Ethan and Micah made their appearance rather later than she expected. Sophie and she had already dined, and Sophie had vanished into her room with her cell phone. The ticker in Connie’s head was already making her wonder if she’d bought enough minutes on her cell plan.
But all that faded to insignificance when the two men arrived.
“Sorry we’re late,” Micah said. “We went to do a little nosing around.”
“Did you find anything?
“Unfortunately, no.”
They gravitated to the kitchen table with their coffee, as far out of Sophie’s hearing as they could get.
Connie, her nerves already shredded by Sophie’s behavior after school, asked, “What did you mean by ‘Little Miss Lost’?”
The men exchanged glances.
“I lost sight of her,” Ethan said. “I was watching the kids come out of school, waiting for her. She came out with her friends. I moved farther down the street, trying not to be too obvious, and the next thing I knew, she wasn’t there.”
Connie bit out a word she rarely used.
“Exactly,” said Ethan. “So I started looking. I found Micah, and we fanned out. She couldn’t have been out of sight more than a minute or two, Connie. Honestly. Then I saw her walking alone along a different street toward home. I followed at a distance until she ran into you.”
Connie nodded, aware that she was about to begin shaking. “She lied to me. She said she didn’t know where her friends went.”
“A kid’s lie,” Micah said. “Whatever happened in those couple of minutes, she probably did lose sight of her friends. You know, it might be nothing at all. She might have chased a squirrel, seen a dog.” He shook his head. “It’s obvious nothing happened to her.”
“Except she’s not telling me something.”
“Maybe she’s embarrassed because she didn’t follow instructions, even scared because she lost sight of her friends.”
Connie put her face in her hands, weary, worried and unsure. “I wish I could believe that.”
A hand settled on her shoulder. Ethan’s. The touch zapped her like electricity, almost painful in its intensity. Then the hand lifted, and she was once again alone in her own miserable little universe.
She raised her head, looking at them. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t do this again. Thank God it’s the weekend.”
Micah spoke. “Raising kids is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Somehow you have to protect them without being overprotective. You need to warn them about dangers without making them scared of their own shadows. Connie, Sophie was just being a kid. They feel safer than they probably should, but you shouldn’t want to take that away from them.”
“I don’t want to. It’s just that...a few days ago she came through that door terrified because some stranger had tried to talk to her and called her by name. And then today...”
“Today the threat is in the past,” Ethan said.
“Yeah,” Micah agreed. “Eons ago in her mind. A week is a long time when you’re seven. The whole world changes. So maybe what she did today was just some healthy hijinks. Kicking up the traces a bit. The point is, she’s okay, and we’ll watch more closely.”
Connie nodded and managed a smile. “Sorry, guys. I’m not usually such a mess.”
“You’re not usually worried about your daughter.” Micah stood, stretching a bit. “I need to get back to my family. You’ll be okay with Ethan, Connie.”
“I know.”
Micah smiled. “Even bad things can sometimes bring about good.”
And with that enigmatic statement, he walked out of the house.
Connie looked at Ethan. “Would you mind moving to the living room? I can hear Sophie better from there.”
“Not a problem.”
Just then the girl’s voice trailed down the stairway as she giggled on the phone.
Golden evening light filled the room, so Connie didn’t turn on any lamps. She sat on the sofa, and to her surprise, Ethan did, too. There was still plenty of room between them, but it felt more intimate than before. And she liked it.
That liking frightened her, raising images from the grave of her past. Leo hitting her, then apologizing and wanting to make love. Always, always, like some sick twisted game. How many times had she fallen for that?
Too many.
She began curling in on herself, as if in anticipation of an attack. She could feel it in every muscle and struggled to let go of it.
“Am I too close?” Ethan suddenly asked.
She nearly jumped as she looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“I seem to be making you uncomfortable.”
“It’s not you.”
He nodded. Then, after the briefest pause, he said, “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
“Why? I show you my scars and you show me yours?” The words sounded so bitter that shock shook Connie. “I’m sorry...”
“It’s okay,” he said, and everything in his tone said it was. “It’s okay. I’m still reacting to threats that aren’t there. I know what it’s like.”
“Yeah. I guess you do.”
“It’s like your brain gets rewired.”
She nodded, still watching him in the golden glow.
“It’s hard to turn it back around. When I came back on leave from Iraq, I couldn’t drive. I absolutely panicked for a while, thinking every oncoming or parked car might be a bomb.”
“That must have been awful.”
“It was crazy. I knew it wasn’t true, but I couldn’t restrain the learned response.” He shook his head a little, as if trying to drive away an exasperating bug. “I guess everything in life changes you somehow.”
“So it seems.”
“I still can’t drive.” He said it flatly, but even that tone spoke volumes to her. “Well, I can if I have to, but it’s an awful lot of effort. More than it’s worth most of the time. That’s why you caught me hitchhiking.”
“I can understand that.” And she could. Maybe not in his precise terms, but in her own... Yeah, she could understand.
But the curling inward wouldn’t stop, and finally words burst out of her. “Sophie is the best thing in my life,” she said, tears starting to run down her cheeks. “My God, if something happened to her...”
He moved closer, drawing her into a gentle embrace, rocking her as if he knew how soothing that motion could be. “Nothing’s going to happen,” he murmured. “We’ll take care of her.”
The tears flowed silently, as if she couldn’t release the pain and terror enough to sob. Water seeping over a dam that held back the huge lake of terrible things that had never ceased to haunt her.
She felt guilty. The man holding her had been through far worse. Endured far worse. That thing about not being able to drive a car was only the tip of his iceberg, and she knew it. Yet he had the strength to try to protect her daughter. To hold her and offer comfort.
In the midst of it all, she realized what a crabbed soul she had become.
“My God,” she said, pulling away and hunting for the box of tissues she always kept on the end table. Finding it