I pull out of my spot; relieved that the Rover is driving the same as it was when I pulled in. Aside from a dented bumper and some minor scratches, my pricey car came out unscathed. But, better yet, I came out unscathed. I could have been arrested and issued a DUI. Thanks to some great acting and a smitten cop, I am getting away with minor costs.
I feel almost sober as I drive carefully toward Sunny Side Up daycare. When I pull into the parking lot, it is empty. I glance at the clock on the dash nervously. It reads seven ten. Someone must have stayed late with her. They will probably be angry, but surely after I explain what happened with the phone and the accident, they will understand. I push the buzzer on the door before I notice that it is completely dark inside. Pressing my hands to the glass, I peer in. Empty. Locked up; shut down. I panic. It’s the type of panic I felt when I learned that I might go to prison for pharmaceutical fraud. The panic I felt as I stood in front of the judge expecting to hear the “Guilty” verdict that would give me twenty years in state prison. It is purely selfish panic. The — ohmyword Caleb is going to divorce me for losing his daughter — panic. I have been a mother for less than two weeks, and I have already lost my baby. That’s the shit that gets you on Nancy Grace. I hate that blonde bitch.
Pacing back and forth on the sidewalk, I contemplate my options. I could call the police. I mean, what is the policy on parents that fail to pick up their children from daycare? Do they send them to social services? Does the owner take them home? I struggle to remember the director’s name — Dieter. Did she even give me her last name? Either way, I need to get to a phone and fast.
I drive home like I am the Fast and the Furious — and careen my car into the driveway. My urgency is audible as I run through the door, not bothering to close it, and head for the kitchen counter where I left my phone. It’s not there. My head swims. I was so sure that’s where I’d left it. I am going to have a killer hangover tomorrow. Think! For the first time, I regret not having a landline. Who needs a landline anymore? I remember saying to Caleb right before we got rid of it. I spin around to head for the stairs, and my heart seizes in surprise.
“Looking for this?”
Caleb is leaning against the doorframe watching me. In his hand is my precious iPhone. I study his face. He looks calm — that means he doesn’t know that I don’t have Estella with me — or maybe he thinks she’s with my mother. I haven’t told him that I took her to the airport this morning.
“You’re home early,” I say in genuine surprise.
He doesn’t smile or greet me with his usual warmness, instead he keeps his eyes trained on my face — the phone pinched between his fingers and extended toward me. I take a few precautionary steps in his direction, being careful not to let my remaining buzz show. Caleb reads me like a low-grade novel. I stand on my toes to give him a quick peck on the cheek before plucking the phone from his fingers. Now, if only I could get outside, I might be able to figure something out, call someone ... FIND THE BABY!
I back up a few steps.
“You missed a call. Fourteen, actually,” Caleb says casually — too casually — like the calm before a storm. The low, rumbling growl before the wolf rips out your trachea.
I swallow. There is sand in my throat and I’m drowning … suffocating. My eyes dart around the room. God — what does he know? How am I going to fix this?
“Apparently, you forgot to pick Estella up at daycare …” his voice trails off. An invisible hand cracks open my jaw and pours fear down my throat. I choke on it.
“Caleb — ” I start. He holds up his hand for me to stop, and I do because I’m not even sure what excuse I can give.
I dropped our daughter off at a seedy daycare because…
Fuck.
I’m not that creative. My mind sieves out all of the possible excuses.
“Is she … is she here?” I whisper. The most expressive part of Caleb is his jaw. I use it to read his emotion. It is square, manly — only softened by his overly full lips. When that jaw is happy with you, you want to trace it with your fingertips, reach on your tiptoes to run kisses across it. The jaw is angry with me. His lips are white anger pulled tight. I am afraid.
Caleb doesn’t say anything. This is his fighting technique. He heats up the room with his anger and then waits for you to sweat out a confession. He’s never been violent toward a woman a day in his life, but I’d bet my life that little girl could make him do things he’d never considered.
I make the mistake of looking in the direction of the stairs. It makes him really angry. He bounces off the wall and walks toward me.
“She’s fine,” he says between his teeth. “I came back early because I was worried about you. Obviously, you were not the one I needed to be worried about.”