Shadow Man

'Thanks. Good to meet you, Hannibal.'

I walk away, reassured. I see Bonnie waiting for me, with my house as a backdrop.

I had time in the car to wonder about why I stayed in that house. It had been an act of stubbornness. Now it might also be an act of stupidity. I realized that it's something basic to my nature. It is my home. If I were to relent, to give that up, then some part of me knew that I'd never be whole again. Here there be tygers, true. But I still wasn't leaving.

*

*

*

We're in the kitchen, and my next move comes to me without asking.

'You hungry, honey?' I ask Bonnie.

She looks up at me, nods.

I nod back, satisfied. The First Rule of Mom: Love. The Second Rule of Mom: Feed your offspring. 'Let me see what we have.'

She follows me as I open the refrigerator, peering in. Teach them to hunt, I think, and then I have to fight back a little hysterical bubble of laughter. Things don't look good in the fridge. There's a near-empty peanut butter jar and some milk that is putrefying past its expiration date.

'Sorry, babe. Looks like we'll have to do some shopping.' I rub my eyes and sigh inside. God, I'm tired. But that's one of the truths of parenthood. Not a rule, really. More of a given natural law. They are yours, you are responsible for them. So too bad if you're tired, because, well--

they can't drive and they don't have any money.

To heck with it. I look down at Bonnie and give her a smile. 'Let's go stock this place up.'

She gives me another one of those frank looks, followed by a smile. And a nod.

'Right.' I grab my purse and keys. 'Saddle up.'

I had told Keenan and Shantz to stay on my house. I could take care of myself, and it was more important to me to know that no one would be waiting for us when we came back.

We're moving through the aisles of Ralph's supermarket. Modernday foraging.

'Lead the way, honey,' I tell her. 'I don't know what you like, so you'll have to show me.'

I push the cart and follow Bonnie as she glides across the floor, silent and watchful. Each time she points something out, I grab it and look at it for a moment, letting it set into my subconscious. I hear a loud, bass voice inside my head: MACARONI AND CHEESE, the voice booms. SPAGHETTI WITH MEAT SAUCE--NO MUSHROOMS, EVER, UNDER PAIN OF DEATH. CHEETOS--THE HOT AND SPICY KIND. The Food Commandments. Clues to Bonnie, important. I feel like something rusty and dusty inside me is starting to get into motion, one screechy gear at a time. Love, shelter, macaroni and cheese. These things feel natural and right.

Like riding a bike, babe, I hear Matt whisper.

'Maybe,' I murmur back.

I'm so busy talking to myself that I miss that Bonnie has stopped, and I almost run her over with my cart. I give her a weak smile. 'Sorry, honey. We got everything?'

She smiles and nods. All done.

'Then let's get home and get eating.'

It's not riding the bike that's the problem, I realize. It's the road the bike is traveling that's changed. Love, shelter, macaroni and cheese, sure. There's also a mute child and there's a new mom who's scarred, talks to herself, and is a little bit crazy.

I am on the phone with Alan's wife, and as I talk, I watch Bonnie wolf down her macaroni and cheese with dedication and intensity. Children have a real pragmatism when it comes to food, I muse. I know the sky is falling, but, hey--you gotta eat, right?

'I really appreciate it, Elaina. Alan told me what's going on, and I wouldn't ask, but--'

She cuts me off. 'Please stop, Smoky.' Her voice chides, gentle. It makes me think of Matt. 'You need time to work things out, and that little girl needs a place to be when you're not there. Until you get things settled.' I don't respond, a lump in my throat. She seems to sense this, which is very Elaina. 'You will get things settled, Smoky. You'll do the right things for her.' She pauses. 'You were a great mother to Alexa. You'll do just fine with Bonnie.'

A mixture of grief, gratitude, and darkness comes over me when she says this. I manage to clear my throat, and get out a husky 'Thanks.'

'No problem. Call me when you need me to help.'

She doesn't demand more response from me and hangs up. Elaina has always been long on empathy. She'd agreed to look after Bonnie if there were times I needed a sitter. No hesitation, no questions asked. You're not alone, babe, Matt whispers.

'Maybe,' I murmur back. 'Maybe not.'

My phone rings, startling me out of my conversation with a ghost. I answer it.

'Hi, honey-love,' Callie says. 'Little development I wanted to apprise you of.'

My heart clenches. What now?

'Tell me,' I say.

'Dr. Hillstead's office was bugged.'

I frown. 'Huh?'

'The things Jack Jr. said in that letter, honey-love: Didn't you wonder how he knew them?'

Silence. I'm startled and dumbfounded. No, I realize. I hadn't wondered. 'Good grief, Callie. It never occurred to me. Jesus.' I am reeling.

'How is that possible?'

'Don't feel bad. With everything else that happened, it didn't occur to me, either. You can thank James for thinking of it.' She pauses.

'Dear God, did I really just say 'thank' and 'James' in the same sentence?' I can hear her mock-shudder through the phone.

'Details, Callie,' I say. The words come out tight and impatient. I'm not interested in humor right now and I'm too tired to apologize for it.

'He had two audio bugs planted in Dr. Hillstead's office--functional but not high end.' She's letting me know that they aren't distinctive as gadgets go and probably not traceable. 'Both were remote activated. They transmitted wirelessly to a miniature recorder placed in a maintenance closet. All he'd have to know is when your appointments with Dr. Hillstead were, honey-love. He could activate the bugs and pick up the recordings later.'

A sense of violation surges through me, a powerful jolt of electricity. He'd been listening? Listening to me talk about Matt and Alexa? Listening to me be weak? My rage is so overwhelming I feel like I want to swoon, or vomit.

Then, as fast as it came, it goes. No more violation, no more rage, just exhausted desolation. My tide has gone out, my beach is dry and lonely.

'I gotta go, Callie,' I mumble.

'Are you all right, honey-love?'

'Thanks for telling me, Callie. Now I have to go.'

I hang up and marvel at my own emptiness. It is exquisite, in its way. Perfect.

'At least we'll always have Paris,' I murmur, and feel a cackle building.

I realize that Bonnie has finished eating and that she is looking at me. Watching me. It startles me, shakes me down to my bones. Jesus, I think. And it comes to me that this is the first thing I need to realize, once and for all. I am not alone. She is here, and she sees me. My days of sitting in the dark, staring off at nothing and talking to myself--those days have to end.

No one needs a crazy mommy.

We're in my bedroom, on my bed, looking at each other.

'How's this, honey? Will it do?'

She gazes around, runs her hand over the bedspread, and then smiles, nodding her head. I smile back.