Colette picks up her pace to keep in step with Nell, knowing this is the right thing to do. Francie showed up at Colette’s late last night, her eyes swollen, her words coming out in a flurry: Token had come to her apartment, saying he and Winnie dated in high school. Francie told him what Scarlett had said at the last May Mothers meeting, about Winnie being depressed, and her growing certainty that Scarlett was the woman she’d seen from Winnie’s building.
“He thinks I should talk to Scarlett,” Francie told Colette. “He thinks it’s a really good idea. But I’ve e-mailed her several times and she’s not responding. Token said I should trust my instincts and keep trying. I want to track her down. We both think this might be our last hope to find Midas and help Winnie.”
“Francie, that is a crazy idea,” Colette said.
“No, it’s not. We didn’t even realize Winnie was depressed. Plus, she’s one of those women. She always knows what to do. I’m telling you. We need to talk to her.”
Colette hasn’t been able to shake the desperate look in Francie’s eyes, and it’s still with her as she hurries alongside Nell down the hill. “Okay, so what’s the plan?” Nell asks.
“We’ll let her drop off this letter. And then I’ll suggest we go get coffee. We’ll talk to Francie there, tell her how concerned we are about her.”
“I wish we could skip this part and go right to the coffee. Imagine what Scarlett is going to think when she reads this letter?”
“I know, it’s ridiculous, but it’s the best I could do.” A clap of thunder echoes around them as the rain begins to fall harder. Colette moves closer to Nell, shielding her with her umbrella. “I talked to Charlie’s editor. She went through this after her first was born. She gave me the names of three therapists.”
“Good,” Nell says. “If Francie says she won’t make an appointment, we’ll call Lowell. He needs to understand there’s something larger going on here.”
They turn the corner, and Colette sees Francie waiting in front of a building at the end of the block. Someone is standing with her under her umbrella.
“Is that Lowell?” Colette asks.
Nell squints. “That’s Token. Did she tell you he was coming?”
“No. I thought it was just going to be the three of us.”
“You’re late,” Francie says as they approach. She holds up the envelope. “You guys want to read it? Token”—she looks at him—“sorry, Daniel thinks it sounds okay.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Colette says. “What did you write?”
Francie licks the envelope and seals it. “Just what I told you last night. That we’re wondering if she knows something that might help.”
“Great,” Colette says.
Francie takes a deep breath and walks up the stoop. Token steps closer to Colette.
“You mind?” he asks, nodding at her umbrella. Colette and Nell move aside to make room for him. His shoulder is against Colette’s, and she can feel his breath on her neck as they watch Francie bend under her umbrella to look at the names on the mailboxes. “I was right! It is her apartment,” she says, just as a woman opens the front door from inside, knocking Francie’s hip.
“Sorry,” the woman says. She holds the door open. “You coming in?”
Francie glances back at them, and Colette shakes her head. “No,” Colette says. “Just leave it—”
Francie reaches for the door. “Yes, thanks.”
“Goddammit,” Nell says, under her breath.
“Come on,” Colette says, watching Francie disappear inside the building. She runs up the stoop, Nell following, and catches the door before it closes. “You coming?” she calls to Token.
“No,” he says, pulling up his hood. “I think it’s probably better if I stay here. Just in case.”
“Yes, keep watch,” Nell says, and then lowers her voice to an exaggerated whisper. “If we’re not back in three days, call the police.”
Colette and Nell enter the foyer. “Francie,” Colette calls up the carpeted stairway. “Drop off the letter and let’s go.”
“I seriously don’t have time for this,” Nell says, heading up the stairs. “My mom is leaving today.”
Colette follows Nell to the third floor, where she sees Francie’s wet umbrella leaning against the wall next to an open door at the top of the stairs. Colette steps inside the apartment, entering a small kitchen. Neatly stacked packing boxes line the hallway, marked in bold letters: Pots and Pans. Linens. Dishes. The counter is crowded with baby bottles, prenatal vitamins, Chinese herbs, and boxes of lactation tea.
Francie is standing in the living room, separated from the kitchen by a white tiled island, examining the room. “How did you get in?” Nell asks her.
“The door—it just opened.”
Colette looks at the doorknob, which is battered and loose, noticing a screw on the floor. “Francie, did you force your way in?”
“No. The knob was loose.”
“This has officially gone too far,” Colette says. “Leave the note outside.”
“I will.” Francie’s voice is distant as she walks past Colette, down the hallway, sliding past the boxes, toward the bedroom. “Just give me a minute.”
Colette sighs and then notices Nell, who is paging through a notebook on the kitchen counter. “Check this out,” Nell says. “It’s a chart, tracking the baby’s feeding and diaper changes.” She turns another page. “God, she even writes down every time she hears a burp.”
“You don’t?” Colette asks.
“I do, yes,” Nell says. “But only for Sebastian’s burps. I have an entire storage unit of these things.”
Francie walks back into the kitchen and continues past them. Without saying a word, she opens the glass door and steps onto the small terrace. The railing is lined with potted flowers and herbs, and the beginnings of a tomato plant. She looks out across the yard for a few moments and then walks back inside, her curls misty with rain, and peeks inside a closet just off the kitchen. “You think it’s possible she had a video monitor, or a nanny cam?”
“No,” Colette says. She walks to the closet and shuts the door. “That is definitely not possible.” Colette places her hands on Francie’s shoulders. “Leave the note. It’s all you can do.”
Nell walks closer. “Colette’s right, France. Let’s go to The Spot. It’s been a rough few days. Muffins are on me.” Nell pinches the extra fat at her waist. “See?”
Francie wipes her nose. “You think she’ll call when she gets the letter?”
“I do,” Colette says. “You’re doing the right thing. But it’s time to go.”
Francie nods. “I left my bag in the bedroom.” She walks down the hall toward the back of the apartment as Colette goes into the living room to close the terrace door.
Nell peers down the hall. “Would it be weird if I use her bathroom? I shouldn’t have had that coffee.” But then her expression changes, and she walks closer to the door.
“What’s wrong?” Colette asks.
Nell holds up her hand. “Listen.” Colette hears it then: a baby crying.
“That can’t be her,” Colette whispers.
“I know. She’s away, right?”
“Shhhhhh, baby. Shhhhh.” Footsteps jog up the stairs. “We’re almost home.”
“Oh my god,” Nell whispers, grasping Colette’s arm. “It is her. She’s back.”
Colette follows Nell down the hall to the bedroom and closes the door behind them. They hear Scarlett entering the kitchen. “What are we going to do now?” Nell asks.
“I don’t know.”
Nell rushes to the window. “Is there a fire escape or something?”
“Francie,” Colette says. “Are you paying attention? She’s here.”
But Francie doesn’t seem to hear her. She’s standing in front of a desk in the corner of the room, rifling through a drawer, her expression vacant. Scarlett sings in the kitchen.
“Hush little baby, don’t you cry. Mama’s gonna sing you a lullaby. Okay, my darling,” she says. “It’s time for lunch. Shhhh now. Mama’s here. Let me get out of these wet clothes first.”
The door opens, and the bedroom fills with the piercing sound of Scarlett’s scream.
“Colette.” Scarlett’s hair is damp down her back, her face stricken with fear. She looks at Nell and Francie, her arms wrapped protectively around her baby, who is squirming at her chest under the rain hood of his carrier. “What are you doing here?”
Colette laughs nervously. “Scarlett. My god, how awkward is this? We’re so sorry. This is—”
Francie steps forward. “We’re here about Winnie.”