“Lila, come on,” Simon says, reaching for yet another donut. His third, by Marin’s count. “That’s not nice.”
“Oh, and nice is working for you?” Lila’s voice grows louder. “Where has nice ever gotten you, Simon? Your wife left you and you’ve gained twenty pounds from all the donuts you eat when you come here.” She turns to Jamie, who seems to shrink once Lila’s gaze lands on her. “You sure you want to be here? Because this is your life now, too, and there’s still time to stay in denial if you need to.”
“Hey,” Marin says, raising her voice. It’s one thing for Lila to snap at her and Frances. They can handle it. Simon, on the other hand, is way more sensitive, and when he cries—which he will—it’s awful for everyone. And a new person should never, ever be subjected to this. They’re having a hard enough time already. “I get that you’re angry, but quit taking shots. We’re all on your side.”
“But I don’t want to be on this side.” Lila’s voice is shaking. Her hands are, too. “I don’t want to be here, on this side, with you people. Don’t you get it? I don’t want this to be my life. And I really don’t want to hear it from you, Marin, because if Derek isn’t cheating on you now, he will be. That’s what men do.”
“Whoa whoa whoa!” Simon holds up two chubby hands, and it’s the loudest Marin’s ever heard him speak. “Let’s take a time-out, ladies.”
“Oh, fuck off with your ‘ladies,’” Frances says, standing up. In about a minute, she’s going to need a cigarette. “Lila, honey, put up with it or don’t put up with it, but for god’s sake, stop screaming at us. All’s I’m saying is, you have a choice, okay? And you’re entitled to make it. But staying married to a cheating husband because you blame yourself for your kid getting snatched is punishing yourself and your other kids. What happened with Devon isn’t your fault.”
“I was late picking him up.” Lila’s voice breaks. “I was late, and if I hadn’t been, his father wouldn’t have been able to take him, and my son would be home with me and safe.”
“Yeah, well, the teachers should never have let him go.” Frances is agitated. She pats her pockets, checking for her cigarette pack.
Simon finishes his third donut and wipes more glaze onto his jeans.
“But I was late,” Lila repeats. “I was late and it’s my fault.”
“Yeah, you weren’t there when Devon got taken,” Marin says in a quiet voice. “But I was when Sebastian got taken. I was there.”
“Sebastian was four, Marin. Kids wander.” Simon sounds as exhausted as he looks. “Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time they just get lost and are found again. It wasn’t your fault. He’s gone because someone took him. A kidnapper took him.”
He turns to Lila, who’s bawling in silence. “And your ex is a kidnapper, too. You thought Devon was safe at school. Because the school’s job is to keep him safe. And he was, up until that day. You being late didn’t change anything. If you’d shown up on time, his father would have stolen him a different day.”
They all sit with that for a few seconds. It’s nothing they haven’t told themselves before, but hearing it out loud helps, if for only a little while.
Marin glances at Jamie, who’s been nonreactive to everything that’s been said so far. It makes her wonder what cocktail of antidepressants the new member is on.
“Ten-minute break,” Frances announces. She disappears out the back door with her cigarettes in hand before anyone can say anything.
Simon heads to the men’s room. Lila, sniffling, makes a beeline for the ladies’ room. Marin has to use the toilet, too, but there’s only one women’s bathroom and she knows Lila needs a moment alone to get herself together. Jamie stands up and stretches, then wanders over to the table where the donuts are, perusing the options and picking out a maple bar. Will it be her favorite? Marin wonders. Will she stick around long enough to even have a favorite?
Because this group is awful. What was the term Sal used again? Oh, right. Self-flagellation.
Simon is right about kidnappers. When Sebastian was barely three, he ran away from her once at the Wonderland amusement park on Fourth of July weekend. After the world’s longest five minutes, a stranger walked him back to her. Because the stranger saw that a little boy was lost at a busy park, and he took it upon himself to help the child find his mother. Because that stranger was not a kidnapper, or a pedophile, or a murderer.
The stranger who took Sebastian, on the other hand, was a kidnapper. Whether the stranger found Sebastian wandering and decided this was their chance to steal a small child, or whether this was planned in advance, the stranger was a kidnapper because they didn’t bring Sebastian back. That’s the difference.
It’s still hard to make sense of it almost sixteen months later. Sebastian was only four, but he was a smart kid. Both Marin and Derek had talked with him again and again about the dangers of talking to strangers, about not taking toys or food or any kind of gift from someone without checking with Mommy or Daddy first. He learned about it in preschool; it was discussed at home.
But it was Santa Claus. Kids are taught to love Santa, to speak to him even if they’re intimidated or frightened, to sit on the goddamned jolly old elf’s lap and tell him what they want for Christmas. In turn, they’re rewarded with a candy cane. They’re given a treat for confiding in a stranger.
When Lila gets back, her eyes are red and swollen, but she’s calm. She gives Marin’s arm a squeeze as she heads to refill her coffee, and it’s her way of saying sorry. Marin gives her a smile, which is her way of accepting the apology. They know each other’s silent gestures; they do this every month.
When Marin gets back from the bathroom, Frances is again in her seat, and she begins talking about the nightmares she’s been having about Thomas. She’s talked about them at the last few meetings, and it sounds like they’re getting worse, causing her to wake up in the night, moaning and sweating, her stomach in knots.
“I saw him last night and it was like half his face was beaten to a pulp.” Frances trembles as she recounts the dream. “His eyeball was hanging from his socket and his cheekbone was exposed, like the skin had been ripped off—”
“Frances—” Lila shuts her eyes, but Simon shushes her. Jamie leans forward, appearing fascinated.
“—and he was reaching for me, and I grasped his hand, and it was cold.” Frances’s face crumples, which alarms all of them. She’s normally very stoic. She hardly ever shows emotion, let alone grief. “I feel like … I feel like he’s trying to tell me he’s dead. And that I should let him go.”
“Frances.” Lila says this again, slowly, breathy. “Frances, no.”
And there it is. They’re about to lose Frances.
Hope lasts only so long, can carry you only so far. It’s both a blessing and a curse. Sometimes it’s all you have. It keeps you going when there’s nothing else to hold on to.
But hope can also be terrible. It keeps you wanting, waiting, wishing for something that might never happen. It’s like a glass wall between where you are and where you want to be. You can see the life you want, but you can’t have it. You’re a fish in a bowl.