Who would send me a text like that? Did somebody snatch my son out of my backyard? What if I never see Bobby again? What if when I shoved him into the backyard to keep him out of the way, that was the last time I’d ever see him.
Oh God.
I am out of breath by the time I get to Julie’s house, which is the biggest one on the block. And the newest. Elliot is a corporate lawyer, but Julie’s husband Keith does personal injury law, and he really cleans up. Elliot does well at his job and I make good money through April’s Sweet Secrets, but the Bresslers are the kind of rich where they throw hundred dollar bills into the fireplace for kindling.
But right now, I couldn’t care less. I sprint up the steps to her front door and ring the doorbell. Twice.
No answer.
I pound on the door a few times. But nobody is home. All the lights are out and I can see through the open shutters that the living room is empty. Bobby isn’t playing with Leo. The Bresslers aren’t even home.
I take my phone out. The text message is still on the screen, taunting me. They haven’t responded to me. I shoot off another text message:
Where is he??? Tell me now!!!!!!
No reply.
In the past, I’ve done a reverse lookup for phone numbers. You can get the information for free from the online White Pages. Maybe I can find out who sent me the text message.
My hands are shaking as I bring up the White Pages on my phone. It takes me three tries to successfully copy the phone number of the person who texted me into the search engine. I stand there, my legs trembling, as my phone hourglasses. Finally, the screen flashes with the result:
Unknown registrant. No name is associated with this number.
Whoever sent me that message did it from a blocked number.
I feel like I’m going to pass out. I know I need to call the police. But the idea of it fills me with sick dread, because a call to the police would be admitting he’s really gone. The police will have to start searching for him. I can only imagine their questions.
When did you last see your son, Mrs. Masterson?
I was cooking in the kitchen and he went out to play in the backyard. And then I got this text message…
So you weren’t watching him?
I feel a stab of guilt. I should have been watching him. I never should have taken my eyes off of him. But he was in our own backyard, for God’s sake! With the gate locked! And he’s not a toddler—he’s seven years old. That should be old enough to play in his own backyard. Right?
I told him about Stranger Danger, of course. Never talk to strangers. Never go off with strangers. But I know Bobby. If a stranger offered him candy, he’d skip off with them in a heartbeat despite all the warnings. He’s helpless to resist candy.
The police will have to organize some sort of search party. They’ll check all the houses in a certain mile radius, then they’ll have to extend to the parks and that wooded area at the edge of town. And the lake. Oh God, the lake…
I choke back a sob.
I’ve got to get back to the house. If Elliot hasn’t found him, we’ll have to call the police. And in the meantime, we should probably check with the neighbors. See if they saw a strange van, or a bearded stranger lurking around my house. And maybe they can trace who sent me that horrible text message.
As I jog back to our house, I happen to see the lights on inside the house of our new neighbors. Their white SUV—practically identical to mine, except an older model—is parked in their driveway. Just a week ago, a new family moved into the house after poor old Mrs. Kirkland passed on. I haven’t even had a chance to stop in and say hello yet.
I hesitate near their driveway, staring at the mailbox with the name Cooper etched on the side. These people are right next-door to us. Maybe they saw something. This is not the introduction I wanted to have to our new neighbors—telling them I’ve lost my son—but I’m desperate. Every moment counts at a time like this.
I race up the steps to the blue house and rap my fist against the door. My hand is shaking badly. My whole body feels like it’s buzzing. Who would do this to me? Why is somebody targeting me? This can’t possibly be about a tray of burned cookies.
After a minute or so, the door swings open. A woman in her early thirties with olive skin and dark brown hair loosely pulled back into a bun stands before me. She has a plain face, but when she smiles, dimples pucker on either cheek, which gives her a sweet, friendly appearance. There’s something strangely familiar about her, but I can’t seem to place her.
“Hello,” she says. “May I help you?”
“Hello.” My voice cracks. “Um, my name is April. I live next door…”
“Hi, April.” Her brow furrows in concern. “I’m Maria. Is everything okay?”
“No. It’s not.” My voice is shaking again, threatening to break. “My son, Bobby…”
I hear some shouting behind her, and before I can get out the rest of the sentence, my jaw drops open.
It’s Bobby. Sitting in this woman’s living room, playing with Legos with another little boy.
“Hi, Mom,” he says, like I haven’t nearly dropped dead of a stroke while looking for him. The rush of relief I feel almost knocks me off my feet.
“Bobby!” I scream.
I run over to him and drop to my knees on the floor. I don’t know whether to shake him or hug him. I do a little bit of both.
“I had no idea where you were!” I cry as I press his skinny body to my chest. “I was so scared! You scared me so much!”
And now Bobby is crying. We’re both crying and hugging each other. It’s a bit of an embarrassing display in front of the new neighbor, but I don’t care. What the hell was he doing here anyway?
“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” the woman, Maria, is saying to me. “He showed up on our front lawn and said you told him he could come over to play with Owen. I had no idea you didn’t realize he was here!”
I look up at my new neighbor, studying her expression. Her brown eyes are wide and she looks embarrassed, apologetic, and almost tearful. She certainly doesn’t look like a psychopath who just sent me a threatening text message and stole my son out of my backyard for a playdate. I don’t think there’s any chance of that.
I do believe Bobby might get it into his head to wander out of our backyard. Anyway, he and I are going to have a very long talk tonight. After I spend the rest of the day covering him in hugs and kisses.
I shoot off a quick text to Elliot: Found him. He was at the neighbor’s house.
Elliot’s response comes a second later: Told you. Going to work now.
How could Elliot not even want to see Bobby after he thought he was missing? I don’t understand men at all.
“You must have been worried sick,” Maria says. She gets it, at least. “I can only imagine!”
I struggle back to my feet, wiping tears from my eyes. “At least he was safe the whole time.”
“Absolutely!” Maria offers me a smile, which makes me want to hug her. This woman found my baby. God knows where he would have ended up if he didn’t come here. “And he had such a good time with Owen. Poor Owen doesn’t have any friends in the neighborhood yet. I would be happy to have Bobby over again, with your permission, of course.”