ISLA
SEEING THAT RAISIN’S NUMBERS WERE FINE, SHE PUT THE TEST KIT away and sat next to him on the couch. The normal routine consisted of testing Raisin at least twenty times throughout the day. Keeping track of Raisin’s glucose levels was a life-and-death ritual, something that had become second nature to her. In the event she went outside or got stuck on the phone, Raisin had been taught to take and analyze his own numbers. When at school, he made frequent trips to the nurse so she could check him out. The worst and scariest moments were when he suffered a blackout or seizure.
She sat with Raisin and watched TV, trying to control her growing anxiety over her daughter’s whereabouts. Thank God Raisin had a calm and gentle nature and never seemed to get too rattled about anything. It worried her that he hadn’t asked about Katie yet. Was he in denial? Or maybe he just didn’t want to talk about her disappearance. Scout stood up and looked at her with his big brown eyes before settling down, in what she liked to call his seal posture.
Her phone buzzed. She knew it was a fellow parishioner responding to her request for help. Tomorrow morning they planned to meet and begin a search for the girls. The cops had begun their own search, but with a force of five, they could hardly be expected to cover much ground. All the officers on the force had volunteered their time to look for the two girls, as had officers from some of the surrounding communities.
Canned laughter came from the TV, and Raisin let out a series of giggles. Along the floor were Scout’s bringsels. Scout had been trained to pick up common, everyday objects with his mouth—bringsels—and bring them to her in the event Raisin’s blood sugar spiked. There were also bells on hooks scattered throughout the rooms, which Scout could gather in his mouth and ring if alerted.
The missing James boy flashed through her mind. No, she didn’t want to go there and allow negative thoughts to dominate her thinking. She remembered seeing his distraught mother weeks afterward and wrapping the styling cape around her fragile shoulders. Her face had looked as pale as the neck strip she’d looped around her. And the poor woman had lost a lot of weight. Even her hair had seemed to lose its natural luster and turn prematurely gray. Isla enjoyed cutting hair and talking to her clients, but some days it proved difficult. Like when a client suffered some sort of tragedy and broke down sobbing in her chair. No way she could be cheerful and upbeat when that happened, and the gloom usually stayed with her the rest of the day.
The TV show ended, and Raisin yawned. Isla wanted to get him to bed as soon as possible so he wouldn’t see her fretting. With Katie still missing, she knew she’d not get any sleep tonight.
“Time for bed, buddy.”
“I know you’re scared, Mom, but don’t worry. Katie will be home soon.”
“I know.”
“Can I go help you look for her tomorrow?”
“How do you know about that?”
“It’s why you’ve been looking at your phone all night, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I need you to stay in school tomorrow. You’ve got only a few days left, and you’ve already missed too many this year.”
“But I don’t care about school. I want to help find Katie.”
“Like you said, we’ll find her and bring her home. Half the congregation will be out helping me look for her. And the police are searching, too.”
“Scout can help. Maybe he can follow her scent.”
“Scout’s a lifesaver, for sure, but he’s been trained to do one job in life, and that’s care for you. You two need to keep as normal a routine as possible for the sake of your health.”
“Jeez, Mom, I’m not Humpty Dumpty sitting on some stupid wall.”
“Humpty Dumpty?” She laughed. “What made you think of him?”
“‘All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty together again,’ but he didn’t have a dog like Scout watching over him.”
* * *
Isla’s father had been asleep for a while now. He slept at least ten hours a day, every day of the week. After Raisin went to bed, she paced the dark house, unable to keep her emotions in check. For the hundredth time, she called Ray and got the same response. She knew she’d need to nap at some point this evening, so she threw a blanket and pillow on the couch and closed her eyes.
A thought came to her as she stared up at the ceiling. She went into Katie’s room and clicked on the light. Breaking the norm for most teens, Katie kept her room in spotless condition. Not a thing appeared out of place. Isla never had to tell her to clean up or make her bed. Katie even vacuumed the carpet once a week. Isla glanced at the desk Katie did her homework on. Over the past year, she hadn’t been using it as much, choosing instead to study over at Willow’s house. Or to finish her homework in study hall. The sight of this empty room caused a pit to form in Isla’s stomach. She knew Katie’s days in this household were numbered, and she’d soon be off to college, but she’d not expected to see the room so empty so soon.
Isla sat on the bed and stared at Katie’s laptop. In September Katie would be starting her senior year and would be filling out the first of her college applications. They planned on making campus trips later in the summer and doing some mother-daughter bonding, bonding that she’d recently neglected because of Raisin’s and her father’s medical conditions. Part of her was eager to help Katie make that exciting life transition. The other part of her felt depressed that her daughter would soon be leaving.
Choosing a college had been all Isla could think about when she was a high school senior. She remembered how excited she’d been when she got accepted and when her parents dropped her off at the university. The prospect of meeting new friends, the parties and football games, the intellectual rigor of the high-level classes she would be taking had been exhilarating.
However, one of her professors had spoken to her that first day in class, and everything had changed. She had felt excited that a handsome, intelligent man like him would take notice of her. He cut quite a figure on campus, with his longish black hair and tweed jackets. Wearing boat shoes and jeans, he stood over six feet tall and seemed never to arrive to class without his signature plaid scarf entwined around his neck. He’d written three novels, none of which she’d ever heard of, but supposedly, they’d received great critical praise. She tried reading his dense, difficult prose, but when she couldn’t understand it, she felt stupid. During office hours, he smiled with delight when she praised his work and asked what she thought was a series of interesting questions. He explained that there was no clear meaning to his prose and that readers were free to come to their own conclusions. Bullshit meters went off in her head after he lectured her about his work, but she pushed them back down, chalking it up to her lack of sophistication.
But then, when she seemed happiest, he would criticize one of her essays in front of the class, often in a cold and callous manner. Later he would apologize during office hours, telling her that he was only trying not to show favoritism. He was good, because the more he criticized her, the harder she worked to win his approval.
This went on until the end of her freshman year. His behavior confused and inspired her, as irritating and humiliating as it seemed to be. Yes, she was attracted to him, and it was an attraction unlike anything she’d experienced with the boys she’d fallen for in the past. He was sophisticated and had flair. But she never thought to follow through on her feelings for him; she really didn’t think an esteemed professor like him would want anything to do with a dumb girl from the sticks of Maine.