Little Green

by Tish Cohen

  He went back into the house and slid into a kitchen chair, the vinyl cold against his legs. Grabbed his phone to call his wife, but she didn’t pick up.

  At the far end of the table was a note. He slid it closer and stared at it, incredulous: Gone riding.

  Knowing she was pregnant, with his second child as well as hers, after all they’d been through—were going through—his wife had gotten onto a horse. Matt buzzed with outrage. Did he have no rights at all as a father? He reached for a pen, scrawled across her note: Meet me at the Village Diner at 5.

  Elise wrapped Indie’s legs with fluffy white polo bandages, more for the need to fuss over her horse than out of any need to protect him. He was curious, ears forward and head up, as she led him out into the busyness of the show, but instead of taking him toward the warm-up ring as she would if they were showing, she led him toward a large patch of lawn beyond the parking lot. The air smelled like fresh-cut grass, the dust of the sand rings all around them, and water. The sprinkler system had kicked to life over near the road.

  She lowered the stirrups and was about to mount when she noticed a small car cruising along the road on the other side of the white rail fence. She’d seen that car before. That black Honda Civic with a dull, red hood and green Vermont plates had passed by her on Seldom Seen Road the day before Gracie went missing.

  And again the morning of.

  There was no jumping that fence on Indie—not with sprinklers soaking the grass. Pammy appeared at the mouth of another breezeway and Elise waved her over. Tossed Pammy the reins and sprinted after the car, which was making a left onto Park Preserve Road.

  She tore across the wet lawn, slipping and hitting the ground twice in the spray of the sprinklers, and somehow got over the equally drenched fence to hit pavement and flat-out run toward the car, which stopped at the intersection with Highway 73, waited for a break in traffic, and turned left. Toward the Cascade Lakes.

  Where Gracie’s crutches had been found.

  Elise ran so hard it felt like her lungs were on fire, but the car disappeared from sight as it worked its way into traffic. All she caught of the license plate was “GL.”

  Chapter 26

  He knocked. When no one came to the back door, Matt did what he’d always done—stepped inside and announced himself. The thumping and wailing of a good old-fashioned tantrum from upstairs almost certainly drowned out his voice—and made it clear River wasn’t always the gentle creature he’d seemed. The kitchen revealed the epicenter of the upset: milk and cereal and shards of a broken bowl splattered across the linoleum floor.

  Matt found a broom and swept up the sopping mess, dropped the worst of it into the trash, and rinsed broom and floor. He heard bare feet padding down the stairs as he wiped up the last of it with a dish rag.

  “You didn’t have to do that.” Cass stood a moment in the doorway, in panties and a milk-stained tank top, then took the soggy cloth from him. “My jeans were a mess. Riv saw a bear through the window and lost his shit.”

  “An actual bear?”

  “Exactly what I thought, but yes. Big old Papa Bear on the driveway. I called Garth, but of course he didn’t answer. Nothing new.” Without doing a thing about her state of dress, she motioned for him to sit and poured two cups of coffee. “Never seen a year like this. Everyone’s gone nuts with these sightings. I made my mom stay over—she could easily go for a walk and not even notice a bear.” She handed Matt a mug of coffee and settled by the window to light a smoke. “I’m glad you still take it black. Matty Sorenson drinking coffee any other way would be blasphemous.” She took a drag and blew smoke through the screen. “Plus, we’re out of milk.”

  In another lifetime, he’d have laughed. “I was napping. Came downstairs to a little note from my wife. Gone riding.”

  If Cass felt any sort of judgment toward Elise, her face didn’t show it. “Maybe it’s calming. You know? Her happy place.”

  He rubbed his beard. “She’s pregnant, Cass.”

  The gravity of it nudged Cass back in her chair. “Holy shit. How far along?”

  “Would it matter after Gracie?” He stood, paced the room. “I found a test in the garbage just now. She didn’t even tell me. And now she’s on a fucking horse. You know, Nate warned me off her. And I didn’t listen. I’m honestly going insane. I don’t sleep. I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack. I see families everywhere and I actually find myself wishing it had happened to them.” He closed his eyes. “Which makes me feel like shit. And then I think—Elise is going through this too. And I feel even more like shit.” He hoisted himself up onto the counter and found himself nose-to-nose with a photograph tacked on the fridge: Garth asleep on the Adirondack chair out back.

  Matt leaned over his thighs and scrubbed his head with his fingertips. Cass crossed the room to push him upright and stand between his legs. She rested her hands on his thighs, just above the knees. “Hey. I’m going to help you get through this. You’ll get Gracie back, and then you’ll know what to do.”

  “About?”

  “About your marriage. Doesn’t matter if it’s obvious to me; you have to come to this on your own.”

  “You think I should leave her.”

  “It’s not for me to say.”

  “But that’s what you think.” He studied her. “You were right—what you said about the gloves. I told her to go get them, but never did I imagine she’d leave Gracie at the road to do it.”

  “Shh-shh-shh.” His boyhood sweetheart wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close. He lost himself in the maternal stroke of her hand on the back of his head. As she pressed herself into him, her breasts flattened against his chest. His hands found her shoulders, her spine, the curve of her hip.

  “You ever wonder what would have happened between us if I hadn’t taken off?”

  How to answer this? He’d wondered many, many times.

  Soft footsteps pattered down the stairs and suddenly a bare-chested River was in the room. Cass backed away from Matt, immediately busied herself at the sink. The boy looked from his mother to Matt to his mother. “I want Gracie to come back so I can show her the frozen rats at the pet store. She would think it’s so cool.”

  Cass and Matt locked eyes, released the same breath between them. Cass cupped her son’s chin. “I know, bugaboo. We all want her back.”

  Matt looked homeless and he knew it. Elise, he noted, had taken the time to shower and comb her wet hair into a knot before coming to meet him at the diner. She’d slipped into a pretty gray sweatshirt and white jeans. Her manicured feet were in sandals. Her face may have been gaunt, but damned if she didn’t look fashionable. There, beside her, was the big red handbag she refused to let anyone touch—even her own daughter.

  The clash and clatter of dishes and voices from the kitchen were an assault. Matt and Elise sat on torn green vinyl and studied each other over club sandwiches barely touched. Around them, people stared, whispered, clearly aware of who they were: the couple no one wanted to be.

  The pregnancy stick flashed in his mind. The pink lines. Two kids and he couldn’t fucking protect either of them.

  “I’ve had such a feeling about it, you know? Like, why would that car stand out for me? It’s just some dirty Honda Civic, just like any car you see dozens of times every day.” Elise leaned closer, elbows on the table, eyes so full of hope his anger nearly softened. Nearly. “It has to mean something, right?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, Dorsey has people looking for it. He definitely thinks it’s of interest. That’s what he said—‘of interest.’”

  Matt looked around for the waitress. They were going to need wine—or stronger—for this talk.

  “The first time I saw it was the day before. Saturday. It was sort of creeping along our road. Even with the bends, it was going weirdly slow, you know? And Vermont plates.”

  Matt scrubbed scratchy eyes with his palms, then let his hands drop to the table’s edge. “Seldom Seen Ro
ad is in all the tourist blogs and articles. There are always sightseers, and they all move slow. It’s been filled with lookie-loos my entire life.”

  She watched him silently a moment. “Allow me a little hope, Matt. It costs us nothing to hope.”

  “Hey, guys.” The waitress, a tall, beaky but attractive redhead somewhere in her thirties, stopped at the table, pen and pad in hand. Her name tag, Matt noticed now, said KIM. “Is everything okay with your food? I’m happy to get you something else . . .”

  “Sorry, it’s not the food,” Elise said.

  “I know, darlin’.” Kim patted Elise’s hand. “We’re all praying so damned hard for you and your little girl.”

  “Can I get a whisky—neat?” Matt said, leaning closer, voice low. “Only . . . could you put it in a coffee mug?” He nodded toward the other diners, who were pretending not to be watching. “I don’t want to read about this on the Internet.”

  “Of course. No need to explain.” Kim looked to Elise. “For you too?”

  “Thanks. No.”

  Kim strode away, energized by the ability to help in even this small way.

  A mother and father with their young son slid into the next booth. Matt tried not to watch as the mother pulled off the child’s cardigan and kissed his rosy cheek. The little boy turned around to face Matt, wide-eyed the way only a toddler can be.

  It could be a boy, this next baby, he thought. A son.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Elise said as a Village Diner mug appeared in front of Matt. “I know it makes sense that we’re doing this divide-and-conquer thing. But I just—I feel like I’m cracking up. I think we need to spend these hours . . . these days . . .” Her voice caught and she rocked forward to sip from her water glass. “I need us to be side by side. This tension between us is just getting bigger and bigger. And I don’t think it’s helping . . .”

  “Of course there’s tension. What the hell do you think—we’re going to bond over this?”

  “There’s been some kind of seismic shift between us that is, yes, of course, brought on by Gracie’s disappearance. But it’s weakening us and our ability to—”

  Her words drifted into the pings and clangs and called-out orders from the kitchen.

  He swirled the scotch around in the mug, mesmerized by the reflections in the amber liquid. It hit him as Elise spoke that the seismic shift wasn’t new at all. It had been there since the day Gracie was pulled from his wife’s body with monitors bleeping alarm and doctors and nurses and anesthesiologist and a chaplain—yes, they’d assigned Matt a chaplain—filling the emergency room from wall to wall.

  The shift that had occurred when his baby girl came out blue was a silent scream that had never abated. He’d pushed it down to his core in an effort to be present for his infant daughter and the woman he’d married. As if, over the years that followed, keeping it below the surface would allow time to rub against it and smooth out the roughness. But, he realized now, time had done the opposite. It had made his anger grow sharp and craggy. And now, with Gracie gone, it scraped against the inside of his skin.

  “Do you realize . . .” He looked at his wife, rocking to soothe herself, hands hugging her mug for dear life. “You’ve never, ever said you’re sorry.”

  “What are you talking about? Of course I have. Over and over. You know I would change every single thing that led to that moment if I could. God, Matt. Tell me you know that.”

  He reached into his wallet. Pulled out a folded photograph and opened it on the table. It was the picture taken that day inside Ronnie’s arena. A younger Elise sitting atop Indie, smile wide, one hand on her belly, on Gracie, the other holding the reins.

  Elise looked at him. “Where . . . how did you get this?”

  “In the hospital. That girl, Amy, the one who took it, she handed it to me when she came to visit you. I was going to throw it away, but I realized . . .” His voice caught and he downed his scotch. “I realized this was the last moment Gracie was as she should have been. She was whole.”

  Elise sat taller and, slowly, started to shake her head from side to side. “That’s what this is about? That’s why we’re sitting here . . . you drinking scotch from a mug?”

  “This is about everything. You haven’t even cried. I mean, what the fuck? Our daughter could be dead.”

  “Don’t say that!” Her chest rose and fell. “I can’t cry, Matt. You think that’s from lack of pain? It’s a million times worse not being able to release what I’m going through. A million times worse.”

  Heads snapped in their direction and he leaned over the table so he could speak softly. “Is there anything, Elise . . . anything at all I need to know?”

  She slumped back in the booth and gawked at him. “What are you talking about?”

  This baby, he didn’t say. My unborn child—who doesn’t seem to matter enough to mention. He waited, then said, “I can’t do this anymore.”

  Her eyes searched his face as if answers might seep out of his pores. “Can’t do what?”

  He motioned back and forth between them. “This. Us. Not with Gracie . . . Not now.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “I just . . . I feel . . . I’m going to snap.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I need space.”

  She gazed steadily at him. “This isn’t the time to be apart, Matt. In the middle of the worst nightmare any parent can imagine.”

  Matt signaled to the waitress to bring the bill and handed her his Visa. As Kim pulled out the machine and inserted his card, Matt watched a family dressed in matching purple T-shirts file out. There was only one reason a family on a vacation would wear matching T-shirts: so that one of their children wouldn’t get separated from the pack. It dawned on Matt that Gracie’s disappearance had likely precipitated this family’s caution.

  The waitress pulled a receipt from the machine, frowned at it. “I’m sorry. That transaction was declined. Sometimes these machines act up . . .”

  It wasn’t the machine. Matt pulled out his Amex card and tried to appear casual, as if there was no chance in hell this card would give her trouble.

  “Modern technology . . .” The waitress handed him back his Amex as well.

  When Matt went to dig up another card from his wallet, mumbling something about needing to move money around, Kim pressed two fingers to his forearm and leaned over them. “Guys, this one’s on me. It’s the least I can do.”

  The bill was for twenty-four dollars. He was being declined for less than the price of a tank of gas. He stood abruptly and pulled a few tens from his pocket—he did have some pride left. Enough, at least, that he wasn’t going to take charity from a small-town waitress who probably needed every cent. He pushed the bills into her hand.

  Aware of how many eyes were on him, he leaned over Elise as if giving her a casual hug goodbye. In her ear, he whispered, “I’m moving to a motel for a few days.”

  Chapter 27

  Elise looked up at the stag’s head above the stone fireplace. She’d always hated that Nate had found this poor animal in a ditch and brought it home to mount the head on his wall like a trophy. It made her sick to look at it. She couldn’t stand it one more minute.

  She marched out to the shed and returned with a ladder. Leaned it against the fireplace and climbed up to dislodge the shockingly heavy creature’s neck from its anchor on the wall and drop the head with a thud onto the sofa below. She then hoisted it by the antlers and dragged it out back, through the mossy dirt and into the woods.

  The deer deserved the dignified burial that Nate’s entitlement hadn’t allowed.

  With a shovel from the shed, she dug furiously until, arms and white jeans covered in dirt, the sun having disappeared over the roof of the house, the hole was big enough to fully bury the stag. No way was Elise going to snap the antlers off to make her job easier.

  After lowering the head into the earth, she gazed into the huge eyes—the black glass orbs shining in the fading
daylight. The poor animal seemed even more vulnerable now.

  She widened the hole, then returned to the house in search of Gunner, eventually finding him behind a chair in the living room. She carried the stuffed dog outside and laid him next to the stag. A companion for eternity.

  Satisfied, Elise dropped to her knees and bulldozed the dirt back into the hole with her hands, pushing faster and faster, until her father’s face appeared in her mind’s eye. As he walked out the door with his suitcase. His bullshit line about loving her mother forever. She saw him standing there at the funeral. Head bowed like it wasn’t his fault, Briony at his side. Elise packed the dirt down hard, slapping it open-handed until her palms numbed.

  Did Matt really believe she was able to cope with even a second of not knowing where her daughter was or whether she was suffering? Did he realize that every time Elise fell asleep she heard Gracie’s croaking voice calling for her mother—only there was no way to know if the child was across the road or across the world? Elise stood and stomped on the earth, kicked it down.

  She’d give her life to turn back the clock for every parent who’d ever had a child go missing.

  By the time she finished, the sun had long set. Exhausted, sweaty, filthy, she let her legs carry her down to the dock, where she sat and stared into the deep purple shadows. The lake was inky and flat. No movement at all and total silence. She would have preferred a big wind. Lightning slashed the heavens as if commanded by a god she had never believed in but was now ready to accept as, if not the reason for all that had happened, at least someone at whom to direct her wrath.

  There was just enough brightness left to make her feel small, lost among the trees, the mountains, the sky. The first stars had begun to flicker. Tiny pinpricks of gold from camps and cabins spread up and into the hills beyond. Gracie could be bathed in one of those lights right now. Then again, Elise thought as she watched the red lights of a faraway plane cross the sky, Gracie could be anywhere.