there? No. I’d need evidence before making an accusation like that—and all I have is a paint color.
Is this spiraling? Or desperation? I don’t know. The only thing I’m certain of is this: every minute in which I can’t remember anything useful is another minute in which Astrid’s life is in danger. So whatever I saw during that vacation with Kyla is—
Kyla.
I actually smack my head at how stupid I’ve been. Then I turn on my car, crank the air-conditioning, and pull up her name on my phone. As it rings, my heart beats faster. It’s been over two years since I last heard her voice, when I called her on her thirtieth birthday. Since then it’s been sporadic texts, Facebook likes, and Instagram comments only, and there’s a part of me that wonders if she’ll see my name on her caller ID and send it to voice mail. I haven’t acted like a real friend to her in a long time.
“Fern!”
I jolt as I hear the excitement in her voice. I clear my throat and try to match her tone.
“Kyla, hey!”
“Hi! This is so weird. I was just thinking about you this morning.”
“Really?”
“Yeah! Brennan Llewellyn was on The Today Show, and I was picturing Ted watching the interview with his fists shaking, and his face getting all red, and steam coming out of his ears. I was, like, giggling at the image.” She laughs before pausing. “I also might watch too many cartoons.”
I force myself to chuckle. “Well, if he had TV or internet, I’m sure he’d have done that. Guess you’ll have to picture him shaking his fist at Brennan’s book instead.”
“Oh god, that’s even better.”
A shrill cry pierces my ear, and I have to hold the phone away from my face.
“Is this a bad time?” I ask.
“No, not at all.” Kyla’s voice shakes like she’s bouncing up and down. I picture a child clamped against her hip and it’s as if I can feel the weight of him, or her, pressing on my own body. The cry continues for a few moments. Then it’s a scream.
“Sorry, it’s just Thomas,” Kyla says, but her voice barely reaches me. The line is clogged with this cry for help. I will hear it tonight in my dreams. “He’s really sick.”
“Oh no! Should you take him to the hospital?”
“The hospital? No, he’s— Jeff, can you take him for a minute? It’s Fern.” The wailing remains megaphone loud for another moment, and then it grows distant, fading into white noise. “Sorry about that. No, he’s okay. He just caught Leland’s cold.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Aren’t colds supposed to be dangerous for babies? I can let you go if you need to call the doctor or—”
“Fern, it’s fine,” she says. “He’s okay,” and it’s as if we’re kids again: me panicking about something—bugs, boys, her brother—and Kyla shushing me, soothing me, telling me that everything’s all right. Sometimes it felt like the only mothering I got was from my best friend.
“Okay,” I concede. “Good. Um. So I know we haven’t talked in a—”
“Leland! What did I say? The brush goes in the paint, not your mouth…”
My eyes widen. Poisonous chemicals. Colors that look like candy. A tongue too young to know the taste of toxins.
“This kid, I swear,” Kyla continues. “She would try to eat the refrigerator if I told her not to. Yesterday, she actually—no! Leland, no. Not on the floor. On your—yes, good. Goooood. Isn’t that fun?” I hear her breathe deeply before coming back to me. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
I laugh, in spite of myself. In spite of the prickly feeling crawling along my arms.
“How do you do that?” I ask.
Another cry in the background. It’s high but robust. Hell-bent on being heard.
“Do what?”
“Do… motherhood, I guess. Stay calm while your baby is sick. While your kid is… eating paint, it sounds like?”
There’s a rush of air against the phone, and I know that Kyla is blowing her bangs out of her eyes.
“It’s not as bad as it seems,” she says. “The paint is kids’ stuff. She probably could eat it and be fine, but obviously I—wait.”
“What?”
“What’s with this interest in my kids all of a sudden?” Her tone is light. Playful, even. But the question still jabs me. I’ve never seen either of her children in person, and she only lives in Maine. I could have made the trip there and back in a single day. If I’d wanted to.