The Kidnapper's Wife

14. After

It's my first day back at work after my doctor's appointment, and I am less than thrilled to be sitting at my desk staring at a client case file. Ever since the situation with Connor, my firm has allowed me to work from home. For the most part, I meet with clients over the phone, or even on Skype, only once in a blue moon going into the office for an in-person meeting. It's been so difficult to leave the house, that I am appreciative of the arrangement, although my mother thinks it's unhealthy.

"You need to get out!" she tells me constantly, "Move on! Be in the world!"

She's probably right. But the firm isn't thrilled at the spectacle surrounding me, the instant recognition of the clients when they see my face now. So the agreement suits us both.

I click through the client's file, utterly uninterested. Finally, I give in to temptation and click over to my research folder on Connor instead.

One of the first things the police actually revealed to me that they had uncovered during the investigation into Connor were his foster parents. One of his sets of foster parents, I suppose I should say, because Connor had many. But Connor's last set of foster parents took him in when he was sixteen, and he remained with them until he graduated the foster care system at eighteen.

When the police originally told me that Connor had been in foster care, I think they did it to prove a point. The point being, darling we hate to break it to you but you know nothing about your husband. Back then they were still working to convert me to their side, the side against Connor. And so, during one of the seemingly infinite, excruciating interviews, they pulled out his foster parents like the subject was no big deal, even though they knew I had no idea they even existed.

I still remember the way they formulated the question

"Did you ever travel with Connor to where he grew up in Kentucky, maybe to visit his foster parents?" Detective Brown asked me nonchalantly.

"Foster parents?" I had echoed back, dazedly, "Kentucky?"

I didn't believe him for at least a half hour. They had to bring in the legal guardianship document, signed by both his foster parents, before I would even consider that it might be true.

But of course, there was a lot I couldn't believe back then. Now I would believe almost anything about Connor. Anyway, since I was in shock for a long time, it was a while before I started doing research of my own. I don't know why I didn't just accept what the police told me at face value. Or maybe I did, and I just needed more, needed to see for myself all the lies Connor had presented to me.

At any rate, I found myself, one rainy December morning, on the phone with Barry, Connor's foster father. We had corresponded briefly by email, and Barry had given me permission to call him and chat, after hearing that I was married to his former son.

"It's so nice to meet you Jade!" Barry greeted me warmly, the hint of a southern drawl penetrating his deep voice, "Even if it is under such unfortunate circumstances."

"You too!" I was using my work voice, my peppy, cheerful, attorney voice. It protected me from letting my emotions seep out.

"Thank you so much for offering to talk on the phone with me."

"Well of course, this ordeal has been hard enough for us, I can only imagine what it must have been like for you, being married to him!"

"I can't say it's been too fun," I agreed, my voice losing a bit of its cheerfulness.

A slightly awkward silence descended upon us.

"Was there anything you wanted to know about Connor, any insight we might be able to provide?" Barry asked gently, as if aware I was struggling, "We've shared what we can remember with the police of course, but I'm not sure how much they convey through the pipelines to you..." he trailed off uncertainly.

"I, I guess my main question is just, was there ever anything, ever any sign of-of-"

"Of the fact that Connor would kidnap a fourteen year old girl at thirty two? You know Jade, it's a good question, and it's one I've been asking myself a lot lately. I think when these things happen, our first instinct is to blame ourselves."

I felt like he had just spoken the very thoughts I'd been feeling for so long and I quickly jumped in, "I- yes! That is exactly how I've been feeling!" I gushed, "I keep wondering if there was something I could have done."

"Like I said," Barry's voice was calm and kind, "It's a logical question. But I will also say this: I think it's easy to look back at life and see the signs, knowing what happens. But noticing things in the moment is a lot more difficult than in hindsight, and I think that it is important to remember that. For all of us."

He paused, as if considering whether to continue. Finally he did, "So to answer your question, yes, I do think there were some signs that Connor was...different. But I try very hard not to blame myself for missing them."

"What sorts of signs?" I tried not to sound too eager.

"Well, when Connor was seventeen, he told us that he had gotten a job as a camp counselor for middle schoolers. We were thrilled, he was showing initiative, and spending his summer productively. For weeks, he went to work every day, and everything seemed fine. Then one day, he didn't leave the house at his usual time. When my wife went in to check on him, he told her he had been fired but wouldn't say why. When we called the camp director, she informed us that Connor had been caught in the bathroom with a sixth grade girl. Apparently, they were in a shower together, in their bathing suits."

Barry sighed, remembering, "When we asked Connor about it, he insisted that the girl had simply asked him for help shaving, after seeing him shave his face, and he had made a bad judgment in helping her himself. The girl told a similar story. But I always felt there was more to the story, even at the time. I think that was one of the first signs, at least that we saw."