We haven’t had sex in six weeks. We’ve had sex only once since Thanksgiving, and that was because it was the middle of the night and he’d been half asleep. When he’s fully awake, he’s always disapproving. Critical. Mean.
Is he having an affair?
No, it’s the job. I have to remember that it’s the job and not me. He’s under stress. Major stress. Tears build in the back of my eyes and I blink them away. I have friends who have offered to babysit in the past, but with only a twenty-minute lead time? Maybe if I call Stephan, he will adjust his schedule?
And maybe the sun will rise in the west tomorrow morning, too.
But I decide to try. I’m that desperate. But as I reach for the phone, another thought occurs. Cynthia!
Bank executives Charles and Cynthia Larson live two flights up with their eight-month-old son, Hayden. “If you ever get in a bind for a sitter, don’t hesitate to give our au pair a call,” Cynthia had said. “I’d like Hayden to be around children a little more often. Babies learn from watching others. Holly’s a sweet girl and so obviously smart. I think it might good for Hayden to have her around from time to time.”
Mark likes the Larsons, too. He thinks that Cynthia is the kind of woman I should emulate.
Hope reaches for the phone, crossing the fingers of her free hand.
Five minutes later, she’s standing at the Larsons’ door holding Holly’s hand and carrying a well-stocked backpack. Margarita opens the door with a wide, welcoming smile. She’s a young woman with such a friendly face. I smile at her with relief.
Ready for her nap, Holly whines a little as I hand over the backpack and give Margarita instructions. “We will be just fine, Mrs. Montgomery,” she says as she picks Holly up to comfort her. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”
I thank her profusely, kiss my daughter’s soft cheek, and inhale her sweet scent, then I dash for the elevator. Margarita stands in the doorway with my daughter and they both wave Holly’s good-bye. My last sight of Holly is a tired, sullen smile.
At the salon, Stephan greets me with a smile that quickly turns to horror. How dare I neglect myself this way? I am ushered to his chair and spend the next two hours in “emergency repairs.” I leave the salon feeling rested and renewed, confident in my appearance for the first time since my pants wouldn’t button over my winter-depression belly. Delicious anticipation washes through me. I will wow Mark tonight.
I steal an extra half hour in the lingerie store two doors down from the salon and leave knowing that my husband doesn’t stand a chance. Things will get better. They will.
I enter our apartment building, and thoughts of Mark fade. I have missed my sweet Holly. These three hours have been the longest I’ve been away from her in weeks. That will change when she starts kindergarten in the fall. She and I will both need to adjust. I tap my foot impatiently as the elevator ascends. I wonder if Holly will say something about my hair.
The door slides open. I swing my shopping bag joyfully as I step up to the Larsons’ door and ring the bell. I hear Hayden crying inside. Poor little guy. I hope he hasn’t felt neglected having to share his Margarita.
I wait, and when I don’t hear footsteps, I ring the bell again. The crying escalates. I hear no other sounds from inside the condo. The first frisson of alarm skitters along my nerves. I try the knob. Locked. I use my fist to pound on the door. “Hello? Margarita? Answer the door please.”
I put my ear against the door and hear only infant wails.
Alarm spikes to fear. I pound on the door. Bang bang bang bang. I thumb the bell. Ring ring ring ring. “Waaa waaa waaa.”
I drop my shopping bag and dig into my purse for my phone. I call the super. “It’s Mrs. Montgomery from five. I’m at the Larsons’ on seven. I need you to bring a key immediately. The baby is crying and Margarita isn’t answering the door. My Holly is in there! Hurry!”
I keep my ear to the door, listening … praying to hear Holly. Calling out to her. Why isn’t she answering? Is she asleep? Please, God, let Holly be asleep. I imagine Margarita lying dead of a heart attack on the floor, her hand clutched to her chest. Or maybe Holly had been playing with her toys in the kitchen and Margarita stepped on one and fell and hit her head on the black granite counter.
It’s three minutes … or maybe three years before the elevator dings.
The super hurries out, a large ring of keys in hand. “He’s calling for help. Hurry!”
The super bangs on the door as he slips the key into the lock and calls, “Hello?”
My heart pounds as the door swings open. Hayden’s cries slice against my heart like shards of glass. Fear has turned my knees to butter. The super steps into the Larsons’ apartment repeating, “Hello? Margarita? Mr. Larson? Mrs.—?”
I’m right behind him. The sight that meets my eyes stops me cold.
The baby sits in his car seat in the middle of the living room floor. Alone. Crying.
“Holly!” My head whips around. She’s not in the living room. Panicked, I rush from room to room screaming my daughter’s name.
But she’s not here. Her backpack is not here. Margarita is not here.
“Where’s Holly?” I demand as the super picks up Hayden. The baby can’t answer me, of course—he’s only eight months old. The super sends me a helpless look. I want to shake him. Instead, I dial 911. “I need you to issue an Amber Alert. My daughter is missing.”
Five years later, in a girls’ locker room in Eternity Springs, Colorado, Hope met Lucca Romano’s sorrow- filled gaze. “Margarita Santana disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“Oh, Hope.” He grasped her hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss against her palm. His mouth was warm, and she was so cold.
She didn’t remember when he had taken a seat beside her on the bench. What exactly had she said to him, she wondered? Surely she hadn’t talked to him about her sex life with Mark. That would be just too humiliating.
“At first we waited for a ransom call. It never came. Local police, FBI, private investigators … no one turned up anything. They disappeared into thin air. Mark blamed me, of course. His mother blamed me. How could I have left our child with a stranger! Never mind that Margarita had been with the Larsons since Hayden was born, and they’d done a thorough background check on her before they hired her. She’d taken excellent care of Hayden.
“I didn’t care that they blamed me, of course. I blamed myself just as much. When Mark asked me for a divorce six months after Holly disappeared, I was relieved. By that time, he’d grown paranoid, convinced I’d planned the entire thing. They questioned me for hours. The same questions, over and over. My answers never changed. I told the truth. He still shows up on my doorstep from time to time demanding to search my house for our daughter.”
Anger flashed in Lucca’s eyes. “That’s sick. Damn, Hope. Why don’t you get a restraining order on him?”
She smiled shakily and without amusement. “I have someone checking up on him, too.”
“What?” he couldn’t hide his shock.
“It got ugly between us, Lucca. And I honestly wouldn’t have put anything past Mark at that point. My baby was missing and I knew in my heart that she was alive somewhere. My marriage was dead. I didn’t mourn it.”
She grew silent for few moments after that, torn between losing herself in her memories and the need to make a point. That’s why she’d begun this whole sad story, right? Because she’d decided Lucca needed to hear it? I’ll see your nervous breakdown and raise you prescription drug abuse.
“I almost killed myself, Lucca.” As his eyes widened in shock, she hastened to say, “Not on purpose. At least, I don’t think it was on purpose. I don’t know … maybe it was. At this point, I can’t remember much beyond being on autopilot. Staring at the phone, hoping for the ransom call. Praying for word that she’d been found. In those
