by Nicole Baart
IT WAS A nightmare. A slow-motion tragedy that played out in tears and disbelief, followed by fury and then absolute mayhem. Jess stayed in the garage while Meredith went into the house to talk to the boys. It was Jessica’s decision: she knew that everything raw and real in her would revolt if she saw her sons’ reactions to Meredith’s grim news. Jess didn’t trust herself. What would she do? Throw things or scream like a madwoman or barricade them all in a bedroom and refuse to ever come out? She would make everything a hundred times worse. And they would never let her get away with it. Meredith hadn’t brought Officer Tunis along because they were friends.
The policeman stood with his back against the garage wall and scuffed the floor with his foot. The toe of his shoe made a half-moon pattern in the dust on the smooth concrete, and he took care to get the arc of the curved line just right. He didn’t want to be there, Jess could tell. He snuck her the occasional sympathetic glance, but it made her skin crawl to think that he pitied her. So she ignored him, or tried to, and wrung her hands together in her lap. Jess hadn’t moved from the bench—she didn’t trust her legs to support her—so she did the only thing she could think to do: she prayed while a storm was raging inside her heart and inside her house. It was less a prayer than a guttural cry, a groan, a sob, a lament.
The shouts were audible even with the garage door closed. A thump, two, and then the sound of running feet. Each sound tore through Jessica as easily as a bullet and left her spent and bleeding.
On her fingers, Jess cataloged the people who she suspected of making the call that would rip her children from her. Cara Tisdale. Jake Holmes. Mr. Henderson and Betty. Who else had seen or heard or suspected something they deemed irresponsible? Cody De Jager. Caitlyn Wilson. Anthony Bartels. Officer Tunis. A gym full of people as she carried a crying Gabe out. Jess had run out of fingers, and Meredith had once told her that all it took was a single accusation. Just one. Once Child Protective Services was involved, there was protocol that had to be followed. An investigation. Possibly drug testing, a mental health evaluation, interviews with neighbors and friends, teachers and relatives who may have witnessed something incriminating. They would sink their teeth into her past, eager to lay bare the bones of her every mistake and misstep. It all counted—and it would all count against her.
When the door to the garage finally opened and Meredith stepped out, it was to wave at Officer Tunis in surrender. His hands were jammed deep in the pockets of his coat and he gave her a hunch-shouldered shrug as if to say, “Who, me?”
“I’m going to need your help,” Meredith said.
He hesitated for a moment, and in those spare seconds Jessica pulled herself to her feet. “I’ll do it,” she said, staggering toward the door.
“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Meredith shook her head, her expression unreadable. Was there sorrow there? Regret? Jess sure hoped so. But she wasn’t about to let Meredith stop her either way.
Jess didn’t slow down when she reached the place where Meredith stood with her arms spread wide across the doorframe. It looked as if she would block her, refuse to let Jess pass, but when it became clear that Jessica would run her down to get through, Meredith sighed and fell back.
“Please don’t make this harder than it already is,” Meredith said.
Jess didn’t acknowledge her.
The house seemed so different Jess had to blink to get her bearings. How could a few minutes change her life so irrevocably? But she already knew that the entire world could be transformed in the span of a second. Nothing would ever be the same. Even if she got her boys back tomorrow, nothing could erase the fact that today they had been taken away. She couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t protect them.
“Mommy?” Gabe was curled up on the couch, knees pulled tight to his chest and enveloped completely by Max’s long arms. Both boys looked stricken, and Gabe’s eyes were puffy and red from crying. Max had been crying, too; Jess could see it in the flush of his damp cheeks.
Jess crossed the space between them and sunk to her knees in front of the couch. The boys untangled themselves and knotted their arms and legs around Jess so she didn’t know where she stopped and they began. Someone’s fingers kneaded her back desperately, and though the pinch was painful, Jess welcomed it. They were so solid, so real, so immediately in her arms. Gabe’s neck was salty where she kissed it and Max was sharp with the scent of cheap deodorant spray and the acrid tang of fear. He seemed to be a small, frightened little boy instead of the almost-man he was.
“Meredith is going to take you to Grandpa and Anna’s house,” Jess whispered against Max’s hair. She kissed his head where she could reach it. The curve of his ear, his jaw. He didn’t pull away.
“Why?”
“Because. Just for a little while.”
“How long?” Gabe squeezed her extra hard, lacing his fingers together around her neck as if he could permanently attach himself to her. As if clinging tightly could stop Meredith and Officer Tunis from taking him away.
“I don’t know, bug. Not long, okay?”
“But you promised.”
Jess felt all the air leave her in a panicked squeak. She was spiraling, dread pulling her under by centrifugal force. Surely she would drown.
“It’s a mistake,” Max said. He pulled back a little but kept one hand on Jessica’s shoulder and the other arm wrapped tight around Gabe. “This is all just a misunderstanding.”
“Max is right.” Jess fixed her eldest with a look of such love and wonder his eyes filled and his lip quivered. She dug deep and somehow managed to give him a small, brave smile. “We’ll get this figured out in no time, okay? And in the meantime, you get to spend Thanksgiving with Grandpa.”
“And Anna,” Gabe added.
“Yes, and Anna. She makes the best pumpkin pie, remember?”
It was pumpkin pie made from a can of puree and generic frozen crust, but Anna topped it with a swirl of homemade cinnamon whipped cream. Gabe loved it, and his expression brightened a little at the thought. It was devastating to see him smile in spite of his swollen nose and bloodshot eyes. Jess pressed a quick, hard kiss to his forehead and stood before she lost her resolve.
“They’re ready,” Jess told Meredith.
Meredith was standing in the living room, watching Jessica say her good-byes. Something in Jess severed at the sight of her best friend watching her writhe in pain, and when Meredith moved in for a hug, Jessica stepped away.
“Not now,” Jess said. What she meant was: “Not ever again.” She knew it was part of Meredith’s job. That her friend was trying to spare her the indignity of having a stranger come into her house and tear her life to shreds. Jess’s mind skittered to the thought of a stranger taking her children into their bedrooms and inspecting their bodies for injuries that she allegedly may have inflicted. When Jess had smoothed lotion on Gabe’s dewy skin just that morning, she had run her fingers over shallow cuts on his skinny legs, a couple bruises, and a dark, black thumbprint on his hip. Who knew where or how children amassed their many minor wounds? Running and jumping and losing track of the corners of tables and doorways and walls. Jess had never once lifted a hand in anger toward her children. She hardly believed in time-outs, never mind spankings. But she knew what each mark would look like to someone searching for evidence of wrongdoing.
Maybe Meredith deserved a thank-you for sparing Jessica from all that. But Jess couldn’t bring herself to do it. She couldn’t even look at Meredith.
Jess gave her boys one last, crushing hug. First Gabe, who clung to her and then decided he would ask Grandpa to take them out for supper. After all, it was almost like Friday since they didn’t have school in the morning.
Max’s emotions were a little more complicated. “I hate her,” he whispered into Jessica’s neck.
She shushed him, cradling the back of his head. “She’s just doing her job.”
Max started to say something but seemed to think better of it.
“Text me anytim
e,” Jess murmured. “Call me. Day or night. I’ll answer it. I promise.”
Max took a shuddering breath, squeezed Jess one last time, and then left without a backward glance. He took Gabe by the hand and the two of them disappeared into the garage.
“Get out,” Jess whispered, staring at the spot where her boys had been only seconds before.
“Jess?” Meredith took a tentative step toward her.
“I said get out.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Jess could see Meredith hang her head. Then she sighed heavily and walked slowly to the door. When she shut it behind her, it barely clicked. The house was shrouded in silence. It wasn’t until Jess saw Meredith’s car drive past the front window that she let herself go. She was a marionette whose strings had been cut, a body who exhaled its soul. Her scream was enough to splinter glass.
* * *
Jess refused to answer her phone. It rang and rang, sometimes with barely a pause between cycles, so she turned off the ringer. Her father texted instead.
I want to come over but have been advised to keep my distance. At least for today. I’m so sorry, honey.
Jess didn’t respond. She didn’t want to see anyone anyway.
We’ll work this out, I promise.
A few minutes later her phone vibrated again: I’ve talked to a lawyer.
She thought: You are a lawyer.
Henry read her mind. We need someone who’s not related. I called the best. We’re meeting on Friday.
Friday? But it was only Wednesday afternoon. Jess couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing her boys for two days. Then a horrifying realization gripped her. Jess wasn’t sure if she was even allowed to see Max and Gabe. The earth gave way and she was falling again, sobbing again.
Jess had so many questions, and she knew that Meredith could answer them, but there was no way she was calling up her former best friend to chat about the fact that the formidable Mrs. Bailey had just forcibly removed her sons. She seethed with anger instead. Considered how justified she would be in smashing Meredith’s face in, then cried until she felt wrung out and dehydrated. Tried to ignore her father’s texts.
At some point she grabbed her phone and googled “how to get my kids back.” She regretted it almost immediately.
Be honest with yourself, was the first piece of advice. Jess was supposed to get real, evaluate what went wrong, and set up a plan to ensure that the same mistakes would never be made again. My husband died, Jess wanted to shout. In a horrific, unexpected way, and I’m not convinced it was an accident. My life has been a giant extenuating circumstance . . . But there was no one to listen, and the rest of the steps were equally baffling and unspeakable. Acquire legal counsel, request a psychological evaluation, be patient and compliant. Jess didn’t want to do any of those things. But the final imperative made her heart turn to stone in her chest: Don’t give anyone a reason to think you’re unfit to parent. What did that even mean? She just wanted her kids back.
But curling up the edges of her shock and grief was the specter of shame. Was Jess a bad mother? Had she neglected her children? There was hardly a day that went by that she wasn’t racked with guilt over some parental blunder. She yelled when she should whisper and disciplined when what her boys really needed was her time and attention. Maybe she deserved this. And maybe her boys deserved a better life than she could provide for them. The thought made her physically sick.
By the time the sun had dipped below the edge of the horizon and the living room was bathed in an eerie purple light, Jess was hollow as a shell. She was broken, empty. And when someone knocked softly on her door, she didn’t get up to answer it or even move from where she was cowering on the couch.
“Jess?” Meredith’s voice preceded her presence and Jessica felt herself recoil.
“Go away,” she croaked, her voice hoarse from disuse and weeping.
“No.” Meredith appeared in the doorway to the mudroom. She leaned against the jamb and slipped off her shoes. Instead of coming any closer, though, she lingered in the entryway. Just the fact that she was hesitating caused Jess to look up. Meredith usually moved with purpose, with intent. She had little room for regret, and even in this terrible thing Jess expected her to be firm. Justified. But Meredith looked anything but sure of the role she had played in breaking Jessica’s heart. Her hair was tangled, the part crooked and drawn at an unflattering angle for her face. And she was wearing a thick sweatshirt several sizes too big. It made her seem lumpy and heavier than she was—a look that Meredith would never usually step out of the house in. She didn’t look like herself. And she wasn’t acting like herself, either.
“I don’t want you here.” Jess glared, pretending that seeing Meredith so disheveled didn’t prick her. She didn’t want to love her, but their friendship wasn’t going to be so easily discarded. “I can’t talk to you right now.”
“I didn’t have a choice.” Meredith spread out her arms in supplication or surrender, Jessica couldn’t tell. “You don’t understand. And I can’t explain it to you. But you have to believe that I was trying to protect you. All I’ve ever tried to do is protect you.”
Jess almost rolled her eyes at the melodrama. As if this were some cosmic battle between good and evil. As though Meredith alone held the keys to all that was fair and right, Jessica’s would-be savior in tortoiseshell glasses and turquoise fingernail polish.
Meredith gave her a long, sad look, then seemed to decide something. She ignored Jess’s protests as she marched past her into the kitchen.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jess cried. But she didn’t have the energy to follow Meredith or try to kick her out of the house. Jess’s legs were twisted beneath her, tingling and heavy with lack of circulation. She felt anchored to the couch, bound by anguish and the hopeless understanding that her reasons for living were just outside of her reach.
A few minutes later, Meredith appeared with two glasses. Tennessee Honey, by the look of the golden molasses shine. Wordlessly, Meredith handed one glass to Jessica and brought the other to her lips. She drank it quickly, finishing it with a bit of a grimace and a harsh exhale.
Jess thought for just a second that she shouldn’t be drinking, but grief evaporated that fragile sentiment. Tipping the glass, she swallowed the shot Meredith had given her. It was bitter when it should have been sweet, but Jess decided that anything mixed with misery would be.
Meredith reached for her empty glass and took them both back into the kitchen. Jess could hear the water running and the snap of the dish towel as Meredith cleaned the glasses. A cupboard door opened and closed. Then a few long, quiet minutes passed before Meredith finally came back into the living room. She sat on the edge of the chair next to the couch.
“I’m sorry,” she said simply. “I never wanted it to be this way. I never meant to hurt you.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
Meredith held her gaze. “I know it doesn’t. But I also need you to know that I’m only doing what I have to do.”
“You could have fought for me.”
“Believe me, I did. Sometimes we have to do hard things, Jessica. Things that other people might not understand.”
“You’re supposed to be my best friend.” Jess was horrified when her voice came out a whimper. It was pathetic, laced with self-pity. But she couldn’t help it. Jess brushed fresh tears from her eyes, disappointed to discover that she hadn’t, in fact, cried every last drop, and furious that she was wasting what was left on Meredith.
“I tried,” Meredith said. “I really did.”
“I want you to go.”
Meredith nodded and took a deep breath. She used her thumb to smooth away a tear that had left a trail down her own cheek. So she did have feelings. This did affect her. But Meredith shattered the delicate moment by asking: “Where is it, Jess?”
“Where is what?”
“Evan’s file.”
In the terror of the afternoon, Jess had forgotten all
about Evan’s file. It had been overshadowed by her suddenly much bigger, much more devastating problem. “I don’t know, Mer.” Jess heard herself call Meredith by her nickname. It was fingernails on a chalkboard, a sudden, painful screech. She tried again, but her words felt slow and thick in her mouth. “Why do you care?”
Meredith clapped her hands on her knees and stood up. “I’ll find it, Jessica. You might as well just tell me where it is.”
“They’re mine,” Jess said, but she wasn’t sure anymore if she was talking about Evan’s papers or her boys. “You can’t take them away from me.”
Meredith disappeared from her line of sight, and Jessica unwound her legs to follow. They were unusually dense, dull and unresponsive though she kept telling herself: Go! When her feet finally flopped to the floor, Jess was engulfed in a wave of nausea. The room spun, blurring at the edges until she squeezed her eyes shut and leaned forward on her bent arms, forehead in her clammy hands.
When was the last time she had eaten? Jess couldn’t recall. And she remembered now why she shouldn’t have had that drink. Her doctor had said Xanax and alcohol should never mix. How much was in the glass Meredith had given her? Jess couldn’t remember, and she also couldn’t remember if she had taken her antianxiety meds that morning or not.
It was impossible to know how much time had passed when Meredith came back into the living room. Jess’s head felt too big for her neck, but she tipped up her chin to catch a glimpse of her former friend. Meredith seemed cool and collected, unaffected by the alcohol that they had consumed together. She checked the watch on her wrist, then righted the navy backpack that was slipping off one shoulder. The backpack felt important somehow, but Jess couldn’t think of why.
“What are you doing?” The words didn’t sound right in Jess’s ears, and they didn’t feel right, either. They were too big, too complicated, so fuzzy with uncertainty they stuck like burrs to her tongue.
“You’re so sad, Jess.” Meredith spoke softly, her expression one of pure sorrow.
Jess nodded, unable to speak. She was sad. So sad. She wanted to lay her head down and go to sleep. Perhaps when she woke up, this would all be a bad dream, a nightmare posing as reality that she could shed as easily as her pajamas. Jess would roll over and Evan would be there, watching her. He’d touch her face. And down the hallway, her boys would be waking up. Opening their eyes in a home where they were safe and loved. Together.
