“Let’s check in the house,” I said and hooked my hand underneath the mother’s arm, Beatrice I think; I heard him say her name though I didn’t recall a formal introduction. She turned toward me and I saw the panic in her eyes and I wanted to reassure her, this is a good home, we’ll find him, please don’t worry. “Let’s go upstairs and work our way down,” I said and rushed ahead.
We passed by Edward, who was on the phone and his voice was loud and happy and I didn’t dare say anything about the missing boy and the broken window and we slipped by him, up the stairs.
The door to the playroom was wide open, the lights were on. The room was empty. Penelope’s bedroom was dark. The closet door was ajar and when I opened it, Penelope sat on the floor, leaning to the left, propped against the wall. She was asleep.
There was a rule, no children in the house upstairs during a party, there was a bar in the master bedroom, a small table with a mirrored top, a few decanters, and whiskey and sherry and bourbon, elderflower liqueur. There was also a balcony and though I had locked all the doors I didn’t know if children would think so far as to search for keys or use tools or anything like that to pry open doors. Between the broken window and the balcony it would be a lie if I said I wasn’t worried.
“Where is Gabriel?” the mother called out and Penelope roused.
“Where is your friend? Gabriel?” I asked and held Penelope’s hand as if to keep a grip on her. I smelled a floral sticky scent on her breath.
“Gabriel?” Penelope furrowed her brow. “I don’t know. Everyone left a while ago.”
The parents stormed by me, downstairs, and past Edward, who was still on the phone in the foyer. He threw up his hand and waved and mouthed a thank-you to the couple, unaware what was going on.
“We can’t find our son,” the mother said out loud and I was glad the guests and caterers had left and I imagined this entire scene playing out in front of everybody, envisioned heads snapping around and people gasping.
“Have you seen a boy about Penny’s age?” I asked Edward and he stared right through me. “There’s a broken window in the pool house and Gabriel, their son, is missing.” We exchanged glances. “Penny is upstairs,” I added and he looked away and followed the parents outside.
I scanned the surface of the pool again and inspected the floating toys more closely. An inflatable beach ball bobbed on the surface and diving rings shimmered on the bottom rendering their shape distorted and warped. As I walked by the fence around the pool, I jingled the lock. The gate didn’t budge.
My thoughts tumbled: Should I have locked the pool house? Is there even a key; the gardener had stored the tools and he had just finished putting down the mulch and trimmed the bushes and tamed the ground cover, and I don’t want to make a fuss about this; there need not be a commotion. All this planning and here we were, a child gone missing.
The boy’s mother was in tears and though I wanted to console her, I felt frozen in place. Instead, I thought of Penelope upstairs in her room. How odd to fall asleep in the closet, she hadn’t done that in years. Edward held me around my shoulders to keep me from crying or from losing my balance, maybe both. I did what I do when I need to regain control of myself and I asked, “How do I look to a casual observer?” and that always allowed me to take a step back just long enough to reclaim my self-control.
We didn’t get anywhere with the search. The police were summoned, though I don’t remember who made the call. The many flashing lights were unnerving. As two officers combed through the house and the backyard, the energy changed. Police stopped dead in their tracks and huddled in a group. Between the crackling sounds of the shoulder microphones and the coded language, I couldn’t make sense of their conversations. The parents were rushed to a police car and I watched them drive off, my heart hammering in my chest.
Later, we received a call. The owners of the farmhouse heard noises in the barn and found the horses in a state of pandemonium. They thought a bobcat had gotten into the structure—there had been numerous sightings in the area, though I often wondered if it wasn’t just a stray cat, people loved the country setting but weren’t accepting of wildlife—but they found the missing boy, Gabriel, in a horse stall. He was unconscious. Barely breathing.
Edward rang Gabriel’s parents the next day. After he hung up the phone, I asked him how the boy was doing.
“Not good,” he said and ran the palm of his hand over his face as if trying to banish the memory of it all. “He’ll be in the hospital for quite a while.”
I thought how cruel for someone so young having to spend a long time in bed. I asked Edward what to tell Penelope but he was short with me.
“Did she ask about him?” Edward wanted to know.
“No,” I replied.
“Don’t say anything to her. Not a word,” he said with such an edge to his voice that it startled me.
* * *
• • •
Fall came and went. The Shumard oaks turned from dark green into a vibrant scarlet red color, yet the leaves remained, though dead and brown, but they hung on nonetheless. During the winter, whenever I was out back feeding the stray cats, I glanced toward the property. The farmhouse sat hidden behind the oaks, which were planted tight like slats of a fence. There wasn’t so much as a clapboard visible, not even the tip of a roof emerged from the wooded property. I wondered how Gabriel had ended up in that barn, how he even knew it was there. I had a hunch but I pushed that hunch into the shadows, where it remained with all the other monsters one prefers not to look at.
PART II
PURGATORY
No one thinks of how much blood it costs.
—DANTE ALIGHIERI
16
DONNA
I open a window. Shadow Garden lies quietly. The mowers and trimmers have fallen silent. The scent of just-mowed lawn in the air. I strain to see the buildings beyond, in the east, and I have to crane my neck to get a good look at a garden gate stuck in between brick walls. The brickwork is more substantial and the windows are covered with iron grates. I have yet to venture that far back into the property.
A woman, elfin compared to the building, walks into view. She plants herself on the walkway as if waiting for someone. It’s just a few minutes before five. More women spill from the doors. I can’t help but remember how they arrive in the mornings; their steps swift and their scrubs pressed clean and fresh, but in the afternoons, having spent hours cleaning and dusting and vacuuming, there’s a certain apathy about them as they walk toward the parking garage.
There’s no warning, no transition, just knowing now is the time. I put on the dirty scrubs from Vera’s apartment and gather my hair in a ponytail. I stuff money from the kitchen drawer into a purse: $184.