Left

by Theanna Bischoff

  Then I heard Summer make one of her fussy noises, like a bleating sheep. I moved closer and realized Kayla was the one holding her. Jostling her with one arm, without even looking down. Spread around them were pages and pages of your missing flier. A sideways cock of your head, a curtain of long dark hair, an emerald earring (probably from Greg) sparkling in your one visible ear, mouth partially open as if about to laugh. MISSING stamped across the top. Some of the posters looked faded, like someone’s printer had run out of ink. Kayla was using one of the prints as a coaster.

  My stomach tightened, like a cramp, like the cramps that came when I tried to nurse Summer in the days after she was born, before I gave up. Sometimes, when I give her a bottle, she sucks like she’ll never get enough, like I’ll never give her enough.

  It’s not often that I keep my mouth shut. But I just walked in, took my baby and got the hell out of there, left those two bitches sitting in the kitchen with their dumb guilty faces. I slammed the front door behind me, stood on the stoop, the July air too hot for my sweatshirt and pajama pants. Summer fussed and rooted into my chest. Flowers and teddy bears had accumulated on the sidewalk out front. A fluorescent yellow poster board read WE ARE PRAYING FOR YOU! in purple bubble letters. Praying for who? For Natasha, or for me? A brown teddy bear had tipped onto its back, and its glazed marble eyes stared at me, its upside down mouth in a pout. A car drove by, pulled into an open garage.

  Barely dusk, the streetlights had already turned on, bright orbs, like a warning. Neither my mother nor Kayla followed me. What if I was running away? What if I laced up my sneakers and ran away from here? Would they look for me? Would Cam look for me? Would anyone look for me?

  Then a car pulled up, and a man stepped out, a camera slung around his neck. “Hey, are you the sister of the missing girl? Is that your baby?”

  Summer began to wail. Maybe wherever you are, you heard that cry.

  REUBEN

  DIGGING THROUGH THE VIC’S COMPUTER gives Reuben a headache, makes him want to pass the file over to Grainger. For like, half a second. He can do this. He’s going to do this. No matter how fucked up this case is. The vic didn’t reply to this email, but Reuben can guess what she was thinking. With a family like this, there’s no way she really was as happy-go-lucky as everybody in his interviews keep saying. Especially after he found the tiny bottle of Celexa under the bathroom sink, way at the back under all the pipes instead of with the other vitamins and supplements in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. Reuben remembers that first day, asking Abby whether the vic was on any medications, Abby’s vehement no. It’s a low dose, but the vic clearly didn’t want little sis to know about her antidepressants. She was probably keeping other things close to her chest, too.

  Reuben re-reads the email.

  From: Paul Bell

  Subject: Friday

  Date: 8 January 2002 5:14:18 AM MST

  To: Natasha Bell

  I hope you know how ashamed I am of you. Your sister is making terrible decisions and you’re supporting them. How is she supposed to learn about real life if you always bail her out? She needs someone to tell her to smarten up, to apologize for the way she treated her mother at Christmas, apologize for ruining everybody’s holiday. She needs to give this baby up for adoption, finish high school, and go to University like we always planned. Do you know how poorly this reflects on me? On Kathleen?

  We didn’t give her everything she could have ever asked for in life just so she could throw it all away. And frankly, I didn’t give YOU everything you could have ever asked for in life to have you throw it back in my face, either. Don’t come crying to me when you’re trying to support a newborn and an out of control teenager. I’m done.

  JOSIE

  WHEN PAUL INVITED JOSIE AND SOLOMON TO COME FOR dinner on August sixth, Josie thought maybe it had something to do with the fact that it was her birthday. But no, Paul would not have remembered his daughter’s friend’s birthday even had Natasha not been missing. That, and she’d seen the Bells every day since Tash went running and never returned. Kathleen had ordered an obscene amount of food—lasagna, salad, garlic bread. The water in Josie’s glass sparkled. Regular water was not fancy enough, apparently.

  The sixth marked an entire month. An entire month.

  There would be no birthday celebrations this year. Solomon said that celebrating birthdays was egotistical, anti-Christian. He didn’t approve of Halloween either. From the third grade until the seventh grade, Josie and Natasha wore matching Halloween costumes: Wilma and Betty from The Flinstones, cowgirl and Tiger Lily, monkey and banana. Josie had fantasized about dressing up her own children and taking them Trick or Treating. She and Solomon had not yet conceived, even though they didn’t use any contraception because Solomon felt like it was up to God how many children they would have. Josie turned down the glass of wine Paul offered her, even though it was her time of the month and it wouldn’t have made a difference. Everybody else was drinking except her and Abby. Josie wanted very badly to hold Abby’s new baby girl, but didn’t feel right asking. When Abby was a child, she’d gone through a phase of carrying around a grimy Cabbage Patch doll, and if anyone tried to take it away from her, even to wash it, she’d scream like you’d lit her hair on fire.

  Seated next to Josie at the Bell’s large ovular dining table, Solomon took a large sip from his glass. If she weren’t missing, Natasha would have deemed Solomon a party-pooper and would have surprised Josie with a fancy birthday dinner. She would have had the waitress deliver a slice of cake with a sparkler, told her make a wish! Natasha never revealed her birthday wishes, but always asked Josie to share hers. Had Natasha not been missing, they would have made up by now, Josie is certain. The two had never missed each other’s birthdays since childhood. They unequivocally would have made up by now. Of course they would have.

  Josie had phoned Natasha’s direct supervisor at work and talked to her for an hour, trying to determine if she’d noticed anything during Natasha’s shift that day. Had she tended to any patients that could have become obsessed with her? Angry with her? The nursing supervisor had patiently explained that she could not release information about hospital patients, but had tried to reassure Josie that she had no information she thought was relevant. They all missed Natasha, she said. Several of Natasha’s co-workers had helped with the searches, and they had posters prominently displayed in the hospital common areas—cafeteria, nursing stations, waiting rooms, the gift shop. After this phone call, which had, in Josie’s mind, yielded nothing, Detective Foley had called her and scolded her for interrogating people, telling her she didn’t have the relevant training, that he had already spoken to Natasha’s co-workers. “Do you want to mess up the investigation?” he’d challenged her.

  There was no empty seat at the table left for Natasha, Josie noticed. In her family, they’d had designated seats. Josie would never have sat in Jay’s seat or either of her parents’ seats, or vice versa. Solomon passed Josie the crystal salad bowl and Josie plucked some crisp romaine and dropped it on her salad plate. At her place were a salad plate and a bread plate and a dinner plate and a salad fork and a dinner fork and a dessert fork. For the past month, Josie had eaten mostly granola bars, drank mostly black coffee and bottled water. Snacks from the volunteer table, donated in bulk by various grocery stores. Not that there wasn’t food everywhere—in the first few days and weeks of Natasha’s absence, it seemed like everyone—their church congregation, Natasha’s co-workers, neighbours—had a casserole to drop off. Natasha’s freezer filled to capacity. Josie had taken some of the excess home and slid them into her own freezer, feeling too guilty to throw them out. Even Josie’s own parents had supplied some meals. But she didn’t have any appetite. What would all the food solve? Eventually, it would just go bad.

  Two days earlier, she’d reached into a child-sized bag of potato chips and discovered a chip folded over on itself with the edges touching. A wish chip, she and Tash had called these, in elementary school. Th
ey’d played rock, paper, scissors to determine who got to eat such chips and therefore claim the wishes. The day she’d found the wish chip, Josie had excused herself and locked herself in the community centre bathroom—they’d had to move the command centre out of Natasha’s house because it wasn’t large enough for the volume of searchers. She wouldn’t cry. What good would that do? She closed her eyes, ate the chip in one bite, as per their childhood rule. Otherwise, her wish wouldn’t come true.

  At the dinner table, Josie slid the salad bowl to Kayla, Natasha’s stepsister, and Kayla said, “Thanks,” and then went back to a conversation she was having about how one of her bridesmaids had gained twelve pounds. Apparently it was a lot more difficult to take out a dress than to take in a dress. Josie wasn’t sure who the conversation was actually with—Kayla seemed to be doing most of the talking. Josie’s stomach felt too small for the thick slice of lasagna Kathleen had served her.

  Had Solomon even remembered her birthday? Or was his lack of acknowledgement just a reflection of his overall stance on holidays? The first year of marriage was supposed to be the hardest. But they were almost through the first year, now, so things would probably get better. Solomon had helped since day one of Natasha’s absence, rallied the parishioners of their church to join the search parties, to start prayer groups, to circulate fliers and emails with the address to her blog. The choir director’s teenaged daughter had sung “Amazing Grace” a cappella to mark the opening of their last search, and the words repeated in Josie’s head while she and Solomon made love that night. Josie hadn’t wanted to—she had too many things to organize, she wanted to update the blog and she needed to call the station—but she made love to Solomon anyway, with “Amazing Grace” knocking around in her brain. Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come; ’Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far, And grace will lead me home.

  She needed to call the station to follow up about the house under construction down the street from Natasha’s. She took a small bite, then another, while Kayla prattled on beside her. There would have been men there, workers, who could have observed Natasha and Abby, two young, vulnerable females, living alone. When Josie lived alone, before she was married, she carried a rape whistle and pepper spray. These men could have seen Natasha go running during the days or weeks leading up to her disappearance. An abandoned home would be the perfect site to hold someone against her will. Detective Foley had said that he’d looked into it, that they’d searched the property as well as a few other houses under construction in the vicinity, but they hadn’t found any evidence. Still… Paul and Kathleen’s residence was currently undergoing renovations. Coming out of the upstairs bathroom at one point over the last month, she’d bumped into a burly handyman stretching a measuring tape from floor to ceiling. She’d hurried downstairs, her heart racing, and called her brother, inhaling, exhaling, until she felt safe.

  According to Detective Foley, K9 bloodhounds had been unable to detect anything further than the curb. Natasha’s scent, Detective Foley had explained, would be more concentrated around the house and its immediate surroundings, and then become further degraded, especially given the storm. But had they had the dogs search the partially constructed house near Natasha’s? What if the dogs picked up her scent there, among the skeletal walls? If Natasha had been held there, against her will, at some point, could the dogs not tell? Would her smell not be all over the place, even after the storm? Natasha smelled like fruit and hand santizer. When Detective Foley finished with searches of Natasha’s house, Josie had snuck up into her friend’s master bathroom, unscrewed the top to a bottle of Natasha’s raspberry shampoo, and inhaled. Even if she wasn’t in the house under construction now, it didn’t mean that she hadn’t been at some point. She could have been transferred to a second location by the perpetrator or perpetrators.

  Only a few bites into her dinner, Josie already felt bloated, but she didn’t want to be rude by not finishing. She would eat and then try to find a good moment to talk to Paul—she hadn’t had a chance earlier in the day, and she didn’t want to bring it up now with Abby right there. When she’d first seen Abby after Natasha disappeared, Josie had questioned her at length, and so had Paul and Kathleen, Greg, and Detective Foley. But afterwards, Josie had felt guilty—Abby was so young, and in shock. Did Abby know about the argument between Josie and Natasha? Would Natasha have said something to her sister? Probably not, but Natasha had gone home that night so upset, maybe she’d vented to Abby about it. Then again, Josie doubted Natasha would have told Abby about Josie’s suggestion of adoption for Abby’s unborn child. Josie had seen Abby nearly every day for a month and Abby had not let on that she knew that Josie and Natasha had had a fight. No, fight was the wrong word. Argument. Or, maybe spat. Had Natasha not gone missing, they would have resolved things by now. Undoubtedly. They’d always resolved things in the past.

  Josie felt so angry with Christ. Why would He take Natasha away from them? How was that part of His will? What good could possibly come from that? She wasn’t supposed to feel angry at Christ, but she did. Or maybe what she was feeling was Christ’s anger at her.

  At the dinner table, when Kayla fell silent for a moment, Solomon put down his wine glass, and said, “I forgot, your mom dropped off a home video earlier today. She thought you’d want to see it.”

  Josie forced herself to swallow. “A home video?”

  “Of you and Natasha as kids.”

  Her heart seized.

  “Did you bring it?” Abby blurted.

  Why hadn’t Solomon mentioned it earlier, on their drive over? How could he forget something so important?

  He took another swig of wine. “Yeah, it’s in my bag.”

  Josie, Abby, and Paul immediately abandoned their dinner, and Josie retrieved the VHS tape from Solomon’s canvas bag. She hunched in the corner of the sofa beside Abby. Abby hadn’t let go of the baby throughout the entire meal, holding the sleeping infant in the crook of one arm, picking at her food with the other. Abby seemed to have lost all of her baby weight all at once. Josie would have to check on Abby more, make sure she was eating. Natasha would want that. Paul fiddled with the VCR. Up close, Josie could smell Summer’s sweet powdery smell.

  “I can hold her, if you want a break,” she offered.

  Abby shook her head emphatically. “I’m okay.” She readjusted the sleeping infant, and Summer yawned, her tiny lips blooming for a brief moment.

  And then the TV changed from static fuzz to the kitchen of the home Natasha had lived in as a child. Kids crowded around the table. Josie immediately spotted Natasha, in a pink party dress and a yellow paper crown, the kind pulled from a party cracker. Right beside Tash, she spotted herself, in a blue gingham party dress that matched Jason’s blue plaid shirt. Her mother had always dressed the twins alike. A large birthday cake, iced fluffy pink with yellow candles, sat in front of Natasha. A few adults moved in and out of the shot, none of whom Josie recognized. Josie’s mother’s voice began singing “Happy Birthday;” it was probably her mother behind the camera, Josie inferred. A chorus of voices chimed in, and Josie watched her little girl self put her arm around little girl Natasha as Natasha puffed her cheeks and blew. Everyone cheered. Little Jason sang, “And many mooooore.”

  Then Natasha’s mother stepped into the shot, her dark brown curls fluffed around her face, as was the style then. She kissed Natasha on top of her head before exiting the shot. Josie had so few memories of Natasha’s biological mother. She hadn’t thought about her in years.

  Kathleen stood up and walked out of the room. Abby’s eyes, fixed on the screen, looked enormous.

  “How does it feel,” Josie heard her own mother ask Natasha from behind the camera, “to be nine years old?”

  Natasha looked straight into the camera, her moment in the spotlight. “It’s the best day of my life!”

  Then the screen went fuzzy for a second, cut to a scene of Josie and Jason at Pigeon Lake. Jason’s fuzzy shape ran headlong into t
he water, and Josie, in a purple one-piece bathing suit, licked a strawberry ice cream cone. “Fast forward,” Josie instructed. But there were no more shots of Natasha on the remainder of the tape.

  When Josie and Solomon got home, Solomon took a long shower, and Josie sat on the foot of the bed, pulled at a loose thread on the marital quilt Solomon’s mother had given them. Then she got up, logged into the computer, and checked her email. Jason had sent her a message with an attachment.

  Hey sis tried to call you earlier but I guess you were out

  just wanted to say happy birthday from me and Finn

  When she clicked on the attachment, a picture opened slowly on the screen, loading one line at a time. Their Internet connection was so slow. Row by row, it finally revealed her twin brother’s smiling face and the adorable grin of her nephew. Having just seen the home videos, she thought Finn looked a lot like she and Jason had as children.

  At least someone had remembered her birthday.

  When Solomon came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, Josie went in herself and locked the bathroom door, knelt in front of the toilet and vomited the lasagna that had sat heavy in her abdomen, nagging at her since dinner. The tile felt cold underneath her bare knees.

  When she finally went back into their bedroom, Solomon was already asleep. She lay beside him, listening to his breathing, not sure if she wanted him to hold her. Maybe. Maybe not. Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail, And mortal life shall cease, I shall possess, within the veil, A life of joy and peace. It sounded too easy.

  NATASHA

  AUGUST 2001

  The first few seconds after waking—seconds, really, a few breaths, maybe, before it all splashes back.