“That’s great, Claire.” I try for a cheerful tone.
She lowers the balloon animal. “Were you twokissing?”
“Um...”
“Yes,” Peter says. He picks up his trench coat and throws it over his shoulders. Hurriedly, I stuff the blankets and pillows into the backpacks. I feel my face blushing as red as a stop sign.
She looks from one of us to the other. “You don’t look happy about it. Were you doing it right?”
Peter stomps past her. “Yes.”
I pause to throw the sheets over the masterpieces. By the time I’m done hiding them, Peter is on the rooftops. “Where are you going?” I call after him.
“I’m going to find the Missing Man,” he calls back.
“But you hate him,” Claire says. “And he hates you.”
“I have to ask him a question,” he says. He then races across the rooftops, leaving Claire and me behind on the ground.
* * *
Midday, I swim in the ocean again and hope the water will calm the endlessplease find him, please find him, please find him...that is stuck on repeat in my brain. The blueness fills my eyes, and the water caresses my skin. I breathe in the saltiness and feel it seep into me, soothing me. Around me, the fish brush against my legs. I feel them nibble and then dart away, like tiny kisses. I think about how Peter said he couldn’t find the Missing Man, and I wonder if that means that Peter lied or if it means that he will fail. I dive under the waves, open my eyes, and feel the sea sting my eyes and see the orange, yellow, and pink coral with the blue, silver, and striped fish. I burst out of the water and swim back to shore, where Claire is building sand castles out of wet desert sand and lost utensils.
Peter hasn’t returned. But the void is back on the horizon, nearly as far away as it was. So I try to take solace in that fact and not think about Peter or the Missing Man. Or Mom. I haven’t let myself think about her lately.
In the late afternoon, Claire and I head out to scavenge for dinner. She’s delighted with a box of macaroni and cheese, even though we don’t have milk or butter, and I find an avocado, an unopened package of American cheese, and a stale tortilla, which I envision transforming into an okay quesadilla. We wait until nearly dark to eat, in case Peter comes back. But he doesn’t.
In the shadows of the kitchen, we eat what we found then heat up the leftovers from Sean’s meatloaf and pair them with an apple. The apple has a bite out of it. I cut that part off and wash it thoroughly. It makes a decent dessert.
At night, I tuck in Claire with her teddy bears plus Mr. Rabbit. I kiss each of them on the forehead and then I retreat to my bedroom. It feels extra quiet, and I’m extra aware that the closet is empty. It takes me a long time to fall asleep. Eventually, I do.
I wake in the night to the sound of a creak. I freeze and then I slither out of bed. We have a plan for intruders—I get low as fast as possible, and Peter— But Peter isn’t in the closet. I creep to the corner of the bed and peer out. There is a silhouette in the doorway. I see the shape of a man in the moonlight, a coat swirling around him. “Peter?” I whisper.
“I didn’t find him yet.” Peter slips into the closet without another word, and he shuts the door. I stand in the moonlight and feel as if a wave is crashing inside me.He didn’t find him, didn’t find him, didn’t find him.Slowly, I climb back into bed.
At least he hadn’t lied.
“Missed you today,” I say.
No response.
“You know, you don’t have to sleep in the closet. There’s room here.” As soon as I say it, I wish I could draw the words back as if they were in a balloon on a string.
I don’t want a relationship.
I don’t want to lead him on.
I don’t want to be alone.
He doesn’t come out. So it’s a moot point. Eventually, I fall back to sleep.
I wake slightly when I feel the bed sink down. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he lies quietly beside me. And we both sleep.
In the morning, there’s an indent on the pillow where he lay. I rise, shower, and dress and head to the kitchen, where he usually is in the morning. Only Claire is there, perched on the counter, scrounging through a bag of airline peanuts. “He left again,” she says. “I don’t know why you want the Missing Man back. Don’t you want to stay with me? Don’t you like me?” She has tears on her long eyelashes.
I hug her and feel as if my heart is shattering. “Of course I like you.” I have a burst of inspiration. “Maybe when Peter finds the Missing Man, he can send you back with me.”
Claire wipes her eyes with her fist. “Really?”
