“Frankly, I’d be surprised if any school in the city would consider hiring someone so irresponsible—”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Really? I know that a woman who can’t take care of her own children has no business around other people’s. I know that she should be embarrassed to show her face around decent, God-fearing members of society.”
“Go to hell,” Caroline whispered.
“You first,” he said.
Too late, Caroline thought as she fled the premises. I’m already there.
—
Even though it was a weekday, Balboa Park was crowded. It always was. The landmark destination was the heart of San Diego, and had been since the early twentieth century. It was filled with lush gardens, museums, theaters, and beautiful Spanish-style pavilions, as well as being the site of the world-famous San Diego Zoo. The park attracted thousands of people, both tourists and locals, every day of every week of every month. Caroline had come here often over the past year, walking the grounds and trying to lose herself in the crowds.
She sank onto a nearby bench. It wasn’t that easy to lose yourself, she’d discovered. Despite being the eighth-largest city in the United States and the second-largest city in California, with a population of close to 1.3 million people, San Diego was really a small town at its core. It was hard to get lost in a small town.
When she’d first returned from Rosarito, she’d spent entire days in the vast parkland, wandering from garden to garden, attraction to attraction, peering into the faces of each and every small child, searching for Samantha under a floppy cotton sunbonnet or snoozing in her father’s arms, her head resting on his shoulder. How many times had she stolen a peek into a passing stroller, convinced she might encounter her daughter’s sweet face? It was possible, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?
Even if whoever had taken her had cut and dyed her hair, somehow rendered the child virtually unrecognizable, Caroline was convinced she would recognize Samantha instantly. A mother surely knows her own child, no matter what, no matter how many years have passed. Dear God, she thought now. My baby has been missing for more than a year.
“I’m sorry. Is there a problem?” a woman asked from somewhere beside her, her tone stopping just short of accusatory.
Caroline’s eyes snapped into focus. A young woman was sitting on the far end of the bench, breast-feeding an infant. Caroline must have been staring at her for some time without realizing it.
“I’m within my rights,” the woman said. She was younger than Caroline, with long blond hair and deep bags under her eyes, probably from lack of sleep.
“Sorry. I guess I tuned out for a few minutes. I didn’t mean to stare.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I know you,” she said slowly. “You’re that woman whose baby disappeared in Mexico.”
Caroline was immediately on her feet.
“Did you do it?” she heard the woman call after her. “Did you murder your own child?”
—
“You’re very late,” Caroline said when Hunter walked through the door at half past nine that night.
“Sorry. There was an emergency partners’ meeting. It went on forever. I went to the gym after to unwind.”
Caroline nodded knowingly. Hunter had been made a partner in his prestigious downtown law firm two months ago, but she doubted that was where he’d been. There had been too many emergency meetings, too many late nights unwinding at the gym. She found it interesting that her husband had received little of the vitriol that had come her way in the aftermath of Samantha’s disappearance, that his career had actually advanced. And why not? Hunter’s clients weren’t the kind to be overly bothered by scandal. As long as he did his job, as long as he continued to negotiate successful deals and mergers, as long as he could be counted on to make them money, he was an asset, regardless of what was happening in his personal life. Ironically, the tragedy of losing his daughter had made him seem noble. It was left to Caroline to bear the burden of their guilt.
“What are you doing, sitting here in the dark?” He turned on the lamp beside the sofa and took off his jacket. Caroline put her hand over her eyes to block out the unwanted light. “Michelle asleep?”
“Yes.”
“She give you any problems?”
“The usual. She wanted her Grandma Mary. Apparently she’s a much better story reader than I am. You smell good,” she added, an observation more than a compliment.
“Took a shower,” he said, his voice casual. “I was pretty sweaty.” He lowered himself into one of two beige tub chairs across from where Caroline sat on the gold-and-beige-striped couch. “How’d the interview go?”
“Not good.”
“Sorry.”
Caroline shrugged.
“Something will turn up eventually.”