Home Front

He tossed his briefcase on the kitchen table and loosened his tie. “Betsy?” he yelled again.

“She’s not here,” Lulu said, coming into the room.

“What?” Michael looked down. “What do you mean?”

Lulu stood there, holding her ratty yellow blanket. “Betsy’s not home. ”

“What?” He yelled it so loud Lulu looked startled. He ran past her and up the stairs; at Betsy’s room, he shoved the door open, yelling for her.

No answer.

He ran through the house, yelling until he knew: she wasn’t here.

Downstairs, Lulu was crying. “She’s gone. Oh, no … someone stoled her. ”

“No one stole her,” he muttered angrily as he went to the phone and called his mom at home. When she picked up, he said, “Why don’t you listen to your messages? Is Betsy with you?”

“What? I just got home. What’s going on?”

“I got home late,” he said, cursing under his breath. “She’s not here. ” He hung up before his mom could answer. Fear latched into him, deep and profound. “I’ll call her friends,” he said, picking up the phone again, then pausing. “Lulu, quit crying, damn it. Who are Betsy’s friends?”

Lulu wailed. “I don’t know. She’s gone. ”

He called the school and listened to the after-hours message.

With a curse, he hung up.

“Maybe she ranned away,” Lulu said.

Michael went out to the porch. The rain was falling hard; it studded the grass, collected in muddy puddles in the driveway. He thought about the bay, the deep cold of the water and its allure for his children. “Betsy! Where are you?”

The more he yelled her name, the more Lulu cried and the more Michael panicked. What in the hell had he been thinking? He should have left his car downtown and walked on the damn ferry and taken a cab. Or he could have called Carl. Why hadn’t he thought of that then? Damn. What if some guy had watched Betsy get out of the car, followed her up to an empty house…?

Yelling her name again, he grabbed Lulu as if she were a football, perpendicular to his body, and ran through the rain toward the neighbor’s house. Resettling her as he ran, he made it to Carl and Tami’s house in less than a minute. He pounded on the door.

Carl opened the door. “Michael, what’s up?”

Michael wiped the rain from his eyes. “Betsy’s not home and she should be. I thought maybe she came over here. ”

Carl slowly shook his head, and Michael felt his stomach plunge. He thought for a second he might be sick.

Seth walked into the living room, chewing on a Tootsie Pop. Holding a tattered copy of Stranger in a Strange Land, he was wearing tight jeans and high-tops and a ratty Gears of War tee shirt. His black hair was drawn back from his narrow face in one of those samurai knots. “What’s up?”

“Betsy’s not at home,” Carl said. “Michael’s worried. ”

“I bet I know where she is,” Seth said.

“Really?” Michael said. “Where?”

Seth tossed his book on the sofa. “Wait here. ” He ran past Michael and went outside.

Michael and Lulu followed him down the driveway. Carl grabbed an umbrella and joined them at the mailbox. Seth paused at the street, looked both ways and then crossed, climbing down to the beach.

She’s not supposed to go near the water alone. Rain thumped the umbrella overhead, drowning out the sound of their breathing.

Minutes later—minutes that felt like hours—Seth appeared again, with Betsy beside him. They were climbing up the beach path toward the road. Both of them were soaked.

Michael’s relief was so great he almost fell to his knees. “Betsy, thank God. ”