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She stuck her head into the black nothingness.
“Loves? It’s all right, come out, the police are here, come on—”
Before she could finish speaking, she was shoved aside, a yelp of pain and surprise strangling in her throat. The sergeant and the policeman with the lit-up phone were all at once between her and the panel, and she fell backward, felt her calf crushed under the pressure of one of their legs as they went to hands and knees to look through the secret door. She used her forearms to drag her body away from their tangle of booted feet and heavy limbs. The sergeantheld a large black flashlight, whipping light in and around the hidden place.
Then came aclickthat brought every little piece together in her swollen brain.
They think you hurt them. They think you buried them in the wall.
She closed her eyes. Swallowed big.
But you didn’t. They’re going to be there, and they’re going to be okay.Aren’t they?
Her head was buzzing; her brain was jelly. The whisk of the flashlight back and forth pained her.
They shoved you aside so you won’t contaminate the scene. Isn’t that what’s happening?
But the children must be all right. You saw them, and they were all right? Your son’s face in the dirt, your daughter’s head on the brick, but they sat back up. No matter how many times you’ve lost your temper, put them in the crib and walked away and covered your ears to give yourself a break, you would never…
She didn’t want to leave that moment. The not knowing. It was so much better not to know. To close her eyes, lean deep into her brain’s hum of exhaustion. To not know if she’d done something irrevocable. To not know that they’d been suffocated by the bulk of the Corner. Vanished, hurt, hurting right now, because she’d abandoned them. Or hurt them.
It’s your fault.
The sergeant pushed farther into the hidden place, only his legs visible. “Hey, it’s okay! You can come out! It’s all right. We’re policemen.”
Thin and distant came her daughter’s voice.
“Mama?”
The relief was a euphoric drug so intense she thought she would fall asleep right there, forever happy.
The sergeant backed out, sat on his haunches. Stared at her.
“Maybe they’ll come out,” he said, “if they see you.”
She couldn’t speak, her lips were too flabby. Her lacerated skin stung with tears she hadn’t realized she’d been crying.
The sergeant reached out a hand. She refused it, managing to crawl forward on her own.
The policemen parted to let her through. She put her head into the hidden place. She didn’t have a flashlight, couldn’t see anything.
“Time to come out, okay, loves? We’re safe now.”
“Mama! Mommy!”
She sat back into the room and waited. They crawled out, streaked with grime. Her daughter gorgeous and shining in her red nightgown. Her son round tummied and soft, melting into her.
“Hi, hello,” she said. “It’s all right now. It’s okay.”
“Mama,” said her daughter, leaning back, regarding her, “you lookawful.”
She turned away from them and vomited on the nicest rug in the house.
21
Two months earlier her son had dressed as a bat, her daughter a witch. Trick-or-treating was canceled countywide because of the pandemic, so she took a page from Easter and hid candy in the yard. She and her husband watched the kids dash around with their plastic pumpkin buckets.
“Look, Mama! Look, Daddy!” they shouted anytime they found a piece of candy.
