I guess I never thought about what would happen if a tragedy struck my partner. I always thought of these kinds of things as inevitable, as taking the form of a death in the family or something similarly unavoidable. But the loss of a child? There was no getting away from that, no arguing, no pretending it hadn’t happened.
It had been three days since Ella had been taken, and Jazz hadn’t slept a wink that whole time. I had watched him, sat up with him as long as I could every night. He would sit in the window hour upon hour, watching every car go by—the only time he left the house was to get new wheels for his bike and my car, and he returned quickly and grilled me on everything that had happened in his absence.
I had taken a couple of days off work—Amanda seemed to understand, but I heard an underlying suspicion to her voice when we spoke on the phone a few days earlier. She knew that Ella had been taken—the social services had been alerted along with the cops, as they always were when a case involved a child like this—so I knew she didn’t doubt my story. But then, what was it?
I did my best to put that out of my mind as I focused on supporting Jazz through all of this. Maybe I should have been more focused on myself, but there was something cathartic about focusing in on what he needed instead of me. If I’d taken a look at myself, maybe I would have had to confront the bottomless pit of grief and guilt that seemed to have taken up residence somewhere inside of me.
That pit was present in Jazz, too—I could tell, every time I caught his eye and every time I heard him let out one of those long, pained sighs of his. He would sit in the window and stare out into the nothingness outside, watching as the neighbors walked by. I could tell how much he resented them, the same way I did, simply for being happy. I mean, they had no idea what was going on. Why should they sit around in misery because of something that Jazz would never dare share with them? They already thought he was a bad father, and this would just confirm that in their eyes. I knew he couldn’t handle that, and I couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t even told the motorcycle club, though a few of them had heard through the grapevine and had attempted to visit or offer phone calls or assistance. Jazz cut them all out, relying on nothing but himself to drag his way through this nightmare.
And his insistence on keeping this between the two of us was beginning to impact the relationship. The last time we’d said “I love you” had been the first time, the night where Ella went missing. I found myself resenting him, longing for the lively, funny, compassionate man I had fallen for and instead finding a sullen, hollow, single-minded wraith in his place. I wanted him back, but I didn’t know how to drag him from his pit. I wouldn’t know until I figured out how to do it myself.
We didn’t really speak anymore, unless it was to talk about Ella. I understood that—I mean, it had all happened so quickly, without any warning, that it had left us both reeling and with nothing better to talk about or even think on. But that didn’t mean I didn’t miss the times when we would talk about grown-up stuff. I longed for the days when we would sit and talk about nothing in particular, when we would talk over coffee about how his night had been and what I had planned for the rest of my day.
I found myself getting short with him when I should have been more understanding, but I couldn’t hold back. I loathed the way he talked to me now, as nothing more than a sounding board to bounce his ideas off of. I needed space, but I was scared to give it to him in case he did something awful when he was left by himself. I needed the push to get out—and that came in the form of a meeting with Amanda.
“My boss called me in today,” I called to Jazz as I pulled on my clothes. “I think I need to go. Will you be alright?”
“Course,” Jazz replied, monosyllabic as ever.
“Are you sure?”
“Just go,” he sighed, and I shot a look at him. I knew he didn’t mean it, that I was just the one in the way of his bad moods with everything that had gone down, but it still sent an angry jolt through my body when he spoke to me like that. I headed out the door, to my car, and started the drive out to Amanda’s office. She had left a message on my phone the day before, and I had no excuse not to go out and see her.
I arrived a half-hour later, and found Amanda waiting for me in the reception area. She cocked an eyebrow as soon as she laid eyes on me, and looked me up and down. “Oh, Mona…” She pulled me into a tight hug. That seemed to have been happening a lot these days. “How are you?”
“Shitty,” I admitted, dropping my bag at my feet. “You?”
“Fine, fine,” she replied distractedly. “Come into my office, we need to talk.”
I did as I was told, and took my seat opposite her; how many times had I been in here in the last few years? I couldn’t count them off the top of my head. But I’d never felt as…off as I did at that moment. The way she was looking at me, I could tell there was something going unsaid here, something that she was having trouble coming out and saying.
“What is it?” I asked, leaning forward, my patience for bullshit worn thin since everything had gone down. She took a breath before she spoke, obviously making sure she had everything in place.
“You’re still staying with Jazz, aren’t you?”
I nodded.
“Mona, there’s something I need to ask.” She put her hands on the desk in front of her. “Do you think there’s any way he could have something to do with Ella’s disappearance?”
I couldn’t do anything but gape at her. She’d intoned the words carefully, as if making sure that I had heard every single one. I couldn’t believe what she was implying. Did she know Jazz at all? Well, no, I reminded myself. I paused for a moment to steady myself before I replied.
“Amanda, I really can’t stress enough how little I think that’s true. I’ve been around the two of them for a long time, and he’s an amazing father. He’s cut up about this in ways you couldn’t imagine. Trust me when I say that he has nothing to do with this.”
“Are you two together these days?” She cocked her head at me.
“Yes, but—”
“Look, Mona,” she cut across me. I could tell that she wasn’t enjoying this, but knew she had no choice. “I’ve been involved in a lot of these cases. Maybe I’m just cynical on the matter. But when it comes to cases like this one, one of the parents is often involved.”
“What about her mother?” I protested. “Haven’t you looked into her yet?”
“We have, and she’s way across the country,” Amanda replied smoothly. “She couldn’t have had anything to do with it.”
“Doesn’t she care that her daughter has gone missing?” My jaw hung open. I couldn’t imagine knowing Ella and not loving her with every fiber of your being.
“We’re in contact with her.” Amanda waved my question away. “This is about you and Jazz.”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked, exasperated.
Amanda’s face softened. “Take some time for yourself. It doesn’t have to be forever, just…a few days. Go back to your place. Get some space.”
“You really think he might be involved with this?” I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice. I hadn’t even considered it.
“I just want you to be safe.” Amanda steepled her fingers. “Do you have somewhere to go? We can set you up somewhere if not.”
“I do.” I nodded. “I can go back to my place for a few days. Have you got someone keeping an eye on Jazz while I’m away?”
“We will, yes,” she promised. “Thank you, Mona. I’m sure you’re right, but…” She trailed off, leaving the other possibility hanging in the air between us.
“Yeah, I know,” I sighed. “Look, I’m going to go. Call me if you need to talk again, okay?”
Amanda smiled at me and led me to the door, and before I knew it, I was back on the road again—but this time, heading back to my apartment after all this time away. I texted Jazz once I arrived, letting him know that I wouldn’t be coming back—I wasn’t sure how long I’d be away for, but as I slipped into a bath and closed my eyes, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. I felt guilty for leaving Jazz alone like that, but I needed space for myself. I wasn’t sure how I was meant to get through this while I was providing emotional support for both of us—and I knew if Amanda said there was someone keeping an eye on him, then there was. He would be safe, for now, and besides, I needed to take some time to myself.
When I was out of my bath, I ordered some takeout and ate it ravenously in front of some crappy TV show. Just for an hour or so, I was able to get my mind off everything that had happened. I felt myself relax, and as soon as I had finished my food, I found myself dozing off, coddled by the comfort of being in familiar surroundings once again.
I woke up with a start the next morning, pulled from some dream by a sudden shock of nausea. I glanced down at the takeout packages still on the floor in front of me; maybe I had food poisoning or something? That would be just my luck, given everything else that had happened already. I got to my feet, and switched off the TV, which had switched over to the news while I was asleep. It was still early, around six or seven, and I dragged myself to the bathroom and heaved a couple of times over the toilet.
When I got to my feet, I washed my hands, wiped the sheen of sweat from my forehead, and looked at myself in the mirror. I’d lost weight—I could tell that much. I hadn’t been eating much in the last few days, and it showed, my face was gaunt and sallow. I didn’t like looking this way. Another wave of nausea hit me, and I knelt back down again, heaving up the last of my takeout and regretting that I’d ever had it in the first place.
I managed to make it through to my bedroom, and flopped down on the unmade bed—it smelled a little dusty, as it had been while since I’d been in there to change the sheets, but I didn’t mind. Jesus, what was wrong with me? Was this just a reaction to everything that had been happening? Maybe I was due my period or something like that.
A cold flush of fear passed across my scalp as it hit me. When was the last time I had had my period? In the mess of everything that had gone down, I hadn’t thought about it in a long time. I strained my mind to remember. Two months ago? More? Jesus, how could I have been so stupid?
The pieces began to slot into place. We hadn’t used a condom when we’d hooked up in the safe house the first time, and then…well, I had been feeling sick in the mornings, and my period hadn’t come. No. No. Surely not. What kind of sick cosmic joke would this be, if I turned out to be pregnant after we lost Ella?
I lay there for a few more minutes, waiting for my sickness to pass—but it had been replaced by the kind of sheer panic that only comes from realizing that you may have just fucked up your entire life for good.
When I started to feel a little better, I changed, pulled my hair into a ponytail, and grabbed my purse. There was a drugstore down the street, one that opened early, and I didn’t want to wait any longer to find out the truth about what I was facing.
I made my way up to the counter on autopilot, clutching the pregnancy test to my chest protectively the whole time. My heart was beating quickly, and I tried to ignore the minutely cocked eyebrow of the clerk as I handed it over to her along with a bar of chocolate. I hopped from foot to foot as she rang me up, and snatched it off the counter as soon as she was done.
I hurried back to my place, and tried to come up with some other reason that this could all have happened. Maybe I had some kind of long-running flu that just took ages to shift? Maybe we had used a condom and I had just somehow wiped it from my memory? Maybe I’d had my period but it had been so light I hadn’t noticed? I knew I was kidding myself, but still, no one would have blamed me for hoping that none of this was actually happening to me. I had been through enough. I was exhausted. I didn’t have it in me to go through this on top of everything else.
I went straight to the bathroom, tearing awkwardly at the packaging around the test until it flopped to the floor with a loud clatter. I grabbed it, pulled down my pants, and did what I had to do. I read the back of the package—two minutes, that’s how long I had to wait. Two minutes and then I would know for sure what I had to do.
I put my head in my hands and tried to pretend that none of this was happening—at least I could hold on to these two minutes, the last sane two minutes of my like. I couldn’t bear to look at the strip as I counted down the seconds in my head, worried that it might show a result too early and steal my last seconds from me.
Once my countdown was done, I opened one eye—and stared down at the strip blankly. A pink line.
Positive.