“I’m sorry—it’s Bea’s school—hello?” she said, picking up the call.
“Hi, Daisy? It’s Crystal Johnson, calling from Melville.”
“Hi, Crystal!” Crystal Johnson was a fellow Melville parent, a stay-at-home mother, and, years ago, another one of Daisy’s almost-friends. Daisy had always liked Crystal, who’d been a lawyer before giving it up for volunteer work and managing her four children, who all seemed to play at least two sports and an instrument.
“I’m calling to let you know that Beatrice was absent this morning. We’re just checking to see if she’s sick? Or if she had an appointment and you forgot to let the front office know?”
“No. She left for school this morning. Are you saying she just never showed up?” Daisy was already poking at her screen, texting her daughter WHERE ARE YOU?, realizing that, once she found her, Beatrice was going to mock her for spelling out all the words.
“She wasn’t present for homeroom, and no one’s seen her all day,” Crystal said.
Daisy felt something cold wrap around her heart. “Let me see if I can find out what’s going on.”
Daisy ended the call and saw Diana looking down at her, concern on her face.
“Is everything all right?”
“Beatrice isn’t at school.” Daisy had already punched in Beatrice’s number. The phone rang and rang. No one picked up. She ended the call and said, “I have to go. I should go home, in case she’s there.”
Wordlessly, they hurried down the trail. As they went, Daisy called home, where no one answered. She spoke with Hal, who hadn’t heard from their daughter, and called Beatrice again. Maybe there was some kind of explanation. Crossed wires… a research project… a teacher who’d marked Beatrice absent when she’d really been there.
They were almost back at the parking lot when Daisy’s phone rang, and she saw her daughter’s picture, purple hair and all, appear on her screen.
“Mom?”
Beatrice’s voice was small, and Daisy thought she sounded frightened.
“Beatrice? Oh my God. Where are you?”
“At school.”
“Funny, because that wasn’t what the school told me.”
Beatrice gave a sigh. “I’m here now. Can you come get me?”
“Did something happen? Is something wrong?”
“Just… can you please come get me? Please?”
Daisy turned away, shielding the phone with her body. She felt weak with relief that Beatrice was safe, but even in her happiness she was annoyed that of course Beatrice would assume that she was around and available for immediate pickup, that all Daisy did when Beatrice was not at home was cook and clean, or maybe just sit there, frozen, like a powered-down robot, waiting for her family to need something. She lowered her voice. “Maybe this didn’t occur to you, but I’m actually doing something. With a friend.”
“I’m sorry!” Beatrice actually sounded apologetic. “I know you have a life, Mom. I’m sorry. Can you please just come get me?”
“It’ll take a little while. I’m on a walk on Forbidden Drive, and my car’s at the house.” Diana tapped her shoulder and mouthed, I’ll drive. “Hang on.” Daisy covered the mouthpiece and said, “Are you sure it’s no trouble?”
“No trouble at all,” Diana said. “And I’d love to see Beatrice again.”
“I’m not sure you’re going to be seeing her at her best,” Daisy said, but she got back on the phone and told her daughter that she and her friend would be there in twenty minutes to pick her up and bring her home.
22
Diana
When Diana finally made it back to her apartment, she shucked off her fancy jacket, toed off her sneakers, and began pacing the length of her living room, back and forth, faster and faster, her bare heels thumping on the hardwood, realizing, with each turn she made, that things had gotten badly out of control.
Once, she’d had a clear objective: find the men who’d hurt her. Look them in the eye. Make them see her, acknowledging that she was a real person, to whom they had done real damage. She’d wanted to hate the men, and everyone connected to them, including the women. Especially the women, all of those enablers, the mothers and the wives who coddled and petted and made excuses.
Diana had never imagined that she would feel anything besides disgust for the Emlen men or anyone in their orbit. She hadn’t considered the possibility of befriending one of their wives. She’d certainly never planned on confiding in Daisy about her rape, on even hinting at what had happened to her, lest Daisy, sweet, clueless Daisy, put the pieces together and realize how her husband fit in.