Chapter 10
Chapter 10
F inding mom friends was like dating, only worse. At least men put off understandable signals, either “I’m interested” or “back off.” With women there were so many variables. Do I like you, do you like me, do our values line up, will you judge my messy house and daughter’s snarled hair, do our children get along, is your kid a bully, are you that mom who makes her baby learn Mandarin to get a leg up, and on and on it went. Jordan had lived in DC for four years and been unable to break in anywhere, despite trying library time, a tumble class, and mommy and me pottery. (That one was a complete disaster. Between trying to keep Nash out of clay and realizing she had zero latent talent as a sculptor, her so-called mug had ended up like an anatomically correct heart with a handle.)
It was another gut punch to her self-esteem in what had already been a rough few years. Becoming a mother, losing her figure, losing sleep, feeling like she was failing at everything, having another baby in the midst of that chaos, trying to navigate it all alone while her husband traveled incessantly. On top of that the rejection from other moms felt like too much. If she had to be perpetually pudgy and exhausted now, at least she could have had a friend to aid the journey. Amelia was a friend, but she wasn’t a mother and she was perfect, so it was hard to relate.
But today at last she had been invited to a play date. After edging closer and closer to the moms at library story time, trying to project openness without being needy, she had finally been granted entrée into their group.
“We’re all going to my house to hang out for a bit. Want to come?” One of the moms named Nee said.
“Sure, yes, okay,” Jordan said, nodding like a bobble head. Stop nodding, stupid, she urged herself. “Can I bring anything?”
“No, I think we’re good. I made some gluten free seaweed bites,” Nee said.
Jordan almost laughed because she thought it was a joke. Thankfully she refrained. That should have been the first clue she was in trouble, but she blundered ahead, desperate to make contact with the outside world.
She followed Nee to her home in a normal looking neighborhood, only a few blocks from her own. But that was where the similarities ended. At the end of the driveway, for instance, was a sign proclaiming that they were a “chemical-free” home and did not allow the city to spray near their property.
The city sprays our properties? Why? What for? Jordan thought. Was she supposed to be concerned about that? She added it to the overflowing list of things she was supposed to worry about, but it tumbled so far to the bottom it would likely be forgotten soon.
She unbuckled the kids, whispering to Charlotte to have good manners, and approached the door. And saw her worst nightmare—white carpet. With sudden panic she glanced at Charlotte’s shoes, a clump of dirt jumping out at her. Of course they would have to go to a house with white carpet on a day they went to the muddy park. As soon as they were inside, she set Nash down and took off Charlotte’s shoes, noting with further dismay that her left sock had a giant hole in the toe.
By the time she was finished with Charlotte’s shoes, Nash had crawled away and directly to a glass-fronted curio cabinet. With horror, she saw him reach his sticky paws toward the glass and leapt, nearly diving on top of him in her haste to swoop him up and rescue the pristine glass.
When she stood upright, Nee was watching her, smile plastered on her face. Perhaps that was the moment they both realized this was a gross mismatch, but it would only go downhill from there.
“How are you coming with your preschool applications?” Nee asked as she led Jordan’s trio down the hall to the playroom. They arrived in the door and Jordan stopped short because it was like a playroom from a magazine, filled with modernist wooden toys that looked like they had been crafted by Dutch gnomes with doctorates in child development.
“This is so nice,” Jordan blurted, gaping in the doorway.
“Thank you,” Nee said absently, probably not understanding Jordan’s awe. At their house somehow the entire place had become one giant playroom with toys strewn haphazardly, some in the kitchen, some in the family room. Recently some had even made their way to Jordan’s bedroom so the kids would be occupied while she attempted to fold laundry. But outside of this room, it was as if children didn’t live here. And while her children immediately headed toward bins and began tossing things asunder, Nee’s child sat at a table, placidly working on something that was probably STEM approved and brain enhancing.
Once the kids were safely secured in the room (using a state of the art gate that had an electronic alert system and camera Nee could monitor from her phone), Jordan finally returned to the hovering question.
“To be honest, I haven’t even looked at preschool. I should probably do that.” Her fingers twisted anxiously. She actually had intended to start scouring for preschools, but Jay’s death preempted everything else for a while.
“Oh,” Nee said, stopping short. “I hope you get in.”
“Did you get in somewhere?” Jordan asked, already knowing the answer.
“Oh, yes. We applied as soon as Clipper was born. He’s going to Ravenswood.”
“Oh, that sounds nice,” Jordan said. What she was really thinking was how did I not know her kid’s name was Clipper?
“It’s a little over our budget, but it’s the foundation for everything, you know? That’s why we started saving before we even had kids.”
“For preschool,” Jordan clarified.
“Oh, yeah,” Nee said, nodding. “Without the right preschool, kids can’t get in to the right elementary school.”
“Doesn’t that just depend on which district you live in?” Jordan asked.
Nee laughed hard. “Good one. Obviously the only way we would send him to public school would be with a personal tutor and armed guard.”
“Yeah,” Jordan said weakly. Were the public schools that bad? One of the reasons she and Jay had chosen their particular suburb was because of the well-manicured elementary school a few blocks away. She had envisioned the time when she would walk her kids to and from school each day, safely tucking them in the care of teachers who would educate them. But if what Nee said was true, that was the equivalent of sending them to prison without any gum or cigarettes to use as currency.
“Are you vegan?” Nee asked as they reached the kitchen.
“I…no,” Jordan said slowly. Was she supposed to be? Would it be one more thing she was doing wrong in their eyes?
“Me neither,” Nee said. Jordan’s sigh of relief was short lived when she continued. “We eat traditional, Paleo, you know?”
No, Jordan did not know. She had no idea. To her it was a victory if she got her kids to eat a vegetable a day.
“Help yourself to paté,” Nee said. And then she motioned to a spread on the kitchen counter that looked like the White House chef stopped by and set up camp for a bit. Jordan had never seen a canapé in real life before, but she was certain she saw some now as trays were lined with little tiny swirls of vegetables in various artistic arrangements.
“Did you have this catered?” Jordan blurted. In her mind there was no other possible explanation, unless she’d bought a tray from Costco and unloaded it onto her own platters.
Nee laughed again as if Jordan had made a funny joke. Again. “Nah, I like to keep healthy snacks in the fridge at all times.”
Jordan thought of her fridge, currently loaded with leftover meatloaf and half a pizza. “Yes, right, exactly.” Absently she reached for a cracker, one shaped like a star, and spread it with the paté. It was sort of salty, sort of rich, kind of amazing actually.
“This is the only way I can get my kids to eat liver,” Nee confessed, as if it was a dirty secret.
Jordan froze, mouth filling with saliva as the actual meaning of paté became clear. Liver. Liver. Not cheese, like she vaguely thought. Fighting her gag reflex, she made herself swallow. The doorbell rang and Nee excused herself to answer. Jordan grabbed a glass bottle of water— a glass bottle— and guzzled a few sips. The liver hadn’t tasted bad, not at all. But it was liver. She needed to tell someone immediately to reaffirm that she was not insane.
Accidentally ate liver, she sent Gaines.
He replied a minute later. Some sort of ritual? Hopefully not from a live donor. Blink once if you’re part of a cult now.
Nee returned, along with a few other women, and Jordan stuffed her phone away, pasting on a smile. They were all the same, she suddenly realized, artfully coiffed hair and makeup, matching messy buns and expensive hiking clothes. They were somehow already involved in a conversation about Ravenswood, the special preschool their children had already been accepted to.
“Oh, paté. Yours is the best, Nee,” one of them said, eagerly reaching for the paté knife.
Surreptitiously Jordan reached for her phone and sent Gaines a text. Blink.
N ot surprisingly the day went downhill from there. Jordan might have been able to blend into the woodwork except conversation turned to Jay.
“What does your husband do?” one of the women, Janelle, asked. Jordan felt like the women held their collective breath, waiting to pass judgment in case Jay did something blue collar for a living.
“Oh, actually my husband died,” she said. It was the first time she’d had to tell anyone, and it was harder than she’d thought it would be. And it went over even worse, settling like a lead balloon, bringing down the energy of the room until all conversation died and everyone was staring at her.
“Oh,” Nee said, pressing her hand to her heart. “I am so sorry. I had no idea. How long has he been gone?”
Jordan cleared her throat. “Four weeks.”
Somehow, impossibly, the silence deepened. Maybe she was being overly sensitive, but it was as if she could feel their judgment. Her husband only died four weeks ago and she’s out? She’s going to story time and play dates?
“How did he die?” a woman named Marie asked. The other women shot her death looks, but Jordan didn’t mind. Theoretically at least.
But then she said, “Suicide,” and mouths dropped. If there were any pearls in the room, they’d be clutched right now. The silence was so intense it was hard to breathe. Tears pricked behind Jordan’s eyes. This was her first real attempt at an outing since Jay’s passing, and it was going even worse than she’d imagined.
“Well,” Nee said, clapping her hands together to get everyone’s attention. It was so silent that all the women jumped, startled. “Should we feed the kiddos? No one’s allergic to macadamia, are they?”
One woman raised her hand. “Blarney is allergic to all tree nuts.”
Jordan coughed hard and everyone turned to look at her. She pointed to her throat, “Cracker,” she croaked, a total lie because she hadn’t eaten anything since the paté debacle. But come on. Blarney. Who names their child after a mythic Irish stone? She guzzled water and followed behind the other moms to retrieve her children, counting the moments until she could make her escape.
Never leaving home again, she thought now as she lay in bed, cozy and warm and relaxed. What was so bad about being a hermit, really? The advent of delivery had made it so convenient to never have to deal with outsiders. So her children would be weird and standoffish, and probably stupid and malnourished if today was any indication. At least they weren’t named Clipper or Blarney.
That was her last thought before she drifted to sleep. An unknown time later, she startled awake. Nash? She lay perfectly still, willing both of them to go back to sleep. Sometimes if she ignored him a few minutes he settled down. Other times he got worked up and only nursing him would do. She rolled onto her back in order to hear better, and that was when she saw him, the man standing in the corner watching her.
This time she sighed. Why did I leave the vacuum out again?
But that thought was immediately followed by, I didn’t. She had put the vacuum away before Gaines arrived, she made certain because she wanted everything to be clean. She stared at the spot, trying to figure out what this new apparition might be, but instead of standing still like last time, the figure moved and walked out of the room.
Jordan sat up, heart hammering so hard it whooshed blood through her ears, obscuring all other sound. Hands shaking, she reached for her phone and pushed the emergency call button, too flustered to think what else to do.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“There’s someone in my house,” Jordan whispered, hating the way her voice shook, her hands shook, her everything shook. Her husband had been a Navy SEAL. Why had zero percent of his bravery rubbed off on her?
And then all at once she remembered the kids. What if the man left her room to get to one of them? She was out of bed and sprinting down the hall before she even gave the dispatcher her address.
Both the kids’ doors were open, she noted in some part of her brain. She always closed them at night, always, especially after that terrifying fire safety video she watched about how much closing doors slows the progression of a house fire.
If he hurt my kids… The thought trailed away because she didn’t know how to finish it, except that she would find a way.
Her eyes went first to the kids, still sleeping in their beds, before trailing slowly around their rooms, making certain no one was there. It was probably the wrong way to do things. She had vague memories of Jay telling her you had to neutralize the threat before you took care of any victims, but whoever wrote that rule obviously hadn’t been a mother. Once her kids were okay, she could relax.
“Ma’am? Ma’am, ” the dispatcher said. Her growing urgency told Jordan she had probably been trying to get her to respond for some time.
“Sorry,” Jordan whispered, sliding to a crouch in the hallway. “I was checking on my kids. They’re fine and he wasn’t in either of their rooms.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m in the hallway.” She paused and listened. “I don’t hear anything. Maybe he’s gone?”
“The officers will be there soon. I’ll stay on the line with you until they arrive. Tell me if anything changes.”
“Okay,” Jordan said, taking a deep breath, her first, since she was jolted awake. She worked on bringing her heart rate out of the stratosphere.
“Is there anyone you can call to come be with you?” the dispatcher asked.
“Yes,” Jordan said. “But I’ll have to wait until we disconnect.”
“Okay, just keep the officers informed of his arrival. The first unit is arriving on the scene. Please proceed to the front door and open it slowly.”
“Okay,” Jordan replied, suppressing a semi-hysterical bubble of laughter. She appreciated the dispatcher’s help and reassurance, but who talked that way in real life? Unit, proceed. It would have seemed more natural if she said, “Girl, the police are here. Get up out of that crouch and open the door.” Or maybe not. Maybe Jordan wouldn’t have felt as secure if she talked like a real person instead of a humanoid robot.
Cautiously, Jordan opened the door. Two officers stood on the other side, reminding her so much of Jay it felt like a sucker punch. Not that they looked like him. One of them was black, in fact. But it was that air they had, the authoritative I’m-here-to-help-and-possibly-lower-the-boom expression. And the stance. She’d missed the stance, so much a part of Jay he couldn’t seem to turn it off, even when he was at home. Her eyes flooded with tears that overflowed and ran down her cheeks.
“Ma’am?” one of them said, posture relaxing slightly. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I…Sorry. Please come in.” She moved aside and ushered them in.
“Did I hear you unlock this door before you opened it?” one of them asked.
“Yes. It was locked,” she said, frowning as his meaning became clear. If the door was locked, it meant the intruder either got out another way or was still in the house.
Tense and alert once more, the officers put their hands on their guns. “We’re going to need you to stay put while we search the premises.”
Premises. Call it a house, she thought absently. “I’ll sit outside my kids’ rooms. I’d prefer you not go in there, and I already searched. They were clear.”
They gave her a nod. She returned to her crouch in the hallway and reached for her phone, pushing the number for Gaines who answered with an endearing mumble.
“Jordy?”
“Hi, yes, sorry. Um, the police are here.”
There was a shuffling sound, as if he abruptly sat up. “What? Baby, are you okay?”
“Yes, and the kids are fine. But I woke up to a man in my room.”
“What?” he exclaimed, so loudly she had to tip the phone away from her ear. She could hear him shuffling some more, probably tossing clothes on.
“That’s all I know for now. I woke up, he walked out, I checked the kids’ rooms, and the police are here searching the perimeter .”
“I’m going to be there in a few minutes. Do you want to stay on the phone with me?”
“I’ll be fine. Please be careful, don’t speed.”
“Okay,” he chuckled, clearly lying.
The police returned, looking grave. “I take it you didn’t find him,” Jordan whispered.
“No, and…”
Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by Gaines’s arrival. The officers whirled, hands on guns, and Jordan sprang up.
“Sorry, that’s my friend. I called him to come over. This is Gaines,” she added as he eased closer and slid his arm around her waist, giving it a squeeze. It was hard not to melt into him a little. Jordan wasn’t totally helpless, was pretty good at taking care of herself and the kids on a day-to-day basis. But men, though . There was something special about that little feeling of safety they gave, of letting go because you knew you were being taken care of. She’d had it with Jay, when he was home, and now she felt it again with Gaines because, unlike the officers, he had a personal interest in her wellbeing.
“Officers,” Gaines said, nodding. “How’s it going?”
“Well, we were telling the lady here that there were no signs of forced entry. Or exit. No discernable footprints, no disturbed vegetation. Is anything missing or amiss inside?”
“I haven’t actually had a chance to look.” Helplessly, she scanned the interior of the house. What would a burglar take? The most valuable thing she owned, besides the car, was an expensive stroller Jay’s parents bought for Charlotte. “I can’t imagine what that would be. We’re not really into electronics.”
“What about Jay’s guns?” Gaines asked, giving her a squeeze.
“They’re locked in the safe, as far as I know. Except the one…” she trailed helplessly away, swallowing hard.
“The one?” one of the officers prompted, suspicious now at the mention of a weapon.
Jordan cleared her throat. “The one he used to commit suicide a few weeks ago. That’s still with you guys or the coroner’s office or whoever handles those sorts of things.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and let out a breath while the officers stared at her.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” one of the officers said, but there was something new in his tone, a sort of a-ha, so that’s what this is, kind of awareness. “We’ll assign a car to drive by the rest of the night. Are you staying here?” Their attention turned to Gaines and Jordan felt like she was being handed off. Here, capable man, take this crazy woman.
“I’m staying,” Gaines said with a nod.
“Call if you…have any more trouble,” one of the officers said. The pause was small, but Jordan heard it. Don’t call for crazy reasons, only for something real.
She nodded and thanked them. Now that Gaines was here and the adrenaline rush was over, she was anxious to have them out of her house, to move out of reach of their silent judgment.
She walked them to the door, closed it behind them and leaned on it, eyeing Gaines who eyed her in return.