When Time Is a River

by Susan Clayton-Goldner

  “Wanna see big Pooh bear,” Emily said.

  As usual, Brandy stopped the stroller in front of Pivorotto’s Pavilion, an old-fashioned toy store strategically set on the Plaza. It was just across the street from the police station and less than a block from Lithia Park playground. Two half-moon front windows in the brick facade displayed everything from toy robots with flashing red and green lights on their chests to the life-sized Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls that now occupied the spot where big Pooh bear had once lounged—his back against a honey tree.

  “Where big Pooh?” Emily asked.

  Brandy preferred the classic, naked Pooh, but Emily loved the store bear, its yellow T-shirt and the fat bumblebee perched on its nose.

  Someone must have bought him. A wave of disappointment washed over Brandy—so much for saving to surprise Em on her birthday.

  “Bumblebee sting big Pooh?” Emily asked. “He go doctor?”

  “No, it’s a friendly bumblebee,” Brandy said. “Maybe Pooh bear is taking a nap.”

  “Go fast,” Emily said.

  “Not today. I don’t want to get sweaty.”

  “Pease.” Her plump little cheeks turned red.

  “I said, no.” Brandy’s voice sounded sharp.

  Emily stuck out her bottom lip. “I say pease.”

  Brandy stooped down in front of the stroller. “I’m not upset with you, Em. I just want to stay clean because I’m meeting somebody special in the park today.”

  Emily grinned. “Me meet too.”

  Brandy pushed the stroller into Lithia Park where an Elizabethan Theatre rose from the hillside above the lower duck pond. With eleven new productions every year, it was the perfect place for a would-be actress. But sometimes, when her worst fears won out, it hurt Brandy to live so close to the dream she might never realize. She shook her head hard to get rid of the thought, and then sang an R. Kelly song softly to herself. “I Believe I Can Fly…”

  Nestled on the northern slope of the Siskiyou Ridge, Ashland had the quaint charm of an English village set down in southern Oregon. Every warm afternoon its playground came alive—a den of children’s voices, their squeals and laughter rising into the spring-green foothills.

  They fed their fleet of Mallards on the pond and wove their way through the crowded park toward the playground, Emily pushing her own stroller. Booths were set up in all the surrounding grassy areas, places where children could get weighed and measured, fingerprinted, and photographed. Hospital personnel wearing teddy, panda, and polar bear costumes offered immunizations. Even some of the children were dressed like bears.

  On the lawn, where the Easter egg hunt was usually held, Smokey the Bear handed out balloons and showed a video about forest fires and how children should never play with matches.

  A quartet of man-sized bears sang Teddy Bears’ Picnic to a captive audience of toddlers sitting in a semicircle on the grass.

  Near the first set of swings, Brandy felt the flow of menstrual blood. Damn. Just what she needed—today of all days.

  Emily tried to run back toward Smokey.

  Brandy grabbed her arm. “You need to wait a minute.” She checked her watch. It was 3:15. Stone would be here soon. She’d had cramps all morning and should have suspected. She dug in her purse for a tampon and found one, then scooped up an unhappy Emily and set her back into the stroller.

  “No,” Emily protested, kicking her feet and banging her balled fists against the tray. “See bears. Want balloon.”

  “You can see them in a minute,” Brandy said. “I have to go to the restroom first.”

  Kent, the boy with Down syndrome who loved to play games with Emily, stopped digging in the sand to watch. He was about ten years old and always wore a pair of white gloves, like the ones women and girls wore to church in the fifties. “Emily play with me,” he said. He held a small bear with a T-shirt bearing the Children’s Health Fair logo—a cluster of teddy bears on a blanket having a picnic. He looked up at Brandy and smiled.

  Brandy smiled back. She’d spent months getting the shy boy to look at her, let alone ask a question. She considered leaving Emily with Kent and looked around for his babysitter. She found her sitting on a bench talking to a boy. Emily would be content to play in the sand with Kent. Brandy would only be gone a few minutes.

  Inside her head, she heard Kathleen’s warning. You can never be too careful. He’s older and bigger than Emily.

  Emily tried to climb out of the stroller.

  Brandy forced her back into the seat and fastened the safety belt. “We’ll get you a little bear, too,” she said. “But you have to wait a minute.” She pushed the stroller into the restroom, holding the heavy door open with her foot. She tried to pull the stroller into the stall, but space was tight. She couldn’t close the door and she worried the blood might frighten Emily. Brandy pushed the stroller back out of the stall and then reached into the diaper bag for the wet, soapy washcloth she’d brought in case Emily got dirty. She grabbed a box of animal crackers. “You sit right here. And don’t undo that seatbelt. I mean it.”

  Emily gave Brandy a mischievous look.

  Brandy opened the box and handed Emily the crackers.

  As she bent to tie her sister’s shoelaces, Emily lifted Pooh bear from his perch beside her in the stroller and poked him in Brandy’s face.

  “Aren’t you going to share your cookies with Pooh?”

  Emily smiled. “He tired. Pooh bear need nap.”

  Brandy laughed. “Everyone needs a nap, except you.” She tucked the bear beside the diaper bag in the mesh basket beneath the stroller. “He’s sleeping now.”

  She moved the stroller as close to the toilet stall as possible, the back wheels visible under the metal wall, then pressed the wheel locks into place. “You wait right here,” Brandy said. “I promise we’ll go to the swings in just a minute, okay? Or you can play Pooh bear with Kent in the sandbox.” She tweaked Emily’s nose. “Who loves you, Em?”

  Emily pointed at Brandy and nodded, happily munching on a giraffe cracker. A rash of crumbs dotted the corners of Emily’s mouth. She held out a hippopotamus.

  “No thanks. But what a good girl you are for sharing.”

  Brandy stepped into the stall, closed and latched the door. Someone had scraped the words Rhonda loves Phillip forever, exposing the metal beneath the beige paint. She shook her head and thought about Stone’s laughing eyes. Thought about kissing him. Thought about forever. Brandy had never even come close to knowing what it was like to be in love. But when Stone had touched her skin, she’d felt it in her stomach and held perfectly still, as if a butterfly had landed on her hand.

  Now, she sat on the commode and took off her boots, then slipped out of her jeans. There were the usual traffic sounds of kids laughing and chasing each other in and out of the bathroom.

  Emily squealed, her voice rising as if she’d just witnessed a miracle. “Bumblebee no sting big Pooh. He no nap.”

  Brandy wondered if the toy store could order another giant Pooh bear in time for Emily’s birthday. “I’ll get your Pooh for you in a minute. Be patient. Does that giraffe taste good?” She jabbered to Emily as she inserted the tampon, then tried to remove the stains from her panties and jeans with the washcloth. “Pretty soon, I’ll swing you and Pooh bear high in the sky. You like that, don’t you?”

  She knew Emily had a mouth full of crackers and didn’t expect a response, but she kept talking anyway. “You’re such a good girl. Emily Michaelson is the best sister in the whole world.”

  “I want a balloon, too,” a little girl said. “Please. A red one.”

  Brandy leaned over and checked for the wheels of Emily’s stroller. When she saw them, she continued scrubbing, but the stains were stubborn. She needed an ice cube. A sink of cold water. A quarter cup of bleach. What she had was a wet, soapy washcloth. Finally, the blood on her white jeans faded, changed to rust, then nearly disappeared. The panties; impossible. Damn.

  Brandy took them off, balled them up a
nd crammed them into a Ziploc bag she hid in the bottom of her purse. She stepped back into the jeans. After Stone arrived and Christine picked up Emily, Brandy would find an excuse to run home, grab a pad just to be safe, a pair of clean panties and change her jeans. “It’s all good, Em. I won’t be long now. Just another minute or two. Be patient.”

  Brandy zipped and buttoned her jeans, bent over in every direction to see if the staining was visible, then sat back on the commode, pulled on her boots, unlatched the door and stepped out of the stall.

  The stroller stood in the exact spot where she’d parked it. But the strap was unbuckled and Emily was gone. “You little monkey. I told you not to unhook that safety belt. Are you hiding from me?” Brandy placed her hands on her hips, more amused than irritated. She’d seen the mischievous look on Emily’s face—she should have known her sister would hide. “One, two, three. Where can I find Emily?”

  Brandy listened for the usual giggle. Heard nothing.

  Her gaze darted around the room. Two sinks. A row of stalls. Where could an almost three-year-old hide? She canvassed the room from floor to ceiling. A scattering of brown leaves clung to the skylights, filtering the sunlight and casting shadows on the floor. She listened, but heard only the incessant hum of an exhaust fan. “Where is that Emily girl?”

  Brandy squatted to peer under the stalls. An empty Milky Way wrapper littered the tile of one. Wet pieces of tissue paper clung to the toilet base in another. A pair of white tennis shoes, not Emily’s, dangled above the floor in the center stall.

  Certain Emily watched—her blue eyes round and expectant—Brandy made a dramatic show of her search. She thrust open the door of each empty stall, expecting to find Emily crouched on one of the toilet seats with her hands spread over her face. When she didn’t find her, Brandy shoved the restroom’s rubber trashcan aside, grunting as she pushed. “Is there a little monkey back here?”

  No Emily.

  She grabbed Pooh bear from the mesh basket beneath the stroller and ran outside. “Emily. Emily,” she called, over and over, as she rushed around the small, block building that housed the park restrooms. “I give up. Pooh says you win. Come on out.” Her voice had a strange squeak.

  Still no Emily.

  A faint stream of fear trickled into her chest. She let out a long breath. “Okay,” she said. “She’s got to be here somewhere.”

  Lithia Park was a safe place—a gathering spot for the small community of Ashland. At one time or another its residents, from babies through the elderly, congregated on the stone benches and watched the trees recast themselves for another season. Swans and ducks floated year round, even when the bare branches of the cherry and dogwood trees frosted over and shone like stars.

  Thinking Emily may have wanted to share her crackers with the ducks, Brandy raced to the pond. A flock of early tourists photographed the azaleas and rhododendrons that were spilling over with great clusters of pink and purple blossoms. It was so beautiful. Nothing bad could happen to Emily here. “Have any of you seen a little girl? About this tall with dark curly hair.” She held her open palm about four inches above her knee.

  None of the tourists remembered seeing her, but there were so many kids in the park, Emily could be anywhere.

  Brandy ran back to the playground. Children crammed themselves into every nook and corner. Again and again she cried, “Emily. Emily,” the panic rising in her voice with each unanswered call. She looked over at the empty spot near the merry-go-round where Kent had been digging. He was gone. And the quartet of bears had stopped their singing.

  Two other little boys with plastic shovels lifted their heads and looked at Brandy for an instant, then returned to their sand castle.

  One swing dangled empty.

  Another pumped high, the long legs of a girl with dark hair, way too big for Emily.

  Brandy studied each bobbing head as the merry-go-round twirled, shades of red, blonde, and brown hair shining in the sunlight.

  Back inside the restroom, she tapped on the occupied door. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she said. “Did you see a little girl in the stroller when you came in?”

  A girl answered, “Nope. Just the stroller.”

  Please God, Brandy prayed. Where could she be?

  There must be a logical explanation. Maybe Christine got home early from the birthday luncheon. Maybe she read the note Brandy had written and came to the park. Maybe she’d carried Emily out of the restroom.

  No. Christine wouldn’t have left without the stroller. She’d know Brandy would be worried. Surely Christine would have tapped on the restroom door, told Brandy she was taking Emily home.

  Brandy raced back outside. Barely within her peripheral vision, she spotted a mound of dark curls spinning inside the hamster wheel, the bright red jacket. Her insides went soft at the center. Thank you. Thank you. I’ll never let her out of my sight again. She ran forward and grabbed the wheel to stop it. “Emily,” she said, tears rising. “You scared me.”

  A brown-eyed boy looked up at her. “Go fast,” he said.

  As if the boy could magically transform into Emily, Brandy stood for another instant staring at the wheel.

  And then it hit her. What if Emily had gone back to the pond to share her crackers with the ducks, stepped too close to the edge and fallen into the water?

  Chapter Five

  A river of fear surged inside Brandy. She gulped in some air, then charged down the asphalt path where she spotted Stone heading toward her.

  He loped rather than walked, as if everything ahead waited for him to catch up. He wore a white, renaissance shirt with tight cuffs, billowy sleeves and tiny pleats in the front. It was tucked neatly into a pair of sharply creased black jeans. When he spotted Brandy, he tipped his Elizabethan tall hat, with a purple band around the brim, in a long sweeping motion. As he bowed from the waist, his dark hair flopped over his forehead. “It’s me lovely leading lady,” he said, in a perfect British accent. He flashed a smile the size of Oregon. And for an instant, he looked like she imagined Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights.

  “Have you seen my sister, Emily?” she asked. “She was wearing a red jacket.”

  “No.” He blinked those bright eyes, the green color of sea glass—eyes so clear they could never hide anything. “Have you lost her?”

  “I was in the bathroom.” Her breath came in gasps. “I told her to wait in the stroller, I gave her a box of animal crackers. I saw the wheels. The stroller didn’t move the whole time.” Brandy choked on her words.

  Stone touched her arm. “Try not to panic. Little kids live to hide from grownups. What’s she got on? I’ll help you look.”

  Brandy relaxed a little. Stone was probably right. “Blue pants and a red corduroy jacket.”

  Together, they raced to the duck pond. Breathing heavily, Brandy sucked in the damp smell of soil and new grass as she scanned the pond. On the moss green surface of the water, a mother duck and six babies swam in an orderly file along the pond’s edge, but no sign of Emily.

  In a nearby grassy area, someone had set up a table with balloons tied to the corners. It held brightly wrapped gifts and a birthday cake. Brandy’s gaze swept along the line of children waiting for a turn at pin the bow tie on the teddy bear. No Emily.

  “I’m going to call 911,” Brandy said.

  Stone slipped his hand into hers, their fingers laced together for an instant. His skin felt dry against her palm as she let his hand go and looked up at him.

  “Take a few deep breaths and try to chill,” he said. “If we keep searching, we’ll find her in a minute or two.”

  “I’m scared. Emily likes to hide, but she never did anything like this before.” Brandy’s voice trembled. “What if she didn’t hide? What if someone took her?”

  “Okay. You call 911. I’ll check along the creek.”

  An image of Emily tumbling over rocks rose as Brandy brushed by Stone and didn’t stop running until she stood inside the phone booth on the Plaza. She gritted he
r teeth. Her hand shook so hard she couldn’t push the buttons on the telephone. Barely able to breathe, she bit her lip, leaned her elbow against the shelf to steady her hand and dialed.

  Though she knew it was impossible, her body bent toward the phone as if she could pour herself into the receiver and drift inside the Ashland Police Station where, like a magic genie, she’d find Emily perched on an officer’s desk, wearing his hat and eating an ice cream cone. And for an instant, Brandy imagined Emily’s face smeared with chocolate.

  When the operator answered, Brandy couldn’t get the words out. “I…I…my sister…I think someone—”

  “Slow down,” the operator said. “What’s your name?”

  “Brandy. Brandy Michaelson.”

  “Okay, Brandy. Where exactly are you?”

  “Lithia Park. No. I mean…I ran to a phone booth to call…I left the park. Oh my God…I left…what if she comes back and can’t find me…there are so many kids in the park today. What if—”

  “Take a deep breath.”

  Brandy did.

  “That’s good,” the operator said. “Now take another one.”

  Again, Brandy obeyed.

  “Listen carefully,” the operator said. “Do I need to send an ambulance? Is anyone hurt?”

  “No. I don’t know,” Brandy said. “I don’t think so.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “My sister…my little sister…I think someone took her from her stroller in the bathroom. The strap was belted around her.” Brandy heard an echo of her own voice like someone in a tunnel. She told the operator her sister’s name and age. “She likes to hide…but I already looked everywhere.”