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“They came home and went looking for a baby that I never saw, never knew about, never heard of…”
“Do you think it’s some kind of misunderstanding?” Willa asks, scratching the back of her head with a look of confusion that matches how I feel.
Misunderstanding.How is that even possible? “I—I just don’t see how.”
“You said you were watching two nine-year-old girls,” Willa says, giving me just a tiny sense of sanity.
“That’s what Mrs. Smith said to me when I called her last Sunday. I had no reason to think there were any more than two children at their sprawling mansion.”
“Okay, okay. Get in the car,” she says, unlocking the doors with her key fob. The cheep-cheep is like music to my ears after listening to metal doors rattling around all night. I slide into her coconut-infused car and bury my head back into the seat, relishing the cushion and the soft fabric.
“I’m at a loss for words,” Willa says, closing herself into the driver’s seat. I still don’t know what time it is, but the sun is just starting to rise over the horizon, so maybe around five in the morning. “Wait, where is your car?”
I’m squeezing the plastic bag containing my purse, phone, and receipts that were in my pockets and feel a small card stapled to the top. It must have the information about the carpound. “They impounded it after the search. I’ll have to get it tomorrow—I mean, later today.”
The engine roars and the dashboard lights glow in a matching lime green to the exterior paint. It’s ten past five. I was in that hellhole for over five hours. The thought of ever going back makes me want to vomit. Being called a person of interest gives me little hope that this is over.
“Oh okay, we’ll go later in the morning to pick it up,” Willa says, pulling out of the parking lot.
“There’s still a missing baby. I can’t imagine what could have happened to her but knowing that they think I had something to do with it…I feel sick.”
“You might have just been at the wrong place at the wrong time,” Willa says, shaking her head.
“That doesn’t happen in real life. People don’t just find themselves in situations like this.” What I’m saying is completely inaccurate. Victims are chosen at random all the time. Robbery, kidnappings, worse… How could a baby be taken from her crib without anyone noticing?
“Girl, we both know anything could have happened. Look, we aren’t going to come up with an answer without any other facts or evidence, so after we get your car back, we need to start calling around to find you a good attorney.”
A good attorney means an unaffordable one that only wealthy people can employ. If I could afford a good attorney, I wouldn’t be desperate to spend my free time during the summer as a nanny. I would be researching for my dissertation.
Willa, on the other hand, is a trust fund baby. College tuition and room, board, and food, has been paid for by her parents since she started school here. Though we’ve gone through the program together since freshman year, we’re finishing with two different degree types. Mine within the Behavioral Health program requires extra courses, so Willa decided to take the lastsemester off for a “mental health break,” which the school of psychology couldn’t argue with, before returning in the fall to complete her practicum hours and dissertation. We should both still earn our degrees around the same time if all goes according to plan, but she will have no debt and can be carefree while socking away the money she earns at work—the job she loves because of the boss she loves. I’m not so lucky. I’ll be paying off student loans untilmykids go to college. I try not to think about the cost of the career I want. Until something I need and can’t afford comes up, that is.
“I won’t be able to get a good attorney. I can’t afford an attorney. I have enough to pay the pound to get my car back, and that’s about it right now. I’m on my own.”
“No way. If they come back after you for more questioning, you need someone to defend you. Not having an attorney is like a death sentence—I mean, that’s not a possibility here. You need…you absolutely need someone. I’ll pay. It will be fine.”
“No, you’re not paying for an attorney. I’ll figure something out. Please—the last thing I want to do is ask for financial help. I’m mortified, stupid, and I obviously should have been smarter about taking this job. I should have known it was too good to be true.”
Willa growls, her way of showing frustration loud and clear. “I will help you however you will allow me to help. Even if that means stalking the hell out of these sewer rats to dig up trash on them, then that’s what I’ll do.”
“You won’t find anything online.”
“How do you know?” she asks, jolting her focus from the road to me and back to the road.
“I tried doing a search on them just before they got home.”
“You did?” she gasps. “Did you find anything?”
“Yeah…my gut told me something wasn’t right. Their browser history confirmed it.”
THIRTEEN
SATURDAY, JUNE 10TH 9:00 AM
I’ve spent the last hour lying semi-awake wondering how long someone can go without sleep. I didn’t sleep for even a minute from when we got home until now, but I might have fallen into a trance while staring at my ceiling fan. My mind won’t slow down. No matter how many times I replay everything in my head, there’s no more sense to be made.
“I’m not going to let you sit in your room all day again,” Willa says, knocking on my door as she opens it.
“What else am I supposed to do aside from walking around town wondering how long I have before I’ll be pinned for a crime I didn’t commit, then potentially get locked up in prison.”
