The Missing Place

by Sophie Littlefield

  “I’d lay odds they’ll be out of your house in a year one way or another. Meanwhile, you want to know the baby’s name?”

  She glanced back at Colleen, then pushed through the heavy wooden door.

  Colleen followed. The warm evening had cooled down, and Shay’s words were lost to the roar of traffic passing on the road. She kept walking, and for a moment Colleen thought she meant to walk directly into traffic, but then she stopped and put her thumb out. Immediately a passing truck put on the brakes and started coasting over.

  “What?” Colleen yelled. “What did you say?”

  Shay turned. Her face was lit in the reddish glow from the brake lights. Her hair was wild around her face.

  “Taylor!” she yelled. “They’re naming him after my son.”

  COLLEEN HAD BOOKED them both on the same afternoon flight to Minneapolis, where they would part, she had imagined, with tearful hugs. That, or she would change her own flights and go with Shay back to California, where she thought she might be able to assist in planning the memorial. She could take a week off—the school volunteer job was over for the summer, and everything else—BodyPump, the cooking class her neighbor had signed them both up for, even Elizabeth’s Lamaze classes—would go on without her. She’d gently steer Shay toward the right choices, discreetly paying for whatever was needed. It was to have been her final gift to Shay, because she suspected that once Taylor was buried, they would slowly lose touch.

  By six o’clock in the morning, when she had been awake for a restless hour and a half, she knew that wasn’t going to happen. She’d drunk both splits of wine, telling herself that Shay could change her mind and call at any moment.

  (There had been an ill-advised call to Paul at around eleven, midnight back in Massachusetts. Colleen remembered asking Paul when he was planning to tell her about the baby’s name. Paul had hung up on her, eventually, but she couldn’t remember everything that she had said first.)

  She showered and dried her hair before texting Shay. When she didn’t get an answer, she tried calling Shay’s room. Finally, she went down and knocked on the door.

  But she already knew. And when Shay texted her, at one thirty, to say Took earlier flight, she didn’t really expect an apology or an explanation.

  All she wondered was how Shay had paid for the ticket.

  thirty-nine

  ANDY PICKED HER up at the airport. Colleen had been hoping maybe Paul would have come instead. They needed to talk. But it was probably for the better; she had been slightly hungover most of the day, and the six-hour trip hadn’t improved her mood any.

  “How did it go?” Andy asked, taking Colleen’s roll-aboard from her and stowing it in the trunk. He leaned in for a kiss, and Colleen turned away, afraid he would notice the faint trace of her hangover on her breath, despite the fact that she had popped a piece of gum as soon as they landed.

  In the car, putting her seat belt on, she gave him the answer she had prepared.

  “She wasn’t ready to talk yet. I understand that. But at least we were able to go out to dinner and spend some time together. Robert and Brittany are working through the rest of the details on their end, so the memorial should be able to happen by the weekend.” All of which was true, and all of which she had pieced together before the disastrous dinner.

  “Ah, that’s tough. So we’ll need to head out there this weekend, then. Do you think we should let Paul come?”

  If you had just backed the hell off, he might have learned to deal with some things on his own. Colleen winced as Shay’s words echoed in her mind. It had been painful to hear, but now as she listened to Andy, she couldn’t help questioning. Should they let him . . . as if he wasn’t old enough to make even that decision on his own.

  “I don’t know,” she hedged. “Honestly, I was thinking . . . maybe we should all stay home.”

  “And miss Taylor’s memorial?” Andy said, glancing at her. “You can’t be serious. Or did something happen with you and Shay?”

  “What do you mean?” Despite herself, the question irked Colleen—why would Andy immediately think she’d picked a fight?

  “Just, you have had a volatile relationship from the beginning. And it was . . . hard, those last few days.”

  Colleen hated it when he was careful with her. It was a signal that he thought whatever she was saying or doing indicated fragility in addition to being mistaken.

  “Yes, it was hard,” she said, her voice tight. “Because she had just lost her son and we were trying to deal with our own son in the hospital, plus the inquiry and the media. And Elizabeth’s pregnancy. Shay and I barely even saw each other.”

  “That was my point,” Andy said tiredly. “You don’t have to bite my head off, Col. I just meant that you had a pretty intense week together there and then it suddenly ended, before you had a chance to really resolve anything between you.”

  “There isn’t anything between us, there’s just each of us trying to put together the pieces of our lives and move on.” Why was she lying to him? At first it was just to avoid having to go through the painful retelling now, when she was so exhausted. But the lie had been dug in, and now she was committed to it. “Look, she’s got her family, and her own friends out there, and that’s who she wants to do this with. I’m not going to question that. Maybe later in the summer, before Paul starts the fall semester, I can go out and visit for a few days.”

  Andy said nothing for a few moments, his jaw clenched. He drove slowly through the parking pay lane and merged onto the highway. It would be an easy half-hour drive home at this time of the night.

  “Even if we don’t go, we should still let Paul go,” Andy finally said.

  “What? A minute ago you were saying—”

  “I know what I said. But I thought about it. Taylor was his friend. Of any of us, he has the most reason to be there for a memorial for him.”

  Colleen actually agreed, but how was that going to happen now? She wasn’t about to confess to Andy or Paul the way things ended with Shay. So she would have to tell Paul that Shay had requested it be family only.

  But what if they were still emailing?

  “It’s really great that you have opinions all of a sudden about what’s good for Paul,” she said sarcastically, playing for time. “Since you’ve been holed up in your office all summer, harassing Hunter-Cole.”

  This time he looked at her incredulously for several seconds. “I’ve been talking about taking a sabbatical for years. I thought we agreed that this was the time, with Paul and Elizabeth getting settled in. And yes, I’ve found . . . comfort, and meaning, in what I have been doing.”

  The other partners at Andy’s firm, with a spirit of generosity that Colleen had to believe was firmly rooted in the fervent hope that Andy wasn’t losing his shit altogether, had encouraged him to take the time to “tie up loose ends.” From what Colleen could see, Andy had been keeping his usual hours at the firm, and he often worked into the evenings. At least, that’s what he said he was doing when he didn’t come home until late.

  “I don’t understand you,” Colleen said, though actually, she did. If she’d had a way to distract herself from the things that had happened, she would have taken it. That’s what those stupid BodyPump classes were supposed to be—otherwise, no one could have gotten Colleen in that ridiculous studio with all the other sweating, yoga-pants-wearing women. “Taylor’s death had nothing to do with the safety violations. So how does running Hunter-Cole into the ground help you process what happened?”

  Andy didn’t answer, his mouth going tight, his hands gripping the wheel. He’d been featured on the news both locally and in Lawton; the Bismarck and Minneapolis affiliates had sent reporters to interview him. He had flown out to council meetings twice last month. Already it looked as though the Fort Mercer leases would all be renegotiated, but there was no sign that Andy intended to let up until he’d gotten all the eastern North Dakota Hunter-Cole rigs shut down.

  “Are you still having an affair w
ith Vicki?” Colleen asked, almost lazily.

  “For God’s sake, Col,” Andy muttered.

  It wasn’t much of a denial. By the time they pulled into the house, she was still trying to decide if she cared.

  PAUL AND ELIZABETH had gone to bed already when they got home, but when Paul came downstairs in the morning, showered and dressed, at eight thirty, Colleen was ready for him. She’d made a fresh pot of coffee and run out to the Bruegger’s to get him a couple of everything bagels, and a whole wheat raisin one for Elizabeth.

  But when he came into the kitchen, he wasn’t wearing his usual perfunctory, faintly sullen expression and he didn’t mumble his usual truncated greeting. Instead, his face was blank and pale.

  “I’m going to the memorial, Mom. Elizabeth’s staying here, her doctor doesn’t want her flying this close to her due date if she doesn’t have to. I’m leaving first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “But we haven’t even—”

  He held up his hand to stop her. “Don’t. Just . . . don’t. I’ve still got money from my last paycheck, since you won’t let me pay for anything. I already booked it. If you won’t drive me to the airport, I’ll take the shuttle.”

  Colleen leaned back against the kitchen island, dropping the dish towel she had been holding. “Shay talked you into it?”

  His eyes sparked dangerously, while he kept the rest of his expression impassive. “She just told me when it was and said she understood if you didn’t come. What the hell, Mom? Seriously, you’re going to blow it off?”

  Colleen shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

  “No, that’s an understatement. All summer long you’ve been telling me that you and Dad don’t blame me for what happened. Even when I’m trying to take the blame, you won’t let me. And now you won’t even go out there, and what am I supposed to think? If you’re too ashamed to even—to even honor Taylor’s life—”

  Paul lost his battle for composure, and his face crumpled the way it had when he was little, his lower lip trembling and his freckles standing out.

  “He was my friend,” he said. “You can’t even understand that.”

  “Oh, honey, I—”

  “No.” Paul shrank from her touch. “I’m so sick of you trying to make everything go away. Just once I wish you and Dad would—would . . . oh, forget it.” He glanced around the kitchen, didn’t seem to see what he was looking for, and stomped out of the house.

  For a long time after he left, Colleen stood in the middle of her kitchen, doing nothing. Then she slowly, carefully, turned the top of the paper Bruegger’s bag down in several neat folds so that the bagels wouldn’t get stale.

  She was taking the bedroom drapes down that afternoon, sliding the hooks from the rings one by one while standing on the step stool, when the phone rang. She was down to the last two hooks, and she was afraid the weight of the drapes would put too much pressure on the last rings, so she worked quickly, getting them freed just as the phone rang for the fourth time and went to voice mail.

  She stepped off the stool and dug out her phone: Shay.

  She sat down on the bed, next to the drapes, and stared at the phone until it buzzed to indicate a voice mail had been left. Then she stared at it awhile longer, wondering if she should listen to the message now or let it wait. But if she did that, the day would become all the more difficult, the burden of the empty house unbearable.

  Making a snap decision, she tapped Call Back.

  Shay answered in two rings. “You get my message?”

  “I didn’t listen to it. I mean, I was taking the drapes down when you called and I couldn’t get to it in time and I figured I’d call back right away instead.” Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. Her pulse was pounding, her hands sweaty and metallic smelling from the drapery hardware.

  There was a long pause, and then finally Shay said, “Why the fuck are you taking the drapes down? Is this some East Coast thing you people do in the summer?”

  “I . . . they get dusty,” Colleen stammered. “If you put them in the dryer on the fluff cycle with a damp towel, it gets rid of the dust. And you can go a lot longer between taking them to the cleaners.”

  Shay laughed. It startled Colleen, but the laugh went on for several seconds, a deep and throaty belly laugh. “Oh, God, Col, I swear, only you. I don’t think I’ve ever washed curtains in my life. I didn’t know you could. I just wait until they’re disgusting and buy new ones at Penney’s.”

  “Oh. Well . . .” Colleen wasn’t sure what to say next. She supposed Shay knew all about Paul’s flights and arrival time. “Is . . . is he staying with you?” she finally asked, plaintively.

  “Look, Colleen.” Suddenly Shay was all business. “This is stupid. We said some things the other night—you were right, that was a hell of a day, I had a lot of emotions going on. When I got home, I slept for fourteen hours. Anyway. I appreciate you coming out to help in Lawton. And now you need to come out for the memorial. Andy too, if he wants. But you need to be here. Okay?”

  Colleen tried to answer, but she couldn’t talk around the lump in her throat. “I don’t want us to set each other off again,” she said. “I mean . . . I take responsibility. It was my fault. I just don’t think that it’s a good idea. You don’t want—you don’t want anything to add to the, ah, the difficulty of the day.”

  “That’s fucking ridiculous,” Shay said. “That’s a cop-out. I’m asking you for something that you know you can’t say no to. The memorial’s Saturday at eleven. We’re just doing a barbecue after, at Frank’s parents’ ranch. It’s casual, so don’t dress up too much. Definitely no heels, because the barbecue’s outside. It’s supposed to be nice, probably up in the eighties.”

  “All right. I’ll come,” Colleen finally said. She pressed a hand to her forehead. She was suddenly very tired. When she hung up, maybe she’d lie down and pull the drapes over her like a blanket and take a midday nap. “All right.”

  “I’ll send someone out to pick you up, text me the flights. I need to go, Colleen. Just promise me you’ll be there. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Colleen whispered. She set the phone on the bedside table and slowly sank onto the bed. The sun slanted through the bare windows, warming her body. A breeze came through the screens. June was nice. A good season for cleaning, for clearing out the dust.

  She closed her eyes.

  forty

  THEY DIDN’T OFTEN all have dinner together. Andy usually stayed late at work and picked something up downtown. Paul had a late class three days a week. And Elizabeth, until recently, had said the sight and smell of food at that time of day made her ill.

  But tonight was the last night before Paul left for the memorial. Colleen texted Andy and asked him to be sure to come home. She stopped by Stazzo’s and picked up mushroom béchamel lasagna, which both Paul and Andy loved and might be bland enough for Elizabeth too. She made a special trip to the bread stall for a loaf of their olive multigrain, and chose a half dozen fancy cupcakes from the bakery, with elaborate poufs of frosting with glazed fruit embedded like jewels. The salad she made herself, from a recipe that her mother-in-law had given her years before she died.

  She took her time setting the table. She had opened the china cabinet, thinking she might use the Lenox that came out only at holidays and Paul’s and Andy’s birthday dinners, when she had an idea. She picked up one of the dinner plates and went upstairs.

  “Elizabeth,” she called from halfway up the stairs. “Okay if I come up for a minute?” She could hear the television on quietly, the sound of studio laughter. It was silenced abruptly.

  Elizabeth was sitting on the couch, knitting. She hastily set the yarn and needles down and pushed a couch cushion on top of it. She was struggling to get up, but her bulk—her stomach was perfectly round, the rest of her thin frame barely puffy—made the task difficult.

  “Don’t get up,” Colleen said, surprised by the knitting. What had she imagined the girl was doing up here, between her twice-daily wa
lks and endless texting?

  She sat down gingerly on the sofa. Between them the knitting peeked out from under the couch cushion: a beautiful shade of periwinkle blue. Because it’s a boy, Colleen thought automatically, but then pushed away her resentment with a heroic effort. “I didn’t know you knew how to knit.”

  “Oh. I . . . my mom taught me and my sisters. I mean, I’m not very good.”

  “Will you let me see?”

  “It’s just . . .” Elizabeth reached out to touch the edge, a two-by-two ribbing. Maybe the band at the bottom of a baby cardigan. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

  To Colleen’s mortification, she sniffled in a way that didn’t disguise the fact that she was about to cry. Colleen jumped off the sofa and got the tissue box from the table and set it in front of Elizabeth.

  “About that,” she said. “I’ll admit I was kind of, um, taken aback that Shay knew that the baby is a boy before I did. But really, it’s up to you kids to share that when you want to and with whomever you want to.” Had the girl told her mother? Did everyone know but her?

  “No, that’s not what I meant. But just so you know, I didn’t want Paul to tell her, I was kind of mad at him for that. I thought . . . we were going to have a dinner. Paul and me. It was my idea. I wanted to cook for you. Like a thank-you? For letting us stay here and everything? And we were going to tell you then. And I was going to . . .” She reached out and shoved the knitting all the way under the cushion. “I was making this for you, for a present.”

  It took Colleen a second to understand. The knitting. It wasn’t for a baby. And that beautiful blue, the color of a scarf Elizabeth had once complimented her on . . . hadn’t she told the girl it was her favorite color?

  “Oh,” she breathed. “Honey.”

  “It’s just when Shay texted Paul, you know, after they found him, Taylor—well, I think he wanted to give her something to hold on to. I mean we’d already talked about naming the baby after him. But that—once Shay told him, it was like, yes, that’s what we’re going to do. Both of us, we thought it was right. And so he told her.”