Emily Locke 01 - Final Approach

Nora. This would only make her feel responsible in some twisted way, and she doesn’t need that on top of everything else.
    April 13—Bus ride
    Heading back to office. Photo line up was exciting. I identified the guy from the restaurant: Wesley Reed.
    I mentioned that crank call to the agent who helped me. She said I should certainly keep my guard up, but she suspects it was an empty scare tactic. How much time before I can know for sure?
    April 13—Rant
    I’m not sure if all moms feel this way, but it seems this way to me. You ask your husband to watch your daughter—
his
daughter, too—so you can get some me-time. He agrees. You’re happy. And when you come home, your absence has created way more work than if you’d never left in the first place.
    All I wanted was dinner with Nora. A nice restaurant meal with my friend to catch up on how she’s doing, how Mattie’s doing, what’s going on with their case.
    I got dinner all right. Its price was a 22-ounce container of Johnson & Johnson’s baby powder completely emptied all over Annette’s room. While Jack was absorbed in his sports channel, Annette got into her diaper supplies.
    Powder on picture frames. The bookcase. The Little People farm. Skydiving Snoopy. Mickey Mouse clock. Dresser. Window sills. Stuffed animals. Puzzles. Valences. Bed. Mini-blinds.
    I will kill him.
    Windex, Pledge, blah blah blah…I finally got around to the Hoover and that’s where the story gets creepy. I opened Annette’s closet door to sweep—the powder was even in the closet—and found an earring on the floor. Not mine. Maybe it’s something Annette pocketed on one of our walks. But I can’t help feeling spooked, considering.
    April 15—Annette’s bedside, keeping watch
    I got to work this morning and the day instantly collapsed. Message light blinking, signature folder waiting, 27 e-mails. What did I do first? I opened my damned office mail and my heart has been in my throat since.
    I ripped open a cardboard mailer, reached inside, and pulled out a tiny dress. It was Annette’s—the one with ladybugs embroidered on the lapels. There was a message pinned to the front:
    “You don’t listen very well.”
    I heard my heart beating in my ears. It was deafening.
    I grabbed my keys and my cell phone and bee-lined to daycare. Who did I call first? Jack? Daycare? The police? Shit. I don’t even remember.
    She is safe here now, sleeping in her bed. How can I ever leave her again?
    ***
    I hadn’t opened that journal for years. Couldn’t bear to. And now my hands shook the same way they did the day I clutched Annette’s dress in my office.
    I rolled onto my side and pulled a pillow into my chest. Another episode of the
If Onlys
was coming on. If only I’d believed the threats. If only we’d stayed home that weekend. If only I’d been with them.
    I closed my eyes and remembered Annette’s small face, her chestnut eyes, and the feel of her wispy, straw-colored hair sliding through my fingers. The way her smile matched Jack’s, the way both of them could grin their way back into my good graces. Their dimples matched. Thinking back, it was their dimples that got me every time.
    I fell asleep then, and dreamed of my family, of my reunion with them. This time it was in a supermarket. They were walking through the produce section as if nothing ever happened. No time had passed; Annette was as petite as ever. She asked Jack if she could have some blueberries. It wasn’t odd that she could talk. What confused me was their casual mannerisms, their easy-going banter, their peace. I was astonished to find them alive and asked what had happened? Where had they been? Why hadn’t they told me? They looked at each other and shrugged as if the answers were things they’d simply forgotten to tell me, and then they both turned their attention to the leafy greens, casual as you please. Like they’d honestly meant to tell me they weren’t dead, but they hadn’t gotten around to it yet, and did I feel like having a salad with dinner? Then the things that happened afterward flashed through my mind—the pills, Dr. Raleigh, my loneliness in our empty house—and I realized that if Jack and Annette were still alive, then I must have dreamed those other things too. So, everything was okay. It was all a bad dream.

Chapter Eleven
    Thursday the weather relented but landing fields were damp. Humidity closed tight around me like wet clothes, and the whole place smelled like earthworms.