Something She's Not Telling Us - Darcey Bell Page 0,9
her?
She knows in her heart and in the pit of her stomach that it is a problem. That something is not right. That something is very, very wrong. And this time—she doesn’t know how she knows, but she does—it’s not just her overactive imagination.
Who was the man with Ruth?
“Where is she?” Charlotte says. “Where the fuck is my daughter?”
The whole cafeteria goes quiet. Everyone is looking at them. Even the kids, especially the kids, know something’s going on. They stop playing and yelling and eating their microwave pizza—and stare. How lucky they are, how safe. None of those children have been kidnapped. Only Charlotte’s child. She has never felt so lonely than she does here, surrounded by teachers and kids.
“Please,” says Mrs. Hernandez. “We understand that you’re upset. But you’re upsetting the children. I’m sure we can figure this out. We’ll clear this up in no time.”
Charlotte looks at the clock. It’s five thirty.
Daisy’s been gone for two and a half hours.
She’s gasping. Someone brings her a paper cup of brackish water. She takes a sip.
Disgusting.
“Daisy’s asthmatic.”
Whatever warm, cooperative fellow feeling flowing between her and the others cools in an instant. They are not all in this together. She is in this alone.
“We do know she’s asthmatic,” says Michelle. “Believe me, we are fully aware of the children’s health issues.”
Just as Charlotte is growing enraged by the thought that the person she loves most in the world has become a “child with health issues,” Tanya says, “We know that Daisy’s inhaler is in her backpack.”
“Did she take her backpack?” Let the answer to that one question be yes, and Charlotte can cope with everything else.
“Yes,” says Tanya. “I remember. We’re careful . . . because of your daughter’s health issues . . .”
They look toward the corner where the backpacks are piled in a heap. Even from a distance Charlotte can tell that Daisy’s pack—a lurid purple, decorated with black and white piano keys—isn’t there.
Daisy was wearing her purple jacket.
Daisy’s inhaler! Charlotte has the GPS tracker on her phone that lets her locate the inhaler. If Daisy has the inhaler, she can find out where Daisy is.
The app was a present from Ruth. Best not to think about that now.
Charlotte whips out her phone. “There’s an app. So we can find her inhaler . . . it’s a tracking device . . . it’s . . .”
She’s tapping her phone as she says this, trying, even in her panic, to show these strangers that she is a responsible mother. She’s figured out how never to lose her daughter’s rescue inhaler. Meanwhile they are the ones who have lost her child.
She finds the app and presses LOCATE. Her screen goes blue, and a brighter blue doughnut circles and circles and circles. The children in the cafeteria have lost interest in her and resumed making noise. Charlotte hopes someone is looking after those kids. The people around her are watching her phone.
In tiny yellow letters against the blue background, it reads:
Oops! Service interrupted, please try again later.
Oops. She’s gotten used to Oops! when online service breaks down. Oops! Her daughter has been kidnapped.
She feels her heart plummet in her chest. She feels like she’s swallowed an egg. She wants to sit down. She can’t sit down. She will get stuck there forever and never find Daisy.
She wants to throw her phone against the wall. But that’s the last thing she can do. She needs the phone now more than ever. She tries again, presses LOCATE again, and the same thing happens. Oops!
“Turn it off and on,” suggests Tanya.
“I will,” says Charlotte.
“The reception’s not great down here,” says Michelle.
It was always fine before.
Charlotte says, “Are you sure she didn’t leave her backpack here?” This makes no sense, she knows. If the inhaler was in her backpack, and if her backpack was in the gym, that familiar, comforting beep would be audible across the room.
“Yes,” says Tanya. “Your sister-in-law was clear about that.”
“Let me say this one more time, okay? I don’t have a sister-in-law.”
“Her name was on the list,” repeats Mrs. Hernandez, as if Charlotte is Daisy’s age. “And ‘sister-in-law’ was how she self-identified.” She looks to the others for confirmation, and all of them nod.
Michelle says, “She told us that she was Daisy’s aunt, and Daisy looked happy to see her Auntie Ruth.”
Tanya says, “That’s what we look for. The response of the child.”
“And the guy?” says Charlotte. “Did my daughter respond to this man . . . this stranger?”