like a soothing lullaby, remembered comfort from long ago pouring over me.
As I watched her bustle through the store, I wondered if what she’d done could possibly have been an act of love. Had she been so devastated by the loss of her children that she reached out in desperation to whatever power would grant her those lives back, consequences be damned—literally? I mean, I’m the queen of consequences be damned and it-seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time behaviors. Maybe those flaws are genetically transmitted.
Almost two hours later, I was still working up the courage to go in and talk to her when something occurred to me. Out of the clear blue, my gut told me that Leah was in trouble.
I diverted my attention from my mother to the strange notion. I was wondering whether or not I should just write it off as some kind of neural misfire when it happened again, like a persistent gnawing at my insides.
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Leah’s number. No one answered so I left a message.
“This is Carson. Just looking for Leah. If you could have her call me, I’d appreciate it. Thanks,” I said and then hung up. Less than a minute later, it occurred to me that she didn’t have my cell phone number so I called back and left that on the answering machine as well. Then I sat back to think.
My mind rationalized that it was Christmas Eve after all. Maybe Leah and her family had gone out of town or were just busy with last minute preparations or shopping. I decided to just wait and see if Leah called in the next couple of hours. If she didn’t, I’d try again and then go from there.
I rearranged my limbs into a more comfortable position and tried to concentrate on my mother once again. But now Leah was on my brain, that gnawing sensation growing stronger and stronger. Then my phone rang. Leah’s number showed up on the caller id. Relieved, I answered.
“Where are you?” I said without preamble.
“Carson, this is Dina.”
“Oh, hi, Mrs. Kirby. Is Leah there?”
“We were hoping that she was with you.”
“What do you mean? I’ve been out of town. I’m, uh, I’m visiting relatives in Ohio.”
I heard a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “Leah and Ryan broke up and she left this morning. She said she was going for a walk, but that was hours ago and now we can’t find her. Bruce and I just got back from driving around the neighborhood and the park looking for her.”
The gnawing stepped up to a jittery feeling of urgency. “Did you check the library?” Sadly, that was Leah’s favorite place.
“They’re closed for the holidays. Can you think of anywhere else she might go?”
I really couldn’t. “No, but I’m coming home. Will you call me if you hear from her? And I’ll do the same.”
“Alright.”
“I’ll come to your house as soon as I get there.”
“Thanks, Carson. We appreciate it.”
“No problem, Mrs. Kirby.”
I was already going back through my trip, plotting out shortcuts, planning on speeding and making as few stops as possible.
********
After quickly collecting my things from the hotel and checking out, my trip sped along even better than I anticipated. I was well in to West Virginia when I saw that my gas gauge was almost empty again, so when I saw a sign for a convenience store with a sub shop inside, I took that exit.
I was sitting in the car munching on my meatball sub when I saw Leah run by just beyond the hood. I doubted my eyes for a second, squeezing them shut before looking down at my sandwich, wondering what they’d put in the meatballs. But when I looked back up, I could still see her.
I could tell her pants were pale in color, but I couldn’t make out much more detail; she was shrouded in shadow. As she scrambled, I could see that her usually curly hair was stuck to her cheeks, water dripping from the ends. She stopped, chest heaving, and leaned back against a tree. I could barely see the two black letters DC burned into its bark above Leah’s head.
I got out of the car, one foot still on the floorboard inside, and stood behind the open door. “Leah?” I said hesitantly. It was no surprise that she didn’t acknowledge me. Though I didn’t really know what was going on, after yesterday, I felt sure that these “visions” were not interactive. At least I