hedge, pocket gardens.
Sergeant Lorie pul ed up in front of the ’Sconset Market.
“Do you want to run in?” she asked Vicki.
“Yes.” Vicki unlatched Porter from her breast and threw him over her shoulder. He let out a belch. Sergeant Lorie murmured something else into her walkie-talkie. Vicki hurried into the market. She checked aisle by aisle—cereal, crackers, biscotti, chips, jasmine rice, toilet paper—she checked around the smal deli case and the soda coolers, behind the spinning book racks, and then, final y, the only place Blaine would logical y be
—the ice cream counter. No Blaine.
A young girl wearing a green canvas apron poised her ice cream scoop in the air. “Can I help you?” she said.
“Have you seen a four-year-old boy in here by himself? Blond hair? Green bathing suit?”
“No,” the girl said. “Sorry. I haven’t.”
“No,” Vicki said. “Of course not.” She zipped back outside to the police car. “He wasn’t there,” she told Sergeant Lorie. “Let’s try Shel Street.”
They drove to Shel Street slowly—Vicki checking in every yard, in every climbable tree—but when they got to Aunt Liv’s cottage, the gate was shut tight and so was the front door to the house. Vicki knew Blaine wasn’t inside. Okay, that was it. She was free to flip out—to pul her hair and scream and pound the re-inforced windows of the police car until they shattered. He was in the water.
“What would you like to do, ma’am?” Sergeant Lorie asked.
“Let’s go back to the beach,” Vicki said. Brenda and Melanie had probably found him.
They drove back to the spot where the squad car had waited initial y and Vicki hopped out. Her lungs ached. She pictured her tumor glowing hot and red like an ember. Did things like this real y happen? Did a woman get lung cancer and then lose her child? Did this much bad luck visit one person? It shouldn’t be al owed. It wasn’t al owed.
On the beach, a crowd had gathered—Caroline Knox had re-appeared, and the lifeguard was there, as wel as the col ege girls who had been snoozing on the blanket, and some members of the previously happy families that had been frolicking on the beach. Everyone was gathered in a loose knot, though some people stood at the water’s edge or waded in, kicking up the sandy bottom. A teenaged boy veered around with a mask and snorkel; the Jet Ski zipped back and forth, making smal , predictable waves. Vicki was astonished at the gathering—part of her was embarrassed. She hated to draw attention to herself; she felt like tel ing everyone to go back to their business, Blaine was just hiding in the dunes, pushing things too far, he didn’t know any better, he was only four years old. There were other mothers in the group—Vicki picked them out—
women with the worst kind of sympathy stamped on their faces.
Brenda was in the center of things; it looked like she was organizing search parties. One for the beach to the left, one for the dunes. Melanie stood at the edge of the crowd, rubbing Brenda’s cel phone like it was a rabbit’s foot. Caroline Knox saw Vicki and rushed over.
“I feel awful,” Caroline said. “This is my fault. If you hadn’t been talking to me . . .”
“Did you see him playing?” Vicki asked. “Do you remember seeing him playing by the water? Blond hair, green bathing suit?”
“That’s the thing,” Caroline said. “I don’t remember.”
Vicki heard a motor approaching—three policemen on ATV’s came sledding over the sand. These were summer cops, teen-agers, basical y, in fluorescent yel ow shirts, with Ray-Bans and walkie-talkies.
“We’re here to help,” one of them said. He was the alpha dog, with linebacker shoulders and dark movie-star hair.
“I’m his mother,” Vicki said, stepping forward. She pried Porter’s hand from her breast once again, and he started to cry. “His name is Blaine.
Blaine Stowe, he’s four years old.”
“Blond hair, green bathing suit,” the policeman said.
“Yes,” Vicki said.
“We’l find him,” the policeman said. He was al of twenty years old, but the sunglasses and the walkie-talkie gave him a cocky self-assurance.
“Please,” Vicki whispered.
Brenda said, “We’l go this way, then,” and she headed off to the left. A second group went to the right. Some people, seeing the police, wandered back to their camps. When the cops gunned their motors and left to search, the area cleared out, leaving Vicki, Melanie, and Caroline Knox. Vicki felt deserted; she couldn’t stand being stuck behind to wait, and certainly not in present company. Blaine had been missing for thirty minutes at least. She would check the dunes herself. She took the cel phone from Melanie. “You stay here and hold down the fort,” Vicki said. “I’m going to look.”
“I’l come with you,” Caroline said.
“No, no,” Vicki said. “I’l go myself.”
“I’l carry the baby,” Caroline said.
“We’l be fine,” Vicki said.
