Two months. Jim had been gone for two months.
Barbara Lake sat at the dinner table. A coffee mug rested beside her hand, unsipped. A milk carton lingered near it, unpoured. Still in her lab coat, stethoscope dangling from her neck, she stared. A hand rose and traced the back of the carton, fingertips chasing droplets of condensation away from the familiar face printed on the back. Beneath the picture, in bold, black letters read:
MISSING: JAMES (JIM) LAKE JR. AGE: 16. HEIGT: 5'5". WEIGHT: 119 LBS. EYE COLOR: BLUE. HAIR COLOR: BROWN. LAST SEEN WEARING A BLUE JACKET WITH A WHITE SHIRT AND BLUE JEAN PANTS, CONVERSE-STYLE SHOES WITH WHITE LAC…
The words blurred together as the water reached her eyes, tears rallying fourth for what must have been the trillionth time since Jim had disappeared. She let her head fall to the table, glasses digging uncomfortably into her cheek and temple, as her body became wracked with sorrow.
Outside, the night hovered like a coiled snake, taunting her with its bleak and lightless eyes. The wind whirred softly past the windows; weather warm, calm and everything her life was not. She sniffled and blinked her way through another wave of tears, blue eyes looking to the picture, which now hovered above her head.
"Sweetie, please." She whispered weakly into the crook of her elbow, "please be alright. Please come home."
She gasped and held her breath, trying to control her sorrow, to gain some sense of composure, but found that it only unraveled her all the more. This time, she didn't hold back the sobs.
There was no one there-no one to listen, or comfort, or care; only an empty house full of washed-out memories and dreams.
She remembered the first time she'd stepped into the home, over a decade prior. Her husband, James, had been away at the time—off on a business trip for his work. The realtor had given her a key and a time to tour the next prospective buy. After viewing dozens of houses, she was tired of searching, of driving, of coordinating, and of being disappointed in every property she saw.
This has to be the one. She'd thought as she inserted the key into the shiny brass door. Walking through, clutching her swelling stomach, she'd taken in the smell of the fresh paint and new wood, and the warmth of yellow sunlight bouncing off the walls. For the first time, she felt hope.
"You're gonna grow up here," she said when she reached the top of the stairs, swaying from side to side in the empty room as she hugged her stomach. "We're going to build a life: you, me, your father, some brothers and sisters...maybe a dog." She blinked. "Do you like dogs?" she looked down, asking her navel. "I've always liked dogs."
She only felt a kick in return, but it made her smile all the same. "Just stay safe in there okay?" she said, poking back at her stomach in jest. "You'll be out here soon enough. It's scary, at first, but you get used to it. We'll make it, together, and you'll always have a home."
"Always."The word echoed in her mind as a knock on the door woke her up. She lifted her head off of the table, wiping off the dried up tears and drool. The milk carton was warm, the coffee beside it no longer brimming with steam; she looked to the clock. 11PM. An hour had passed since she'd first sat down.
The knocking came again. This time, it was louder, more insistent. She groaned as she stood and fixed her glasses.
A few footsteps saw her standing in front of the door and peeking into the eye-hole at its center. A short, stout figure lingered on the doorstep.
"Toby?" she asked softly to herself, then moved to unfasten the locks.
When the door swung open, he was holding his hands to his knees, as though trying to recover.
"Hey, Dr. L.," He huffed, out of breath. "Uh, is this a good time?"
"Well, I...is everything okay?" Her eyes scanned the flushed tone of his face.
"It's Nana." He said, launching into the matter at hand, "she fell over in the bathtub and won't let me come in. She can't get up, but she doesn't want me to call an ambulance. I guess it's too expensive. So, um, she said to come get you if you were home."
"Okay," Barbara gestured to the air, body launching into action. "Just let me get my keys. I'll be right back."
An hour later, she was leaning against the doorway of Toby's grandmother's kitchen, the deep blue of her eyes scanning the figure that was dozing at the breakfast table.
"Hey," she walked over and gently shook the child's arm, "Toby, sweetie, wake up."
"Five more minutes," the teenager murmured into the plaid, plastic surface of the cover that had been placed over the wood of table.
A small smile tugged at her lips, "it's your Nana, hun, I've gotten her into bed and-."
The sudden yelp he gave nearly had her jumping out of her lab coat. "Nana!" he exclaimed, the whole thing coming back to him at once. "Is she okay? Is she going to live! Do we have to take her to the hospital!?"
Her lithe hand flew to his shoulder, trying to steady him.
"It's fine," she said calmly, and with trained patience. "Your Nana's going to be just fine. I got her up and dressed, and into bed. She's resting, for the moment." The doctor paused and looked him in the eyes. "Now, she has some pretty heavy bruises on her hip and shoulder. I'm worried that she might have a small fracture in her pelvis. With older people, that can lead to a pretty serious situation. She's already having a little bit of trouble walking, so I'm going to take her to work with me. That way, we'll avoid the ambulance fee and I can put her on my patient list, okay? I go in at two o'clock, anyways, so showing up a little early with some business won't hurt."
"But didn't you just get off of work?" He asked, green eyes glowing with concern.
Barbara nodded. "Yeah, well, story of my life," she smirked. "You're Nana wanted to talk to you for a few minutes. I'm going to wait in the kitchen and we'll discuss what we need to do when you're done."
There was a cup in the dish rack near the sink. She took it and filled it a quarter full with water. "Make sure she only takes the two blue pills from her box. I took the others out but I don't think she likes the idea. Just a few sips of water until I know we're not going to put her under."
"What are the blue pills?"
"Levothyroxine," she said, "it's just a thyroid hormone. She probably has Hashimoto's. A lot of women do."
Toby blinked up at her as though they'd just met. "Wow, I don't think I've ever seen you in doctor-mode before. You know all this stuff. It's like you're a superhero."
This time, her smile reached her eyes, "Well, I don't always feel like one, but thanks. Now go on before your Nana tries to fall asleep. If you see her trying to go for that yellow pill, take it away. It's a sedative so she can sleep. I'm worried she's going to sneak one in on me and it will create a massive problem if she does."
"Don't let Nana pop pills, got it." He nodded, and launched a foot toward his grandmother's door. "I'll see you in a few."
As Toby hurried away, she sat at the circular table with the plastic tablecloth. Her muscles ached from the strain of lifting the older woman out of the bathtub. Massaging her neck, she yawned and looked at the clock.
No rest for the weary, she thought, then rested her forehead against her arm. The room around her was dense, brown, and old, but it spoke of a grandmother's home. The scent of classic cooking reminded her of the way her own home smelled when her son was in the kitchen.
Since his departure, she hadn't eaten a single full meal. Food was a necessity, no longer an enjoyment, and she consumed only what was required to "get by." Breakfasts were especially hard. Jim loved breakfast.
"Mommy can I help?" An image of her son, barely five, flashed within her mind. The previous day had been his birthday—a long day-and she was trying to make up for the bad moments. She remembered how confused her son had been, holding on to his unassembled bike-handle, as James Sr. walked out of her door for the last time.
"Sure honey," she'd said, as he jumped up on the counter top. "Woah there, when did you get tall enough to jump like that?"
"I'm five mom," he'd said pretentiously, "I'm bigger than you think."
She'd ruffled his hair and handed him the whisk. As she poured the milk, he'd looked up to her with his crystal eyes.
"When's Daddy coming back to finish my bike?"
"I don't know if he's coming back, sweetie." She'd been trying to hide the pain from him all night, all morning. This time, she couldn't stop the tears. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she tried to make herself stop.
The small hand on her arm meant everything. "It's okay mommy," he said, "I'll make you pancakes."
They'd worked together, made the pancakes, started a new life—smiley-syrup and all.
The clanging of drawers and silverware woke her up. Her hand was numb, neck still sore as she lifted her head off the table.
Toby entered her line of vision as she began to rub at her temples. She wondered if he'd caught her sleeping.
"I made you a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich! " He exclaimed, holding up a paper plate topped with what looked like a suggestion of food. "Nana said you needed to eat because you look like a stick. I opened up a new jar of jelly and everything. All we have is apple so, you know, if you're allergic we can just go full PB and forget the J. Oh, and there's little slices of banana in there, too. Ol' Jimbo probably would have thought of something better but, y'know…I don't really have his creative flair." He trailed off, then his green eyes shot up. "Have you eaten yet?"
"Umm," She looked at the congealed mass, then to his eager eyes. "No…not yet."
"Right on, Dr. L." He slid the plate down to her. "I'll be right back with some milk. I hope you like skim, that's all Nana drinks."
Toby disappeared into the kitchen, only to return moments later with two glasses full of milk and a roll of paper towels. He sat at the adjacent chair, and scooted in until his stomach hit the table. Clearing his throat, he blinked up at her expectantly.
She took one bite of the tan-and-yellow blob and swallowed it thickly, then set it down in the paper plate.
"Thank you, Toby," she said as she wiped her upper lip with a paper towel, "I know it's probably been hard with just you and your Nana, and…and with Jim being gone." Her throat went tight. "You were his best friend. If you ever need to talk to me you're always welcome. You know that, don't you? "
"Aww, well, yeah, of course." He wiped a hand across his mouth, smudging jelly on his chin. "You're like my second mom, right?"
Her eyes softened.
"I have been meaning to ask you one thing." He said, frowning slightly, and with obvious hesitation. "Are you mad at me? I mean, I know the police had to ask me a lot of questions because I'm his best friend-and I was the one who was with him a lot of the times he got in trouble—but part of me wonders if you think that I'm the one who led him down the path he eventually took."
"Oh, honey, no." She shook her head, placing a hand on the table. "I mean, at first I didn' t know what to think but…I have a feeling that Jim was the one that led you into some of this stuff, not the other way around. I love my son, but he had a lot going on. If anything, I blame myself-for not being around, for getting caught up in my job..." she tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, voice marked with sadness. "I wasn't always there for him, and I should have been."
"Don't say that. You're a great mom, and you've always done what you think is best for Jim. I just want you to know that I never would have knowingly let him disappear like he did. I was always afraid he'd go loner on me, and now that he has," he put his sandwich down, half eaten, and stared into the void. "It's just now beginning to hit me that he might not ever come back."
Barbara's heart sank, and she swallowed as the tears threatened to come again. As a doctor, she was used to pain, to disappointment, to loss, but as a mother…
"I know he's alive," she said, blue eyes watery, but determined. "I keep getting this feeling that I'm missing something—like there's some important detail that I've overlooked or forgotten. Whatever it is, my gut tells me that it's going to bring him home. We're going to do everything we can to find him, okay?" She reached to grasp his hand. "I promise."
"Okay, Dr. Lake," he smiled a small smile.
With little more to say without bringing herself to tears, she stood and picked up her plate. "Alright kid, I hate to bite-and-run, but to you have a plastic baggy for this? I'm going to run back over to the house and get the car…maybe grab a few things before I leave. Just keep an eye on your Nana for me and let her rest until I get back, okay?"
"Yes ma'am," he gave a salute.
"And don't worry about school tomorrow, I'll write a note," she said as she grabbed her keys,. "You gonna be okay holding down the fort by yourself tonight?"
"King-of-the-house?" He said with a brow. "I think I can handle that. Oh, and Dr. L.?"
"Yes?"
"Thanks. Really. I know this is saving Nana a lot of money."
"It's the least I can do," she said, then turned to make her way out the door.
Once outside, she took a deep breath, inhaling the light, floral scent of the cooling night air. Another flash behind her eyes: a hand holding hers, the smell of jasmine in the air,-not James'; his hands we're course, wide, and rough; these were long, lithe, and smooth-a voice like distant thunder murmuring in her ear.
She shook her head. Lack of sleep, she told herself, but she only half-believed it.
Her home was cold and dark when she entered it again. A few minutes saw her hair straightened of its frizz and her teeth brushed. She took off her lab coat—a clean one waited for her at the clinic—and stuffed the stethoscope in her bag.
As the garage door lifted, the light from street-lamps filtered in, and her eyes fell on the soft, blue paint of Jim's Vespa. Beside it, her recently purchased vehicle from "Randy's Used Autos" sat like a little green lump. She didn't know why she'd purchased the green one. Suddenly, she liked the color.
Her other car remained missing...along with her son…along with her son's teacher…along with all the answers that remained hidden since the night she'd hit her head and ended up in the hospital.
Briefly, she eyed the scooter, and walked up to her hand along its smooth surface. Why the car? She thought before turning to her own vehicle. The blue of her eyes remained focused on the scooter as she sat and shut the door.
"Why my son?" her voice echoed in the cabin.
She propped her head on the steering wheel, closed her eyes, and tasted salt.