“Yeah. Just felt right. Plus I’m fielding lots of calls from parents. I did send everyone a message that we would reopen tomorrow. I think that was good news. I... I guess I hope it was good news. Parents are scared.”
Rena wasn’t sure what to say. Of course the focus had to be on Emma and the whole Whitman family but there was no doubt that this put Alice and the Lakeside Learning Center in a bad spot. Bad enough that they might not recover if one considered Brenda Owen’s experience. Maybe parents were right now trying to find other childcare arrangements and enrollment would rapidly decline over the next couple weeks until the center ultimately closed.
It was a minute concern in comparison to a missing child but still, she understood Alice’s concern. But Alice wasn’t without blame. They’d be in a significantly better position if she’d had cameras around the place.
“We spoke to Brenda Owen today,” Rena said.
Alice’s head jerked. “You were in Dover?”
“Yes.”
“It was good of her to call,” Alice said.
“Did you know about Corrine Antler before Brenda called?” A.L. asked.
“Why would I have?” Alice said.
“Not familiar with Dover?” Rena asked.
Alice shook her head. “No,” she said. Her phone rang. She glanced at the number. “I’m sorry but I really should take this.”
“No problem,” A.L. said. “We were on our way somewhere else and just thought we’d stop by.”
* * *
Tess Lyons wandered around the mall food court, unable to make up her mind. Pizza? Thai? Steak sandwich? Tacos?
Finally, after two trips around the half circle of options, shredded chicken tacos and chips and guacamole were crowned the winners. She carried her tray in her right hand. With each step, her shopping bag that hung off the same arm, awkwardly bumped into her leg.
It really had been easier with two arms and two hands.
Soon, she thought as she slid her tray down onto a table and took a seat. She’d had her third appointment and her prosthetic arm was in development, as the lab liked to say. Her daughter, Marnee, had teased her about the process, saying that this was the first thing she’d come across that couldn’t be ordered on Amazon and delivered the next day. A.L. had volunteered to come to every appointment but she’d declined. It was just something she had to do. On her own.
It would be unique to her needs, her hopes for functionality, her desire for aesthetics. “It’s okay to want it to look good,” her prosthetist had said.
Looking good was relative, Tess knew.
She likely wasn’t as concerned about that now as she had been. Time had a way of helping one deal with things. It offered a chance to develop perspective. She could have died on the beach that day. But, instead, had been offered a chance to have a life.
Different.
But no worse.
A.L. had said it didn’t matter to him if she pursued a prosthetic. She believed him. Which mattered a great deal more than she would have admitted to anyone. He wasn’t a guy to wax poetic about a relationship but she knew, one look into his eyes told her, that he really did believe she was beautiful.
They’d had fun in California. Had slept late and eaten long lunches and had cocktails on the deck at sunset. He’d stood shoulder to shoulder with her as she stared out into the ocean and later had held her one hand tightly in his own as they’d strolled at the water’s edge, the surf gently lapping at their bare feet.
He’d looked really good with a tan. And the rest had seemed to do him good. Had smoothed out the lines around his eyes, lightened the dark circles that settled in when he worked too hard. He hadn’t shaved for a week and she’d teased him about the gray that showed in the short whiskers.
He’d seemed unconcerned. She liked that.
She bit into her first taco and chewed. Was halfway done with it when, at first, she thought that thinking about A.L. was making her see things. But then she took a second look and was confident that she was right. It was A.L.’s teenage daughter across the way. Even though she had only met Traci once, she was confident it was her. The girl’s hair was dark like A.L.’s and she wore it long, well past her shoulders. She had A.L.’s eyes and what Tess assumed was her mother’s nose.
Traci had just picked up a plate of Thai food and was scanning the food court, looking for a spot. Tess put down her taco and waved. Traci hesitated, then waved back. Tess figured that would be it. She was surprised when the young girl headed her way.
“Hi, Traci,” she said, when the girl was still five feet away.
“How’s it going, Tess?”
“Good. I need new shoes and I’m a sucker for a food court,” she said. She glanced at Traci’s plate. “That was a runner-up.”
“I’m going to get a piece of pizza if I’m still hungry after this,” Traci said.
Tess smiled. “My daughter, Marnee, is just four years older than you and her appetite pretty much rules her daily life. Are you here with friends?” she asked.
“Nope. Just me. Mom had a meeting tonight so she said I should grab something when I was out.” Traci continued to stand by the table, tray in hand.
“Would you...like to join me?” Tess asked.
“Sure,” she said, without hesitation. Traci pulled out her chair and sat. She unwrapped her plastic silverware and started eating.
“Senior year, right?” Tess asked. The one and only time she’d met Traci had been at A.L.’s apartment this summer. The two of them had cooked out burgers and he’d invited Traci to join them for dinner. He’d done a good job of prepping his daughter in advance as there had been no awkward questions that night about her amputated arm. No odd looks. Just some simple conversation about Traci’s waitressing job at Pancake Magic and the rock concert that she’d been to in Madison.
“You look really tan,” Traci said.
Tess smiled. “I got some good sun in California.”
Traci put down her fork. “When were you in California?”
Tess got a bad feeling. But she was in it with both feet now. “Just a few days ago.”
“You were with my dad?”
“Yes.” Tess pushed her tray aside, leaving half of her guacamole dip.
“I didn’t know that,” Traci said.
Which was weird, in that Tess knew A.L. and Traci had had dinner the night before the two of them had left for their trip. Why the hell hadn’t A.L. simply told her the truth?
Dark thoughts, which she perhaps might not have immediately jumped to before the loss of her lower left arm, popped into her head. Was A.L. ashamed of her? Did he not want others to know that he was attracted to her?