“Good. Glad to hear it.” The woman appears from behind the camera. She wears black pants and a pink sleeveless blouse. “I have just a few follow-up questions and then I’ll be on my way. First, I understand you’ve been seeing a psychiatrist.”
The woman pulls up an ottoman and takes a seat across from Winnie.
“That doesn’t sound like a question.”
The woman softens her voice. “You mentioned it to Detective Hoyt last night.”
“Did I?”
“You don’t remember?”
“You’re all asking me so many questions. It’s hard to keep everything straight.”
“How long have you been seeing this doctor?”
“A long time.”
“For?”
“Depression.” She shrugs. “Camaraderie. My father sort of forced me to do it, after my mother died.”
“And when was the last time he treated you?”
“A few months ago.”
The woman raises her eyebrows. “Not since giving birth?”
“No.” The detective begins to speak, but Winnie cuts her off. “I was feeling good after Midas was born. Better than I felt in years.”
“Okay. I want to also ask you a little bit about Daniel.”
Winnie shifts in her seat. “Daniel? Why?”
“You dated in high school. Why did you break up?”
A cloud crosses Winnie’s face. “I couldn’t deal with anything at the time. Including Daniel.”
“But you stayed close?”
“Yes. He was my first love.”
“After he got married. Did you ever have an affair?”
“An affair?”
“I know this is uncomfortable, but I have to—”
“No, we never had an affair. I’m not really sure what—”
Colette hears the sound of a key being inserted into the apartment door.
“Who is that?” Nell whispers.
The door opens and Charlie walks in, balancing two coffees in a carryout tray and a white paper bag.
“Oh, hey,” he says, removing his earbuds.
Colette closes her laptop. “Baby, hi.” She tries to keep her voice from faltering. “You’re back early.”
“Turns out they’re doing a sing-along at the coffee shop now. I got run out by babies and nannies.” He peeks inside the stroller at Poppy, and then back at Colette. “What are you guys watching?”
Colette unclenches her hands in her lap. “A video. About sleep training.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes, you know,” Nell says. “Put the kid in his cot with a can of soup. Lock the door. Come back in a few weeks.”
Charlie laughs. “After the night we had, I’ll buy the soup.” He walks to the kitchen island and sets the coffee and bag on the counter next to Colette’s laptop. “I got you an almond croissant and a coffee. And Nell, if I knew you’d be here—”
“I’m fine. Have to leave for work now, actually.”
Charlie kisses Colette’s forehead. “So do I. See you later.”
Colette waits until Charlie closes the door to his office. When she hears jazz coming from the room, she reduces the volume and hits play.
“No, we never had an affair. I’m not really sure what you’re getting at with that question.”
“I’m sorry, Winnie. I know this is difficult, but we have to ask you these questions in order to get a full picture of the situation.”
Tears leak slowly from Winnie’s eyes. “Daniel has been nothing but a good friend to me.”
“I understand.” The detective hands Winnie a Kleenex and then leans forward in her chair, her notebook dangling from her hand. “Let’s talk about something else. Tell me, if you don’t mind, about where you were last night. After you left the bar.”
“I’ve already told you.”
“Well, you told Detective Hoyt. But I’d like to hear it myself.”
Winnie closes her eyes. “I went to the park.”
“The park.”
“Yes. It was my first time alone since giving birth. And that bar—it wasn’t where I wanted to be. I went outside and decided to keep walking. I ended up at the park.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“I don’t know.”
“On the way there, maybe? Or inside the park? Did you pass anyone, or speak to anybody?”
“Not that I remember.”
“Are you having trouble remembering things?”
“No.” Winnie stares at her hands in her lap for a few moments, but then abruptly jerks her head up. “Did you hear that?”
“What?”
“It’s Midas.”
“Midas?”
“Shhhh, listen.” Winnie stands, listening to something in the distance. “There. Did you hear that?”
“No, what are you—”
“He’s crying.” Winnie walks off camera. “I can hear him crying.”
“Winnie—”
She appears on the screen again. “He’s quiet now.” She looks down the hall, toward the nursery. “But where is it coming from?”
“Winnie, listen. I want to call your doctor. We think you should make an appointment—”
“I don’t need a doctor.” She runs her fingers through her hair, gripping it in her fists. “I need you to find my son. He’s crying right now. He wants me. And you’re sitting here, asking me the same questions again and again. Why are you even here?” She walks to the terrace door and opens it. “Why are you not out there, searching for my baby?”
The detective stands and walks stiffly toward the camera. “Let’s take a break.” The rest of her words are undecipherable, before the screen goes dark.
Colette is aware of the silence around them and a heavy ache in her chest. “Oh my god,” Nell says. “She’s lost her mind. Do you . . . Did she—”
Nell sits on the toilet seat, attached to the pump. She looks down at her phone and, against her better judgment, closes the photo of Beatrice and types in the address of Patricia Faith’s website. The television host is, as Nell expected, broadcasting a live-feed from the park plaza, under the large banner headline: A Prayer for Midas.
Nell hesitantly opens the video, and her screen springs to life—an image of Patricia, in a tight floral dress, calling out to a woman walking behind a double stroller. “Excuse me,” she calls. “Do you have a minute?” The woman stops, and Patricia scuds gingerly toward her on her three-inch heels. Behind her Nell sees the circle of women, pink carnations in their hands, their heads bowed in prayer. “I’m Patricia Faith, host of The Faith Hour.”
“Yes,” the woman says. “I know.”
“We’re here today, talking about what some people are calling the Jolly Mama phenomenon.”
“I think you’re the only one calling it that.”
“So you’ve heard of it?”
“Yes,” the woman says. “Unfortunately.”
“Wonderful. You’re a mother, obviously. You look like someone who loves her child.” Patricia raises her eyebrows. “What do you think about the idea of mommy groups meeting at bars, drinking alcohol? Some even do this in the afternoon, bringing along their children, I hear.” She discreetly wipes the perspiration from her eyebrow with her finger and points her microphone at the woman.
“I think who gives a shit.”
Patricia Faith peeks at the camera and grimaces.
“The kids are not the ones drinking. You do understand that, right, Patricia?”
“Yes, but the parents are. With all the places there are to meet, isn’t it irresponsible? The night that Midas Ross was taken, his mother was at a bar.” She shows the woman the flyer in her hand, with the photo of Nell and Winnie. “Have you seen this? This is the night—”
Nell shuts down the phone and flips off the pump, silencing the droning motor. She hasn’t gotten nearly as much milk as she’d hoped, but it’s hot and stuffy in the bathroom, and she needs to get back to work. She buttons her shirt, packs the bottle, and waits until the bathroom is empty before making her way out of the stall. She needs a coffee—she’s felt unsteady since she left Colette’s apartment, that image of Winnie caught in her mind.
Heading down the hallway, she’s surprised to see Ian waiting for her, his hands along the top of her door frame, his cowlick curling like a question mark from his forehead—a feature Nell has heard that many of the company’s young female employees find irresistible. His belt today: pink flamingos embroidered over a sky-blue background. “Hey,” he says as she walks into her office, setting the pump under her desk. “Got a second?”