Other People's Children

by R. J. Hoffmann

  “I’ll go scan this in,” Paige said. She pushed the laptop over to Carli. “You can use this.”

  Carli logged into her email and hit Compose. The words came quickly. She’d been writing the email in her head all morning.

  Gail,

  The final consent is attached. Maya is yours now. You can bring her home. Please let me see her. That’s all I ask. Just let me see her.

  Carli

  Paige returned and helped Carli attach the scanned document to the email. She laid her palm on Carli’s forearm. “Carli, are you sure—”

  Carli shrugged off Paige’s hand and hit Send. She stared at the screen for a long moment. She wanted to unclick that button. She wanted to pull that email back through the wire. But the moment passed, and she willed it to reach Gail’s in-box, to find Gail, to find Maya.

  “You have to call Bradford.”

  Carli looked up at Paige, blinking. “Huh?”

  “Agent Bradford. From the FBI. You need to call him and tell him about this.”

  With that, what she had done became real, and although she expected to feel empty, she felt hopeful. She wasn’t quite sure which was worse.

  Jon

  It took Jon fifteen minutes to walk to the shop, and he timed it to arrive just before eleven o’clock. Gail was still being a bitch about the night before. Her eyes were glazed over, and she only let him hold Maya when she had to pee. After they fought, she had locked herself in the bathroom for more than an hour, which was probably best, because it gave Jon time to calm himself, to point his anger where it belonged: Gail’s father. There was no telling what she told him about Canada. Even if Gail didn’t say anything directly, he must have been able to piece together their plan from bits of what she said. Jon tried to come up with another explanation, but there wasn’t one. Gail had decided that she could live without her parents, but Paul couldn’t live without his daughter. That son of a bitch would rather have her in jail than gone. But, of course, Gail wouldn’t be able to hear any of that. As far as she was concerned, her dad’s feet didn’t even get wet when he walked on water.

  Jon knew only too well the shape of what would happen next. Gail would stay mute. Jon would apologize again, and then again, even though she should be the one saying sorry. Eventually, her resentment would wear itself out, and she would set it aside, like kindling, handy for the next time an argument flared.

  The bell jangled when he entered the shop. The same guy from yesterday, Will, stood at the counter, studying the same stack of paper. A big, bearded bear stood next to him.

  “I’m here to pick up my car.”

  Neither looked up. “Don’t turn around,” Will said. “There’s a cop in the alley across the street.”

  Jon’s whole body went stiff, and he fought the urge to turn. It was starting.

  “Same guy that dropped you off yesterday. He came in earlier and asked a bunch of questions about you, your wife, and the baby.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit. “What kind of questions?”

  Will ignored him. “First you’re gonna pay me seven hundred dollars for the tow and fuel pump. I assume you’re paying cash.”

  Jon pulled out his wallet. “Yeah. I’ve got the cash.”

  “And then Kevin’s gonna drive off with your car. Cop’ll figure it’s you in the car, since he just saw you walk in here. I’m betting he’ll follow Kevin and pull him over.”

  Jon counted out the bills. “But what about—”

  “Kevin’ll tell the cop he’s test-driving it. The cop’ll come back here looking for you. I’ll take you to the hotel, and Kevin will meet us there. Where you stayin’?”

  Jon handed him the stack of cash. “But how do I know that—”

  Will finally looked up at Jon. “You either trust us or come up with a different plan real fucking fast.”

  Jon again fought the urge to turn around to see the cop for himself, but the hi-hat that was clattering in his brain told him that the squad car would be parked right where Will said. He looked from Will to Kevin and then back at Will. He had no choice. “Rodeway Inn.”

  “Let’s go,” Will said, and Kevin led them down a hallway to the back door. Will grabbed Jon’s arm as Kevin went outside. “Wait here.”

  They watched through the smoked glass as Kevin got in the car, drove it down the alley, and disappeared.

  “Now what?” Jon asked.

  “Wait for it.”

  Sure enough. Ten seconds later the trooper’s car sped through the alley after the Camry. As soon as it was out of sight, Will said, “Let’s go.”

  They hustled out to an old, rusted Malibu. Will popped the trunk. “Get in.”

  Jon looked from Will to the trunk and then back at Will. “Not a chance.”

  “I’m willin’ to help, but I ain’t getting arrested on account of you. Get in, or go sit in the office and wait for the cop.”

  Jon looked at the trunk, then back at Will.

  “Decide fast. You got about two minutes before he’s back.”

  Jon’s mind scrambled for options, but he found none. He climbed in, and the lid slammed. Everything went dark. Jon smelled raw meat, and he knew he’d made a terrible mistake. He was locked in a trunk, his wallet packed with fifties, Gail a sitting duck at the motel. The motor started, and the car lurched. Every time they hit a bump, Jon’s head slammed into the lid, and when Will took a turn at speed, Jon crumpled into the side of the trunk hard. It took fifteen minutes to walk from the motel, but in the bouncing blackness it seemed to take much longer to get back. Jon started to imagine the deserted country road they were driving down when Will slammed on the brakes and Jon crashed forward, cutting his shoulder on something sharp. When Will opened the trunk, Jon blinked into the sunlight, working to gain his bearings. No country road, just the parking lot of the motel.

  “You need to get the hell outta town fast,” Will said, as Jon climbed out. The Camry swerved around the corner of the motel and screeched to a stop next to Will’s car. “I don’t know what y’all did, but I got a hunch they’re gonna be looking for that car. I’d maybe find myself a different one. If you know what I mean.”

  Jon nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me,” Will said. “Thank your wife.”

  Kevin heaved his bulk out of the Camry. “And next time, don’t be such a prick.”

  Gail

  Maya slept on the center of the bed while Gail packed. Gail’s eyes were twitchy from exhaustion, her shoulders sore from the clenching. When she managed to drift off the night before, Maya soon woke her with that crackling cry. They fed and changed her, but sometimes she wasn’t hungry or wet. She seemed to wake because she, too, felt edgy, as if the tension between Jon and Gail clouded her dreams.

  When Gail had everything packed and stacked by the door, she thought about lying down on the bed next to Maya. She wanted to breathe in those pears, maybe close her eyes for just a while. But she might wake Maya, and Jon would be back soon, and she’d probably just lay there and brood. So she pulled the laptop out of Jon’s bag. She sat on the chair in the corner, booted it up, and connected to the motel’s Wi-Fi. She clicked through to her email. If there was more bad news coming, she might as well know about it.

  Fifteen unread emails filled her in-box, and she scanned them from the bottom up. Mostly Pottery Barn Kids and Pinterest and the messages from the reporter and the FBI and Paige that she had read over Jon’s shoulder. She scanned to the top and her tired, itchy eyes locked on the most recent message. Carli Brennan. Gail stared for a long moment at that name and the subject line: Please Bring Maya Home. Her finger rested on the Delete button. She knew that she wasn’t ready for what the email said, that the hardness hadn’t come to her yet. But she knew she couldn’t just delete it, that she had to read it. She could leave it for later, but then it would just be sitting there in her in-box, and that would be all she could think of, and that would be no good, either. Finally, she clicked it open.

  The message was short, but she had
to read it twice to digest it, and then a third time to believe it. Her feet tickled, and her stomach twitched as she clicked open the attachment. She scanned the familiar document and then paged down to the signatures. Carli’s scrawl perched on the correct line, Paige had witnessed it, and the notary had stamped it. Gail melted into the chair, her clenched muscles relaxing. Her eyes landed on Maya in the center of the bed, and she seemed to see her with a sharpness and clarity that had been missing. The key rattled in the lock. Tears leaked into the corner of her smile. But then Jon stumbled in with his sleeve torn and bloody, his eyes wild.

  “We need to pack,” he barked.

  Gail’s smile faltered. “What happened—”

  “We need to pack now!”

  “We’re packed.”

  “Put Maya in the car seat. We need to load the car.”

  “Jon. What’s—”

  “The cops are after us, and we need to leave now!”

  Gail didn’t move. “Jon. It’s over.”

  Jon’s eyes widened and darted around the room. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

  “The final consent. Carli emailed it to me.” She spun the computer around on her lap so that he could see for himself. “We can go home.”

  Jon stared at her for a moment, his eyes still wild. Finally, he walked to where she sat, knelt down on one knee, and read the email. Maya started to whimper. He, too, clicked open the attachment, and Gail watched his face, waiting for that smile. But it didn’t come. And when he looked up from the screen, his eyes had hardened.

  “Are you really that stupid?” he asked.

  Gail’s shoulders clenched again. Maya started to cry. “What are you talking about?” she snapped.

  “You really think this is legit? The cops were waiting for me at the garage. The FBI is involved, Gail. It’s a trick.”

  “But—”

  “Gail! Snap out of it. Home is Winnipeg now.” He lifted the computer from her lap and sat on the bed. He pounded the keys and peered at the screen. “Pack the goddamn car.”

  Larry

  Larry walked into the lobby of the Budget Inn Express in Grand Forks. Stop number eight out of twenty-five. The gray tile floors were riddled with cracks, and water stains decorated the ceiling. A rack of candy stood guard on one side of the reception desk, a round cooler marked SANDWICHES on the other. An old man sat behind the desk reading a newspaper. His powder-blue T-shirt was several sizes too large for him, as if he had shrunk. His chin bristled with gray whiskers, and his lips worked a toothpick. Larry leaned against the counter, and the clerk glanced up. Nothing but his eyes and the toothpick moved.

  “Help you?”

  “I’m looking for some friends.” Larry held up the picture of Jon and Gail. “They’d be traveling with a baby.”

  “We don’t usually—”

  Larry spread five one-hundred-dollar bills on the counter. “I really want to see my old friends.”

  The clerk took the paper from Larry and studied it for a long time. He glanced at the cash fanned across the counter. “Nope,” he said with reluctance. He made to hand the picture back to Larry.

  “Keep it. That’s my cell number on the bottom.” Larry scooped up the cash and straightened it like a deck of cards against the counter. “Just call me if they show.”

  Larry climbed into the truck. Kurt put it into drive, and he pulled out onto the frontage road. “Nothin’?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “We ain’t gonna find ’em,” Kurt grumbled.

  “Probably not.”

  “Waste of fucking time.”

  “But worth five large if we do.”

  Kurt grunted and then turned into the parking lot of the Ramada.

  Marla

  Marla moved without thinking. The boxes packed themselves. The orders went unchecked, and if a box of pens or some binder clips got missed, she didn’t really give a shit. She didn’t notice the rattle of the fan forcing cool air in from the street, or the insistent beep of the forklift. She didn’t even hear the shriek of the tape sealing the boxes. Ten forty-five. Larry and Kurt should have called by now. She should have sent them earlier. She should have sent them right away. Marla made a special effort to avoid eye contact with Helen. She had no idea how much Helen knew or didn’t know, but Kurt probably told her something. Marla wasn’t sure what she’d do if Helen said the wrong thing.

  Marla checked her phone for a missed call, even though she had the ringer all the way up. She could feel the heavy weight of Helen’s gaze. She shoved the phone back into her pocket and built another box. She should have known better than to count on anyone. She called Dean from Fox four times before he finally called her back. Said that thing with the missiles in North Korea was sucking up all the airtime. They wouldn’t be able to devote resources to Carli’s story. Because to them, that’s all it was—a story. He wished her luck, whatever the hell that meant. Bradford answered on the second ring when she called him on the way into work, but he said that he didn’t have anything new to report. The way he said it, though, that tiny hitch in his voice and the long pause after, told her that he was holding something back. She called Larry during her nine-thirty smoke break, but he still hadn’t returned her call.

  “Ten grand’s a lotta cash,” Helen said.

  Marla said nothing, kept building the box, and all the noises of the warehouse rushed in to fill the silence.

  “You must really want that baby back.”

  Marla put down the box and tape and settled into stillness. The rattle of the fan competed with the buzzing in her head. She didn’t look up because she knew that the look on Helen’s face would force her to do something that she didn’t have time for, something that would make everything more complicated.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love the cash,” Helen said. She let the words hang in the air along with the rumble of a truck at the dock. “But if you ask me, Canada’d be the best thing to ever happen to that baby.”

  Marla sighed and started to walk around the table. Blood pounded in her ears, blocking out all other sounds. She eyed Helen’s greasy hair and yellowing bruises, and she knew that she didn’t have time for what was about to happen, she knew she should walk away, but she was past choice and was left with just movement and rage. And she could see that Helen knew this, too, the way she took a step back, the way her hand gripped her tape dispenser with its jagged metal edge. Her beady eyes darted from the table to the shelf to the floor for a more useful weapon, but she mostly held her ground. Marla was almost on her when her cell phone rang.

  Marla glared at Helen as she pulled out the phone. She looked down—Wendy’s number. “What?”

  “Carli left a little while ago.”

  “So what?”

  “She said she had to go do something about the baby.”

  Helen grabbed a stapler in her other hand, and she stood, feet apart, waiting.

  “Where was she going?”

  “I dunno. But I thought you might want to know it.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

  Marla slipped the phone back into her pocket. “Best if you ain’t here when I get back,” she growled at Helen, and then she stalked off to the time clock.

  Jon

  While Gail packed the car, Jon had charted a backroads route through Erhard and Pelican Rapids. It would add an hour to the drive, but Jon knew they had to stay off the interstate. And he knew that Will was right about the car. As he drove Route 59 toward Dunvilla, they passed lake after lake, and every lake had a boat ramp. Despite the chill, most of the boat ramps had at least one car or truck parked next to it with an empty trailer.

  Jon glanced at Gail, who was staring out the window at the pines. He still couldn’t believe that she could be so naive. Like Carli would just give them the baby. After all of this. It didn’t make any sense. He shouldn’t have called her stupid, though, and she’d make him pay for that with her silence. He knew from long experience the easiest way to break that silence, whether he meant it o
r not.

  “Listen. I’m sorry about what I said back there.”

  Nothing.

  “I shouldn’t have called you stupid. I’d just climbed out of the trunk of that redneck’s car. I saw the cop.” He glanced at Gail again and then back at the road. “I was scared.”

  Gail didn’t turn from the window, and she didn’t make a sound. It was going to be a quiet ride. It would be a short one, though, if they kept driving the Camry.

  “Listen. I know that you’re mad. And I know that you’re not gonna like what I’m about to say next.”

  Gail finally turned from the window. Her stillness, the sag of her mouth, told him that she wasn’t going to like much of anything.

  “We need to dump this car for a different one.”

  Jon braced himself for an argument, ready to remind her that this was all her idea, that she knew the risks, but she didn’t say anything. She just looked at him for a long moment and then turned back to the window.

  “I’m gonna find an unlocked car at one of these boat ramps, and when I do, you’re gonna drive to Detroit Lakes. It’s about fifteen minutes down this road. Find a big parking lot, a Walmart or something, and wait for me there.”

  Nothing.

  “Hello? Are you with me here?”

  Gail turned to him again, and suddenly her eyes were alive like she was ready to fight and bite and spit, and she leaned toward him as if about to say something. But instead, she turned back to the window. “Detroit Lakes,” she finally mumbled. “I heard you.”

  Jon took two of the phones from his backpack and called one with the other. He gave Gail the phone that he called. “Call that number when you get there. Let me know where you’re parked.”

  Jon stopped at two boat ramps, but every car was locked. At the third, the door of an old Country Squire station wagon opened when he tugged the handle. The part of the lake he could see was empty of boats. He came back to the Camry and got his pocketknife from the backpack. “This is it.”