PART ONE
September 6—11:45 a.m.
Sixty minutes of yoga have only made me more anxious. Maybe I’m just not the type of person who can relax in a roomful of strangers.
“Let me guess—you’re a new mom.”
After punching in my locker’s four-digit code, I glance at the tiny woman sporting a matching Lululemon outfit next to me. The coral trim along the sports bra and waistband of the leggings makes her tanned skin pop. She’s obviously been on vacation. We haven’t seen sun in Maryland in weeks—the summer consisted of several scattered days in July; then fall arrived early. “How’d you know?”
“The instructor barely had Namaste out of her mouth when you had your mat rolled up. No long Savasana for you.” The woman takes a set of car keys from her own locker and shuts the door. “So either you only have limited time for the search for inner peace, which is my thing, or you’re nervous about being out of touch for too long.”
I laugh as I reach inside the locker for my phone.
No missed calls or messages. “It’s silly, right? Class is an hour. I just wish they’d allow phones in the room. On silent.”
“Expecting an emergency?”
Am I? “No. I just . . . we just moved here a few weeks ago. My husband and I and our two-year-old daughter. She’s at a new day care.” I tuck the cell phone into the pocket of my yoga pants and close the locker door.
“Ah . . . that explains it. There’s nothing scarier than leaving your child with a stranger for the first time. See you next class,” she says to me; then she waves to the girl at the check-in desk as she leaves the studio.
I gather my things and quickly shove my feet into my shoes. I walk the two blocks to the car and climb in after tossing the yoga mat into the back seat.
The empty car seat makes my chest tighten. A few hours is long enough. I’m going to go pick her up early.
I hit the phone feature on the console and reach for my seat belt. “Call Malcolm.”
“Dialing Malcolm,” the Bluetooth connection says.
I pull out into traffic and head south. “Shit. Wrong direction.”
Four rings, then his voice mail.
“This is Malcolm Jennings. Leave me a message.”
“Hey, honey . . . I’m just leaving yoga; thought I’d call to see how your day was going. I’m picking Mikayla up now. Let me know what time you’ll be home for dinner.” I pull a U-turn at the light. The next words stick in my throat. “I love you. See you soon.”
After disconnecting the call, I turn up the volume on a high-tempo country music song and realize I do feel a little better after taking the yoga class. My chakras have definitely benefitted from the alignment. The move to Ellicott City has been a lot more stressful than I expected. Moving somewhere new is always challenging, but it’s been a good challenge. I have to believe that. I am here now; my new path has been set in motion; I have to see it through and give it my best shot.
Malcolm’s parents are here, so there’s more family support, and it’s important for Mikayla to get to know her grandparents. They are the only other family she has—my parents have been gone a long time now.
This new job of Malcolm’s is definitely the right step for the family. In Florida, the opportunities for him were slim. Here, he will be principal of the high school in three years. Small towns like to support and promote their own, and Malcolm’s family has done a lot for the community here . . . not that he needs his family name to get ahead.
I stop at the light and take in the quiet neighborhood. It’s nice in this area of town. So different from the surroundings I grew up in. A family could live a peaceful, quiet life in a neighborhood like this. Build a real future and be happy.
Five minutes later, I pull into a parking spot on the street in front of Paradise Day Care. It’s a two-story house that’s been converted into a business, which makes it feel warm and inviting, unlike day cares located in schools or church basements. I like that it’s only three blocks from the house and has great reviews on Yelp. After getting out, I jog toward the front door and try the handle.
Locked.
Good. Safe. That makes me feel better.
The babies might be napping, so I don’t ring the doorbell. Instead, I knock and wait.
From inside, I hear children’s music playing softly and the sound of little voices and tiny feet. This is good for Mikayla. She’s an only child. Will forever be an only child. Socialization is important.
I knock again when no one answers and then peer through the window next to the door.
Finally, a young girl I’ve never seen before opens it. “Can I help you?”
“Hi . . . I’m here to pick up Mikayla. I know I’m early, but I wanted to see her, take her home,” I say with a laugh. I can’t be the only parent with separation anxiety.
The young girl frowns. “I’m sorry . . . who are you?”
“I’m Kelsey Jennings. My daughter, Mikayla, is here. There was another woman here this morning when I dropped her off.” I look past her into the house. A row of toddlers sit in high chairs in the kitchen. Small, colorful plastic bowls on the trays in front of them. Tiny hands shove food into their mouths, and messy faces turn to look my way.
“And you say your daughter’s name is Mikayla?” the girl asks. She looks confused, and my pulse quickens.
“Yes. Mikayla Jennings.” I don’t see her in one of the high chairs.
“I think you might be in the wrong place,” she says.
“Can I come in?”
“Um . . . we have a strict policy not to let anyone inside . . .”
She tries to close the door, but I push against it. “My daughter’s in there,” I say, feeling the hair on the back of my neck stand up. A shiver makes me cold despite the lingering body heat from my workout.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t have a child named Mikayla here. No one new has started recently,” the young girl says.
My knees wobble, and I push hard against the door, causing her to stumble backward. I hurry past her into the house before she can stop me.
“Ma’am . . . you can’t come in.”
I ignore her. “Mikayla!” I call out as I go into the kitchen. Six unfamiliar faces stare back at me. “Mikayla! Mommy’s here.” The main room is empty. Mats lie on the floor. Pillows and blankets and stuffed animals set up for nap time. I run down the hall, but the bathroom is empty . . . the Lego room is occupied by several older children. “Hi . . . have any of you kids seen a little girl? Blonde hair. Blue eyes.” What was she wearing this morning? I realize I don’t know. “She’s two.”
The kids all shake their heads.
“Ma’am, you can’t be in here. I have to ask you to leave, or I’m calling the police,” the young girl says as she follows me through the house.
“Where’s the other woman who was here? Fran, her name was.” She gave Mikayla a tour of the day care and registered her. She’d recognize me. She’d know where Mikayla is.
“There’s no Fran that works here. Just Rebecca and myself.”
No Fran. What the hell is she talking about? I have a business card with Fran’s name on it as a childcare provider at this day care. Her photo is on their website. I left the card in my purse in the car, but there’s no way I’m leaving to go get it. I refuse to leave here without Mikayla. “Where’s the other woman, then? Rebecca, did you say?”