Up Close And Gone

by Jennie Spallone

  “Thank you so much! I always tell my kids a stranger is just a friend you haven’t yet met!”

  The young man grinned, his eyes twinkling. At the same moment, Shana felt a sharp prick above her left hip.

  As she started to black out, she heard him say, “Enjoy this moment. The worst is yet to come.”

  Chapter 4

  Becca

  Zander’s mom Oma noticed Becca’s stare. “Aamer delivers flowers on weekends. He must have gotten called away. Your mother also left the table. She looked pale. Is she feeling okay?”

  Wouldn’t it make more sense to drive your Uber on the weekends, when you could make the most money?” wondered Becca. Either way, it was none of her business. She refused to be a busybody like the woman who birthed her. But, like her mother, she was not above telling a white lie.

  “Mom’s got indigestion.”

  She and Rachel felt bad for their daddy. Mom loved him; they’ve been married four decades. But their personalities were as different as Sonny and Cher, at least from what Becca had seen on T.V. reruns. A lifetime of bickering and making up. It made her doubt she’d ever get married.

  Becca’s dad dabbed his lips with a linen napkin. Hat slanted over one eye, he could model for GQ Magazine, 65 Plus Edition—except there was no such edition. He had a knee problem and walked with a cane. Last night, it had taken them two hours instead of the GPS’s twenty-minutes to trek from the hotel to Times Square. Rachel, Zander’s younger brother Kaiden, and Becca had taken turns walking at her dad’s side. But Shana had been impatient. She’d walk ahead for a city block, then turn and holler, “Come on, David!”

  It wasn’t like her mom tried to be difficult, but her high-powered persona was stuck on the conveyor belt, refusing to surrender to retirement. It had only been a couple of months since she’d been put out to pasture. Becca tried to convince herself that her mother would eventually shave those sharp edges. Like Alexander Pope once wrote, hope springs eternal.

  Despite her dad’s protests, Zan and Kaiden insisted on splitting their brunch bill. Zan’s two-year-old nephew was cranky and crying for his nap. Oma hugged Becca and her dad and headed back to the hotel with the rest of her family.

  Becca made a beeline for the bathroom to check on her mom. She wasn’t in there.

  Outside, dozens of people milled around the brick patio, waiting for their buzzers to zzzzz. No sign of Shana. She went back inside the restaurant.

  Sports programs blared from three televisions mounted above the lobby bar. Nada.

  Becca approached the lady behind the cash register. The woman gave her a harried expression, as if she had a line of people waiting for her to process their credit cards, instead of just her. “Yes?”

  “Did you see an older woman with purple-streaked blond hair walk out the door?”

  “Hundreds of people come through here day and night.”

  “Do they all have purple hair?” Becca tossed the hasty retort over her shoulder.

  Once again, she stepped outside and into the sunlight. She wondered if her mom was pissed off enough to hail an Uber back to their hotel. She was about to punch her number into her cell phone when she remembered that Shana’s battery had died en route to Central Park. How many times did she and Rachel have to remind her to charge her phone every night like the rest of the universe did? Why cause them needless worry about her whereabouts?

  Becca was beginning to freak out. Where the hell was her mother? A slight queasiness threatened. Frantic, she searched for an inconspicuous spot to throw up, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She whirled around to find her dad staring at her.

  “I thought you and your mom got locked in the bathroom! Everything okay?”

  A loaded question on so many levels. “Upset stomach.”

  “Mom talking to a stranger in there?”

  “She’s not in the bathroom.” Becca steeled herself for his next question.

  “Odds are she’s walking around the lake or chatting up the vendors.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I’ll get the rest of the crew and we’ll head out.”

  “Good idea.” Becca’s stomach was cramping like hell, but she managed to keep her body upright.

  Her dad squinted at her. “Maybe you should lay off the sausage.”

  No reason to mention she’d crossed out processed meat from her diet. Her sister was a health nut; she’d nagged her until she’d surrendered.

  “What you need is an ice-cold ginger ale.”

  Becca smiled wanly. “Thanks.”

  Her dad disappeared back into the restaurant. Grasping her aching tummy, she abandoned the premises and headed down a path leading to the vendors. What kind of mother deserts her kids on a family outing? Her heart whispered: a mother who feels her kids don’t give a damn about her.

  Soon Becca came to a row of horse-driven carriages, their drivers hawking their services. “A dollar a minute!” Her GPS indicated the main exit was eight miles away. Maybe her mom rode a carriage to an exit; judging by the sprawling landscape, there must be several of them. Which path would she take?

  Fur Elyse echoes from her phone. Becca clicked. “Hey, Rach.”

  “Where are you guys? Dad’s got your ginger ale, and we’re all standing outside on the patio like idiots.”

  Once again, barf threatened to bomb her esophagus. “It’s a long story.”

  “Just tell me where to meet you. Ouch. Just felt the baby kick!”

  No way could Becca tell her their mom was missing. If she lost the baby, it would be her fault!

  “Meet us by the carriage rides.” Becca clicked off.

  Striving to swallow her panic, Becca stumbled over to the drivers. “Excuse me, did any of you drive a middle-aged woman with purple-streaked blond hair, maybe like ten minutes ago?”

  The men shook their turbaned heads.

  Then a young, brown-skinned driver turned to a bearded driver. “What mean purple-streaked?”

  The bearded driver replied in a foreign language.

  The young driver’s face brightened. “I see this lady. She say she forget purse at hotel. I offer lady free ride to exit. She say ‘no thank you,’ then leave.”

  “Thanks for trying to help her.”

  “She is related to you?” the young driver asked.

  Becca’s anguish broke free. “She’s my mother!”

  Before the driver could apologize, she turned and stumbled down the road.

  She visualized finding her mom; Shana would fall into her arms and she’d comfort her. Shana was 4 ½ inches shorter than her, so she couldn’t even fall into her mother’s arms. How fucked up was that?

  Becca shielded her eyes and looked ahead. The skies were beginning to darken and a spatter of raindrops fell on her head and arms. No sign of her mom. The stomach cramps hurt worse than when she got her period. She fell to her knees. A couple of guys jogged past her without a second glance. Becca punched the hotel number into her phone. The operator confirmed that no one fitting her mom’s description had entered the lobby, gift shop, or bar area within the last hour.

  Fur Elyse again. Becca hit ignore and punched in 911.

  “What is your emergency?”

  The words blew through her lips like a hurricane. “My mother is missing.”

  “How long has she been gone?

  She checked her cell phone. “Forty-seven minutes.”

  “Are you in danger?”

  “No.”

  “Where are you calling from?”

  “Central Park.”

  “Let me guess. You’re visiting New York and you and your mother got separated in the park.”

  The blacktop was burning her knees. Unsteadily, she rose to her feet.

  “I need to find my mother, make sure she’s okay!”

  “S
he’s been gone less than an hour. Have you tried her cell phone?”

  Rachel’s number appeared on her phone screen. She wouldn’t give up! Again, she hit ignore.

  “My mom’s cell died earlier today,” Becca yelled into the phone.

  “Trust me, she’ll take an Uber back to your hotel and phone you from there.”

  An opaque screen slid through Becca’s brain, making her dizzy.

  “My mom left her purse in the hotel room. She’s got no money to pay for a ride. We’re miles from the hotel.”

  It was raining bullets, now. Soaked, she limped toward an ice cream stand for shelter.

  “Happens all the time, hon. Moms are resourceful. I guarantee you’ll find each other soon. If not, call us back.”

  “She could be kidnapped or dead. I need to find her now!”

  “Is your mother mentally challenged?”

  Becca wiped the rain from her eyes. “Stubborn but not crazy.”

  “A danger to herself or others?”

  As a reporter, she once put an attacker in a choke hold and kicked him in the balls, her prowess adopted after a mere two self-defense classes. “No.”

  “So you’re telling me you’re not in danger, your mother is not mentally challenged, and she is not a danger to herself or others, that right?”

  “Yes, but….”

  “She could have made an unscheduled shopping trip.”

  “I told you, she doesn’t have her purse on her!”

  “Look, I need to go. Good luck finding your mom. She’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

  Becca was about to argue when the phone went dead.

  Fur Elyse floated through the air. “Hello?”

  Rachel’s voice was thick with tears. “We’re at the carriage stall, getting drenched. Where the hell are you and Mom?”

  Pictures of their mom, blindfolded and whisked into a bad guy’s van, streamed through Becca’s brain. Her heart was straining like a Rottweiler on a leash. For Rach’s sake, she attempted to slow her breathing.

  “There’s been a change of plans.

  “Change of plans? We’re supposed to see the sites today. Let me talk to Mom.”

  Becca squeezed her eyes shut, then blurted. “Mom is the change of plans.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? Put Mom on the phone, now!”

  “No can do.”

  “Why not?” she yelled into the phone.

  “Because Mom is not with me!”

  “What are you saying? Where is she?”

  Becca breathed in and out deeply. “She’s gone!”

  “What do you mean gone? You said she’s with you.”

  “I lied,” she sobbed into the phone.

  Rachel must have been on speaker phone because their dad’s voice came on the line. “It’s all right, Becca.” His voice was calm, with only a hint of unease. “Slow down and tell me what happened.”

  Becca relived the whole story for him.

  In the background, she heard Zander comforting Rachel. She wanted to die.

  “If your mother hoofed it back to the hotel, that would take a while, wouldn’t it?” asked her dad.

  She grimaced. Denial was their dad’s middle name.

  Rachel came back on the phone. “Why would she leave us in the first place?”

  Luckily, her sister was unaware of the ISIS conversation between Mom and Aamer. Becca fell on her sword. “It’s my fault. I should have followed her when she left the table.”

  Dad came back on the phone. “Girls, stop beating yourselves up. Mom’s back at the hotel. You’ll see.”

  Becca prayed dad was right.

  Then she gasped, remembering.

  Aamer was gone, too.

  Coincidence? Or maybe he wasn’t off delivering flowers, after all.

  Chapter 5

  Alan

  January 8, 1983

  Overcome with emotion, Alan held his eight-day-old infant for only the third time since Justin’s birth. The new father ran his index finger along his son’s tiny chin. He kissed each doll-sized toe. God had answered by granting them not one but three babies, yet only Justin had been born alive; his organs shutting down even as Alan kissed those precious toes. How could a father and mother allow their sweet infant to undergo needless suffering when certain death loomed near? Alan implored God to cradle the baby’s soul. Tears streaming down his cheeks, Alan removed the breathing tube from his son’s nostrils.

  A collective wave of grief spread through the hospital room as the respiration monitor receded into a flat-line. Instead of joining his wife’s family in that emotional swampland, Alan recited the Shehecheyanu:

  Blessed are you Lord our God, Ruler of the Universe who has given us life, sustained us, and allowed us to reach this joyous Day!

  The sobbing in the room ceased. Horrified, everyone turned to Alan. In the silence, he heard their accusation: How can you celebrate your newborn son’s death?

  After sighing a sigh deeper than the Dead Sea, Alan opened his lips to explain, but the words refused to disentangle themselves from his soul. He was a father forced too soon to release his child unto the spiritual world. The same father who’d experienced a shameful whiff of relief after unhooking his son’s breathing apparatus.

  “Why?” whispered Amy, his niece, who’d recently celebrated her Bat Mitzvah.

  For her sake alone, Alan willed himself to unlock the cavern of his heart.

  “I praise God because He decreed my wife shall live, even though he chose to recall our triplets to heaven.”

  “Only God should make that final judgment,” lamented his mother-in-law Libby.

  His sister-in-law’s accusing eyes drilled into him. “Justin could have lived.”

  Riddled with grief, Alan willed his words forward. “I give thanks that God enabled me to fulfill the commandment to circumcise my son on the eighth day, as is written. ‘I shall make a covenant between me and the children of Israel.’”

  Jacob, Amy’s younger brother, asked: “If God kept Justin alive to reach this day, why did you take his breathing tube away?”

  Each word hit Alan’s ears like cement bricks. Had his decision really been that of compassion, he worried, or had that momentary relief revealed his evil inclination?

  Just then, Rabbi Shapiro entered the hospital room. He took one look at the faces of those assembled, then walked toward the bassinet and peeked inside. His breath caught. He closed his eyes and began to pray in Hebrew. Even though Alan and Deborah had been raised as Conservative Jews, neither of them understood more than rudimentary Hebrew. But at this moment, Rabbi Shapiro’s blessed utterances spread comfort to him and his wife’s family.

  Alan waited a respectful amount of time for Rabbi Shapiro to conclude his prayers. Then he haltingly spoke.

  “Justin had a hole in his heart, his kidney function was failing, and his lungs were shutting down. His prognosis was hours, not days, not months. Deborah and I chose to spare him a horrible death by returning him to his Maker and his two brothers in heaven.”

  Jerry, Alan’s brother, started to interrupt, but Rabbi Shapiro shushed him.

  “This is a family decision. We are not to judge. May God watch over Justin’s soul, and the souls of all those on earth and in heaven. Amen.”

  Amen echoed throughout the room.

  Alan shook hands with Rabbi Shapiro and exited the hospital room.

  A hospital room of individuals who, but for Rabbi Shapiro, was filled with bitterness.

  Chapter 6

  Becca

  June 26, 2018

  6:00 p.m.

  Dad, Rachel, Zander, and Becca burst into the nearest police station to file a missing person’s report. A Detective Stella Hernandez of the 17th precinct was assigned to the case. Forty-something, she guessed. The detective looked
kind of crusty. Weathered. Like she’d seen stuff.

  “Is there any reason your mother would abruptly leave a family brunch?” she asked.

  Rachel massaged her tummy. “Mom was angry with Becca and me.”

  Zander flung his arm around her shoulders. “Your mother wouldn’t allow an argument to come between you guys. She loves you.”

  “Maybe Mom booked a flight back to North Carolina,” Becca said.

  “She wouldn’t do that, Becca,” Dad said.

  Rachel began to cry. “It’s obvious that none of us really know what she’d do! I say she’s been kidnapped. I received a phone call from a strange number today around three p.m. When I answered, the caller hung up.”

  Becca’s stomach churned. “Same thing happened to me about an hour later. I called back. A young woman answered. She asked me to stop prank-calling her and hung up. Maybe Mom borrowed her phone to call us.”

  Detective Hernandez turned her attention to Dad. “Does your wife know anyone in the city besides your son-in-law’s family?”

  Dad shook his head. “It’s her first time visiting here. Ours, too.”

  “Has your mother ever impromptu left your family before?”

  Dad answered for the family. “My wife marches to her own drummer, but this tune she’s not played.”

  The detective glanced at dad appreciatively. “You have a good command of the English language.”

  “He and my mom both worked at the same newspaper,” Rachel said impatiently. “So what’s your plan, Detective?”

  Now the detective was all business. “I’ve got all your information written down. If your mother hasn’t come home by 1 p.m. tomorrow, call us back and we’ll go from there.”

  “What the hell!” said Rachel. “You’re making us wait 24 hours before you send a search party out for her?”

  “Hey, I’m doing you folks a favor and skirting protocol because you’re from out-of-state. We don’t take a report until a person’s gone 24 hours.”

  David raised his palms upward. “We all appreciate you taking the time to help us, Detective. As you can imagine, we are quite distraught over my wife’s disappearance. What is our next step?”