🎧 Chapter Twelve | Safe and Sound?
What you need to know:
As part of a “trust building” exercise, Rick eagerly baby-sits Josephine for a couple hours while Jennifer is out of town. When Jo gets sick, Rick freaks out, then vanishes. Jennifer, in a panic, doesn’t know where he’s gone, and worse, what he’s done with her child. Fran heads over to see what’s going on. Is Jo okay?
Chapter Twelve
Safe and Sound?
The man sitting at the front of the class, Bob, is jumbo-sized. Not overweight as much as NFL-linebacker-big. Bulky, too. First, the tiny cowboy, and now this guy, I think. What is this? Alice in Wonderland?
Bob is a professional writer, teacher, and speaker brought in to inspire the graduating class. He also works at a major university in the Midwest and recently founded an online literary magazine.
Wedged into an all-in-one chair-desk, Bob tells stories about his early days as a student. Everyone laughs…except me.
In the back row, I sit next to a tinted-glass picture window that overlooks a stand of ancient fir trees with branches that unfurl over the buildings, sidewalks, lawns, and parking lots.
Please be okay. Please. Please, because if anything bad happens to Jo, I’ll throw myself out this window.
“What about teaching?” one of the students asks. “What are the job prospects out there? Be honest.”
Bob massages his massive chin with his equally massive hand.
“With budget cuts…” he says, words slow as if he doesn’t want to say them, “…and the economy.” He drops the big paw back to his knee. “Well. I’m not going to lie to you guys. In my program, we only hire Ph.D.’s.”
A collective wave of groans.
“Unless you want to be adjunct,” he says, hurriedly. “Most colleges are going this way. Not because it’s right, but because they can.”
The classroom is smaller than most on campus. Nubby indoor-outdoor carpet. Brown. A series of sliding chalkboards behind Bob. Banks of florescent lights.
“Forget health insurance,” Bob says. “Since adjunct faculty are part-time, they don’t have job security, set hours, or a 401K.”
I rub at my temples, the pounding of a headache coming on. There goes my stable, steady, sturdy plan to get a university job.
In the window, something blinks. A light. Red.
I peer down in the parking lot. A police officer? An ambulance? But then realize it’s the reflection of my cell phone. I shift around in the desk, yank the phone from the mesh pocket of my pack.
By the time I get to the hall, Fran’s call slips into voice messaging. I ring her back but the phone makes a rude beep sound. Zero bars on the screen. No service here.
I walk the length of the hall, staring at the screen. The service bars increase to one, then none. I back up. One again. I turn left, push through the exit door, step into a stairwell. Surrounded by concrete, I get three bars, which doesn’t seem possible, then realize it must be due to the narrow, tall window. I dial into voice messaging.
“Hey, Jennifer,” Fran’s recorded voice says. “I’ve got your girl. She’s going to stay with me today. Why don’t you give me a call?”
I am about to hit dial but Fran’s message rolls into another.
“7:55 a.m.,” an automatic voice says. “Jennifer,” Rick’s recorded voice says. “Jo is throwing up. I canceled her play date. I don’t know what to do.” Click.
“8:05 a.m.,” an automatic voice says. Rustling sounds. Click.
“8:11 a.m.,” an automatic voice says. Then Rick again, “Jo is still throwing up. I think I need to take her to the emergency room.” Click.
I dial Rick, but once again the call rolls into voice messaging. Same with the home phone. Finally, I call Fran.
“Hey there,” she says.
“You’ve got her?” I ask.
“Safe and sound,” Fran says.
I lean my shoulder into the window. My head light. “What about Rick?” I ask.
“We should probably chat through the details later,” Fran says in a high, happy voice like a preschool teacher. “Right now, I have a little girl who wants to say hello.”
There is the shuffling sound of the phone being passed over.
“Mommy?” Jo says. Normal. Happy. Herself.
I shove off the window, cross to the stairs, sit down on the cold concrete.
“Hi, Honey,” I say, trying to sound normal.
“Hi,” Jo says.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
This is a game Jo likes to play on the phone: Who will start the conversation first? Jo will say “Hi” a hundred times if that’s what it takes to win.
“What a day,” I say.
“I win!” she says.
“Yep. You win,” I say, lower my head into my hand.
“Fran and me are at the art store,” Jo continues. So happy. This is hardly a child vomited to the point of death. “We’re getting paint and paper and we’re going to do some art.”
“Good. Good. That’s good.”
“You sound echo-y.”
“I’m in a stairwell.”
“Why?”
“I can’t get service anywhere else.”
“Oh,” Jo says, but I know she doesn’t understand what I mean. She’s only nine. A little girl.
It’s quiet between us for a long moment. “Can you tell me what happened?” I ask.
“You mean about the throwing up?”
“Yeah. Just tell me the one, two, three of it.”
This is another one of her games. One, two, three is how we move through the more difficult conversations that upset her. Anything heavy or intense like getting into a fight with Spencer and having to explain who did and said what, or breaking a dish, or telling a fib, and Jo shuts down.
“One, Daddy dropped me at the house,” she says now. “Two, I didn’t feel good, so Rick stuck seeds on my ears. Three, I threw up.”
“Wait. Hold on,” I say, look at the window across the way. “He used seeds on you?”
“I didn’t want them, Mommy,” Jo says. “I said no lots of times. Lots.”
I stare into the space before me. In my bones, a feeling like I’ve been immersed in an icy lake.
“Mommy?” Jo says. “Are you there?
“Yes,” I say, my voice is a whisper now. I’m dizzy, light headed. A wire of memory tripped. I said no. I said no.
“Mommy?” Jo says again.
“I’m sorry, Jo,” I say, clear my throat. “You’re okay now?”
“I feel great,” she says. “Fran wants the phone but wait, when are you coming home?”
“Tonight.”
“Really? I thought a week.”
“No. I’m coming back tonight. I’ll see you at Dad’s. Okay?”
“Yay,” Jo says, and to Fran. “Mommy’s coming home.”
“Love you,” I say.
“Me too, Mommy,” Jo says.
Next:
Chapter Fourteen: The Most Dangerous Person on Earth
Jennifer rents a car and drives back to Portland to find and confront Rick who performed a high risk medical treatment on her child without parental consent. Worse, he did this thing to Josephine over her many protests. Jennifer intends to find Rick, to confront him, and then…what? Beyond these two goals, Jennifer hasn’t formulated a plan of what she will do next, but in her current state of mind, she’s is on the brink of making a life altering decision.
