Leo

LEO

NOW

Dad takes you to a shrink. The shrink came recommended by the lady cop, because she’s worked with trauma victims before.

I go because Dad needs my help getting you to the car. The reporters are hungry, and the walk to our garage, where the car is parked, is long.

We leave out the back door. We make a run for it, but the reporters are ready and waiting. They’re like vultures. They close in on us the second we’re out the door. They call out questions. Dad tells them, “Your first amendment rights don’t give you permission to trample our lawn.”

He’s cheesed off, but trying not to fly off the handle because the reporters would only get that on video and show it on TV.

Still, Dad threatens to press trespassing charges. It takes a while for the two fat cops to get out of their car, shut down the reporters’ inquisition and get them off our lawn.

Between Dad and me, you shake. You’re not used to the pandemonium, to the sunlight, to the noise. Dad’s got his hooded parka on you, and you hide beneath the hood like Little Red Riding Hood, looking scared as hell ’cause the wolf is about to eat you alive. You’ve got my blanket with you, which makes me feel all sorts of things I’ve never felt inside. But I don’t point it out because I don’t want you to feel weirded out. And besides, externalizing feelings isn’t my thing. So instead I pretend that I don’t see the blanket.

When we get to the shrink’s office, Dad and I stay in the waiting room, much to his chagrin. He planned to go in with you. But the shrink says no, that it would be better if Dad stays put. We never know what you talk about or don’t talk about with her. She’s got a white noise machine on the floor, so Dad and I can’t hear what you say. I see Dad looking at it. I read his mind. He’s thinking about pulling the plug, but he never does.

This is what you told the police: you were kept in a locked basement by a man and a woman, who the cops now need to find. You don’t know how you got there. You don’t know much about your life before. You’ve blocked most of it out, though you have hazy memories of our house, Dad’s face, the fact that Mom is dead. Dad’s hoping the shrink can squeeze the rest of it out of you, especially your last minutes with Mom. He needs to know once and for all what happened. Dad’s willing to try just about anything to make it so: medicine, hypnosis.

We go back to the police after seeing the shrink. The lady cop is waiting for us when we get there. “Can I talk to you, Josh?” she asks, and they disappear. I’m left with you. Someone else might try and make small talk with you. But I just stand there like some dope, not sure what to say. I should say something to make you feel better, but I can’t find the words. Anything I might say would sound stupid. So I say nothing. Dad and the lady cop stand in the far corner of the room. She holds a file folder in her hands, but she never opens it. She does all of the talking. Dad’s head nods.

“What was that all about?” I ask when Dad comes back.

“The DNA results.”

“What about them?”

“It’s her. She’s your sister.”

I thought we already knew that.

Today, when talking with the lady cop, you remember that the man’s and the woman’s names are Eddie and Martha. They’re the ones who kept you. The lady cop asks if you can describe them, and you do, but it’s fuzzy at best, things like brown hair and a fat face. She gets a sketch artist to sit with you. Then she talks to Dad. She asks whether Mom knew anyone named Eddie or Martha. Mom didn’t, as far as Dad knows. The lady cop thinks maybe this had something to do with money. Maybe Mom owed money to someone and so they took you as payment. She asks Dad if Mom was in debt to anyone, if Mom had gotten in over her head. Did she have a history of gambling, a drug addiction? Was she selling? There’s a thing with some suburban moms: selling prescription drugs like Vicodin and their kids’ Adderall to make ends meet. It’s been on the news.

Dad has doubts. Even after all that’s happened, he still hero-worships Mom. Sure she took you, she ended her own life. I kinda hate her for it. But he idolizes her.

“Meredith wouldn’t have done that.”

“I know that’s what you want to believe, Josh. But we have to consider the possibilities.”

Mom hadn’t been herself before it happened. Something went down that made her want to kill herself. We don’t know what.

Dad wonders aloud about a middleman. What if Mom put you somewhere safe, and then that person gave you away? That’s the only way he can think that you would’ve ended up with Eddie and Martha.

In an instant Dad becomes obsessed with this idea of a middleman.

There never was much of an investigation into what happened to Mom. When she was thought to be missing, there were a few suspects, like Dad. But as soon as it became apparent she offed herself, they were all suddenly innocent. Only Mom was to blame, even though there were things found during the investigation that the cops swept under the rug. After the coroner said suicide, the focus shifted to finding you. Except that Mom’s note—You’ll never find her. Don’t even try.—made the cops think Mom had given you to someone she knew. Someone she trusted.

The cops spoke to everyone Mom ever knew. There were never any leads.

Back then, there was never any question of if someone stole you. Dad took comfort in that, even though he wanted you back. He stuck with that story my whole life, telling me and anyone who would listen how my big sister, Delilah, was in safe hands because Mom never would have let anything bad happen to you. It’s the only way he could sleep at night.

I’m starting to think that’s not the way it went down.