Little Mercies. Heather Gudenkauf
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down to my side as it continues to ring, unanswered from within the house. “It’s Manda Haskins. The police are afraid that she’s got some trouble in there and are worried about her girls.”
Jade shakes her head, her dark eyes knowingly serious. “Haven’t met her new boyfriend, but I’ve seen him coming and going. Used to be Manda would be outside all the time in her front yard while the girls played. Her Kylie is real good with Anthony here. They would sit in their little pool.” She nods toward the small, round, plastic pool. A yellow duck floats aimlessly and a few Barbie dolls are submerged in the shallow, dirty water. “It’s too hot to be inside.”
“You don’t see them outside much anymore?” I ask.
“No.” Jade shifts Anthony to her other hip. “The boyfriend is over all the time and Manda won’t let the girls outside by themselves. Haven’t seen much of them the past three weeks or so...” Jade trails off and we both watch as Officer Stamm and his partner emerge from the other side of the house and make their way back toward to where we are standing.
“No answer,” I say, indicating the still-ringing phone. “Did you see anything?”
“No,” the female officer says, running a forearm across her sweaty forehead. “The house is shut down tight. Shades are drawn and the only sound is the phone ringing.”
We are silent for a moment, quietly regarding the house. I don’t see any sign of activity. “Jesus,” Stamm whispers. “It’s hotter than hell standing out here. Call for another car,” he tells the other officer, “I’m going to go knock on the front door.”
I’m vaguely aware of movements behind me. Curious onlookers and neighbors trying to see what is going on.
Jade lays a hand on my arm. “Look,” she says, and all our eyes fix upon the front of the house. “Something’s happening inside.”
There is movement behind the curtains at the front of the house and my attention returns to the Haskinses’ home. Abruptly the ringing stops and I quickly raise my cell phone to my ear. “Hello,” I say fervently. “Kylie, is that you? Are you okay?”
“Uh-huh,” the little girl whispers.
“Where are you?”
“Inside,” she whispers.
“Where at inside? Are you in the kitchen, the living room...?”
“The TV room,” she answers. Her voice is small and so scared sounding.
“Where’s Krissie?” I ask. I tilt the phone away from my ear so that Officer Stamm can hear what Kylie is saying.
“She’s still in the bathroom.”
“Good. That’s good,” I reassure her. “Where’s your mommy?”
Kylie’s voice quivers. “I don’t know. The bedroom door is locked. There was yelling and loud noises and then it stopped. I was afraid to knock. Should I go knock?”
“No, no, Kylie, stay right here with me,” I say in a rush, desperate to keep her on the line.
“Tell her we’re coming to the door,” Officer Stamm instructs.
I cover my hand over the phone. “Can’t I go to the door to get them? The kids know me. They won’t be afraid of me.”
Stamm shakes his head. “No. Too dangerous. Stay down here and you’ll be the first person they see when they come out. Tell them that two police officers are coming to the door.”
“Kylie, honey,” I say. “Two nice police officers are going to come to the door. You open it up for them and then they’ll be able to check on your mom, okay?” I nod at Stamm and the two officers move toward the front door.
“Okay,” Kylie answers. “Should I go back to the bathroom and get Krissie?”
“No, no. Lay the phone down but don’t hang it up. The police officers are almost to the door. Okay, Kylie, go open the door. I’m right outside waiting for you.” The front door opens a crack and a short beep indicates that I have another call coming in. I ignore it.
Shouts come from behind me, and when I turn I find that a handful of people are not watching to see what is happening in the house. They are turned in the opposite direction, their backs to the drama unfolding right in front of them. I face the house again. Stamm and the other officer cautiously enter the home, hands near their weapons. More hollering from behind me, this time urgent, frantic sounding. The commotion behind us has also caught Jade’s attention and I can tell she is torn between attending to what is happening in the home and the flurry behind us.
I hang up my phone, confident that the officers are in the house and will bring the girls out safely.
Immediately my phone begins to buzz. I look at the display. Three missed calls, all from Adam. I shove the phone into the pocket of my skirt.
The screen door opens and, to my relief, Kylie and Krissie are being led out of the home. As they exit, I see the fear and uncertainty on Kylie’s face and it breaks my heart. I rush forward to meet them, taking comfort in that I will be a familiar face to them and I will whisk them to safety. But I also know that they will hate me. I will be the one who may have to place them in a new foster home, the one who may take them away from their mother whom they love unconditionally, without question, without asking for anything in return. I hope that the entire situation was just an awful misunderstanding. I pray their mother is still alive.
Before I can gather the girls into my arms there is a sharp crack and the sound of broken glass. The crowd behind me has grown and I see that they have gathered around the source of the broken glass. My van. Someone is breaking into my car in broad daylight, a police officer less than a block away. The nerve. But very quickly I realize that these thieves aren’t wayward teenage boys with too much time on their hands, but a group of women and a lone man. Mothers and grandmothers by the looks of them, and an old man wielding a crowbar. He steadies himself by placing a hand on the hood of the van, his chest rising and falling heavily. The crowbar slips from his hand, clanking to the ground. A heavyset woman reaches through the broken window and violently flings open the sliding door. She disappears for just a moment and then emerges. It’s then that I see what they already know. A flash of pink, a dangling shoelace.
“Oh, my God,” a voice I don’t recognize as my own erupts from my throat. “Please, no,” I whimper. I run toward the van.
It’s a terrible thing when you discover your child’s life is in danger. God or evolution or whatever you believe in must equip our bodies, our minds, our souls with some sort of talisman. At first I can’t believe that it’s Avery. She should be at the babysitter’s house gnawing on a graham cracker, playing with the other one-year-olds, piling big plastic blocks on top of one another. How did she get in the van? I know I didn’t put her there. Did I? No, it was Adam, I think, remembering how I met him coming back into the house just as I was leaving. How could I not even know she was strapped into the seat directly behind me?
The world becomes silent, I see mouths moving but no sound emerges. A numbness has crept into my limbs; a curious heaviness weighs down my extremities. I pray that what I’m witnessing right before me is all a terrible mistake. The bluish tinge that rings Avery’s lips is just the slant of light through trees. The way her hands lie limply at her side just means that she is very tired. It is just about time for her morning nap.
Too soon, much too quickly, I realize what I am so desperately trying to deny.
I reach for Avery and the minute she is in my arms I know that nothing will ever be the same, will ever be right again. The heat is rising from her skin searing into my own. There is no flutter beneath her eyelids to let me know she is just sleeping, no discernible rise and fall of her chest. There is nothing. Just as quickly as I have bundled Avery into my arms she is pulled away from me and I am left empty-handed with only the sound of my own cries and the question roiling over and over in my head. What have you done? What have you done?