My daughter’s phone went silent in the third week after hundreds of unanswered calls. That was the part that finished something inside me.
It was as if my only child had fallen off the face of the earth.
***
One evening, I made myself ask.
“Kevin. The account my dad left for Sarah’s college. Is it still there?”
My husband didn’t look up or tense. He didn’t do anything a guilty man does.
That finished something inside me.
“It’s fine, Maur. I moved it into a Certificate of Deposit (CD) a few months back.”
“You moved it?”
“For safekeeping. Sarah’s 18, Maureen. Your father wouldn’t have wanted her burning through it on some boyfriend. I put it under my name so it’s protected until she’s ready.”
“Under your name?”
“Paperwork’s in the briefcase. I’ll show you in the morning.”
“I moved it.”
He did, too. A printed statement, letterhead I half recognized, and a balance that looked about right from what I remembered.
“See? Same money. Better shelter.”
“Okay,” I said.
I hated that I said “okay.” I said it anyway because I was so tired I could barely see the numbers.
***
Lola caught me crying in the break room a week later.
She pulled the door shut behind her and sat on the corner of the little table.
I hated that I said “okay.”
“Maureen. You can stay with me. My couch pulls out. No questions.”
“I can’t leave the house.”
“Why not?”
“Because what if my daughter comes back and I’m not there?”
My co-worker didn’t argue with me.
She just squeezed my wrist and said, “The offer doesn’t expire.”
“You can stay with me.”
I almost told her about the account, about the strange way Kevin had answered with no pause at all.
I almost told her I’d been thinking of calling my dad’s old attorney, Harold, who’d retired somewhere in Arizona years ago.
Instead, I thanked her and returned to my desk.
I almost told her about the account.
***
That night I stood in Sarah’s doorway, staring at the shape of her bed in the dark.
“I’ll find you, baby,” I whispered. “I promise I’ll find you.”
I didn’t know if I was lying. I didn’t know if the woman making that promise still had anything left to keep her vow.
I only knew the calendar on the fridge kept turning, and every square was another day my daughter hadn’t come home.
I stood in Sarah’s doorway.
