Another Piece of My Heart

Of course Andi doesn’t pick up. I leave a message, but now I’ve got, like, twelve minutes, and I have to do something. I try my dad, but his cell is switched off, as usual, and I’m starting to feel sick and I’m wondering what the hell I should do.

  And then a flash of inspiration hits. Yes!

  Sophia.

  * * *

  “I can’t,” Sophia says. “I have classes all afternoon.”

  “Sophia, you have to,” I plead. “I feel really bad, and I totally screwed up, okay? You have to skip your classes today and get there. Please, Sophia. Please.”

  “But, Emily, I have a huge test this afternoon. I can’t. If there were any way for me to miss today I would, but I can’t miss this. I’m sorry. You’ll have to find someone else.”

  “There isn’t anyone else.” I finally lose it because I’m so damned frustrated, and I don’t mean to shout, but I do.

  “I’ll phone Andi,” Sophia says.

  “I already did. Thanks for all the help,” I know I’m being sarcastic, but I’m genuinely shocked that Sophia isn’t stepping up to help. “I’ll figure it out by myself.”

  Forty-six

  Cal is the last one in the class. He has been the last one in the class for the past couple of weeks, since Emily has been picking him up, but he doesn’t mind. He quite likes it. His teacher makes a big fuss of him, giving him a special snack from her secret stash in the cupboard above the sink. Today it was Rice Krispies treats, which are his absolute favorites.

  Today it’s a really long time. His teacher keeps looking at the clock and picking up the phone, trying to reach his parents, but no one is answering. He is beginning to get a little scared.

  There is a soft knock on the door frame. Mrs. Gundell, Cal’s teacher, looks up with relief, only to see a man she doesn’t recognize shuffling awkwardly in the doorway.

  “I here to get Cal,” he says as the teacher and Cal both frown at him, Cal trying to think how he knows him.

  “Hello, Cal.” A lovely, if toothless, smile spreads over his face. “I am Manuel. Emily’s friend? From the flower store? Emily, she send me to pick up Cal,” he says.

  “Oh.” Mrs. Gundell frowns. “I don’t have a note. We have a policy of not releasing children to anyone other than regular parents unless there is a note.”

  Manuel looks worried. The teacher looks worried. Cal starts to cry.

  “Look.” Manuel scooches over and drops to one knee. “I brought you flower, man.” He extends a pot with a plastic flower, pressing a button on the base, which starts music playing, as the flower bobs and weaves.

  Cal instantly stops crying and smiles, bewitched, stretching out a hand to touch the dancing flower.

  Manuel looks up at the teacher. “I give you Emily’s cell? You talk to her?”

  She sighs loudly. “This isn’t what I’d normally do, but…” She shakes her head. She was supposed to be home five minutes ago. “Okay,” she finally mutters reluctantly. “Let me call her.”

  She flicks through her notebook, looking for contact numbers before picking up the phone and dialing.

  “Emily? This is Lisa Gundell. Cal’s teacher? I have someone here saying he is picking up Cal, but I have no note.”

  “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” Emily gushes. “I totally forgot I was supposed to pick him up and I only realized when I was already on the Golden Gate Bridge. I tried to get hold of Andi and my dad, but I couldn’t get anyone, then my sister has a test, so she couldn’t miss school, and Manuel is the only person I could think of. I am so sorry, but Manuel’s great. He works with my mom at the florist’s. Cal will be fine, and I’m coming straight back out.”

  “So it’s fine to release him to the care of … Manuel?”

  “Totally fine.”

  “Okay.” She sighs. “But this cannot happen again. Next time we need a note in the morning.”

  “It won’t happen again.” Emily almost collapses with relief. “I’m really sorry.”

  * * *

  Two minutes later, Cal is climbing into a beat-up old red Chevrolet Silverado pickup truck. There are no car seats, and the seat belts are broken. Manuel drives very slowly and carefully back to the flower shop, where Cal happily immerses himself in making sculptures out of florist’s foam, eating chocolate, and endlessly pressing the button that makes the dancing flower dance.

  Forty-seven

  Michael was right. This is totally worth it. The apartment is like something out of a magazine, and I cannot believe that after living in farm outbuildings for the past three years, I might actually be living someplace like this.

  Michael and I walk slowly from room to room, and I cannot wipe the smile off my face.

  We start with the master bedroom at the front of the house. High ceilings, a large bay window onto the street, surrounded by the original wood-paneled shutters. A queen-sized bed with a twin sofa at the foot of the bed, and an antique desk in the bay, with a sleek crystal lamp.

  There are large walk-in closets on either side of the fireplace, and off to one side, a small en suite bathroom with a shower stall, sink, and toilet. A large hallway, with floorboards covered with old Dhurrie rugs, leads down to the rest of the house. A tiny spare room with a large window overlooking the garden. I walk over to the bookshelves and stand dreamily for a minute, running my fingers over the spines of the books, as Michael comes up behind me.

  “You know this room could be perfect for Cal,” he whispers, and I freeze.

  “Michael, we haven’t even talked about that properly. I don’t know where I am with that.”

  “I know, I know,” he says. “I don’t necessarily mean permanently. I mean when he comes for sleepovers.”

  If he comes for sleepovers, I think. But I don’t say anything. It is slowly beginning to dawn on me that Michael, bless his heart, is something of a romantic. I know he feels strongly about me having a place in Cal’s life, but I’m also starting to realize that he has this romantic notion of having an instant family, and it isn’t the slightest bit grounded in reality.

  I’m kind of stunned that I can see this so clearly, that I’m mature enough to realize this, and I know we’re going to have to talk about it at some point. It’s the same fantasy of how he would be a happier person, or more secure, if he hadn’t been adopted. I wasn’t adopted, I always used to point out, and I’m even more fucked up than him.

  Part of me loves that he has a romantic fantasy about how our life is. But I worry that his fantasy inevitably involves Cal.

  We walk out and on through the rest of the apartment.

  The kitchen, next to the living room, is a bright square room with gleaming stainless counters and subway-tile backsplash.

  “Patrick put a new kitchen in last year.” Michael, doing the sales pitch, tells me as I sigh with pleasure over the glass-fronted Liebherr fridge.

  “We’ll have to keep a tidy fridge.” I gesture at the huge bowl of perfect white eggs at the front of the fridge.

  “I already checked it out.” Michael comes up behind me and reaches over, moving the bowl aside, revealing a mess of jars, cartons, and ancient Tupperware.

  “Phew! Because that fridge was going to be a dealbreaker. I was worried it was all too much for me to keep up with.”

  “It’s not too much, is it?” Michael asks. “It’s perfect, right?”

  “Sssh.” I hold a finger to my lips. “Don’t say anything until I’ve seen the whole thing.”

  We walk, finally, into the light-filled living room with French doors onto a small, pretty, enclosed yard.

  “Did you see the floors?” Michael can’t help himself, he has to start pointing out the features. “They’re the original wide-planked oak. Patrick said he sanded them down himself. And that fireplace? It works. And isn’t the shower awesome?”

  “It’s all awesome.” And finally I turn to him. “It’s perfect. I love it.” I spin around, hugging myself as I dance around the room like a schoolgirl. I cannot believe that the first apartment we stumbled upo
n is as perfect, and as perfect for us, as this.

  Thank you, God. Thank you, Fate. Thank you, whatever angels are smiling down upon us.

  “Here’s the best thing.” Michael sinks down on the huge white sofa. “See this furniture? He’s leaving it all. He wants to rent it furnished, so we don’t have to buy a single thing.”

  “It’s amazing.” I shake my head, then frown suddenly. “Are you sure we can afford it? I mean, you? I’m going to try to earn money, but I don’t even have a proper job, and I have no idea how much I’m going to…”

  “Stop,” he says gently. “Relax. With the bonus I’ve been promised thanks to this UK deal, yes. We can definitely afford it. I can afford it on my own. We’re fine.”

  “Yes. Yes! Yes!” I collapse on the sofa next to Michael, lean my head back, and shout up at the ceiling, “I love it! This is it! Our first home!”

  Michael checks his watch, then looks at me with a sly grin. “I think perhaps our new home needs christening, don’t you? It will bring us luck.”

  “C’mere, big boy,” I growl, taking hold of his waistband and pulling him close. “We can christen it as much as you like.”

  Forty-eight

  At four o’clock, Andi’s alarm on her cell phone goes off.

  “Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry,” she says to Diana, one of her clients, whose house goes on the market next month. Andi has just been rearranging the furniture in the living room to show off the rug she picked out that was delivered this morning. “I have to go and get my son.”

  “Don’t worry.” Diana cannot tear her eyes away from her new, improved living room. “And thank you. Seriously. I cannot believe how perfect the rug is and how you’ve transformed the living room. Our Realtor will be amazed.”

  “I’m so glad you like it,” Andi says, giving her a quick hug. “Let’s talk next week about the new house, okay?”

  “Perfect.” Diana walks her to the front door.

  * * *

  On the drive home Andi rings the house to let Emily know she’s on the way. She has been clear to Emily: Cal needs to be home by four, and Andi will be back at four-fifteen to take over.

  There’s no response at the house, which is odd. Andi rings Emily’s cell, listening to it ring. And ring. She tries repeatedly, punching out the number with more aggression each time, a sliver of fear wedging itself into her being and growing every time the phone is not answered.

  Where are they? Why isn’t Emily picking up the phone? Images of car accidents fill her head. Cal falling off a high piece of equipment at the playground. A vicious pit bull escaping its chain link fence and savaging …

  Stop! She tells herself. But the fear is growing, and with it, her ghoulish fantasies.

  Where are they?

  She calls Ethan, praying he’s somewhere with service, practically crying with relief when he picks up.

  “Don’t worry.” He is calm. “Emily’s probably upstairs with him and can’t hear the phone.”

  “I’ve called the house phone and her cell. A million times. She’d hear one of them.”

  “Maybe she left the phone in her purse, and they’re in the yard. Relax, Andi. There’s going to be a perfectly reasonable explanation. Stop thinking it’s the worst thing possible; you’ll just get yourself into a mess. Please, Andi. Everything’s going to be fine. Call me when you’re home, okay? And take some deep breaths.”

  “Okay,” Andi says, but when she turns the corner and sees their house, there are no cars in the driveway. Emily and Cal are not home.

  Where the hell are they?

  She runs into the house, her heart pounding, feeling sick with fear. Grabbing the phone, she punches in Sophia’s number.

  “Hey, Andi. What’s up?”

  Andi forces her voice to sound normal. “Hi, Soph. I don’t know where Emily and Cal are. Do you know?”

  There is a pause. “Emily said she couldn’t get him today,” Sophia says slowly. “She called to see if I could, but I had that huge test.”

  “What?” roars Andi. “What do you mean she couldn’t get him?”

  “She said she had to go meet Michael in the city to see an apartment.”

  “Oh, my God,” Andi shrieks. “Where is he? Where is he? Where the hell is my baby?”

  “Call the school,” Sophia has a calmness and maturity that, under different circumstances, would surprise them both. “Then call me back. I’m on my way home.”

  * * *

  As Sophia drives home, she is unaware that she is grinding her teeth and shaking her head. All she can think about is Emily, how she hasn’t changed, and how furious Sophia is with her right now.

  Sophia loves her sister. Emily is, has always been, the one Sophia looks up to. Sophia may act like the older sister, the mature one, the one who knows what to do; but she has, nevertheless, always looked up to Emily, has spent her life longing for Emily to be the big sister she always hoped she would be.

  Emily’s return was a dream come true. This time, Sophia thought she might stay. This time, Sophia thought they might truly be able to be a happy family, all together, after all. Instead of the constant screaming and backbiting, the flouncing around and slamming of doors that Sophia remembers from when Emily was last at home, there has been calm.

  It helps that Emily is not living in the house, but Emily has been so different, so … happy.

  But today, as Sophia grinds her teeth, thinking incessantly about her sister, she realizes that despite the outward appearances, despite the natural hair, and the hippie clothes, and the calm demeanor, Emily hasn’t changed a bit.

  She is still the self-obsessed, irresponsible, immature girl she always was. And Sophia cannot believe she allowed herself to think that Emily had truly changed, cannot believe that she, Sophia, had been that dumb.

  * * *

  “Mrs. Gundell? I’m sorry, but she’s left for the day. Can I take a message?”

  “No!” Andi shouts. “My son is missing! I have no idea who picked him up from school. I need to find him! I have to speak to her!” Her voice is rising to a scream.

  “Don’t worry,” the school receptionist says calmly. “Let me check the dismissal notes for today.” There is a silence, Andi hearing only the rustling of papers.

  “That’s odd. I don’t have anything,” the receptionist says. “Let me check again.”

  “Please.” Andi is now crying. “Just give me her number.”

  “Let me get Mrs. Gundell on the other line,” the receptionist says. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Andi screeches to a stop outside the florist’s shop. Banging the door open, she runs in to find an empty store. There is tinny music coming from the back room. Panicking, she runs frantically through to where the music is coming from, to find, sitting on a high stool against a counter, his mouth smeared with chocolate, his fingers covered with green foam, Cal.

  “Mommy!” He smiles when he sees her. “Look what I made! Train!”

  “Oh, Cal.” Andi tries to smile as she scoops him up and squeezes him tight, but she bursts into tears.

  “Why you crying, Mommy?” Cal examines her face as he pats her on the back to comfort her, in much the same way she does to him.

  “Because I’m so happy I found you,” she says. “I was so scared. I didn’t know where you were.”

  “I was not lost.” Cal frowns. “I was here.”

  “I know.” She closes her eyes briefly. “I know. Let’s get you home.” She turns to see a dark-skinned man shuffling awkwardly.

  “I sorry, Missus.”

  Andi takes a deep breath. She is filled with a fury she has never known, but it is not against this man. It is not his fault.

  “You’re Manuel?”

  “Yes. I sorry, Missus. Emily phoned. I did not know what to do.”

  “It’s okay. I just had no idea. Thank you for looking after him.”

  “He is a good boy.” Manuel smiles and crouches to say good-bye to C
al.

  “Up high.” Cal gives him a high five. “Down low. In the middle. Too slow!” Cal giggles as he pulls his hand away and looks delightedly up at his mother.

  “Who taught you that?” she says.

  “Manuel. Can we come again?”

  “We’ll see,” she says, picking him up and walking out the door.

  * * *

  The fury does not abate. The longer she thinks about it, the stronger her rage. She does not let it out in front of Cal. At home, she sits him in front of his play cube and goes up to the master bedroom to phone Ethan.

  “That’s it!” she screams down the phone. “That’s it! I’m done. Your goddamned daughter let a stranger pick Cal up from school today. Do you realize what could have happened? He could have been anyone. For three hours, our son was with someone none of us know. I feel sick when I think about it. I’m done, Ethan. Do you understand me? That’s it. That girl is not going to be taking Cal anymore. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.” Her voice breaks, filling with sobs. “She comes back, and with her comes all the goddamned drama. Our lives have been so peaceful for three years. I’ve never been so happy, and the minute she’s back”—Andi can’t even bring herself to say Emily’s name—“there’s drama.

  “I’ve had enough, Ethan. She is not going to have anything to do with Cal. Not anymore. We gave her a shot, and today, she blew it. I am going to see a lawyer, and I’m going to tell them what happened today, and about the drugs and alcohol, and we are going to get custody of Cal. Officially.” Andi runs out of steam. She clutches the phone, waiting for Ethan to say something, but there is just silence.

  “Well?” she says finally. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

  “I…” And she realizes he’s crying, too. “You’re right. This can’t happen again. Ever. Make that appointment.”

  “Can you get home now? I have no idea where your daughter is, but right now I’m ready to murder her, and I’m not joking. You need to be with me, and together, we’re going to tell her.”

  “I’m on my way.” Ethan puts down the phone and drops his head into his hands.