Live to Tell - Lisa Gardner [55]
I’m pleased I can still make small talk. “What brought you to Massachusetts,” I ask now, warming to the moment. I hold out a ziplock bag containing banana muffins. Becki hesitates, then accepts one.
“My husband’s job. He’s a project engineer. They move him around every few years.”
“You’re lucky to land in Cambridge,” I tell her. “This is a great family area. You’ll love it here.”
“Thanks!” she says brightly. “In all honesty, I picked the town because of the universities. I’m kind of hoping that now Ronnie’s three, I can take some night courses.”
I check on Evan again. He’s made it to the far soccer goal and is climbing in the black netting. Ronald has spotted him and is working his way down the field on his shorter legs.
Becki calls him back and the toddler obediently swings around and returns to the jungle gym. “Sorry,” she says self-consciously. “Nervous mother. Sometimes he bolts on me, so I don’t like for him to get too far away. I know he’s only three but, wow, can he run!”
“I know what you mean,” I assure her. “I haven’t been able to keep up with Evan since he was two. Kids are all muscle and speed. We can’t compete.”
She nods, working on her muffin. “Evan’s an only child?” she asks at last.
“He has a sister,” I reply. “She’s with her father.”
Becki glances at me, but doesn’t pry. I put away the muffins. Get out a container of fresh strawberries.
“Will you have a second child?” I ask.
“I hope so. Once I finish up my degree at least. Ronnie was a bit of an oops. A happy oops,” Becki corrects hastily, coloring slightly. “But I’d hoped to finish college first.”
“Of course.” Evan’s still working the soccer field; Ronald’s back at the jungle gym. I get the lid off the strawberries, hold them out.
“That reminds me—I gotta get to the grocery store,” Becki comments, selecting a strawberry and taking a bite. “Actually, where is the grocery store?”
I give her directions, and that leads her to digging through her diaper bag for a notepad, and that leads me to sketching out several rough maps with the best local restaurants, a great bookstore, this absolutely wonderful bakery over on Huron Avenue. I feel like I’m drawing a map to the life I used to live. Here are places where you should shop, eat, and play. Here are things you, your husband, and your children would enjoy doing.
Cambridge is such a nice town, filled with historic grandeur mixed with the hip Harvard scene. Maybe I could bring Evan to the park more often. Maybe I could attempt the special-needs playgroup again. Or perhaps the local pool. Evan’s pretty good at pools. The swimming tires him out, keeps him distracted. I could bring a book, relax in the sun. I could mix us both fun, fruity drinks. Strawberry smoothies, virgin piña coladas. Michael and I went to Baja once, where we drank the best piña coladas, made with fresh fruit juice and rum. We’d drink them starting at sunrise, while lounging on the beach, digging our toes into the warm, white sand….
“Victoria?”
I’m lost in my fantasy, making the mistake of remembering better days, of wanting a life beyond the cage in which I live. The high-pitched note in Becki’s voice brings me back. I stop drawing a map to the best coffee shop. I look at the playground. It takes me only a second to understand Becki’s shrill tone.
Evan and the little boy are gone.
I start with the usual platitudes. They couldn’t have gone far, we’d only glanced away for a minute. Why doesn’t she check by the street? I’ll start with the woods.
Becki obediently rushes toward the empty sidewalk. I make a beeline for the woods, calling Evan’s and Ronnie’s names. Nothing.
My heart’s beating too hard, my breath growing shallow. Maybe the boys are playing