“I called about thirty minutes ago, but there’s been a ton of car accidents today, so the ambulances are all in service.”
“Got your car here?”
“I live a little over a mile away, so I usually jog over. Couldn’t move her, anyway. Not in her condition.”
The cyclist laid his bike against a tree and knelt by Shana’s head. “You okay, ma’am?”
Here was her chance to be rescued. Shana willed herself to respond. “Ugh.”
The cyclist stood. “Let me give 911 another go.” He punched the numbers into his cell and spoke into the phone. “Okay. They’ll be here in ten minutes.”
“Listen, dude, I’m late for work. Could you possibly chill with her until they arrive?”
“No problem,” said the cyclist.
They shook hands.
The cyclist’s fingers paused over his cellphone keyboard. “Just need your contact information for when they ask me what happened.”
“Yep, my name is Rod Stewart, 1355 5th Avenue, 312-666-2101.”
Shana moaned.
The cyclist glanced at her. “Hang tight, ma’am. The paramedics are on their way.” Then he turned back to Daniel. “It must be tough being named after a singing legend.”
Daniel laughed. “My dad really enjoyed his music. Unfortunately, I can’t hold a tune.”
“So this phone number. Not a New York area code, huh?”
“I moved here from Chicago couple of weeks ago.”
“Killer place to live!” said the cyclist.
Hearing his words, Shana forced a louder moan from her lips.
“I look forward to checking it out.”
“By the way, my name’s Gabe Rider.”
“At least your name makes sense! Listen, thanks again. Tell the fire department she’s had food, drink, and 50 milligrams of antihistamines within the last thirty minutes.”
Gabe glanced at his cellphone watch. “It’s six-thirty now. Okay, got it. Hey, don’t work too hard tonight.”
Without a backward glance, Daniel waved goodbye and jogged off into the distance.
DAY 3
Chapter 47
Rachel
Hey, Becca. Zander’s mom just posted bail for Aamer. She said he was bawling all the way back to their apartment.
OMG Rach! Why did they even keep him overnight?
Detective Hernandez was all set to release him, when he tried to give her a bear hug. She put him in cuffs.
No way!
Aamer got agitated, so the detective checked the global security database. His name appeared on a No Fly List.
He’s a terrorist??
Aamer’s last name is Abdelrahman, but the name in the database is Abdelraman, like the noodles.
BTW, Ramen is spelled with an e, not an a.
Thanks teacher.
Thanks sculptor.
Turned out to be one big miscommunication.
No more bear hugs to police from Aamer.
Mom gives bear hugs!
Mom won’t be on a terrorist list anytime soon.
You sure about that?
Aamer should file a complaint against Detective Hernandez.
She’s just doing her job, Bec.
Did U know seventy-three percent of U.S. terrorist attacks have been carried out by white nationalists living in this country?
No politics, please.
White supremacists!
Stop, Becca! Right now we need to focus on getting Mom back, safe and sound. Gotta go. Nurse is here to take my blood.
Sorry for upsetting you earlier.
No worries. I’m feeling much better. Just do what you gotta do on social media to bring Mom home.
Chapter 48
Alan
January 1985
Today marked two years since the babies died. Alan tried to delete that day from his mind as he watched the five-year-old year chase the cascade of soap bubbles Deb was blowing through her wand. The adoption counselor sat beside Alan on the park bench, clapping appreciatively. This was the third time he and Deb had met with the home study counselor over the last few months, and it looked like today would be their lucky day.
“Come play, Alan!” Deb had started a new game; she zigzagged across the field, clutching a big rubber ball as the preschooler chased her.
The counselor gave Alan an encouraging look, and he knew it would look good on today’s observational notes, so he did what came unnaturally and ran toward them. As a child, Alan couldn’t recall ever playing ball with his dad, who was always working, reading, or napping.
Of course, he’d played Tag with his niece and nephew; on rare occasions he’d even pushed them on the swings at the playground. But the truth was, he’d never learned how to play. How could you be a good dad if you didn’t know how to play?
The ball smacked him in the chest. “Pay attention, big guy!” Deb called.
Alan prepared to throw the ball back to her. “Me! Me!” yelled the child.
Alan twirled the rubber ball on his finger—wow, he didn’t even know he could do that—then tossed it to the kid.
“More! More!” cried the boy.
Alan gazed into the boy’s laughing eyes. Then he tossed him the red ball.
Deb ran up to him. “He likes you! You’re going to be a great dad!” She grabbed the ball from the child and tossed it across the field.
Together, they watched him run to retrieve it.
“How can you be so sure? All I’ve done with him so far is read, color, light Chanukah candles, watch Mr. Rogers, share Crunchy Crunch cereal, and play a little ball. Doesn’t seem like we know each other yet. I’m not sure he even likes me.”
Deb brought her forehead to his. “Honey, you’ve got doubts. I do, too! But even Rabbi Shapiro says it’s time for us to move on with our lives. Start a new family. Wouldn’t it be a beautiful testament to our babies if we adopt this little guy on the anniversary of their death?”
“Don’t we have more paperwork we need to fill out?”
Deb placed her hands on her hips. “Alan Stewart, are you going to cop out on me?”
“Can’t a guy ask a simple question without getting bludgeoned to death?”
She planted a big smooch on his lips. “It’s just last-minute jitters, like you got before we walked down the aisle.”
“I should have taken those jitters to heart,” he said wryly.
A streak of pain crossed her eyes.
“Kidding! I’m blessed to have you in my life. Who else would nag me all the time?”
“Maybe it really is too soon,” his wife said hesitantly.
Alan dabbed her tears away with his fingers. “Today we start a new family!”
Deb looked up at him. “Are you sure? It’s not going to be easy raising a kid with abuse and abandonment issues. Research shows fifty percent of marriages end in divorce; adoption is one of the causes.”
The boy ran up to Alan and handed him the ball. “Throw, Daddy, throw!”
The ball fell from Alan’s hands. His face felt hot. Tears traveled down his cheeks. He picked up the child and held him close to his chest.
Deb threw her arms around both of them. “Is that a ‘yes,’?”
“Yes!” said Alan.
“Yes!” said the child.
Their child.
Their son.
Chapter 49
Shana
“Mom?”
Shana squinted into the brightly lit room. “Where am I?”
“You’re in the hospital,” said her younger daughter. “A bicyclist found you in the woods. Thank God you’re all right!”
She glanced at the transparent tape covering the needle in her hand, then the tube running up an IV pole. Her heart began to pound. “Why am I here?”
“You were totally dehydrated and suffering from heatstroke. The doctor said it’s a miracle you survived.”
Shana looked at the bandages covering her wrists. “Did I attempt to kill myself?” she asked incredulously.
“We thought you could tell us that,” said a voice she didn’t recognize.
She looked towards the voice. “Who are you?”
“I’m Detective Hernandez and I’ve been handling your case.”
Shana’s eyes glistened with fear. “What case?”
David’s face came into view. “You disappeared three-and-a-half days ago, hon.”
“Where did I go?”
“That’s what we want to know,” said the detective.
It was then she noticed her older daughter Rachel in a wheelchair. “Oh my God. What happened?”
She saw a look pass between her husband and daughter. “The doctor put me on bedrest.”
Shana’s arms tingled. “Why?”
Bzz, bzz.
A nurse hurried into the hospital room to check Shana’s heart monitor. Frowning, she tightened a blood pressure cuff around Shana’s arm.
Shana cringed, then glanced at the nurse’s name tag. “Katrina, can you please loosen this thing?”
Becca’s eyes twinkled. “I see you’re definitely back in action!” Shana tried to match her daughter’s expression, but a fleeting memory of another cuff sped through her brain.
The nurse peeled the blood pressure cuff from Shana’s arm. “Your mom needs to be stress-free so she can fully recuperate.”
“I’ll be stress-free once you tell me what’s going on here.”
The nurse gave her a perfunctory nod and exited the room.
“What is the last thing you remember before being rescued?” asked Detective Hernandez.
Shana closed her eyes to visualize. “Our family was eating brunch at a restaurant in Central Park. The girls and I got into an argument and I dashed out of the restaurant.”
“Do you and your daughters argue often?”
“Every now and then. But nothing like this.”
“With mom, it’s always something,” said Rachel. “She routinely asks waiters to turn down the air, or if she can have a grapefruit slice in her ice water. This time, I had to loan her my cardigan sweater because she forgot to bring her own. She knows restaurants are going to be cold when it’s 90 degrees outside.”
Detective Hernandez turned toward Shana. “That the straw that broke the camel’s back?”
The nurse came back in to recheck Shana’s blood pressure. This time her nod was authentic as she left the room.
When Shana didn’t respond, Becca burst in. “Mom was upset because I got on her case about asking Aamer personal questions about his political and religious beliefs. That was before we even set foot in the restaurant.”
“I don’t deserve to be humiliated in public by my own children…”
“… but being humiliated in private is okay?” teased Becca.
“After you left the restaurant, where did you go?” asked the detective.
“Why all these questions? Speaking of questions, is the baby okay, Rachel? Is that why you’re here?”
Her older daughter glared at her. “Now you care about how we’re doing. Sure didn’t show it when you took off on your own in a city you’ve never been to before.”
Shana felt weary with disappointment. “Rachel, do you trust me that little? I’d never do something like that, especially with you being pregnant!”
“I told the girls there was no way,” said her husband.
“So where did you go?” asked Becca.
Shana signaled David for a glass of water. She took a sip. “I was furious. I planned to catch an Uber back to the hotel, then book a flight home to Goldsboro. But then I remembered my phone was dead and my purse was back at the hotel. A horse & carriage driver offered to drive me to the Park exit for free, but I couldn’t recall which of the four entrances we came in. I couldn’t even remember the name of our hotel!”
“What do I always say?” asked David.
“Photoshoot street crossings and monuments in case you get lost and don’t have your GPS handy,” said Shana. “Kind of tricky to take pics when your cell phone’s dead, though.”
“You’ve always got an excuse,” said Rachel.
“Stop arguing, guys,” said Becca.
“What happened next?” asked the detective.
“A young mom let me call Rachel on her cell phone, but when she answered, I hung up.”
“Why?” asked Rachel.
“Because I knew you and Becca would never let me live it down.”
“No lie,” Becca said wryly.
Shana grimaced. “I’m exhausted. I need to rest.”
“Just a couple more questions,” said the detective.
“If you’re too tired, the detective’s questions can wait,” David said firmly.
A wave of love for her husband washed over her. It had taken years, but he was finally standing up for her. Still, she waved off his concern. “I’m okay.”
“After you hung up, what did you do?” asked the detective.
“I was dripping with sweat. It began to storm. All the visitors hurried from the park, but I reveled in the twenty-degree temperature drop, and the refreshing rain pounding my body.”
“Were you carrying an umbrella?” asked the detective.
Shana shook her head. “Fortunately, a tall young man offered his oversized black umbrella. I remember telling him I raised you girls to view strangers as friends you’ve not yet met. I stepped underneath the umbrella. Then everything went blank.”
“Did you catch a glimpse of his face?” asked the detective.
“Thin. Tall. White. Dressed nice. Twinkle in his eye.”
The detective placed the Park photos before her. “Does this man look familiar?”
As Shana gazed at the photos, her gut instinct urged her to lie. But this would be way more than a little white lie.
“I need an answer.”
David arose from his chair, cane in hand. “My wife needs a nap. Perhaps we can resume this conversation later.”
The detective headed for the door. “Count on it.”
Chapter 50
Deborah
February 1985
That first night Deborah held Daniel in her arms, she sensed something amiss. His fuzzy words—the words he’d captivated them with that afternoon in the park—had made them a family. The child’s unbridled joy in running, playing, and laughing; these emotions were real. But that first night, and those that followed, he’d wake up shrieking like a burn victim; inconsolable for hours.
Deborah had plugged a moon-faced night light in his room. When Daniel began pinching his arms. Deborah held him close to her heart. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” she murmured.
When cuddling failed to calm the boy, Alan insisted they bring him to the pediatrician. But at the last minute, Deborah cancelled their appointment. “It’s only been two weeks, Alan,” she pleaded. “Daniel is just settling in. He needs to know we’re here for him, that we’re not going to abandon him.”
They agreed to postpone the doctor’s appointment until further notice. Further notice crept into their son’s bed at 3:14 a.m. The night before, her husband had stuck neon stars on the ceiling above Daniel’s bed.
Deborah was dozing in the rocking chair, as she’d been doing since the night they’d brought Daniel home, when a piercing shriek clawed the silence. She jumped from her chair and rushed to her son’s bed. It was then that she saw the long red streaked wounds. The blood under his nails. Steeling herself against the sight of her little boy’s self-inflicted horror, Deborah lifted him from his bed and carried him down the hall into the master bedroom. “Alan! Wake up!”
Her h
usband shot up in bed. “What happened?”
Their son began to shriek.
“Daniel’s hurt himself. We need to get him to Emergency!”
The doctor finished bandaging their son’s arms. “These wounds look mighty deep for a five-year-old to inflict upon himself.”
“He’s really strong for a little kid!” Alan agreed.
Deborah’s radar kicked in. “What are you trying to say, doctor?”
Alan had tried to reassure her. “He’s just commenting on Daniel’s strength.”
“Doctor?” she repeated.
The doctor perused their file. “It says here you and your husband adopted Daniel earlier this month. That you lost three babies two years ago.”
“It’s not like we misplaced them,” said Alan, his expression dour.
Her husband was clueless. Deborah knew what the doctor was insinuating. She waited for him to spell it out.
“Losing one baby, let alone three, can be very traumatic, resulting in PTSD. The parent replays the scenario over and over again. Sometimes unintentional actions can result.”
“What kind of unintentional reactions?” asked Alan.
“The kind where you carve up your child’s arms,” Deborah said brusquely.
“Calm down, Mrs. Stewart, I’m not inferring you harmed your Daniel.”
“If I used a kitchen knife, I could have done a more efficient job of it.”
“Deb!”
“I work in the childcare field. You’re a mandatory reporter, just like me. You must report suspected child abuse.”
“That’s crazy, Deb. The doctor isn’t going to report us.”
The doctor cleared his throat. “Actually, I must.”
Alan looked incredulous. “But we’ve done nothing wrong! We knew when we brought Daniel home from DCFS that he’d experienced abuse and neglect while in foster care.”
Deborah’s heart filled with pride as she listened to her husband stand up for them. “We tried for three years to get pregnant with no success,” Alan continued. “Do you know what that does to a young couple? Do you know what that does to their faith in God?
Up Close And Gone Page 14
