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But it didn’t mean anything in this situation.
Until Polly came in. She carried around more calm than this room. She was beautiful, but that was not the first thing I noticed. She seemed bright, full of color, and that had nothing to do with her clothes. But it was her. I could feel a pureness to her energy.
She had focused on me. “I’m Polly,” she said in greeting. “I’m Heath’s wife. He works here. He’s one of the people who won’t rest until we get your son back.”
I blinked. There was something about the way she said it that shook what was already rattling inside me. There was a hurt, a personal kind of loss inside of it. Like I wasn’t some stranger, like my child was not just some job for her husband. Like it was her blood, her family, like my hurt was hers. It was an impossible thing for a stranger to do, but she didn’t feel like a stranger.
If this were another circumstance, I guessed we might have been firm friends. I would have been excited to meet such a person.
But I felt like I’d never be excited about anything ever again.
I realized that I’d just silently been staring at her after she spoke. But she didn’t seem impatient or irritated at my lack of response. She just stood there, warm and sad half smile on her beautiful face.
“I’m Elena,” I said, my voice a whisper.
Once I spoke, she nodded, moving to the small kitchenette to boil the kettle. “I’m going to make us tea,” she decided.
She wasn’t asking me if I wanted it, she was taking the decision from me as if she sensed there was no way I could even make a choice as to whether I wanted tea or not right now. All my willpower was going to the decision to inhale and exhale, the effort to hold myself together.
“You go sit on the sofa,” she called gently. “It’s more comfortable there. I know nothing is comfortable right now, but we’ll sit there anyway.”
I obeyed her because her voice was calm, decisive and something else. A little bit haunted. Some shadow of a past knowing of hurt. Of trauma.
So I sat.
She boiled the kettle.
Made us tea.
And then came to sit beside me and immediately asked about Nathan.
I clutched the warm mug, wishing the heat would seep into my bones, but it didn’t, they were ice cold.
Her words filtered through me and I paused, preparing to launch into all the things I spouted about my son whenever someone asked.
But I couldn’t.
My mind cleared.
Blanked.
I blinked rapidly, panicking. “I,” I choked out the single word, trying to call up my memories. It was like trying to scrape the bottom of a dried-up well for a glass of water.
Nothing.
“I can’t remember him,” I choked out. “I can’t even remember anything.” Never in my life did I think I’d forget a single detail about my son, not a strand of hair. But here I was trying to call up what frickin’ color it was.
“What’s happening to me?” I whispered. “I can’t remember my son. What is my body doing? Does it know I’m never going to see him again? Is it trying to prepare me for something?” My voice was shaking now. Rattling with panic. With horror.
Polly gently took the mug from my hands and placed both of them on the coffee table. She squeezed my palm. “No, your mind is in immense pain right now,” she said. “It is helpless right now. And people deal with pain and trauma in all different ways.”
“I’m a terrible mother,” I whispered not taking in her words. “I can’t remember my son.”
Polly squeezed my hand, harder this time. “You are not a terrible mother. I can tell you that for certain. And you know what? You don’t need to remember him. You’re going to see him soon.”
There was something in her words, some kind of strength, different, completely separate from Keltan’s strength.
And, for some reason, I believed her.
Most likely because my survival and sanity depended on it.
Lance
“I’m taking point on this,” Keltan told him as he grabbed the handle on the door before the car had come to a complete stop.
Lance clutched the handle. “Like fuck,” he snapped.
He couldn’t explain or understand the anger in his voice. He was sure it confused Keltan since it wasn’t characteristic of him. That was his specialty, handling any situation without the burden of emotional reactions.
“It wasn’t a request,” Keltan said. “I’m taking point on it. Can’t trust you not to go off on this, and we already discussed that isn’t how we’re doing this.”
Yes, they had discussed it. Despite him and Rosie having big misgivings about it. Rosie had been most vocal, of course. He communicated his hatred for this course of action silently. But they all were unhappy with it, even Keltan, who was the one to have the final say on it.
