8
Sheena
Traffic was the worst I ’ d ever seen it, trying to get down State Street.
Just two more blocks until we reached Bright Beginnings, but the wall of vehicles hadn ’ t moved in at least ten minutes. There had to be some kind of accident past the next light. I could hear the sirens, but I couldn ’ t see anything beyond the thick hedge separating a Subway parking lot from a local church.
Minute by minute, all the optimism I ’ d felt earlier—about finishing the budget in time, making a really good dinner for Dad and the girls—popped like soap bubbles.
Dad ’ s fingers twitched, tapping against his knee, like he was getting ready to jump out of the car at any moment. He ’ d never done that before, but the past few months had been full of firsts.
“ God, this takes me back,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.
I glanced over, confused and impatient for traffic to start moving. “ To what?”
His brow furrowed, like he was sorting through the fragments of memories. “ That pileup on the 405. I ever tell you about that one?”
“ Nope, tell me.” This time it was true. I hadn ’ t heard that story. I eased my grip on the ancient Subaru ’ s steering wheel and found my patience. Surely, a teacher monitoring the pickups at the rec center could see the gridlock, which meant that maybe I wasn ’ t going to get side-eyed if I pulled in at 5:02. Just relax, I told myself. Everything is fine.
Dad leaned forward, gesturing with his hands in my peripheral vision. “ An SUV flipped on its side in the middle of the freeway. We got the call right during rush hour, of course. Bumper to bumper, just like this. We had to maneuver the squad car through all that mess, sirens blaring. People barely moved. They never do.”
I nodded along, only half-listening, watching the brake lights blink ahead as Dad picked up momentum in a story about the first time he ’ d seen paramedics use the “ Jaws of Life” to wrench open a smashed vehicle at an accident scene.
I lost the thread of his story as I watched a woman a few cars ahead of us get out of her vehicle and rush toward the intersection.
I frowned and I craned my neck but still couldn ’ t see the intersection or the daycare center. The accident up ahead must have been a bad one.
“ … don ’ t get me wrong, Sheen. I felt for that poor lady trapped in the car, but that machine was something to behold. You should ’ ve seen it. The thing just tore through the metal like it was nothing. A couple of squeezes, and bam, we ’ ve got the door off, and she ’ s in there, wide-eyed, breathing heavy, but not a scratch on her. Can you believe that?”
I flashed him a smile despite the anxiety dripping through my veins. “ That ’ s a lucky break.”
“ Luckiest I ’ ve ever seen,” he said, shaking his head, his eyes distant but still twinkling. “ You should ’ ve seen her face when we pulled her out. She just kept saying, ‘ Thank you, thank you, ’ over and over again. The paramedics checked her out, and she was fine. Just shaken up. Those were the best calls, you know?” His voice faltered a little. “ Ones where we got there in time. Did the right thing. Got to be real-life heroes, for just a minute.”
“ You helped a lot of people, Dad,” I said softly, knowing his memories had turned to the calls that still haunted him. He shrugged and looked out the window. The irony of Alzheimer ’ s was that it affected his short-term memory the most. The things he wanted to forget were the ones with the deepest hooks.
I drew in a steadying breath as the car in front of me crawled forward a few inches then hit the brakes for what felt like the hundredth time.
When I glanced down at my cell phone, ready to call Bright Beginnings to tell them I was definitely going to be late because of the traffic, I saw that I ’ d already missed a call from them.
Frowning, I turned the ringer off Silent mode.
Usually, the high-school-age staffers called only when I really took pickup down to the wire—five p.m. exactly. I still had a good six minutes.
Shit. Had one of the girls gotten hurt? Had Bonnie been pushed down the slide again? I gritted my teeth. If Sage sent her off into the kiddie pool by herself …
“ It ’ s just traffic, Sheen,” Dad said for the eighth time and patted me on the shoulder. “ No sense rushing. We ’ ll get there when …”
He trailed off and looked out the window, and for a moment I envied the fog in his brain that had likely made him forget where we were going in the first place.
“ Thanks, Dad,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. Then I tapped on the missed call.
Instead of a receptionist, I got an annoying busy signal.
I drew in another breath, reminding myself that a new phone system was part of the budget for the local elementary schools and their aftercare satellites. The idea that anybody still used landlines, especially an institution that cared for half of Ada County ’ s kids, felt extra ludicrous today.
Another siren wailed closer, and a chill worked its way down my neck. What if something bad had happened at the rec center?
I gripped the steering wheel tighter as I thought about school shootings and gas leaks and car accidents.
The light turned green for the dozenth time, and we inched forward. Just far enough that I could see the daycare entrance.
“ Oh, Lord. Sheen, something ’ s really going on up there.” Dad craned his neck to see. “ Didn ’ t the girls go to that daycare once upon a time?”
I didn ’ t answer him.
Instead, I slowly put the car into Park where it sat in the center of the road. My legs had turned into cold, limp noodles.
There wasn ’ t an accident ahead.
The Bright Beginnings parking lot was filled with flashing red-and-blue lights.
Police cars. At least twenty.
The rest of the parking lot was filled with staff and parents. I couldn’t breathe. This looked like the scene of every school shooting I ’ d seen covered on the news.
This couldn’t be happening.
Without saying a word to Dad, I yanked open the car door and started running toward them.
My stomach seized like it had the time Sage slipped out of sight in IKEA, while I took too long staring at a display of drawer organizers. So much adrenaline and panic it felt like I was going to vomit or pass out.
Only this time, it was worse. This time, something bad, something awful, had really happened.
I darted around a car with its hazards on, stopped at the front of the intersection. Like me, that parent must have arrived for pickup and seen the chaos in the parking lot.
No, no, no, no.
The crosswalk showed a red STOP hand, but I ran across the road anyway.
There weren’t any cars speeding past. Traffic was completely stalled.
Farther down the road in all directions, people were leaning out their windows. A few even laid on their horns. But in the gridlock at the intersection right beside the daycare, all eyes were fixed on the parking lot.
I charged into the crowd and angled toward a tall teenage girl wearing a teal polo shirt with the Bright Beginnings logo. Her name tag read SHELLY.
“ What ’ s going on?” I choked out, shoving my way forward, heart pounding out of my chest. “ Where are my kids?”
Shelly glanced at me and held her arms out at her sides in a helpless gesture. “ We ’ re doing everything we can.”
“ Doing everything you can?” My heart clogged my throat. I wanted to throttle her. “ What are you talking about? Where the hell are my kids?”
Another woman with messy platinum hair pushed past me, already in tears. “ Tell us now!”
Shelly glanced between us, her eyes wide. “ We ’ re getting text alerts set up so we can—”
“ So you can what ?” I shrieked. “ Just tell us what ’ s happening!”
“ The bus is missing.”
The woman with the platinum hair recoiled like she ’ d been slapped. She was breathing so fast, her nostrils flared with each inhale.
I could barely get the words out when I gasped, “ What does that mean ? You can ’ t just lose a whole bus.”
The other woman was talking too, both of us at once. “ What … why … can ’ t you fucking track it? Doesn ’ t the driver have a cell phone? Why the hell haven ’ t you found them yet?”
You can ’ t just lose a whole bus.
For just a moment, a bubble of hope burst through the sludge of panic in my gut that at least there wasn’t an active shooter. At least nobody was dead.
The bus was missing. And my kids weren’t here, which meant there was a possibility that nothing bad had even happened.
Thoughts spun through my head like desperate lifelines.
Maybe the parents and police in this parking lot are panicking for nothing.
Maybe the bus had a flat tire.
Maybe one of the kids threw up, and they had to stop.
Maybe—
“ I ’ m really sorry,” Shelly said, sounding near tears herself. “ We‘ve retraced the bus route twice now, but … there ’ s nothing. The bus driver isn’t answering her phone.” She glanced behind her. A police officer was moving toward us through the parking lot. “ The police are taking over. They want to talk to everybody. I ’ m just … I ’ m sorry.” Her voice broke on the last word.
Without saying another word, the woman beside me let out a wordless howl and rushed away, in the direction of the police officer.
Shelly and I stared at each other.
It was painfully obvious that neither of us knew what to do.
Behind me, I realized someone was shouting.
A new warning prickled in my brain.
I knew that voice.
I turned my head in time to see Dad bring his fist down on the hood of a truck. “ Simmer down and stop honking. Somebody should’ve paddled your ass when you were a kid,” he boomed, his deep voice cutting through the melee of panicked voices, a smattering of honks, more sirens in the distance.
Dad faced a souped-up, too-tall truck at the front of the gridlocked intersection. It had monster tires and a bro-flag trailing off the back. There was a college-aged kid with a mullet leaning out the driver ’ s side window.
No. This couldn’t be happening.
With a strangled yelp, I rushed back the way I ’ d come through the parking lot, back into the crosswalk, and yanked on Dad ’ s wrist.
Harder than I needed to, but I didn’t have the presence of mind to be calm. To tell him the girls were in trouble. So I grabbed him.
Face red with anger, Dad spun to look at me and snatched his arm back. The kid with the mullet laughed, like this was some kind of skit in a reality TV show.
“ Dad, stop! ” I cried, trying to hold on.
My fingers slid down, catching on his watch.
Before I could blink, the clasp popped, and the watch landed hard on the asphalt at our feet.
Dad went completely still and touched his wrist, face bright red, eyes flashing at me, honking truck forgotten.
In my peripheral vision, I could see a police officer heading our way.
“ What the hell are you doing, Sheen,” Dad said, chin quivering with rage, both of us still facing each other in the middle of the road.
I could barely hear him, but his words still hit like darts. Because I didn’t have a clue.