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It’s a professional photo like you’d use on a business card, printed in black and white from the Internet on regular multipurpose paper. There’s a phone number but no name written in the white margin; it’s unclear whether the number and the photo are related.
I consider calling the number until suddenly I remember thinking I saw Nosy Mary’s car when I got coffee with Alison. It dawns on me that maybe Mary’s a private investigator or something, paid by Mom to follow her own children.
My ringtone startles me; I drop the photo and answer the phone.
“Hi,” I say.
“Your mom left the store,” Sean says urgently. “She was in line to pay and she got a call and then just rushed out of the store. She abandoned her cart. At first, I didn’t follow…. I thought she’d left her wallet in the car or something, but then I saw her driving away. I ran out and followed her…. She’s going in the direction of your house.”
“How close?” I say, stepping toward the office door.
“Too close,” Sean says. “You’ll never make it back in time. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, but I was gunning it, trying to catch up with her.”
I’m quiet for a few seconds, considering. Then I sigh. “Well, if I’m caught out of the house anyway, I might as well get all the ammo I can. I’m going to need it.” Pause. “I’ll call you right back; I’m going to call Ella and Bet to warn them.”
From my recent calls, I redial the other spy phone, but no one picks up. I weigh the downside of having this number show up on the bill for the landline and decide that by the time the bill comes, this will all be over. I call, but no one answers there, either. I call Sean back.
“What do you want me to do now?” he asks.
“Just make sure she goes home,” I say. “Then I guess you’re off duty.”
“No problem.”
Sean and I stay on the phone while he drives, me telling him about the pictures and notes on the walls and him commenting on my mother’s utter strangeness, until he reports that Mom is turning off the main road to our house.
“Just go by,” I say, my heart sinking, thinking of Ella and Betsey having to try to tap dance out of this situation all alone. It bugs me that they haven’t called back yet.
“Stay on the phone with me, okay?” I say. Having Sean in my ear now is like a down comforter in the dark: It’s security. Sean agrees, then launches into a story about the woman who’d been in line behind Mom at the grocery store—apparently she had a total meltdown about the abandoned cart. I open my mouth to say something when suddenly, without an ounce of warning, the most electrically charged surge of panic runs through me.
I suck in my breath and put my hand to my chest as my heart rate skyrockets, seemingly without cause.
“Lizzie, what’s wrong?” Sean asks. “Are you okay?”
“I… can’t… breathe…” I say through gasps.
“What?” he asks. “Are you serious? What happened? Did you touch something weird that maybe… Are you allergic to something?”
“No,” I say, gasping. “Nothing.”
“Can you sit down?” he asks. “Put your head between your knees?” He waits a beat and then says, “I’m coming there. I’m coming to get you. Screw your mom; you need to go to the hospital.”
“N…” I try, but I don’t have enough air to say the word. My ribcage feels like it’s sealed in a concrete mold. “No,” I say. “I… need to… calm…”
Sean gets it and his tone evens out. “Shh, Lizzie, just breathe,” he says into the phone. “Put your hand on your heart; imagine that it’s mine. I’m here for you. You’re okay; just breathe.”
I hear a car honk; I picture him flipping an illegal U-turn to come and help me.
“Breathe with me,” he says before taking a deep inhale, then exhaling. My palm is still firmly on my chest—not pressing, but resolutely planted there. I pretend it’s his.
“Take a breath,” Sean says before inhaling and exhaling again. Once more, and my heartbeat starts to slow. Another time, and I start to breathe with him. A few more breaths, and I’m back to normal.
“Whoa,” I say when I can talk again. Only then do I realize I’m on the floor of my mom’s office. I start to stand up but feel woozy, so I stay put for now.
“What happened?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “It felt like a panic attack or something. I have no idea why….” My voice trails off; I’m preoccupied by the fact that even though I’m breathing normally now, I’m still feeling very unsettled. I’m jumpy. I snap my head in the direction of the doorway. No one’s there.
