Chapter Two #2
Sasha goes and stands next to Regan, who’s looking over at her daughter, Hallie, eating donuts with a couple of girls by the
side fence.
“Morning,” Sasha says, startling Regan into noticing her.
“Shit, is that a pumpkin spice latte?” Regan asks, looking sideways at Sasha’s Starbucks cup to read the barista’s scrawl.
“With whipped cream,” Sasha adds.
“I was too busy calling all the moms this morning to ingest caffeine. Hot chocolate isn’t doing it. Rebecca burned the chocolate,
to boot. Tastes like a campfire.”
“Here.” Sasha hands her the cup and Regan takes a couple swigs.
“Bless you.”
“Where’s Andi?” Sasha asks, looking around.
“Left her a voice mail, I don’t know.” Regan glances over at Morgan Dyer, who’s clapping her hands in the air and yelling,
“Okay, inside, everyone. We’re starting.” Sasha sees Regan roll her eyes.
“I guess Morgan’s in charge now,” she quips, giving a little mock salute.
Sasha smirks. She became fast friends with Andi and Regan when she moved in at the beginning of the summer and Sasha brought cupcakes when it was her turn to be “snack mom” at Little League practice.
The newsletter clearly stated it was healthy snack week and she was to bring only approved items from a list that was provided.
When she did not show up with Cuties oranges or Fruit Roll-Ups, some of the moms lost their minds, but Regan and Andi stepped in.
They understood what it was like to be outsiders in this town, too, it turned out—since Regan’s husband’s death and Andi’s very public divorce. Now the three women are inseparable.
As folks start moving up the school stairs, Regan calls to Hallie to mind Miss Elsher until they’re back, but before Sasha
can hoist her tote over her shoulder and go in, a Range Rover pulls into the lot and the screeching brakes make her and Regan
turn.
It’s Ray Davila, Andi’s ex-husband, and she can see that Dez is sitting in the back seat. Ray leaves the car running and gestures
to Dez that he’ll be right back. He walks swiftly over to where Sasha and Regan stand, staring at him.
“Oh, hey,” Regan starts. “Hallie was just asking about Dez. She has his baseball glove from—”
Ray cuts her off. “We’re not staying. I . . . Listen. Have either of you seen Tia?”
“Uh, Tia? No,” Sasha says, wondering why she’d be here since she doesn’t have kids in elementary school. “Is something wrong?”
Sasha asks, noticing the swelling and redness around Ray’s eyes and the panic in his voice, which he’s deliberately trying
to keep calm.
“I’m . . .” He glances at the car and then back to Sasha. “I haven’t told the kids. Roxie’s out and Dez thinks we’re running
errands, so I can’t alarm them just yet, but she’s just . . . gone. I mean, she’s . . . I guess, missing.”
“Oh, Ray. Oh, my God, what do you mean?” Regan says, touching him on his arm.
“Last night she said she was going for a run after dinner, so me and the kids went to see an eight o’clock movie. She said . . .” His voice breaks. “She said to go without her. When we got home at eleven, she wasn’t there. I spent an hour calling everyone she knows, but nothing. God, I . . .”
“Jesus,” Regan says. “Did you call the police?”
“Yes. I made a report around midnight, but I can’t just—I’m just trying to drive around and look. I need Andi to take the
kids, but I can’t reach her.”
“I’m so sorry,” Sasha says. “I’m sure there’s an explanation,” she adds, because it’s the sort of thing you’re supposed to
say and she’s at a complete loss.
“Drop Dez with me if you need to,” Regan says. “Hallie wants to toss the ball around with him anyway. It’s all she’s talked
about. If you can’t get in touch with Andi, I should be home in an hour or two. It’s no problem,” she says.
“Thanks, okay. Yeah. Please, if you hear anything. Please . . .” he starts to say.
“Of course,” Sasha says. “Of course.” She puts him out of his misery so he doesn’t have to finish his sentence—so he can go
and keep looking.
“Or you can leave him with me now if you need,” Regan says.
“I’m going over to Andi’s now. But I’ll let you know. Thanks.”
They watch Ray do a half jog to his car.
He disappears inside before pulling out of the gravel parking lot quickly.
Sasha has heard the stories over margarita nights with Regan and Andi and a few of the other girls, and she knows that a couple years ago Ray spent a few months on the most-hated-guy-in-town list after word of him having an affair went public.
Now, though, he looks so small and broken that it’s hard not to have empathy for the guy, even if she only really knows him as “what’s-his-face who’s engaged to slutbag. ”
“God,” Regan says. “I’m sure it’s nothing, right?”
“I’m sure,” Sasha agrees.
“Maybe she already spent all his money and is leaving him for some even older guy with even more money. God, I’m a dick. That
was inappropriate,” Regan says. Sasha represses a smirk. Regan takes a small pill from her pocket and slips it covertly under
her tongue, then inhales deeply. Sasha pretends not to notice.
“I hope Andi’s okay,” Sasha says as they begin to move toward the school doors.
“Maybe she went out of town with Carson or something,” Regan says. “He goes away for work sometimes. They’re newlyweds. Maybe
they made it a weekend away. Not like her to ignore my calls, though . . . or Ray’s . . . at least not when he has the kids,
I mean. Things are very strange around here.”
Inside the school building, a couple dozen anxious parents pile into one of the classrooms and begin demanding answers, solutions,
explanations from the principal and board members. Sasha thinks about that horrific day only weeks ago when they all watched
someone from their own community murdered in front of them—ripped into pieces of flesh and bits of bone and brain matter that
fell from the sky like a bizarre scene in the most graphic horror movie you’ve ever seen. Even for the folks who didn’t witness
it, the ripples of fear and unease spread across the surface of the community, putting everyone on edge.
Sasha sees one of the moms silently weeping into the hood of her Burberry sweatshirt and another whispering about homeschooling and taking all their kids out of this school.
When one of the senior board members, Atkinson, finally gets everyone to quiet down, he speaks in a consoling tone that could be interpreted as condescending, but it’s hard to discern his true intent.
He definitely looks in over his head, though.
“I understand everyone’s concern, so let’s first just outline the facts so we can all get on the same page as we discuss what
next steps are.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Roger,” Libby something-or-other says. She’s Samantha’s mom. “Just tell us what measures you’re going
to take to make sure the place is secure. Drop the formal bullcrap.”
“Yeah,” a few other parents murmur in agreement.
“Look, Lib,” Atkinson says. “We are taking it very seriously, of course, but the reason we firmly believe that it’s just a
prank—that it’s most likely one of the students—is because the box the kitchen timer was inside of has a batch number and
tracks back to one of the teacher’s supply cupboards. It was a box mailed directly to the school—to Ms. Brown’s classroom—and
it was full of washable markers. The sign that read Bang. You’re dead was written on red construction paper.”
“So what?” one of the dads shouts. “The freak who did this could want you to think it’s just an innocent thing, right? Remember
someone actually got blown up in this town not long ago.”
The mention of that has everyone stirring, nodding, shaking their heads. I see a few moms in full sobs now.
“I get it,” Atkinson says. “I’m not saying this is nothing, that it shouldn’t be of great concern.
I’m only saying, to hopefully belay some of your fears, that the police believe a student is responsible.
Also, a lot of older siblings from the high school have clearance to pick up younger siblings, so it could be a teen prank, and . . .”
“Just like Sandy Hook was, huh?” a voice from somewhere in the back says.
“Oh, Lord, here we go,” Regan says under her breath. Sasha bristles at this. Her eyes widen as she looks around the room to
see who shouted that.
Atkinson tries to settle everyone down. “All I can tell you,” he continues, “is that there are cameras at the front and back
doors—the only two entrances to the school besides the emergency doors, which have not been engaged—and no unknown person
came in or out yesterday. The note taped to the box was a circle cut out of construction paper with a spark drawn in, like
a cartoon version of a bomb. Very childish and made from supplies inside the building . . .”
Atkinson attempts to go on, but someone starts up about how he’s insinuating one of our kids is a psychopath, and others start
demanding security checks, cameras in the halls, armed guards, and then a few parents start to yell at each other, and all
in all, not much gets accomplished besides a promise to install more cameras next week and a committee vote on metal detectors
being installed. Still, the whole thing is exhausting and unsettling.
When Sasha returns home, she feels like she ran a marathon.
The drizzle has stopped, but it’s overcast and dreary.
When she pulls into the drive, she sees Tom raking leaves in the backyard, which apparently he finds therapeutic, the reason he doesn’t hire a service like everyone else.
Chloe is in her pink raincoat swinging on her rope swing, then jumping into piles of leaves and squealing.
Sasha waves on her way into the house, and Tom blows her a kiss.
Inside, Sasha relishes the rattle of the heat coming on as she turns up the thermostat higher than anyone else in the house
cares for, but she’s chilled to the bone and upset, if she’s honest. She puts the teapot on and sits at the kitchen counter
to text Drew and remind him that he said he’d spend the weekend writing a term paper he’s put off. She sees the read receipt
but no immediate reply.
Soon enough, the bubbles appear and disappear a few times as he forms a response, but in the end, all that comes through is
a thumbs-up emoji, which is good enough for Sasha right now.
She pulls off her boots and takes her mug of chamomile tea upstairs while she considers a hot bath, but as she passes Drew’s
room, she pauses and peers in. There’s crap everywhere. Dirty clothes on the floor, a bowl of mac and cheese that’s formed
a patch of blue mold sitting on his desk, empty soda cans. She sighs, places her mug on the hall table and goes inside to
pick up.
Once she stuffs his clothes into a laundry basket and starts for the congealed mac and cheese bowl, she sees something that
catches her eye. Something that before today would not have warranted a second glance. She stands still for a moment and she
can feel her heart thump against her rib cage. She tilts her head and examines what exactly she’s looking at.
There is a wisp of red sticking out from a pile of school folders on top of Drew’s desk.
Sasha’s heart speeds up even though it’s nothing, of course it’s nothing, but still, she drops the soda cans into his waste container and hesitantly walks over to the desk.
She removes the science book and folders on top and carefully arrives at the folder with the red scrap.
It has a Cloverhill Wildcats sticker on its front cover, along with some doodles.
She flips it open and her heart leaps into her throat.
Inside are three sheets of red construction paper. One has a circle cut out from the middle with a notch on one side, eerily
in the shape of a cartoon bomb.