14. Melanie
melanie
“We believe Oakley left the school grounds around lunchtime,” the principal intones, her voice gentle as if she’s trying to talk me down from a ledge.
She wouldn’t be wrong. I am on the verge, but it’s terror and absolute fury that have me breathing heavily into my cellphone. My son has been missing for twenty minutes, and she’s only just decided to call me now.
“We have teachers searching the premises, and our custodian is checking the surrounding area. His bag is still in the classroom—”
“Why wasn’t I informed immediately?” I bite out, cutting the engine and staring blindly out the windshield.
“We made every effort to—”
“No,” I snap, uncaring about cutting her off again.
“You are supposed to inform his parent as soon as you realize something is wrong. That’s the minute you knew he was gone, not after you’ve covered all your bases, trying to make sure this isn’t your fault.
Do you even know how long he’s actually been gone?
” I climb out of the car, viciously slamming the door shut.
It doesn’t do anything to calm me down, my hand shaking uncontrollably.
“Allegedly,” Principal Blackwater hedges, “he left just before the break finished, but we have just one student’s word about that.”
Panic beats at me, a cold sweat covering my skin. My heart is racing so hard, each beat physically hurting. Where are you, bug?
“If you’re talking about Nell McDougal, she doesn’t lie,” I retort sharply. I force my breathing out, trying to think past the terror and work out where Oakley might have gone. “In fact, I’d rather be talking to her right now. I feel like I’d get a more accurate account of what happened."
There’s a crackle of tension through the line before she tells me stiffly, “That’s not going to happen. I’m sorry you feel this has been mishandled. An investigation will be conducted, and an incident report filed. You’re welcome to add your complaint to that.”
“How does that help me find my son now?” I hiss.
“Mrs. Daniels, this is not conducive—”
Before she can finish, a police cruiser pulls up to the curb behind my car at the same time that the front door flies open. “Mom?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, almost believing that I’m imagining that sound. A sob gets stuck in my throat as footsteps rush toward me, too loud for how small he still is, his voice breaking as he yells, “Mom!”
“I’ve got Oakley.” I hang up on Blackwater, shoving the phone into my pocket.
“Bug?” I look up just as he lunges, aiming for me like a rocket.
I widen my stance, bracing, as his body collides with mine, the breath whooshing out of me.
I wrap my arms around him, relief flowing through me even as a broken cry leaves his mouth, his body shuddering uncontrollably against mine.
“Baby?” I whisper, voice cracking. “Where have you been, bug? I was worried.”
Terrified out of my mind, more like, but his shoulders are heaving, tears streaking down his face like his entire world is ending.
I drop to my knees, taking him down with me as he tries to crawl into my lap like he would when he was little.
I squeeze him so tightly that I’m sure he’s struggling to breathe.
He doesn’t complain. Instead, his arms loop around my neck, strangling me right back.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he cries out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
My eyes burn, but I swallow it down, willing myself to be strong for him, even as my body struggles to regulate, every sense clamoring, unsure how I’m supposed to feel.
It’s like I’m strapped into a roller-coaster powered by panic and rage, doing loops and steep drops.
Now relief is beginning to creep in, because he’s in my arms. I can smell him, hear him, feel him, his small body trembling against mine.
He’s distraught, but he’s in my arms.
He’s safe. It’s a chant I say to myself over and over again until my heart settles into a steadier rhythm.
My hands move over his back, every inch of him, checking that he’s not injured, that he’s here and okay.
I push him back, checking his tear-streaked face, and then I’m pulling him back into me, stroking his head.
“I got you, bug,” I whisper. “It’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay. I got you.”
“Ma’am?” The cop approaches, his expression concerned.
I look at him, giving a tremulous smile as I say hoarsely, “Thank you so much for coming.”
“I’m glad that Oakley is safe.” He gets down on our level, his solemn eyes locked on him. “You had a lot of people worried about you, buddy.”
“I’m sorry,” Oakley mumbles, turning his head to pin wet eyes on the officer.
“Can you tell us why you took off like that? It’s not safe to leave school without letting anyone know where you are.”
“I-I-I…” my boy stammers, eyes wide as he looks to me for help.
“It’s okay, bug.” I give him an encouraging smile that feels like it’s seconds from slipping off my face.
Oakley swallows hard. “She—Some kids…They were being mean to me and Nell, and I just wanted my mom.” His eyes flicker, the tips of his ears going as red as the rest of his face, and I tilt my head, watching him, a warning telling me that might not be the entire story.
The cop dips his chin. “Okay. It’s a pretty dangerous move, especially when no one can find you.
I bet you had your mom pretty scared.” Oakley looks at me, like he’s checking for an answer, but I can’t hide this from him.
I was terrified, and that feeling isn’t going to leave me for a very long time.
“Next time,” the cop continues, “why don’t you find a teacher? Or ask the school to call your mom.” I appreciate how kind he’s being, knowing that a lot of other adults might have chosen a more authoritarian approach in this situation.
Oakley snuggles back into me, hiding his face in my shirt. “I can do that,” he whispers. “I’m really sorry.”
“Good, good.” The cop watches us for another beat and then slaps his hands on his knees, straightening up. “I’ll inform the school that Oakley is home safe. Hopefully, this doesn’t happen again.” He shoots a meaningful look at him.
“Thank you, officer,” I tell him, not letting Oakley go as we watch him return to his car and pull away. After another minute, I inhale deeply, savoring the familiar scent of his shampoo. “We have lots to talk about, bug.”
Oakley and I are curled up on the couch together, with him tucked so close into my side that it feels like he’s trying to burrow under my skin. The television is playing some sitcom I’ve seen more than once, but we’re not really watching it.
We took a couple of hours after the officer left to reset ourselves, especially when it became obvious just how drained he was from an emotionally wrought day.
When the credits roll, I stroke my hand down his arm. “You ready to talk about it?”
Oakley sighs at the question, his breath hitching. He reaches for my hand, tracing the line of my fingers and the bumps of my knuckles with his own. He’s so quiet, I almost don’t hear him when he asks, “Are you mad at me? For running away.”
“That’s a complicated question.” I search for the best way to answer him—giving him enough honesty, but not so much that he’s drowning in guilt.
“I’m so relieved you’re safe, but I’m sad that you felt like you had to run away.
” I pause, letting that sink in. “I was so scared when the school called to tell me they couldn’t find you.
I’ve never felt anything like that, because you’re the most important person in my entire world. Do you get that?”
He bobs his head against my shoulder. “You’re my most important person too.”
I wet my lips, my chin quivering, but I lock it down. “In the fear of knowing you were just gone…Yeah, there’s some anger. It’s there because of how scared I was. Does that make sense?”
He shakes his head, but then nods. “I guess. I got mad today.”
He peeks up at me with red-rimmed eyes. I don’t say anything, just waiting patiently as he sorts through everything in his head.
“I got so mad that my hands were shaking.” He lifts one as if proving his point, even though it’s steady now. “My eyes went all funny. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”
“What got you mad, Oak?”
There’s a beat, and then a mumbled, “Clarissa.”
I wish I were more surprised. “What did she do?”
“Me and Nell…We were just sitting together. We weren’t bothering anyone.
Nell was asking—” He breaks off, eyes flicking up to me.
“Doesn’t matter. And then Clarissa came over with all these kids, and she started talking about…
” He trails off again, but I can guess what the girl might have had to say.
“Bug…”
“I know he didn’t come over here on Saturday for me.” His tone is matter-of-fact, even as his body is vibrating with tension. “He forgot about my baseball game. He said he didn’t, but he did.”
I want to protect my kid from this more than anything, but right now, I’m the only person he trusts not to lie to him, and I won’t do it.
Not when he already knows the truth.
“Yeah, bug. He forgot.”
A low, wounded noise escapes him, and I clamp my teeth down on my bottom lip as my eyes fill with tears.
“I heard him,” he confesses brokenly, “telling you to sell the house. I know I shouldn’t have been listening, but I was.” There is a hint of defiance there, but it leaks away as fast as it comes. “What did I do wrong, Mom?”
I get off the couch, turning to kneel on the floor in front of him, forcing his eyes on mine.
“You didn’t do anything,” I say fiercely.
I never wanted to be the parent who spoke badly to my kid about their dad, but I will not sit here and listen to him blaming himself for his father’s choices.
“Sometimes adults are the ones who were wrong, and your dad—” I shake my head.
“He’s wrong, Oakley. You are the most awesome kid, and you didn’t do anything to deserve how he’s treating you. ”