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  In the men’s room, Rachel’s presence was met with a chorus of “Hey!” “What is this?” and “Gonna call security.” She ignored the comments, checking stalls by banging the metal doors open, one by one. All four were empty.

  “I’m looking for a ten-year-old girl,” Rachel said. For the first time, she was aware of her chest heaving up and down. “Long reddish-brown hair. One bowling shoe. Pink sweats. Didn’t you hear the announcement? A child is missing.”

  “Shit,” said a guy at the sink, in his mid-thirties, maybe, but with a hairline that shouldn’t happen until his mid-fifties. “She’s your daughter?”

  Rachel ignored the question. “You haven’t seen her?”

  The men all shook their heads. The bald one waved his hands and added, “Good luck.”

  Back out in the mall, she stopped. Should she go back the way she came—past the bowling alley and toward the Nike outlet, Victoria’s Secret, and, way at the end, the candy shop? Or should she turn right, toward the big camping store and—

  Oh God. The pet shop.

  Sweeting’s Pets was nestled between a heavily scented cinnamonbun kiosk and a create-your-own-T-shirt shop that practically shook with a heavy-metal beat. When Dustin was young, Rachel had spent too many hours to contemplate hanging around the pet store while Dustin tortured himself by gaping at the tarantulas and black widows at the back of the store. As long as Rachel could remember, the front window had always been a gigantic plastic maze of see-through tunnels with hamsters scampering through it.

  The front of the store was empty. As she raced toward the back, she knocked over a basket of rubber animal toys that squeaked in cheerful indignation beneath her feet.

  A small voice was saying, “…worms, ants, beetles. Umm, spiders and lizards. Rattus exulans also eats fruits and maybe even actual birds…” There at the very back, between the lizards and the spiders, sitting cross-legged on the floor, with a hamster in an orange plastic exercise ball pressed to her cheek, sat Olivia with the glassy-eyed Sweeting’s Pets employee—a tall, bony teenager with wispy tufts of facial hair. “Rattus rattus usually has about twelve nipples, but at the end of the day rattus exulans only has eight. I don’t know why…” She was rocking herself back and forth in a way Rachel had never seen, her speech high-pitched and unusually fast. The girl was on the edge of panic.

  “Olivia,” Rachel breathed, dropping to her knees in front of the child.

  Without removing the exercise ball from her cheek, Olivia leaped into Rachel’s arms and molded her little body into Rachel’s. Standing up, Rachel thanked the bored-looking teenager and waited while he extricated the hamster ball from Olivia’s clutch.

  “Sorry,” said the teenager as he inspected the hamster inside, then set the ball on the floor so the animal could roam around. “She wanted to hug a rodent, but we have a no-touching policy with the smaller animals. Especially with kids. I figured it’d be all right if the hamster was in a plastic ball.”

  “Thank you,” Rachel whispered. “Please call security. Tell them we’ve found the missing child and that she’s fine.”

  “Whoa.” His nametag said BRAD, but Rachel couldn’t imagine anyone looking less like a Brad. “She’s the Code Adam kid?”

  Rachel nodded and followed him to the cash desk. After Brad hung up the phone, he reached out to tickle Olivia in the ribs and asked, “Are you happy to be back with your mom?”

  Olivia didn’t answer right away. Still in Rachel’s arms, she lifted her head off Rachel’s shoulder and stared at her face, her nose not two inches away. Those steely eyes, unblinking, were far too intense for Rachel. She flashed Olivia a nervous smile, then looked away, walking back toward the mall.

  As they passed the hamster labyrinth in the front window, Olivia whispered, “Yes.”

  CHAPTER 30

  An Awfully Nice Girl

  If he’d been asked, before Friday, to name the very worst moment of his life, Len wouldn’t have hesitated. There were several worthy contenders—his young wife dying half a block from home on a rainy Monday morning, being told his daughter would never achieve that ever-elusive status of normalcy—but no doubt, until Friday, the victor would have been that rubbing-alcohol-and-latexglove-scented dark horse, the Diagnosis. Actually, that wasn’t fully true. It wasn’t the Diagnosis itself, it was the child-deserting after-math that was certain to follow.

  But now, sitting in Dr. Foxman’s waiting room a few days later, Len would—without question—select Friday night at the Wood-field Mall. More specifically, the moment the police officer who’d arrived on the scene asked if Len had any recent photos of Olivia, and if he’d ever had his daughter fingerprinted.

  There was only one use for a child’s fingerprints.

  Olivia was missing for a total of twenty-five and a half minutes. A lifetime. Even the lay-down-and-thank-the-heavens ending couldn’t take away what Len saw, lived, and tasted in those 1,530 seconds. And the moment her father died, Olivia’s Code Adam experience would begin for real. She’d be living in a world full of people who had no idea what she needed.

  The waiting room was empty but for Len and a bearded fellow in a wheelchair, who appeared to be much closer to his medically predicted expiration date. The man’s head was bandaged and his right hand lay limp in his lap. As if they were waiting for a routine cleaning at the dentist, the man began chatting about the weather—so-so; the Rangers’ recent acquisition of Brian Simms—terrible; the shapeliness of Dr. Foxman’s nurse’s calves—very good. Len, feeling pressured to contribute to the conversation, complained about summer months passing much more quickly than winter months. It was the third week of July. Both skirted around the dismal reality of being in that particular waiting room of that particular building.

  The man extended his limp hand, supporting it with the strength of his other arm. “My name’s Chris.” He reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet and pulled out a photo of twin baby boys he’d never get to see grow up. He pointed at one, then the other. “This one’s Callum, the other one’s Colt.”

  Len smiled, nodding his head. “They’re handsome boys.”

  Chris handed him another photo, this one of a woman, a hearty brunette with shoulders that looked like they could handle whatever else life hurled her way. “Sandy,” he said, tracing the edge of the picture with his fingertip. “My wife.”

  Len leaned closer and muttered, “Lovely,” then dug through his pocket for his own wallet. “I have a picture of my daughter. It’s not recent, but it’s one of my favorites.” He passed Chris a snapshot of a six- or seven-year-old Olivia squatting under a tree, setting up a croquet set. Smiling as if she hadn’t a problem in the world.

  “That’s a good-looking kid,” Chris said. He gestured toward Len’s wallet. “You got a picture of your wife in there too?”

  “No,” Len said. “I don’t. My, uh, my wife died when Olivia was much younger.” Keenly aware of the implication left hanging in the air, Len slid the picture back into his wallet and chewed on the inside of his cheek.

  Chris said nothing. He didn’t have to. The horror of Len’s situation was all over his bearded face.

  After Len’s appointment—whereupon he learned that wheelchairs could be had at a 20 percent discount in the lobby, for when he was so inclined, and that he was about to have the luxury of spending a few days in the hospital being X-rayed, jabbed, and prodded in the name of delaying his ultimate demise—he squeezed himself into the crowded elevator and turned to face the closing doors. He was certain that the nearness of his fellow passengers made his anguish palpable. If they hadn’t read it in his face, certainly they could feel it pulsating from his body.

  When the doors opened to the lobby, he bolted forward, determined to be the first one out, and marched straight into Tammy and Philip Peyton.

  After mumbling quick greetings and moving aside to let people pass, Philip said: “I hope you’re not in the building for the same reason we are.” He held up a bandaged wrist. “Sprained it playing
touch football.”

  “Tell him the whole story, honey,” said Tammy.

  “With my six-year-old nephew,” he added.

  “Phillip takes Michael out to the park every Saturday,” Tammy explained. “My sister isn’t married, so, you know, it’s really nice for Mikey.”

  Len nodded and they paused, waiting, Len realized, for him to explain his own presence in the medical arts building. “I was just…dropping something off for a client,” he said. “By the way, how did your meeting go with little Zachary?”

  They looked at each other, uncomfortable.

  “He is a sweet boy, really he is,” said Tammy. “It’s just that he loves to play road hockey and we live in a high-rise. He desperately wants to live in the country and ride horses and have cats and dogs, and Philip has his allergies. I just don’t think we’re the right people for him. The most we could offer him is a hamster in a cage.”

  Len nearly stopped breathing.

  How had he missed it? A hamster in a cage.

  Here, before him, stood the answer to his problem. This young couple who’d just lost out on a little boy, who spent their weekends trying to make their fatherless nephew happy, who were born to be parents, who were offering up rodents in cages, could not have been brought to him for nothing. Could they? They were young, strong. Healthy.

  “Tammy,” Len said. “Remind me again what you do for a living?”

  “I’m a teacher.”

  A teacher. What else?

  “Her students adore her.” Philip took hold of Tammy’s elbow with his good hand. “Anyway, we’d better get moving or we’ll be late.”

  “Wait,” said Len. He felt his heart pounding through his shirt. “I know of another child, a ten-year-old, who will be needing a good home. A special home.” A rush of sweat dampened his shirt. “Have you ever heard of NLD? Nonverbal learning disorder?”

  “I’m not sure…” Tammy said. “Oh yes! Three years ago, I had a student with NLD. A real sweetheart of a girl. Fifteen, but terribly misunderstood by her peers.”

  “Yes!” Len nearly shouted. He wanted to handcuff these two and keep them by his side until papers were signed. Hamsters were bought. “Exactly. Children with NLD are constantly misunderstood.”

  “The parents—are they living?” asked Philip.

  “Yes. No. One is—the father. The mother passed away years ago. But the father is, well, the father’s been told he has very little time. He’s desperate to find—”

  “He’s dying?” asked Tammy.

  “Well, he’s…yes. He’s dying.”

  Tammy’s face crinkled up in sorrow. “That’s so sad for the child. Is he a boy?”

  “No. That’s the thing. She’s a little girl. Beautiful child. Just beautiful. Full of light, love. Her name is Olivia. I could arrange for a meeting. Maybe at the park or—”

  Tammy and Philip were looking at each other, unsure.

  “Or maybe in my office if you’d rather…”

  “No, it’s not that,” said Philip.

  Tammy explained, “She sounds awfully nice, this Olivia.” She reached up and rubbed Philip’s shoulder, smiling an upside-down smile. “But Philip and I have our hearts set on a boy.”

  CHAPTER 31

  “1-2 Crush on You”

  —THE CLASH

  Sunday afternoon, while her mother and Len read on the back porch, Janie traipsed over to where Olivia sat in the mud, under the bush that refused to be pruned. She was digging a surprisingly deep hole.

  “What’s the hole for?” Janie asked, leaning over.

  The girl shrugged. “Nothing. And it’s not a hole, it’s a grave.”

  How totally gross. “What for?” Janie asked.

  “In case I ever have to bury a gerbil.”

  Whatever. This kid was bizarre. Janie stood up and saw Tabitha hanging around the pool deck with a tray of drinks. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered to Olivia. She climbed through the dogwood bush and made her way across Tabitha’s backyard.

  As she got closer, she could hear the conversation between Tabitha and the balding construction worker who’d been watching them in the pool. “Yeah, well,” the guy was saying, “no one’s teen years were as dull as mine. My parents knew about everything I did. I had no life.”

  “Try having no life in two separate houses. It’s twice the misery and boredom. Twice the missed parties,” said Tabitha.

  “Yeah,” he said, smiling. “You’re going to have to resort to sneaking out with your friends. My brother was the smart one. His bedroom was over the garage; he came and went as he pleased. Any time of night. I guess that’s what I got for choosing the bigger bedroom. Mine was right next to my parents’.”

  Janie walked up and helped herself to a glass of lemonade from Tabitha’s tray. “My bedroom’s next door, in purgatory,” she said.

  Tabitha laughed. “I was old enough to know better when we moved in.” She pointed up at the large second-floor window opposite to Janie’s house. “I chose the room farthest away from my mother’s. I didn’t want to know anything about her dating life, if you know what I mean.”

  The guy, whose legs were covered in dust, nodded and laughed, thanking Tabitha for the drink, waving to Janie, and returning to his pile of rocks.

  “I like your sandals,” said Janie, leaning down and inspecting the braided leather.

  “Thanks. I love your flip-flops, all raggedy at the edges. Do they come in women’s, too?”

  Janie looked down at her feet. “These are women’s.”

  “Oh, cool.” Tabitha shrugged and dropped into a swinging chair.

  “Going swimming?” asked Janie.

  “Nah. I’m not in the mood. My dad just made his big announcement. He’s marrying Kristina.”

  “No!”

  “Yes. In August, at the Ritz-Carlton. He’s booked the Ritz-Carlton Suite for his wedding night. Two thousand square feet overlooking the New York Harbor so he can finally nail her with a view. Chocolates and petit fours are complimentary, of course.”

  Janie brought the glass to her mouth too quickly, and lemonade dribbled onto her shirt. “The harbor view is for her benefit. Believe me, if your dad’s anything like mine, the only view he gives a shit about involves his babe-chick’s stubbly thighs wrapped around his head.”

  “Ech. That’s disgusting.”

  “Men are disgusting,” Janie said with zeal, seizing the opportunity to bolster her own creed by slamming the male of the species.

  Tabitha said nothing.

  “If it will make you feel any better, I might be able to arrange to sleep over that night. If you think it would help.”

  Tabitha looked up, her blue eyes dazzling in the water’s glow. She sniffed. “Really? Would you do that?”

  Janie swatted at a mosquito on her bare arm. “Totally.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Lucky Charms

  Set aside half an hour of personal time each day. Whether you take a bath, a long walk, or simply sit in the garden and stare at a single rosebud, use that time to nourish and regenerate.

  —RACHEL BERMAN, Perfect Parent magazine

  All your clothes are labeled,” said Rachel, hauling Dustin’s duffel bag out of the trunk. Campers of all ages prowled around the church parking lot, feeding skateboards and duffels into the belly of the Greyhound bus, doing their best to avoid their exuberant teenage counselors, offering up self-conscious good-byes to their parents. “So check the name inside before putting on your boxers. Things get strewn around in cabins and you don’t want to put on someone else’s underwear by accident.”

  Dustin hunched his shoulders and looked around to make sure no one heard. “Mom.” For the past week he’d been locking himself in the bathroom with a jar of styling mud, masterminding a hairstyle worthy of skate camp. He’d settled on an oceanic tangle that hinted of rough weather. Looking around, Rachel noticed Dustin wasn’t the only one who appeared to have been struck sideways by a rather nasty wave.

  “And be
careful in the pool,” Rachel added. “These camp lifeguards are young. Hormonal. And they have a lot of kids to watch…”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me!”

  “I’m just saying—you can have as much fun in the shallow end as the deep end.”

  Rolling his eyes, Dustin hauled his bag over his back, staggering under the weight. He held out one hand, all business. “Bye, Mom. Try not to lose it. Seriously. I’m going to be fine.”

  Ignoring his handshake, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, kissing his prickly hair. “I know, sweetie. This week will fly by and before you know it, it’ll be next Monday and I’ll be picking you up.”

  He pulled away and adjusted his hair, walking backward, grinning. “Can’t wait.”

  She watched her son stumble away, dwarfed by his canvas sack. He hurled his gear onto the bus and, in one motion, swung himself inside. Shielding her eyes from the midday sun, Rachel leaned against her dusty trunk and waited until every last camper boarded, the engine started up, and the Greyhound lumbered out of the parking lot, leaving in its wake some fifty relieved-looking parents.

  And Rachel.

  As she pulled onto Montrose Avenue, somewhat proud of her dry eyes, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the display. Len. “Hey,” she said.

  “You survived the drop-off?”

  “Barely.”

  “You did the right thing. I’m proud of you.”

  She didn’t answer right away, having realized she’d just sent her son off on a four-hour journey without so much as a water bottle for hydration. “A football player in Arizona died during practice earlier this month. Dehydration. His teammates said he needed a drink but was too intimidated to tell his coach. Didn’t want to seem like a wimp.”