I waited five minutes before crossing the porch to Amber's door.
Part of me still hoped I was wrong. Perhaps she'd been sleeping through the morning, or perhaps there was some explanation that would make Bentley's behavior seem less alarming. But a child pretending to leave for school was not something I could dismiss.
I knocked.
The reading stopped immediately.
“Bentley?”
No answer.
“I know you're in there.”
A small sound came from behind the door. Then Maddie called, “Miss Arlene?”
My heart sank.
“I heard you, sweetheart,” I said. “Can you open the door for me?”
Bentley whispered something I couldn't make out. A moment later, the deadbolt turned, and the door opened just enough for me to see his face.
He looked terrified.
“You followed me.”
“I was worried about you.”
“You shouldn't have.”
There was something painfully grown-up about the way he said it.
“Where's your mother?”
“At work.”
“No, Bentley. Tell me the truth.”
His eyes dropped.
Behind him, Maddie appeared in faded pink pajamas patterned with little yellow stars. Her hair was tangled, and she clutched an empty plastic cup.
“Water,” she said.
I looked from the cup to Bentley.
“Does your water work?”
He shook his head.
I stepped past him and went straight to the kitchen. The apartment smelled stale, as though no windows had been opened for days. Children's clothes lay beside the couch, and a blanket had been spread on the floor. Picture books were piled on the coffee table.
I turned the kitchen faucet.
Nothing came out.
I tried the other handle. The pipes shuddered once, then fell silent.
“When did this happen?”
Bentley stood behind me, rubbing one sneaker against the floor.
“Three days ago.”
“Three days?”
He nodded.
I opened the refrigerator. Its light illuminated a nearly empty shelf: half a loaf of bread, a little butter, ketchup, and a carton of milk that had passed its expiration date. Inside the cupboard were a few packets of oatmeal, some crackers, canned vegetables, and a package of noodles.
“Where's the rest of your food?”
“We have food.”
“Bentley.”
He stepped in front of Maddie as if he expected me to take something away from her.
“Mom's coming back.”
My stomach tightened.
“When did she leave?”
He stared at the floor for so long that I thought he wouldn't answer.
“Last Monday.”
It was Wednesday. Nine days.
“Have you and Maddie been here alone for nine days?”
“No. Mom's coming back.”
“I heard you. But who has been looking after you?”
He shook his head.
“Your grandmother?”
“No.”
“An aunt?”
“No.”
“Your father?”
His face changed. All the uncertainty vanished, replaced by a hard, frightened expression.
“No.”
I pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down so I wouldn't tower over him.
“Tell me what happened to your mother.”
He wrapped his arms around himself.
“She got sick. She couldn't breathe right.”
“And then?”
“She fell in the bathroom.”
“What did you do?”
“I called 911.”
He said it quietly, without any hint that he expected praise. The words sounded like something he'd repeated to himself many times.
“Did the ambulance take her to the hospital?”
He nodded.
“Which hospital?”
“I don't know.”
“Did the paramedics arrange for someone to stay with you?”
“Mom said somebody was coming.”
“Who?”
“My aunt.”
“You have an aunt?”
He looked away.
I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold kitchen.
Maddie tugged at my sleeve again.
“Water.”
That settled the immediate question. Whatever had happened to Amber, these children needed help now.
“Come next door with me,” I said.
Bentley shook his head so quickly that his backpack shifted.
“No.”
“You can't stay here without water.”
“Mom said to stay.”
“She thought she'd be coming home.”
“She will.”
His voice cracked.
I crouched in front of him.
“I'm going to keep the door unlocked. If your mother comes back, she'll know where you've gone. You can bring whatever you need, and we'll leave a note.”
“What if she thinks we're gone?”
“I'll watch the driveway.”
“What if—”
“Bentley, look at me.”
He raised his eyes.
“You've been doing everything you can for your sister. But you don't have to do it alone anymore.”
His lower lip trembled.
“I'm supposed to take care of her.”
“You have been taking care of her. That's the problem. You're ten years old, and this is too much for one child.”
He glanced at Maddie, who was still clutching her empty cup.
“Can she bring Bunny?”
I followed his gaze to a worn stuffed rabbit on the couch. One ear had been sewn back on with thick blue thread.
“Bunny is welcome.”
It took another few minutes to persuade him to leave. He gathered two backpacks, three books, a plastic bag of clothes, and the rabbit. Maddie took my hand and walked across the porch in her pajamas.
Bentley followed, carrying everything as though he expected us to send him away if he put anything down.
I took half the bags from him.
“I can carry things,” he protested.
“So can I.”
“You're old.”
I stopped and looked at him.
His eyes widened.
“How old do you think I am?”
He considered the question seriously.
“Sixty?”
“Seventy.”
He looked astonished.
“Whoa.”
“Keep talking and you'll be carrying my laundry too.”
For a moment, a real smile crossed his face. Then Maddie asked whether their mother was home, and his expression closed again.
I filled two glasses with water. Maddie drank hers so quickly I had to ask her to slow down. Bentley took tiny sips, carefully lowering the glass between them.
“There's more,” I told him.
He nodded, but he still looked as though he didn't quite believe me.
I made grilled cheese sandwiches. Maddie climbed onto a chair and announced that she wanted extra cheese. Bentley waited until she was eating before touching his own food. When I offered him another sandwich, he accepted it without pretending he wasn't hungry.
After lunch, Maddie fell asleep in my recliner beneath one of Ray's old quilts. Bentley wandered to the bookshelf and stopped at a copy of Charlotte's Web.
“Have you read that one?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Ray loved it.”
“Your husband?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“Gone three years now.”
Bentley immediately looked embarrassed.
“Sorry.”
“You don't need to be. He had a good life.”
I took the book from the shelf and sat beside him. We had read a few pages when my phone rang.
Doug.
“Ma, did you go inside the Collins apartment?”
His voice was sharp enough to make me stand.
“Yes.”
“You can't just enter a tenant's unit.”
“Two children have been alone in there for nine days.”
“What?”
“Amber was taken to a hospital after collapsing. Her son called an ambulance. Nobody came to look after the children.”
Doug was silent for a moment.
“I knew the water was off,” he said finally.
I gripped the phone.
“You knew?”
“They were behind on rent. I sent notices.”
“You shut off the water?”
“I followed the proper procedure.”
“There is a three-year-old child in that apartment.”
“Amber hasn't answered her phone for over a week. I assumed she'd left.”
“You assumed?”
“I filed the eviction paperwork this morning. I can't keep running a property business on guesses about whether tenants intend to pay.”
I looked across the room at Bentley. He had lowered the book into his lap. He was listening to every word.
“Your father would never have treated people this way,” I said.
“Don't use Dad against me.”
“Then stop giving me reasons to remember him.”
Doug ended the call.
I stood in the hallway for several seconds, staring at the dark screen. Then I returned to the living room and sat beside Bentley.
“Is he going to make us leave?” he asked.
“Not today.”
“But later?”
“I'm going to do everything I can to prevent that.”
He looked toward Maddie.
“She doesn't like new places.”
“I know.”
“Mom doesn't waste money,” he said suddenly. “She bought Maddie's medicine last month, and then she didn't have enough for—”
He stopped himself.
I didn't press him. I could see that Amber had been choosing between necessities, trying to keep her children fed and cared for while the bills accumulated around her.
That afternoon, I called hospitals in our area. Each time, I explained that I was trying to locate a mother whose children had been left alone. Each time, I encountered privacy rules and unanswered questions.
After the fifth call, Bentley sat at the kitchen table with his hands folded.
“See?” he said. “Nobody knows.”
“Somebody knows.”
“What if she's not there anymore?”
I looked at him carefully.
“Why would you think that?”
His eyes filled.
“I don't know.”
It was the first answer he'd given me that sounded completely honest.
That evening, Maddie woke up crying for her mother. Bentley lifted her and walked slowly around the living room, repeating the words Amber apparently used to comfort her.
“Mama comes back.”
He said it firmly, but when his eyes met mine, I could see that he was asking me to confirm something I couldn't promise.
I made dinner and prepared the guest room. Bentley refused to sleep there.
“If Mom comes back and we're gone, she'll think something happened.”
So we carried blankets next door. I brought over Ray's old space heater and made sure the children had clean pajamas. While I washed the dishes, Bentley stood nearby, watching my hands.
“You don't have to clean up,” I told him.
“I can do dishes.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you doing them?”
“Because tonight, you don't have to.”
He looked down at the floor.
After a moment, he asked, “Will Mom be mad if you think she can't take care of us?”
I turned off the tap.
“I don't think that. I think something happened to her, and you need help while we find out what.”
He walked into the living room without answering.
I remembered a black pickup I'd seen parked across the street three days earlier. It had stayed there nearly an hour. I had assumed someone was visiting a neighbor and promptly forgotten about it.
Now I wondered whether I'd missed something important.
Before I could ask Bentley another question, someone pounded on the front door.
Doug stood on the porch holding a manila folder.
“I came to finish our conversation.”
I stepped outside and lowered my voice.
“Those children are sleeping.”
“And the eviction process has already begun.”
“You can stop it.”
“I can't pretend rent doesn't exist.”
“Nobody asked you to.”
“She's disappeared, Ma.”
“She was taken to a hospital.”
“You don't even know which one.”
“Neither does her ten-year-old son.”
Doug rubbed his forehead. His gaze drifted toward the other half of the duplex.
“Are they really alone?”
“What do you think I've been telling you?”
He sat on the porch railing and stared at the folder.
“I didn't know.”
“No,” I said. “You didn't look.”
For once, he had no reply.
He handed me the papers and left without making a promise. I watched him walk to his car, then returned to the children.
Maddie was asleep. Bentley lay beside her with one arm wrapped around her waist.
I went to my kitchen and sat beside the telephone, determined to widen my search the following morning.
At 9:17 that night, the landline rang.
Almost nobody used that number anymore. I stared at it for a moment before picking up the receiver.
“Hello?”
At first, there was only weak, uneven breathing.
Then a woman whispered, “Is this Miss Arlene?”
I stood so abruptly that my chair scraped backward.
“Amber?”
She began to cry.
“Please tell me my babies are still there.”
I gripped the receiver with both hands.
“They're safe. Both of them.”
A broken breath came through the line.
“Thank God.”
“Where are you? Which hospital?”
“Indianapolis.”
I closed my eyes. She had been in a hospital nine days away from the children who believed she'd never return.
Then Amber spoke again, and the relief I'd felt vanished.
“Miss Arlene, there's something you need to know.”
“What is it?”
“Don't let my husband find the children.”
I stared at the wall separating our homes.
“Your husband?”
“He wasn't supposed to know I survived.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: My Son Arrived With Eviction Papers While I Searched for a Missing Mother, but the Call That Came After Dark Changed Everything
Every Morning, a Ten-Year-Old Boy Came to Borrow My Bathroom, Until I Realized He Was Hiding Something Far More Serious Than a Broken Toilet
Part 2 of 8
