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Anne was sleeping restlessly. Her eyelashes fluttered frantical and she tossed her head discontendly, from side to side. Her mouth was cracked open slightly and she seemed to be mumbling in muttered little whispers. Mrs. Boonchuy was sitting next to her daughter’s bed. Her husband had carried Anne up to her room and tucked her in, he had left after a few minutes but Mrs. Boonchuy had dragged her daughter’s wooden desk chair across the room and positioned it next to bed. Now, she sat, holding vigil, over her daughter’s restless form. Hesitantly, she reached out and rested her hand on hand on Anne’s warm forehead. Sighing, she brushed her hands upwards, pushing back Anne’s curled bangs.
Tonight had been confusing. And startling. And horrifying. But it seemed like her whole life had been like this ever since her daughter’s thirteenth birthday. It had only been five months ago but it seemed like a lifetime.
She had sent her off that morning with a rushed kiss and a freshly made bun for breakfast. Anne had thanked her sweetly and skipped down the front steps. Mrs. Boonchuy had watched from the front door as Anne snapped on her helmet, hopped on her bike and peddled down the street to the neighborhood school.
The rest of the day had gone smoothly. She and her husband had spent the morning at Thai Go before closing early and heading home to set up for the party. She had blue paper streamers on the ceiling of the living room and scattered confetti colored balloons across the floor. Her husband had picked up a chocolate ice cream cake that was decorated with purple frosting. She had filled up paper cups with soda and cut up veggies for a tray.
When 5:45 rolled around and Anne still wasn’t home she sent her a test. It wasn’t completely unlike Anne to be late but she had stressed the importance of this party and how much they wanted her there, on time preferably. She didn’t start to worry until 6:15. She sent another text. And then another.
Anne. Where are you?
You are being rude. Your grandmother is here.
Anne?
What is going on?
But after a series of frantic texting they stopped being delivered.
SERVICE ERROR 301: Message delivery failed. Subscriber is out of reach.
“What?” she exclaimed. She turned to her husband. “Did you see this? Did she block me? You call her.”
He dialed her number.
“Put it on speaker,” she said.
The phone rang once because it was cut off.
“ This number is out of service.”
They sent the guests home. The cake had started to melt and chocolate ice cream was dripping off the counter and onto the kitchen floor below. Domino meowed and batted her food bowl. Anne always feed her dinner at 7:00.
At 8:00 they phoned the police.
The next few weeks were a nightmare. Her worst fears, ever since she held Anne as a crying little baby in her arms, were coming true. Her child, her daughter, her baby was gone.
And it only seemed to get worse once they realized that her two best friends were also missing. Not only had Marcy received upsetting news before but there was also the camera footage at the thrift shop downtown.
The camera quality was rough and the angle was awkward but she could obviously make out her daughter, in her Saint James uniform and pink backpack. She watched her daughter snatch an ornate music box off a tall shelf, stuff it in her backpack and slip out of the store. A coffee shop’s security camera down the street caught Anne and her friends walking down the street, giggling, hand in hand.
The investigation was short lived. It didn’t take long for the overwhelming amount of evidence to stack against them and Anne, Marcy and Sasha were labeled as runaways. The case was dropped. The police asked for a clear photo of Anne and missing flyers were created and distributed throughout the city. She saw her daughter’s and friends smiling faces on every street lamp and at every public bulletin board for the next few weeks after. Eventually, those flyers succumbed to the weather and disintegrated and were covered up with help wanted ads and flyers of other missing children.
They had tried to keep in contact with Sasha and Marcy’s parents but it was hard when they all so obviously blamed the other one’s daughters. Mrs. Boonchuy hadn’t always disliked Sasha Waybright. She had once been a shy and sweet little girl. She had said thank you and yes ma’am and wasn’t afraid to talk to Mrs. Boonchuy. She pushed in her chair after she stayed late for dinner and offered to help do the dishes, even though she could hardly reach the kitchen sink. But there had always been a hard and independent nature to her, something Mrs. Boonchuy had suspected it was due to her parents lack of involvement and down right neglectful behavior at times.
Once the girls entered middle school things began to change. Anne and her friends started getting into more trouble, Anne’s report cards and behaviors were also the cause of silent dinners and arguments at the top of the stairs. Mrs. Boonchuy knew her daughter had to be responsible for her own actions but she couldn’t help but notice the manipulative, and at times nasty, behaviors from Sasha. The dislike of her daughter’s friend grew over time. She tried talking to Anne about it once but she had defended her friend vehemently. So Mrs. Boonchuy dropped it. Now, she wished she hadn’t.
Marcy was a sweet girl and while Mrs. Boonchuy didn’t dislike her; she knew Marcy to be immature and thoughtless. If Marcy had presented some wild plan about running away Mrs. Boonchuy was sure that Sasha wouldn’t hesitate to join and that Anne would due to fear of disappointing her friends.
It made sense that they didn’t keep in contact with each other and so for five months the Boonchuy’s carried the burden of their missing daughter alone. On the weekends they drove outside of Los Angeles, driving through towns, stopping at bus stations, and talking to strangers. They shared missing posters of their daughter all throughout. They stalked social media accounts, looking for any sign, anything to tell them that their daughter was alive and well.
It didn’t take long for her fears to overtake her. She lay awake, paralyzed almost, in the middle of night, scenarios of her daughter hurt, lost, scared, hungry, tired, cold. Her daughter dead in a ditch, her daughter lost to her forever.
And of course the guilt.
Was I a bad mother?
Did Anne hate me?
Did she run away willingly?
Was it my fault?
Five months later she realized that the truth was a lot more complicated than any scenario that she had conducted in her head. She still hadn’t decided if this situation was better or worse. But her daughter was here, safe and whole. And she found that she couldn’t complain too much.
But after tonight, she realized that maybe they had been living in a peaceful bliss of ignorance these past few weeks. She didn’t realize how many unanswered questions there were and how many holes there were in her daughter’s story. The guilt was almost overwhelming when she realized that she had been happy to ignore the absences of Marcy and Sasha in order to have her daughter back. She had wanted things to go back to normally so badly but that was impossible now.
Anne was mumbling again, her eyes were screwed shut tightly. Mrs. Boonchuy was able to make out a muttered“Marcy”, before Anne rolled over.
“Anne? What about Marcy?”
“No,” said Anne softly. She continued tossing and turning, she was becoming more agitated by the second. Mrs. Boonchuy leaned forward and took hold of her daughter's shoulders.
“Anne, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.” She shook Anne’s shoulders lightly. “Wake up now.”
“Mm, mom?” whispered Anne as she blinked blearily. “I missed you.”
Sighing, Mrs. Boonchuy ran her hands over Anne’s hair, pressing down the messy curls. She pulled back but held onto her daughter’s hand. “I missed you too,”
They sat in silence for a moment. Anne was staring up at the ceiling, blinking her eyes as if willing away tears. Mrs. Boonchuy watched silently. Anne squeezed her hand tightly.
“Mom,” whispered Anne. She was suddenly more awake and had a serious look. She pulled herself into a sitting position with her back against the headboard of the bed. “I haven’t told you everything. I’m sorry.”
“I know, baby. I understand now.”
“No,” interrupted Anne, “I haven’t told you everything about Sasha and Marcy.”
“Okay,” said Mrs. Boonchuy, nodding along.
“Something happened. Before we left. Sasha and I fought. Well, we fought a few times but this was bad. I said some awful things and she did too. I was so angry at her. I wanted to hurt her. We wanted to hurt each other I guess. And Marcy…” Anne trailed off. She bit her lip. Her eyes were glued down to her fidgeting hands. “Marcy got hurt.”
Mrs. Boonchuy narrowed her eyes and nodded. She was trying to be encouraging but her heart was fluttering in her chest. She had a feeling that she knew where this was going. “You don’t need to say, darling. I think I know.”
Anne shook her head, tears were starting to puddle in her eyes. She screwed them shut and furiously wiped away the tears. “She might be gone and the worst part is that--is that I’m mad at her. She did something awful too and I’m still so mad. And I feel terrible because she’s probably gone, forever, and I was angry with her in her last moments.”
“I regret everything I said or didn’t say to them. And now, I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again. And I’m still so hurt and angry. I’m so confused, mom.”
It was like a huge weight had been taken off of Anne’s chest. She took a deep, shuddering breath before tears started streaming down her face. She buried her face in her hands and started sobbing. Her shoulders shook and she gasped for breath through her hands.
Mrs. Boonchuy pulled her daughter into her arms, “Anne, darling. It’s okay. It’s okay to feel this way, to feel sad and angry at the same time. I was so sad when you disappeared but I was also so angry with you at times.”
Anne pulled away. Her face was red and blotchy. “Mom, I’m so sorry. I should’ve come right home. I shouldn't have stayed out.”
“No. That’s not why I’m telling you this. I understand now. But I want you to know that it’s okay to feel these things. Do you see? They hurt you but you still love them. They’re your friends. And you mean a lot to them too.”
Anne nodded. Her face was still tight and a sob hiccuped in her throat.
“I know,” said Mrs. Boonchuy. She pulled her daughter close to her again, rubbing soothing circles across her back. Anne clung to her and sobbed and sobbed.