face, but she refused to back down. She needed to make a new start, needed to reassess her life. She started looking at business opportunities in the greater Boston area and found a charming little bookstore that had just gone on the market. She flew to Boston to check it out, then put together a business plan, liquidated her assets, and took the plunge.
Bookmark was doing well. And after years of being married to one man or another, she’d discovered she really didn’t mind being alone. Between mothering Kit, running the bookstore, and trying to keep the house from falling down around their ears, her life was too full for the absence of a man to even register on her radar. She’d begun to flex her muscles, both physically and emotionally, had begun to plumb her inner depths and to discover her own strengths, strengths she’d never imagined she possessed. It was empowering to discover she didn’t need a man to survive.
But this thing with Kit had knocked her for a loop. She hadn’t realized the extent to which she’d built her life around the girl. Kit’s disappearance had placed her life on hold indefinitely. If the worst happened and Kit didn’t come back, that hold was likely to become permanent, because without Kit, she couldn’t see much reason to go on.
She finished off the glass of wine, muted the CD player, and picked up the telephone. She knew Clancy Donovan’s cell phone number by heart because she’d spent hour after hour, day after day, staring at that flyer with Kit’s picture on it. She hated that picture, had always hated it. School photos were so stiff and unnatural, and Kit was such a lovely girl.
He answered on the second ring, his voice soft, mellow, familiar. For a brief instant, she wanted to give in to the aching desire to cry. Instead, she said, “Do you think I’m crazy?”
There was a measured pause before he said, “Sarah?”
“Never mind. I guess that gives me my answer. You must not know very many crazy women.”
“I recognized your voice. Moonlight, magnolias, balmy southern nights.”
“That’s your story, anyway.”
“And I’m sticking to it. Why would I think you’re crazy?”
“My ex-husband thinks I’m obsessing too much about Kit. I just wondered if you shared that opinion.”
“I think that under the circumstances, you’re allowed to obsess until the cows come home.”
“Josie’s been at me, too. She keeps telling me it’s time I started dating. The universal panacea. Like I have any interest in men right now.” She wrapped the phone cord tight around her index finger, let it spring free, and watched the flow of blood return. “The longer this goes on, the more frustrated I get. I guess I had this naive idea that we’d just cruise downtown, pick her up off a street corner, and bring her home. Rather simplistic of me, wasn’t it?”
“It’s a normal expectation. Not particularly realistic, but normal. This kind of thing is an education in itself. Unfortunately, the degree comes from the school of hard knocks.”
“In the beginning, I was fueled by anger. I was furious with Kit for running away in the first place, furious with the police for not being more helpful. Now—” She paused, sighed. “Now, I think I’ve run out of fuel. I’m so tired. And so discouraged. This is my fault, you know.”
“How is it your fault?”
“I was lousy at being a mother.”
“Do you think that’s really fair to yourself? Have you ever had any previous parenting experience? Did you ever take parenting classes?”
“Most people don’t take parenting classes. They still manage to raise normal kids.”
“Most people start with infants, and work their way up to teenagers. They have a little bit of experience under their belts before they get to Bedlam. You’re being far too hard on yourself.”
“I could have made better choices. Kit’s been dragged from pillar to post all her life. So what did I do? I uprooted her one more time and took her
Bookmark was doing well. And after years of being married to one man or another, she’d discovered she really didn’t mind being alone. Between mothering Kit, running the bookstore, and trying to keep the house from falling down around their ears, her life was too full for the absence of a man to even register on her radar. She’d begun to flex her muscles, both physically and emotionally, had begun to plumb her inner depths and to discover her own strengths, strengths she’d never imagined she possessed. It was empowering to discover she didn’t need a man to survive.
But this thing with Kit had knocked her for a loop. She hadn’t realized the extent to which she’d built her life around the girl. Kit’s disappearance had placed her life on hold indefinitely. If the worst happened and Kit didn’t come back, that hold was likely to become permanent, because without Kit, she couldn’t see much reason to go on.
She finished off the glass of wine, muted the CD player, and picked up the telephone. She knew Clancy Donovan’s cell phone number by heart because she’d spent hour after hour, day after day, staring at that flyer with Kit’s picture on it. She hated that picture, had always hated it. School photos were so stiff and unnatural, and Kit was such a lovely girl.
He answered on the second ring, his voice soft, mellow, familiar. For a brief instant, she wanted to give in to the aching desire to cry. Instead, she said, “Do you think I’m crazy?”
There was a measured pause before he said, “Sarah?”
“Never mind. I guess that gives me my answer. You must not know very many crazy women.”
“I recognized your voice. Moonlight, magnolias, balmy southern nights.”
“That’s your story, anyway.”
“And I’m sticking to it. Why would I think you’re crazy?”
“My ex-husband thinks I’m obsessing too much about Kit. I just wondered if you shared that opinion.”
“I think that under the circumstances, you’re allowed to obsess until the cows come home.”
“Josie’s been at me, too. She keeps telling me it’s time I started dating. The universal panacea. Like I have any interest in men right now.” She wrapped the phone cord tight around her index finger, let it spring free, and watched the flow of blood return. “The longer this goes on, the more frustrated I get. I guess I had this naive idea that we’d just cruise downtown, pick her up off a street corner, and bring her home. Rather simplistic of me, wasn’t it?”
“It’s a normal expectation. Not particularly realistic, but normal. This kind of thing is an education in itself. Unfortunately, the degree comes from the school of hard knocks.”
“In the beginning, I was fueled by anger. I was furious with Kit for running away in the first place, furious with the police for not being more helpful. Now—” She paused, sighed. “Now, I think I’ve run out of fuel. I’m so tired. And so discouraged. This is my fault, you know.”
“How is it your fault?”
“I was lousy at being a mother.”
“Do you think that’s really fair to yourself? Have you ever had any previous parenting experience? Did you ever take parenting classes?”
“Most people don’t take parenting classes. They still manage to raise normal kids.”
“Most people start with infants, and work their way up to teenagers. They have a little bit of experience under their belts before they get to Bedlam. You’re being far too hard on yourself.”
“I could have made better choices. Kit’s been dragged from pillar to post all her life. So what did I do? I uprooted her one more time and took her
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