The Good Neighbor

by Cathryn Grant

  I knew it was the people who used to live next door because there was a picture of them with Brittany in the online version of their local newspaper. They were all smiley and happy and acting like my daughter belonged to them. It had taken a minute for me to figure out who they were. They looked a little older, and the woman was thinner than when they lived next to me. But that fake smile of his and that pointy nose of hers came rushing back to me after I stared at the picture for a while.

  When I saw that sharp bone of her nose, I remembered one night when I was tucking Brittany into bed. I looked up at the window and I saw that nose, that face peering into her room. I’d recognize it anywhere. At the time, I thought I imagined it, that the drugs were making me hallucinate or something. But now I knew they’d been watching her. They were finding out when she went to sleep and planning how they could take her.

  Why hadn’t I figured it out a long time ago? They were always talking to Brittany, giving her snacks, and ringing my doorbell to ask why was she playing outside, it was so dark, when it was only dusk. They were always asking how I was, saying are you okay and was Brittany okay? They lived twenty feet away from us. Their kitchen window looked right into mine. I remembered how Brittany used to disappear for hours in the afternoon. I thought she was playing with the other kids on the street, but when I thought back now, she never talked about those kids. And once, one of them threw a rock at her, so I was pretty sure they weren’t besties.

  Brittany was so close yet so far away. I’d found her and now she was missing again! I needed to figure out a way to help find her. There’s nothing like a child’s blood mother to go above and beyond. She was still missing because they weren’t trying hard enough. No one on the entire planet loved that girl as much as I did. No one could feel her presence, feel her life like I could, even if she was far away and I had no idea where she was. I was not going to sit around one more minute waiting for the people who stole her. It was up to me to find her.

  32

  Moira

  Alan ordered a pizza delivered, and we ate while watching the national news. Brittany’s abduction was gone from the local news, two reports and done, because there were no new teasers, clues, stories to shock. I couldn’t bear to watch it and see her ignored.

  After one slice of cheese and vegetables, my stomach roiled and pinched in upon itself. I did manage a full glass of wine before my stomach rebelled, and was now sipping a second in a failed attempt to calm what was happening in my digestive system. I leaned my head on the back of the couch, my glass on the table in front of me. Alan’s legs were stretched out, his feet propped on the table, a magazine beneath his heels to keep his skin off the satiny wood.

  He uncrossed his ankles, turned off the TV, and stood. “We should go for a walk.”

  “Why?”

  “We need to get out of this house more. Going to that barbecue got me out of my head. Honestly, it was a relief.”

  “I’m not sure I feel up to it.” I picked up my glass and took a sip. The white wine was too warm. I set the glass back on the table.

  “It will make us feel better.”

  “Nothing makes me feel better.”

  He reached for my hand. “Come on. It’s good to move. If you don’t feel better, why not at least give your body what it needs?”

  I closed my eyes.

  “Come on, Moira. This isn’t helping.”

  “I was interested in the news.”

  “You weren’t. Except when you were taking a bite of pizza, you had your eyes closed.”

  I opened them now, as if doing so would prove him wrong in some childish, idiotic way. I still hadn’t told him about Crystal finding us, about her messages to Taylor. I hadn’t told him that Taylor snuck into our house. I needed to do that before Taylor said something. Before…I didn’t know. I just needed to tell him. He needed to know so we could figure out how to handle it. But he’d be wildly upset that I hadn’t mentioned it until now, and I didn’t feel like I could manage his upset alongside the noise going on inside my own head, my own heart.

  I stood and carried our wineglasses to the kitchen. I poured the contents of mine down the drain. He closed up the pizza box and put it in the fridge, adding it to the packages of half-eaten food that filled every shelf, overflowing the space with casseroles that probably needed to be tossed. I couldn’t bring myself to do that either. Contemplating throwing away spoiled food was another stab in my heart, piercing me with the knowledge that Brittany had been gone so long the food was going bad.

  He suggested we walk along one of the trails in the open preserve. I didn’t want to be out there, thinking that Brittany might have been dragged or carried across that unfriendly terrain. Then I realized we might find something. It wasn’t as if the search had been exhaustive. It was impossible to search every square inch. Maybe the dog had missed a small part. While it was a foolishly optimistic hope, thinking this filled me with adrenaline. I changed into jeans and athletic shoes, and we went out through the back gate into the preserve.

  We walked for over an hour. It was clear that Alan had had the same thought, because both of us spent most of the time not speaking, staring at the ground, kicking at shrubs and clumps of grass that had turned brown and grown brittle after months without rain. We found nothing and I think we were both fighting tears as the darkness moved over us and we started back toward the house. In our effort to get home before the light from the sun had faded completely, we walked quickly.

  This was the time to tell him. I couldn’t avoid it any longer. “Alan, slow down.”

  “It’s almost dark.”

  “I know, but I need to tell you something.”

  He slowed his pace. I took his hand. He squeezed mine in return, pleased, I think, that I was touching him without it being a search for comfort in the midst of tears, as most of our touching had been since that horrible night. “Crystal sent a message to Taylor through the Facebook page.”

  He stopped and let go of my hand. “What did she say?”

  “I didn’t read it. Taylor did.”

  “Well, what did she say?”

  “She’s been sending a lot of messages.”

  “Okay.”

  “She recognized Brittany.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  “I guess mothers don’t forget.”

  He looked at me then, his eyes bright even in the spreading darkness. “I guess not,” he whispered.

  We continued walking, slowly now, our arms brushing against each other, neither of us reaching for the other’s hand.

  When our house was in sight, he spoke. “What does she want?”

  “Isn’t that obvious?”

  He sighed.

  “There’s more.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She told Taylor to check our photographs, to look for the birthmark. Taylor took my keys during the barbecue…”

  “What the hell?”

  “Yeah. I found her in Brittany’s bedroom. And she saw.”

  “She had no right.”

  “I think she already knew. She wouldn’t have looked if she didn’t already believe Crystal.”

  “Shit.” He kicked the root of a tree at the side of the path.

  “I’m scared.”

  He put his arm around me, slowing our progress further, but it felt good, so I didn’t mind. We could make our way home in the dark.

  “I told her.”

  “Told her what?” Alan’s arm dropped off my shoulders. He stopped and grabbed my upper arms, turning me toward him.

  “That we took her.”

  “Why? Why would you do that?”

  “I had to. I explained how Crystal was, how Brittany bonded with us, how she wanted to be with us. I told her we didn’t really take her, that she wanted to live with us.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Not much. I think she understands though.”

  “No. I guarantee she does not understand. No one would understand.”


  “I think she does. I don’t think she’s going to say anything.”

  “You don’t know that. You can’t be sure. Why did you tell her?”

  “I had to. It was better than letting her guess and not understand the reasons, not get a full picture of what Crystal is like, her behavior. The neglect.”

  He sighed. “Okay. Maybe I see your point. But still…what—”

  “I don’t think she’ll say anything. I told her that once Brittany’s safe, she can ask her if she remembers Crystal. But we won’t let that happen.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “We’ll need to move,” I said. “Soon.”

  “We’ll see how it goes. You need to keep close to her. Find out who she talks to. Do you think she told Duncan? Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

  “We didn’t discuss it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I didn’t think of it. I mean, I told her not to tell anyone. Hopefully she got that.”

  “Hopefully? What are you thinking? After all this? You can’t operate on hope.”

  “She gets it. I’m sure of it. She hugged me.”

  “Oh, she hugged you. Well, that’s proof she’ll keep a crime hidden for the rest of her life.”

  “She didn’t refer to it as a crime. She was crying a little when I described what Brittany’s life was like, how it would have been if we hadn’t saved her.”

  He let go of my arms. I rubbed them gently. They ached from the pressure of his fingers digging into my bones.

  “Then maybe my insurance policy is a good thing,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I pressured Taylor to shut down the Facebook page.”

  “Well, she didn’t do it.”

  “For a while she did. A day or so.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I sent a few mild threats, but I can send something stronger.”

  “I’m not sure that was a good idea. Besides, what if the page turns out to be helpful in finding Brittany?”

  “It was all I could think of. We have to do something. You put us at risk for prison. Do you realize that?”

  “I don’t think she’ll—”

  “We don’t even know her,” Alan said, his voice rising. “We have no idea what she’ll do, especially when she has time to think about it.”

  “Well don’t send any more threats! What if you get caught?”

  “What if Taylor tells Duncan, or the police? Or anyone at all?”

  “I don’t even want to talk about this. I want her home!”

  He put his arms around me and pulled me close. “Someone knows where she is. She’s out there, alive. Someone will see her, I can feel it.”

  “I feel the same way. Sometimes.” I sighed and let myself collapse against him. His footing remained solid. He was always my rock. The ever-present tears flooded my eyes. I closed them. “I don’t trust that kid across the street. He was always staring at Brittany. And he’s hiding something. It’s so obvious.”

  He pulled back. “I agree. I made one of the threats sound as if it came from him. I used that bizarre comment you told me from the night she was taken.”

  “What comment?”

  “Don’t scratch that itch too hard.”

  “Does that even make sense?”

  “It did at the time.”

  “I talked to Taylor about not trusting that kid. He’s not even a kid. He’s an adult. I thought she’d mention it to Officer Carter, but I don’t think she has.”

  “You should call Carter. Tell them they jumped to conclusions. You should tell them to take another look at him. Why would he be saying things about Brittany and our family that aren’t true? He’s got an agenda.”

  I nodded even though he couldn’t see me, walking a few steps ahead of me, leading the way along the uneven terrain. “That’s a good idea. And I’m not doing it to punish him. Maybe he really knows something. They haven’t tried hard enough.”

  “She could be closer than we realize,” Alan said.

  We walked quickly along the trail, once again staring at the ground, trying to make out gopher holes and other obstacles in the path. After a few minutes, Alan pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight to guide us back to our gate.

  33

  Brittany: Before

  I couldn’t tell whether Luke and the other kids wanted me hanging out with them, but they hadn’t told me to leave, so I stayed. I’m sure they thought I was a little kid compared to them. One girl, Ashling, was extra nice to me. She showed me how to smoke the joint, and she didn’t laugh when I coughed and choked and started crying. She handed her water bottle to me and then asked if I wanted to try it again.

  After a while, I had a routine.

  I browsed around on the computer until a little before one in the morning. Then I climbed out my window and crossed the cul-de-sac. I didn’t talk much; I mostly listened. I didn’t understand a lot of the things they talked about, but I was learning. I’d remember the names of bands and movies they talked about and I’d look them up the next time before I went out. Obviously I couldn’t watch the movies, but I read what Rotten Tomatoes had to say, and that gave me enough information so I didn’t sound like a complete moron.

  My mother would hate that I thought I was a moron. She would say I was much smarter, that there was no comparison between me and those kids. Maybe I did know a lot of things they didn’t, but so what? They knew about the world and I was like a wild animal raised in captivity. It was one thing my parents never seemed to think about. What would happen when I was grown up, tossed into the world like an elephant from the zoo let loose in the Serengeti with no idea how to take care of itself?

  Sleeping only a few hours a night was hard. I slept from nine until eleven thirty and then managed an hour or two before my mother woke me at six. I was tired during the day though. I couldn’t focus on my schoolwork. Even though it was summer, we did three hours of work in the mornings. My parents felt that was one of so many things wrong with the educational system. Months of time off in the summer allowed kids to develop bad habits. They forgot half of what they’d learned, which meant the first month back at school was spent recapping the year before. It was one reason history and science were weak areas for most kids. Not to mention math. My dad could really get going on what was wrong with math instruction in every single school in the entire country.

  Despite being tired, I was liking my life and hanging out, laughing, and having a good time with my new friends. I liked that Luke and his friends put up with me, and I liked listening to their jokes and finding out what other kids were like outside the world my parents had constructed for me.

  One night our internet connection was having hiccups. Maybe the internet provider was working on the line, I don’t know, but the YouTube videos kept buffering.

  After a while, I gave up. It was only twelve fifteen. I didn’t want to show up too early. I think they tolerated me because they were already high by the time I got out there. To kill some time, I opened the photo app.

  Seeing those thousands of pictures glide past my eyes again was too much. I didn’t see why they needed so many pictures of me, of all of us. I guess when it’s so easy to take them, and you want to remember every fun moment, you keep taking them. I knew they were always snapping pictures, but I’d never thought about how days and days of pictures added up to something so enormous. It was almost as if they were obsessed with me. Of course, parents are always kind of obsessed with their kids, but this was crazy.

  I never thought much about all the photographs and videos they’d taken. We usually watched the videos right after we shot them. Sometimes we’d watch them again after a vacation, but that was about it. It was the same with the photographs. My mom framed quite a lot of pictures and hung them in the hallway and in our bedrooms. There were a few framed photographs on a narrow table in the living room. She also made me little books with photos, captioned with things I’d said or describing activities wi
th my friends shown in the pictures. They were uploaded to a website where she designed the book, and a week later it would arrive in the mail. I kept them on the shelf with my other books, though after looking at them once, I didn’t usually go back through. I had a book from a camping trip, one from when we went to the snow, and books from trips to Yellowstone Park and Williamsburg.

  As I browsed more slowly through the photographs on the computer, something started to feel not quite right. I scrolled up and down, my and my parents’ faces flying past me.

  Finally, I realized. There were no pictures of me when I was a baby. I scrolled through the app more slowly. There were pictures from our last house, the attic room where my mom read to me all the time and we did puzzles and played make-believe games. There were pictures of me and my mom in matching dresses she bought for Mother’s Day when I was six. But there were no birthday parties, no vacations, no baby pictures at all before I was four or five years old. Nothing.

  I started opening up files all over the computer. I did a search for files with the .jpg extension and combed through a few folders before I finally got bored clicking and opening each one.

  I closed the computer and locked the screen.

  I returned to my bedroom and climbed out through the window as always. It was a lot of effort. I felt like I didn’t have any energy left. For a moment, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to hoist myself back up to climb through the window when I returned. Although I was confused and exhausted, I couldn’t not go out there. I needed to see my friends, so I’d have to manage the energy somehow. I didn’t want to lose the only friends I’d ever picked out for myself.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about all those pictures. It didn’t make sense. My head ached, and at the same time it felt like someone had pumped carbonated water into my skull and my brain was sort of floating on those tiny bubbles. I couldn’t really hold onto a thought for more than a few seconds.