Little Secrets(10)
It’s still hard to make sense of it almost sixteen months later. Sebastian was only four, but he was a smart kid. Both Marin and Derek had talked with him again and again about the dangers of talking to strangers, about not taking toys or food or any kind of gift from someone without checking with Mommy or Daddy first. He learned about it in preschool; it was discussed at home.
But it was Santa Claus. Kids are taught to love Santa, to speak to him even if they’re intimidated or frightened, to sit on the god damned jolly old elf’s lap and tell him what they want for Christmas. In turn, they’re rewarded with a candy cane. They’re given a treat for confiding in a stranger.
When Lila gets back, her eyes are red and swollen, but she’s calm. She gives Marin’s arm a squeeze as she heads to refill her coffee, and it’s her way of saying sorry. Marin gives her a smile, which is her way of accepting the apology. They know each other’s silent gestures; they do this every month.
When Marin gets back from the bathroom, Frances is again in her seat, and she begins talking about the nightmares she’s been having about Thomas. She’s talked about them at the last few meetings, and it sounds like they’re getting worse, causing her to wake up in the night, moaning and sweating, her stomach in knots.
“I saw him last night and it was like half his face was beaten to a pulp.” Frances trembles as she recounts the dream. “His eyeball was hanging from his socket and his cheekbone was exposed, like the skin had been ripped off—”
“Frances—” Lila shuts her eyes, but Simon shushes her. Jamie leans forward, appearing fascinated.
“—and he was reaching for me, and I grasped his hand, and it was cold.” Frances’s face crumples, which alarms all of them. She’s normally very stoic. She hardly ever shows emotion, let alone grief. “I feel like … I feel like he’s trying to tell me he’s dead. And that I should let him go.”
“Frances.” Lila says this again, slowly, breathy. “Frances, no.”
And there it is. They’re about to lose Frances.
Hope lasts only so long, can carry you only so far. It’s both a blessing and a curse. Sometimes it’s all you have. It keeps you going when there’s nothing else to hold on to.
But hope can also be terrible. It keeps you wanting, waiting, wishing for something that might never happen. It’s like a glass wall between where you are and where you want to be. You can see the life you want, but you can’t have it. You’re a fish in a bowl.
“Nine years I’ve been waiting.” Frances’s voice is shaking. “There’s no reason to think Thomas is ever coming back. Maybe he did run away. Even if I could accept that he left by choice, he wasn’t a strong kid. He was only fifteen. He wasn’t street smart. He wouldn’t have lasted this long on his own.”
Frances is heaving. Her eyes are dry, but if crying weren’t defined by the presence of tears, then it would be fair to say that Frances is weeping. “And he would have called me. He would have let me know he was all right. He would be twenty-four years old now. Twenty-four. In my dreams, he’s still fifteen. He never grew up. I don’t know how much longer I can … I can…”
Lila bolts out of her chair and gets to Frances before Marin can, embracing the tearless, sobbing woman tightly. Marin wraps her arms around both of them. She feels Simon behind her, but when she looks over her shoulder, she realizes it’s not Simon, but Jamie, the newbie, crying silent tears of grief and solidarity. Simon joins in a few seconds later.
Final acceptance is tough, whether you get news or you come to it on your own. But maybe now Frances can begin to heal.
When they all pull apart, Marin’s eyes meet Simon’s. She can tell what he’s thinking. They’re going to have to find a new location for their stupid, pointless, so-called support group. When the meeting ends a few minutes later, the four of them say goodbye to Frances and head outside. Jamie’s car is beside Marin’s, and they click their fobs at the same time.
“Pretty awful, huh?” Marin says to her. This meeting was not exactly the ideal first experience she would have wished for someone new, and she wouldn’t be surprised at all if she never sees the other woman again.
“Yeah.” Jamie’s voice is softer than she expected, almost little-girlish. “‘Awful’ is the right word. But you know what? I feel so much better. See you next month.”
As they get into their cars, Marin is reminded, and not for the first time, that sometimes someone else’s pain is the only thing that makes yours better.
Chapter 4
The private investigator’s email stops her in her tracks.
For seven seconds, Marin can’t move, can’t breathe. She had just stepped out of the shower, her wet hair dripping onto the marble vanity as she leans over, staring at Vanessa Castro’s name in her phone. There’s nothing in the subject line.
She knows it’s seven seconds, because she counts. By the time she gets to five, she remembers that Vanessa Castro wouldn’t email if she had bad news. She would not tell Marin that her son is dead in an email. When she gets to seven, she inhales, clicks on it, and reads. It’s only two sentences.
Hi — do you have any time to meet this morning? I’ll be at the office by 10.
She wants to meet? Oh god. Whatever awful thing the private investigator plans to tell Marin, she wants to do it in person.