A familiar voice called out over the crowd. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, then. No! I have to go! I do! I have to!”
Mom was standing at the edge of a small circle of women. She laughed at something one of them said and then waved and headed toward the park exit. I left my spot and followed from a distance, losing her briefly when she slipped out of the circle of firelight. A second later I saw her climbing the rise that led to the street, and I settled in behind her.
The noise from the park faded as she turned onto Maitland and then Belvedere, where she stopped by a tall white fence. On the other side of it was a grassy slope that was covered with rosebushes. They were overgrown, spilling thorny runners and flowers out over Mom’s head. She reached up for one of the blossoms, but her fingers barely touched the lowest petal. She tried again, and this time it seemed like there was a helium balloon trapped inside her chest. As it ascended, it drew the rest of her body along with it. Her chin lifted, and so did her shoulders and her hips. As she rose up onto the balls of her feet, one leg floated off the ground behind her, forming a straight line that stretched from the tips of her toes to the tips of her outstretched fingers. The phantom sound of violins started up in my head as she stood there perfectly poised. I felt Dad beside me, and you too. I could smell the perfume of the flowers as if I were standing right beside them.
And then, all at once, it was over. Mom plucked a flower off the branch and continued on her way.
We came to the end of a cul-de-sac and Mom climbed the front steps of a small two-story house. She pushed open the front door, calling out to someone as she went inside. The lights were on, but the curtains were drawn, so all I saw was her shadow moving toward the rear of the house. I circled around to the backyard and found a spot behind an oak tree.
Two windows looked into a living room. The shades were open, so I could see Mom as she came in and leaned against the window frame, the flower in her hand, its petals against her chest. She looked distant, thoughtful, as if she were searching for something out in the dark.
A man I’d never seen before came down the stairs behind her. He was about her age and built like a wrestler, with deep olive skin, and bald except for a fringe of black hair above his ears. Mom turned to him as he came into the room. He smiled wide and threw his arms around her, squeezing her close before leaning back to look into her eyes. He said something, and Mom nodded. And then he leaned in and kissed her.
Mom didn’t flinch. She didn’t resist. The man moved one hand to the small of her back while the other cupped her face. When he was done and they parted, he brushed his fingertips down her cheek and then stepped back and held out his hand. Mom took it, and they climbed the stairs together.
A few seconds later the lights went out and the house was dark.
My head buzzed as I walked back to Lucy’s Promise. My arms and legs felt thick and numb. Sitting in front of my tent later that night, I replayed every second of what I’d seen. Mom turning toward that man as he came down the stairs. Mom lowering her head to his shoulder, then lifting her chin so he could kiss her. I watched it all over and over, hundreds of times, and as I did, the strangeness of it started to come into focus. The way she moved—it was as if she were under a spell. Or as if she were afraid. And hadn’t she seemed that way the day I saw her in the alley too? Hadn’t she been anxious as she looked over her shoulder?
An idea settled inside of me until it seemed so obvious, there couldn’t have been any other explanation.
Since the first days of the outbreak, men like Tommasulo had targeted the newly infected. They were so trusting, they could be made to believe almost anything, made to do almost anything. What if this man was like that? All he would’ve had to do was get to Mom early and then hide her from the Guard until he convinced her that she was his wife. She’d never have any reason to suspect the truth, would never go to the Guard to find out who she was before the sixteenth—because she already knew. Mom hadn’t abandoned us; she hadn’t abandoned herself. She’d been stolen.
Everything in me wanted to run down the mountain and kick in their door, but I had to be smarter than that. The wait through the next day was excruciating. As soon as the sun was down I took everything I needed and went back to the house.