Ends of the Earth

He stared at the collection of condiments and half-full Brita filter. He dumped it out in the sink and refilled it with fresh water. He’d have to get groceries in the morning, and he wasn’t even hungry, but he still poked through the cupboards and dug out an opened box of Ritz, the crackers gone soft in the humidity. But they were still buttery, so he stood there against the counter eating them.

What’s Ben doing? Is he home in his cabin? What does it look like? Is he okay? Is he thinking about me?

The questions swirled endlessly, although Jason was the one who’d said he needed time. Yet he could feel the phantom touch of Ben’s hands on his body, the wet press of his lips and slide of his tongue. Could smell the clean pine and hear Ben’s puffs of breath, the warmth on his skin.

Grabbing his phone, he opened a text message to Ben, the previous one from the morning of the kidnapping, Ben saying he’d meet them if he could. Before Harlan Brown had ripped Maggie away, before their lives had changed in a blink. At least Ben had been there. At least one good thing had come out of it.

Guilt sliced through him with a serrated edge. How could he look at the bright side of his daughter being kidnapped?

Jamming the phone off with his finger, he shoved the box of crackers back in the cupboard and turned abruptly, kicking a shopping bag of recycling he hadn’t had time to take out in the rush of leaving for vacation. Cans and plastic spilled out onto the checkered brown linoleum, rolling this way and that.

Biting back a curse, Jason stepped over the wreckage and tiptoed to Maggie’s door to make sure she hadn’t woken. She was sound asleep, breathing deeply and evenly. He went back and flicked on the overhead light, shoving everything in the bag and frowning at the dull flooring.

A stain he hadn’t noticed splashed out by the fridge, and he wet a sponge to get at it. On his knees, he could see the edges of the floor under the counter needed a thorough clean as well, weekly mopping not picking up everything in the crevices.

With spray Comet in one hand and the sponge in the other, Jason scrubbed every inch of the floor, his knees sore by the time he moved on to the bathroom, getting into the grout with an old toothbrush. His hands were dry from the cleaner, and he probably should have worn gloves, but he kept going, attacking every surface of the apartment except Maggie’s room.

On the wall by the couch, dust covered the IKEA picture frames hanging there. Jason sprayed Windex on a paper towel and carefully wiped the glass surfaces. Maggie’s school pictures smiled back at him, and a selfie they’d taken last Christmas morning with crumpled wrapping paper around them and bows on their heads.

He hesitated at the pictures of Amy. There were two—one of Amy’s school photo from junior year, taken before she was pregnant and their lives changed completely, the time in hers running out.

Her light, thick hair hung around her shoulders, her smile wide, eyes bright and mischievous, still laughing at the dumb joke Jason had whispered to her in line while they tugged at their uniforms and she straightened his tie.

The other picture was the two of them at the pool, dripping water, arms slung around each other with medals hanging from their necks after a swim meet. Another lifetime, becoming more and more distant each year.

Throat tight, he cleaned the glass until it sparkled like Amy had. He wouldn’t forget her, and he’d make sure Maggie knew her as well as she could. He’d always answered Maggie’s questions about her mother, but he vowed to tell her more stories, knowing there was a finite number, that she’d never be more than an idea to Maggie.

Returning to the kitchen, Jason picked up his phone and unlocked it. Would Ben become a distant memory too? Perhaps they never would have gone beyond friendship if Maggie hadn’t been taken, but she had. Staying in touch now wouldn’t change anything that had happened.

Jason had no idea what he wanted from Ben, but it was only a text. It was something. He opened the app and stared at the empty narrow box, then typed and retyped and stared some more.

And some more.

Finally he hit the blue arrow and sent a message:

Hi. Just wanted to tell you we’re home. Hope everything there is cool.

Cringing as he reread it, he wished he could reach into cyberspace and yank it back. “Cool”? Why had he said cool? He might as well have just called Ben “bro” or something equally lame.

Should he have included an emoticon? Maybe he should send a smiley face on its own? No. Too…something. Jesus, this man had been inside Jason’s ass and Jason was going to send him a smiley face? No, definitely not the right message.