He drove back home. Lily was awake. She was sitting on the cot with her knees pulled up and she said, “Did you find my mommy?”
Dale told her not yet. He made her scrambled eggs. He went to the dollar store and bought coloring books and crayons and a pack of socks. He came back and sat in the garage with her while she colored. She talked the whole time. About school. About her teacher Miss Rivera. About how her mom used to sing to her but stopped.
That afternoon he went back to Briarwood. This time he parked down the street. He watched the building for two hours. The boyfriend left around three. Got in a black pickup and drove off.
Dale walked up to number 7 and knocked.
This time a woman answered. She was small. Thin. One eye was purple from lid to cheekbone. She opened the door two inches and looked at him through the gap.
“Your daughter’s safe,” Dale said.
The woman’s knees buckled. She caught herself on the door handle. He thought she was going to collapse right there.
“She showed up at my house last night,” he said. “She’s fine. She’s sleeping and eating and she’s not hurt.”
The woman started shaking. Not crying. Shaking. Like something was vibrating inside her chest. She pressed her forehead against the edge of the door and took three breaths.
“He checks my phone,” she whispered. “He tracks my car. If I leave he said he’ll find me and he’ll hurt her worse.”
