait until Jake sees you,” I whispered to her. “He’s going to be so happy.”

I turned and wandered off.

*

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed since I last fed Alyssa—it seemed like I’d been wandering around the airport for hours, so when she began to fuss, I searched for a place to breastfeed.

Glancing around, I spotted an empty bench in a semi-private alcove and moved to claim it. Once there, I opened the diaper bag, withdrew a blanket to cover myself, unfastened the buckles on the carrier and gently lifted Alyssa out to hold her in my arms.

Motherhood was still new to me and I found myself wrestling with feelings of insecurity and self-consciousness. Breastfeeding in public wasn’t something I’d given much thought to when I was expecting—because that process had been rather brief—but here I was, alone and needing to feed this baby. I glanced around uncomfortably, then assured myself that this was a private enough location.

Still, I felt a twinge of anxiety as I unbuttoned my blouse beneath the flannel blanket and cradled Alyssa’s head in my hand, guiding her to my breast.
Would this even work?

Alyssa latched on quickly enough, but within seconds, she let go and turned her face away. I persisted, but she stubbornly rejected me, time and time again.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I gently asked. “I thought you were hungry. You
must
be.”

She put her fist in her mouth and I let out a frustrated breath, wincing at the burning sensation on my nipples which were chafed and red from all these failed attempts to feed her.

It wasn’t easy to accept that this didn’t come naturally to me because I’d never entertained any fears that I wouldn’t be good at breastfeeding. What can I say? I was a born optimist.

“Don’t worry,” I said, working hard to stay positive as I buttoned my blouse. “We’ll get this, you and I, because we’re not quitters. It just takes practice, that’s all. I’ll call the doctor as soon as we get home and ask about it. I must be doing something wrong.”

She continued to fuss, however, and I didn’t know what to do, how to make her happy. I picked her up and held her, conscious of people walking by with wheeled suitcases, glancing over at me with sympathy in their eyes.

I wished Jake were here.
Hurry and get home. I need you
.
I think I may have bitten off more than I can chew.

It wasn’t easy for me to admit that to myself.

“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered, growing more and more desperate as I sat on that bench in the airport, holding that screaming baby in my arms.

By then it was dark outside and I didn’t know where my husband was or how I got there. My head was throbbing, but I didn’t want to take any medication because I thought I was supposed to be breastfeeding and I wasn’t sure how that might affect the baby. New mothers had to be so careful.

Glancing at the open diaper bag, I spotted a package of wipes and a few diapers and wondered if she needed to be changed. If that might help.

I stuffed the BABYBJÖRN carrier into the bag and took Alyssa in my arms to a family washroom with a sign that indicated there was a change table inside. I entered and locked the door behind me. It was a large, private washroom with a polyethylene change station attached to the wall and lowered on its hinges. I laid Alyssa upon it and kept my hand on her belly while I pulled a fresh diaper and wipes out of the bag.

Sure enough, when I finally removed her diaper, I saw that it was soiled. “There! I’m not a total failure at this after all,” I said in a playful voice, kissing her cheek. “Maybe this was the problem the whole time.”

As I cleaned her little bum and outfitted her in a fresh diaper, something strange began to happen. There was a buzzing sound in my head. A thick fog seemed to surround my thoughts.

Quickly I finished dressing the baby in her pink cotton sleeper, somehow knowing that I had to get her off this table—but it wasn’t easy to maneuver her little feet into the leg holes. I was all thumbs. Even my tongue felt thick and unwieldy.

It was only in that moment that I noticed she wore a hospital identification band around her ankle. I stared at it, bewildered.

What was happening? Confusion swirled around me. I found myself wondering where I was and
who
I was. What was my name?

Then my muscles began to stiffen. I felt all twitchy inside and my heart fluttered like pigeon wings. Frightened and anxious, I wanted to call out for help but couldn’t seem to find words that made any sense in the thick ball of wool inside my brain. I couldn’t even get my vocal chords to work. Was there anyone out there?
Help! We need help!

Knowing something terrible was happening to me, I looked down at the baby and had a frightening vision of her falling off the change table.
We have to get to the floor
.

But whose baby was it? Was it mine? No, it couldn’t be. Where was I?

Carefully, with growing distress, I gathered the child into my bungling arms, shaking with feverish terror at the possibility that I might drop her, and somehow I managed to sink to my knees and set her gently on the floor beside me.

There… There, now…

Unable to control my movements, I stretched out in an involuntary fashion and squirmed awkwardly, helplessly, until my eyes rolled back in my head. Then my body began to convulse faster and I became imprisoned in a shuddering, tortuous, inescapable and merciless shell.

Sylvie

When the doorbell rang, I practically leaped out of my chair. I’d been waiting impatiently for the detective to arrive—the one who had called to follow up on Officer Jenkins’s missing person’s report.

In fact, I was surprised when he called because Jenkins hadn’t seemed overly concerned by the situation. Earlier, I doubted he would even file the report, but he must have filed something because there were now two plainclothes detectives at my door—one male and one female.

I opened it quickly. “Hi. Are you Detective Miller?”

I glanced down at his badge which was clipped to his belt, then up at his face which I studied carefully in the hazy glare of the porch light. He was of medium height with strong features and dark eyes.

“Yes. You must be Sylvie?” He shook my hand. “This is my partner, Detective Holmes.” Holmes was female, about six inches shorter than Miller, slim and petite. “Thanks for seeing us,” he added. “Mind if we come in?”

“Please do.” I stepped aside and opened the door wider. “I’m really glad you’re here, actually. My sister’s not home yet and it’s not like her to ignore my texts or calls. Something’s definitely wrong. I’m really worried. Did Officer Jenkins tell you she has a brain tumor?”

Miller wasn’t looking at me, however. His eyes were perusing the house. He was looking all around at the floors, the walls and even the ceilings. Then he inclined his head to peer into the living room.

“She’s not here,” I said, feeling taken aback by his interest in the house as opposed to what I had to say. “She’s missing, remember?”

“Just looking for clues,” Miller explained, meeting my eyes at last with a warm and reassuring smile that unnerved me for some reason. Even the female detective seemed to be watching me intently, sizing me up.

“You guys seem a lot keener than the cop who came to my door earlier,” I mentioned. “What’s going on?”

Miller reached into his pocket for his notepad and pen. “The report said your sister had a miscarriage a few weeks ago, but she doesn’t remember anything?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It also said she continued to set up a nursery in the house, even after losing the baby. Is that correct as well?”

“Yes, just in the last few days.”

He nodded and looked down at the notepad. “And when was the last time you saw her?”

“Last night, when we went to bed. We talked about her appointment for blood work this morning. She planned to take a cab. We texted each other throughout the day and she said she was fine. I assumed everything was okay, but I came home to a message on my answering machine that said she didn’t show up for her checkup at noon. I don’t know where she went after her blood work. I called the clinic and asked them if she mentioned anything about going anywhere, but they had no information. And I went to the hospital myself to look for her tonight, after Jenkins left. I walked through the whole place but she wasn’t there.”

Miller wrote a few things down and said, “Mind if I take a look at that nursery?”

“Sure,” I replied, leading the way, “but I wouldn’t exactly call it a nursery. It’s mostly a storage room for a lot of junk since I moved in here.”

Both detectives followed me down the hall. I opened the door and they walked in. The female detective examined the labels on the new curtains and baby blanket in the crib.

“The report said your sister is married and her husband is coming home from Afghanistan tonight?” Miller asked.

“Yes, I think so, but I haven’t heard from him yet. I sent him a text but he must still be in the air.”

“So neither your sister, nor her husband, are responding to your calls?”

A shiver of unease snaked up my spine as I recognized a note of suspicion in his tone. I also saw mistrust in the way the female detective was looking at me.

Suddenly I didn’t feel like the victim. I felt like the guilty party.