Almost a Family

Easy for her? Never. Molly glanced at Sara and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Is that what you think? That it didn’t hurt me to leave you?”

“You didn’t show it.”

“How do you know? This is the first you’ve seen me since I left.”

He turned back to her and she saw the pain in his eyes, along with resentment and perhaps even a little longing. “Did it?” He took his right hand out of his pocket and cupped her jaw. “Did it break your heart to leave me?”

She swallowed, closed her eyes to the touch of his fingers on her skin. Oh, it had. It had torn her to little pieces and she was coming to realize she’d never really put them back together. Nothing had changed. Jason was still her ideal, no matter how much she blamed him for their breakup. But he could never, never know that. She couldn’t give him any ammunition, not if she wanted to make it home in one piece.

“I survived,” she whispered and exhaled as his hand disappeared from her face.

He cleared his throat gruffly. “I’d better get going, if there’s no emergency,” he murmured, and she let him go.

*

Molly sighed, took her fingers and began to work a kink out of her neck. Files were strewn all over the kitchen table, a cup of cold coffee sat forgotten beside the humming laptop. Sara had gone to her room to play tea party with her stuffed animals and Molly had grabbed the moment to get something—anything—accomplished. She’d planned to put in a few hours every day while Sara napped. But that hadn’t worked out, as at this age naps were the exception and not the rule. The briefcase sat unopened and she’d spent her time picking up toys, soothing hurts and doing laundry. Now she was trying to play catch-up on a Saturday.

She cocked an ear. Sara was being awfully quiet. Too quiet. Frowning, she wondered what sort of trouble the toddler could be into. She glanced at her watch, realizing with surprise that it had been over an hour since she’d opened her briefcase. Where had the time gone?

She headed for the stairs as a strange feeling of unease began to pulse through her. Perhaps Sara had grown tired and fallen asleep.

When she opened Sara’s door, she knew immediately the girl was not there. It was silent, too quiet. Animals were scattered on the frilly pink spread and a handful arranged around the play table with cups and saucers before them, but there was no sign of any other occupation in the room. The unease grew to a frantic pounding of her heart as she opened the closet and checked under the bed, in case Sara was hiding. But she found nothing beyond a few missing Barbie clothes and an unmated sock.

“Sara?” she called out, but her voice echoed throughout the house. She felt, rather than knew, that something was not right. Still, she rationalized as she hurried out of the room. Sara was only three. She couldn’t be far. She was probably just hiding, looking for some attention. It was Molly’s fault for trying to focus on work.

She checked the other bedrooms—nothing. She ran down the stairs, checked the living room, the laundry room, even the pantry. No Sara.

“Sara, if you’re hiding, come out. This isn’t funny.” Her voice cracked on the last word and she felt anger war with the fear running through her body. I should have watched Sara more closely, she berated herself. That was the whole reason she was here. She skidded to a halt in the entry. How could she explain to her sister that she’d lost her daughter? In her own home?

That was ridiculous, she rationalized. Sara had to be here somewhere. Molly took a deep calming breath, trying to think logically.

Her eye caught Sara’s pink peg where she normally hung her jacket. The peg was empty and the boots that usually sat so precisely beneath it were gone, too. One pink mitten lay orphaned on the floor. Her stomach hit her feet. In what seemed like slow motion, she looked at the front door. The deadbolt was unlocked.

Disregarding her own coat, she threw open the door and called, “Sara? Sara, answer me!”

Nothing. The snowman they’d made earlier that week was leaning lonely to one side, one rock eyeball laying on the ground. The only sound was the soft shush of thick snowflakes fluttering to the ground.

Oh God. How could this have happened? The thought skidded through her brain as she pulled on her jacket and shoved her feet into Kim’s winter boots, leaving them unlaced. Sara wasn’t in the house. Her coat and boots were gone and she was somewhere in a snow flurry with only one mitten. What if she’d decided to try to see her mother?

Visions of Sara walking along the busy road by herself nearly stopped Molly’s breath. Anything could happen. She could be hit by a car; no one would see her in this visibility. Or someone could stop and take her. She could get lost and be out in subzero temperatures before they found her. Tears of terror pricked Molly’s eyes and burned the top of her nose. Sara was gone and it was all her fault.

Don’t panic, she commanded herself and told herself to breathe. After she inhaled, then exhaled, she knew there was only one person she could call for help: Jason. Jason would know what to do.

She ran through the ankle deep snow to his house and pounded on the door. “Jason? Jason, open up! It’s Molly!”

He threw open the door, looking harassed with his mouth set in a firm line and his eyebrows pulled together in the middle, making a crease in his forehead. “Keep your shirt on!” he ordered, frowning down at her.

At the sight of him, she started to cry without explanation. It didn’t matter that she had vowed not to need his help. It didn’t matter that they were still at odds over broken hearts and mixed messages. All that mattered was that Sara was missing. All she knew was that there was one person she could count on. Could always count on.

“Please,” she begged, her voice thick with tears. “Sara’s gone and I can’t find her anywhere and her coat

is missing and…”

Jason grabbed her upper arms. “Get a grip, Mol,” he ordered. “She’s here. She’s asleep on the couch.”

The flood of relief almost buckled her knees and was immediately followed by hot anger. Anger at Sara for disappearing without telling her. Anger at Jason for not calling to let her know. And most of all, anger at herself for losing it in front of him. Tears pricked again, relief and confusion and frustration all rolled together in one uncontrollable, blubbering mass.

“What in the blue blazes is she doing over here? And why didn’t you call to tell me?” She wiped her cheeks furiously, leaving them tearless and blotchy.