Mike walked out the gate and I followed him. It led straight out on to the road. “She could be anywhere. I’ll go look for her,” he said.
Moments later, we were back in his car, driving up and down the small streets and finding nothing. A sense of panic started welling up inside me.What if something did happen to her, this time?The sound of Mike’s phone ringing broke my train of thought. He reached for it, but paused before answering. I watched in fascination as something washed over his face. I’d never seen it before. What was it? He answered tentatively.
“Hello, April,” he said awkwardly into the phone, a strange tone in his voice. “Okay, I’ll be there now.” He hung up and looked over at me.
“Petra’s at her old house. The Cliftons, who live there now, found her standing inside one of the rooms.”
“Wow. Great. Great, I’m so . . . God.” I shook my head, tears choking me up again. I was an utter emotional mess, at the moment.
Mike put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it gently. “She’ll be okay,” he said.
I reached up and put my hand over his. It felt good to be touched by him again. “But will she?” I asked. “Maybe she’ll be okay physically, but emotionally?”
Mike remained silent for a while. “I doubt she’ll ever be okay that way,” he said softly.
His words cut through me like a sword. Of course she wasn’t going to be okay. She hadn’t spoken to her only child in years, and for what? It seemed so unnecessary. All this pain, because we don’t all share the same beliefs, or share the same color skin, or the same sexual preference . . . Underneath it all, we are just the same collection of flesh and blood and bones. Sinews and muscles connecting our vital bits together; lungs that take in oxygen, hearts that beat the same sticky stuff in the same direction, arms and legs and eyes and ears . . .We’re made of star stuff.Carl Sagan’s words echoed in my mind. It was just such a beautiful sentiment: billions of people, all made of the same stuff that had once exploded out of stars. Surely, the fact that we all came from the same exploding place was all the proof we needed that we were more similar than different?
We finally pulled up to the house and rushed to the front door. We didn’t even need to knock; it was already standing open, waiting for us.
“Hello, Mike.” We walked in and were greeted by a woman. There was something strange and familiar in the way that she’d said his name.
“April,” he said, not making eye contact. Mike’s eyes drifted down to her stomach—the pregnant stomach that she was cradling.
I knew who this was: April the woman, not the month.
“How are you?” he asked, finally looking up at her. She was gorgeous. She definitely had a pregnancy glow about her. Long, blond hair, blue eyes, a better figure than mine, even though it looked like a small human was about to fly out of her. This was definitely the kind of woman I could see Mike with, and suddenly I felt incredibly inadequate. I always felt inadequate around these perfect-looking women, I always wondered what they thought of me—like that woman who’d been inside the elevator, the one with the matt lips, who’d looked me up and down.
“Good.” April smiled and rubbed her stomach. “Due any day now. And you?” she asked.
“Good.” His answer was short and stoic. “Ash and Emelia just got engaged.”
“Really? Wow, that’s amazing news. Please send them our congratulations.”
Our.The word sort of echoed around us. Mike nodded. “Thanks; I will. Where’s Petra?” he asked.
“She’s upstairs, in the nursery. It’s a bit creepy, to be honest. She’s just standing there. I got quite a fright this morning, when I saw her,” April said, looking over at me for the first time since we got there. “Sorry—I didn’t introduce myself. I’m April.” She stuck out her hand and I shook it. Smooth, soft hands.
“Becca,” I said.
“Well, thanks for coming,” she said to us.
We walked upstairs and into the nursery. It was yellow. The walls, the bedding in the crib, the carpet—it was as if a sunflower had exploded in here.
“We don’t know what we’re having yet,” April said, behind me, as if she could read my mind.
I nodded. Whoever first thought that yellow was a neutral color for children was just so wrong. “It’s lovely,” I lied. It wouldn’t have been my choice, but hey.
Petra was sitting in a chair at the end of the room, staring at the cot. When she saw us, she looked up and put her finger over her lips.
“Shhh,” she said. “I’ve just put him down.”
“Oh my God,” April whispered, behind us. “This is so sad.”
She didn’t need to state the obvious, though. This was more than sad. This was devastating. Heartbreaking. This was the single most tragic thing I had ever seen.
Mike stepped towards her. “Petra,” he called.
She looked up at him with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. Empty and hollow, desperate for something to fill them.
