TWO MONTHS EARLIER
I’m all alone in the house today.
Keith took the boys to see his mother. I stayed behind because I had a headache. What a surprise, Keith remarked. He has rightfully noted that I seem to get headaches a lot when he suggests visiting his mother. And now that I’m not going, the headache has miraculously cured itself. Look at that. Last summer, we built a little porch coming off of our bedroom, and
I’m sitting up there, enjoying the fall weather, while I read our latest book club selection. It’s this beautiful book about a man and his bird. I know everybody thinks the books I pick for book club are too long and boring, but it’s not like I pick the books to torture them. I try to pick books that I think are meaningful. Something we could have a great discussion about.
Then, for some reason, everyone just wants to talk about their husbands.
While I’m taking a sip from my iced tea, I notice Bobby Masterson playing in the backyard behind April’s house. I have a very good view of her backyard from my little porch. And I can see Bobby throw his ball on the ground, walk around to the gate, open it up, and leave.
I put down my book entirely and lean forward to watch. Bobby walks off all by himself and goes right to our new neighbors’ front door. I watch as he knocks on the door, speaks with the neighbors, and then goes inside.
April is probably inside, filming one of her YouTube shows. She undoubtedly has no idea her son just left the backyard and is at her neighbors’ house. She’s going to flip when she realizes he’s missing. I’ve got to let her know.
I go back into the bedroom and get out of my phone. I already texted her before I came out here to remind her about the PTA meeting, because she tends to let it slip her mind. I start to text April that Bobby left the backyard, but then I stop myself.
Why should I tell her? If anyone deserves a few minutes of panic, it’s April. She deserves a hell of a lot worse than that.
And then I get an even better idea.
I’ve still got that burner phone Keith was using to communicate with his girlfriend. I’ve got it tucked away in one of my drawers. I pull it out. It’s out of juice, but the charger is the same one as the one I have for my phone, so I plug it in and wait for it to charge. When the screen lights up, I start typing.
Want to know a secret?
Your son isn’t where you think he is.
I stare at my message on the screen for a moment. Is this too mean? She’s going to panic when she sees this text. Then again, she kidnapped my kids for two hours. She let me think she was doing God knows what to them. And she may have killed two women.
I press send.
