September 1994
"Rise and shine, Peanut," said Lauren spiritedly as she flung open the curtains to let the morning light flood in. "The day awaits."
Motherhood suited Lauren Robbins, nee Hansen, well. Fifteen years ago as a recent Northwestern University graduate, however, she couldn't have imagined so. Back then, she envisioned a life far different from the rural Illinois one she grew up in. With a B.F.A. in Art History, Lauren romanticized a 1970's counter-cultural lifestyle-- hitchhiking across Europe, experimenting with psychedelic drugs, having casual freewheeling sex with random strangers— all with the intent, like so many of her generation, of "finding" herself.
The ushering in of the eighties extinguished all those non-conformist hankerings overnight so it seemed. Hippies were old hat. Drugs got harder, greed became good and a new prudishness as well as the appearance of AIDS cast an ominous shadow over sexual liberation.
For Lauren, ever the consummate optimist, the future was beginning to look grim. To further darken it, what was to have been a year after graduation spent exploring her career options in the Windy City was now turning into three. If she dwelled on the matter for too long, she'd panic, fearing she might never get to Tibet, drop peyote with a shaman or live in a polyamorous ashram since she was too busy working her soul sucking job as an office temp and barely making ends meet at that. Day after day Lauren slugged through the corporate grind under the sick, florescent lights of the bullpen. And every day she died a little.
The bright spot in Lauren's life emerged, however, when she met Mark Robbins, a third year law school student at the University of Chicago. He was handsome in a rumpled, tweedy professorial way with just a hint of the yuppie-to-come underneath. He was humble, which Lauren found appealing, and he was determined, for he had goals he wanted to accomplish, the complete opposite from Lauren who had been feeling adrift since turning twenty-five. Being with Mark made sense to her in an otherwise senseless world. All her anxieties seemed to vanish once she got to know him. He had a way of calming her, anchoring her. Just one of the many reasons she fell in love with him.
One year after their chance meeting at an art exhibit, Lauren and Mark got married. After two blissful years together, they had their first child, Jennifer. Not long after the birth, an exhausted Lauren held the newborn close to her breast. To her surprise, Mark climbed into the hospital bed with them. Tenderly, he kissed them each on the forehead. When she looked at him, he had tears in his eyes. His voice broke: "My girls." At that precise moment, Lauren knew she was indeed his—heart, body and soul.
So what if she was still making payments on a twenty-thousand-dollar student loan for a diploma that was now dusty in a storage unit she never went to? To hell with her former feminist classmates who were most likely sneering, "A lot of good a college education did Lauren. All she ended up with was her M.R.S. degree." Lauren no longer cared about the "causes" or the bras she'd burned at college demonstrations. Not anymore. All that mattered to her was in that bed in that hospital room. What Lauren had rejected in college, she now fully embraced. After years spent meandering in search of her calling, she'd finally found it where she least expected it: in marriage and in motherhood.
After quickly making junior partner at a prestigious Chicago law firm with clear options of either making partner or opening his own practice, Mark encouraged and fully supported Lauren's decision to stay home. With his salary, they could afford living well on a single income. And so they did. By the time their second daughter Olivia was born, they'd bought a five bedroom Victorian home lakeside. In this upscale neighborhood, they were able to enroll Jennifer in a top-notch private elementary school and easily gain membership into the oldest, most exclusive country club. On the surface, they had every trapping of an affluent lifestyle. In spirit, Lauren and Mark stayed true to their middle class values of self-reliance, hard work and, most of all, family dedication. Beaming homemaker Lauren was the happiest she'd ever been working out in the garden, trying new recipes and doting on her daughters, especially the younger, Olivia.
When Lauren turned from the window, she saw Olivia's bed empty. "Peanut?" she called. She scanned the bedroom in search of only Olivia, her eyes skipping over the cubbies crowded with classic children's literature, piles of Beanie Babies, the easel in the corner with its large pad on which Olivia had meticulously drawn characters from Disney's Beauty and the Beast. The drawings were remarkably good for a child, even for an adult. Lauren had seen the potential and had signed her up for the most prestigious art classes.
Lauren zeroed in under the canopied brass bed across the room. "Gotcha!" she said, yanking up the bed skirt. It was a game they'd sometimes play in which she always found Olivia lying on her stomach, her head propped up on her elbows and smiling ear to ear. Lauren was a little unnerved when this was not the case.
She scrutinized the room again. "Livvie?" Lauren walked over to the closet and threw open the doors. No Olivia. No Olivia behind the dresser or in the toy boxes.
Lauren immediately took off to Jennifer's bedroom across the hall and knocked on her door, ignoring the taped sheet of notebook paper with skulls and crossbones and the words in big scrawled letters: DO NOT DISTURB. EVER!!!!
"Honey, it's me," Lauren said at the door.
Jennifer, dressed in her school uniform, painstakingly brushed her hair at the mirror. Under her breath, she counted the strokes, "Ninety-three, ninety-four," until she reached one hundred.
Another knock. Harder this time. "Honey?"
Reluctantly, Jennifer put down the brush and answered. "What is it, Mom?" She'd reached that age where she was perpetually annoyed.
Looking over Jennifer's head to see if Olivia might be in the room, Lauren asked, "Is your sister in there?"
Jennifer rolled her eyes. "God, no. And if she had half a brain she'd know better than to ever step foot in my room." Jennifer sounded more irritable than usual, prompting Lauren to pry.
"What's she done this time?"
"She took my brand new lipgloss and drew with it."
Lauren kissed the top of Jennifer's head. "I'll get you a new one. See you downstairs in ten." Lauren hurried down the hall, still on her hunt. She heard Jennifer slam the door.
Lately, Jennifer sometimes hated her sister. This new hatred unsettled her because up until a few months ago the sisters had been very close. They had performed scenes from Shakespeare. Olivia had played Romeo to Jennifer's Juliet; each had recited by heart Hamlet's "To Be or Not To Be" soliloquy; they had taken turns playing the witches and sword fighting as Macbeth and Duncan. In Mark's comfortable Range Rover on trips to their grandparents, they had belted out the lyrics to "A Whole New World" from the car's backseat. Olivia had even crawled into bed with Jennifer when she couldn't sleep. Jennifer had read Charlotte's Web until little Olivia's eyes grew heavy with sleep. "I love you, Jenny," Olivia had whispered through her yawns. Jennifer had always replied, "I love you more."
These days Jennifer yelled at Olivia about anything. A misplaced toothbrush, a sneeze, Jonathan Taylor Thomas not answering her fan letter. It didn't matter; she didn't need a reason. "I hate you!" Jennifer often hollered, slamming her bedroom door in her little sister's face. Gone were the days of make-believe, Shakespeare and Charlotte's Web. Jennifer had now gone past locking Olivia out of her room. She was locking her out of her life. Lauren blamed puberty. Jennifer, on the other hand, blamed something else.
Olivia was stunningly beautiful. Her intelligent eyes were piercingly blue and her straight hair, a glossy raven, fell just beneath her shoulders. Her skin was porcelain-smooth yet velvety. Her elegance, along with her certitude, were beguiling to most adults for it was only when Olivia smiled did her full and sensual lips retrieve her childhood innocence. Family, friends and even strangers were starting to remark on her exceptional looks: "What a beautiful child." "What a lovely girl." "She's already a knock-out." "She ought to be in pictures, Mrs. Hansen. My card. I know just the right people." That's all Jennifer ever heard. That and how bright Olivia was.
"Extraordinarily gifted," was what Olivia's teachers had told Mark and Lauren at parent-teacher conference. Next school year, they were placing Olivia in an accelerated program since she was so much more advanced than the other children her age.
Yes, Olivia had gotten both brains and beauty, Jennifer often thought. Not that Jennifer was in the least stupid or ugly. She just felt that way in Olivia's increasingly radiant presence.
With her nervousness building, Lauren threw wide the kitchen closet as Mark leaned on the kitchen island, sipping his latte and skimming the Wall Street Journal, his morning ritual. Lauren opened every door in the room.
Mark glanced up from the newspaper. "What are you doing?"
"Looking for Olivia," explained Lauren. "She's hiding. She does this sometimes when she doesn't want to go to school."
Mark lowered the paper. "Why doesn't Livvie want to go to school?"
"I think it's because of Zachary."
"Who's Zachary?" That was the first time he had heard the name.
Just then Jennifer bounced in and grabbed a juice box from the fridge. "Her boyfriend," and then she closed her eyes and made kissy faces. She knew this would cut Mark to the bone.
"Her boyfriend?" Mark said icily, each syllable stressed.
"He's not her boyfriend." Lauren briefly looked up from her quest for Olivia.
"Then who is he?" This was Mark's nightmare. Boys. Boys in school. Boys on bikes. Boys in cars. Boys with concert tickets. Boys with tattoos. Boys with dime bags. Boys with dirty mouths, dirty nails, dirty feet, dirty morals. Boys with smooth talk. Boys with rough words. Boys carrying diseases. One day coming to court his girls.
"He's a friend," Lauren abruptly responded to Mark's interrogation. "He asked her to see The Lion King with him and his family. I think she's a little nervous about going."
"You're letting her go? What do you know about this kid?" Mark was very serious.
"He's sweet," Lauren reassured him. For the time being, she paused in her search. Olivia was just being difficult, she thought.
"They're all sweet," he snapped. "Don't you know it's an act?"
Lauren went over to Mark. "Was it an act with me?" she asked comically coy against his unwarranted cold exterior.
"Yes. At first," he said brusquely. Lauren raised an eyebrow at his answer. He continued. "That's how we are. Men – boys – are shits."
"Daddy, that's a dollar you owe the till," said Jennifer as she tossed the scrunched up juice box in the recycling bin.
"A dollar? For what?" asked Mark.
"You said a bad word." Jennifer, batting her lashes, held out her hand to him.
Mark reached in his pocket and took out his wallet. He opened it. "All I have is a twenty." Jennifer still held out her hand. He gave her the bill. She then placed it in a canister on the counter. "What about my change?" he asked.
"The swear jar doesn't give change," she informed him.
The atmosphere in the kitchen lightened. More relaxed now, Mark turned back his attention to Lauren. "I want to meet this kid and his family before they take our daughter to the movie."
"Okay, tough guy," said Lauren, lovingly straightening his tie. She smoothed down his shirt. And then, from out of nowhere, something stirred inside her that she allowed herself to yield to. She kissed him. Not the peck she'd normally send him off to work with but an intense lingering kiss, her mouth opened slightly. She'd always found Mark, the Concerned Father, a turn-on. Today was different though. Today, she felt an unknown naked need to be close to him, to his body.
"Ewwwww. Hell-o?! Like, I'm right here," interrupted Jennifer grimacing.
Lauren and Mark stepped away from the kitchen island, both a bit flushed and taken aback by what just happened. Lauren cleared her throat and picked up where she left off. "Olivia! Olivia!" Lauren walked faster, any trace of passion disappearing as fear began to take over.
Not sensing Lauren's seriousness over the matter, Mark grinned to himself and wiped his upper lip.
"You know, Dad, you're, like, middle-aged married people. That was just gross," Jennifer tossed over her shoulder and flounced out.
As Lauren rummaged through the last storage box in the garage, complete panic swept over her. Olivia was nowhere in or around the house. Lauren's breath became fast and shallow, and she felt as if her hammering heart could be seen pounding through her sweatshirt. She clutched her chest. "Mark!" she managed to get out between breaths, "Mark!"
Mark rushed in, tossing his jacket and briefcase to the ground when he saw Lauren gasping for air. "What is it?"
The words she tried to spit out seemed to be choking her. She pressed her hand on her throat, and she felt the artery in her neck throbbing rapidly.
"Breathe, honey." Mark gently put his arm around her to comfort her as he had done before. "Come on. Breathe for me."
Lauren finally sucked in some air and exhaled. At last, she was able to say the words that had gotten stuck in her throat, the words that had made the panic that gripped her real. "She's not here," she whispered sharply.
"Livvie? Not here? Don't be silly."
"I've checked the house," she attested. "She's not here." What she couldn't think she now knew since only a mother could feel a child's absence with such steely certainty. She trembled all the way to her core.
Early in their relationship, Mark had seen Lauren in the throes of a rare anxiety attack, but this was nothing like that. She was hyperventilating. He was convinced he had to calm her down quick or she might go into a seizure. "I'm sure Livvie's here," he told her gently. "She's just found a new hiding place. Did you check the attic?"
All at once Lauren's composure went callous. "She wouldn't go in the attic. She hates heights. You know that," she hissed. "I'm calling the police." Scrambling to her feet, she ran towards the house.
Mark grabbed her by the arm. "Honey, don't you think you're overreacting?"
Without thinking, Lauren slapped him across the face. She jerked back her arm as he reached for his cheek to rub out the sting. "I've checked everywhere in this house. She's not here, Mark. Don't you get it? A mother knows her child and my child is not here!" Tears welled up in her eyes. "Oh, God. My baby. My baby," her wails turning to sobs.
Lauren's knees suddenly buckled under her weight. Just as she was about to collapse to the floor, Mark collected her in his arms. "Look at me," he told her pointedly. She shook her head vigorously, trying to break from his clutch. He cupped her face in his hands and directed her frenzied energy at him. "Shh, shh. Look at me," he urged. It worked. She steadied. His voice remained mild. "She has to be here. We'll find her. I promise."
He hoped his words gave her some reassurance, but he knew they were futile. He was powerless. And for the first time in their years together, Mark realized he couldn't console her.
"Jennifer! Jennifer, come out to the garage!"
Jennifer ran in carrying her backpack for school. "Dad, if we don't leave now, we—" Jennifer stopped dead in her tracks. She was in shock, never having seen her mother come unhinged.
"Be with your mother. I'm going to check with the neighbors." Mark darted out.
Jennifer, still dismayed, cautiously made her way over to Lauren. "What's wrong? Is it Livvie? Mom?"
Lauren held open her arms for Jennifer to fall into. Jennifer hesitated, momentarily paralyzed from the sheer distress her mother was unrecognizable to her.
"Livvie's okay, isn't she?" Lauren then seized Jennifer, holding her so tightly Jennifer thought she might suffocate her.
Three hours later Lauren, Mark, and Jennifer sat in their living room with two police detectives.
"What was she wearing?" the older detective asked. The younger one looked baby-faced next to his senior partner who seemed like a man who'd witnessed the worst of the world.
"A nightgown. Striped. Blue, yellow and green. She hates pink." Lauren forced a smile and shredded the tissue in her hands.
"The color of her underwear?"
Lauren felt the detective was getting much too personal, making an uncomfortable situation even more so. Her eyes filled with terror as she looked over at Mark. She swallowed hard.
"I have to ask, ma'am," the detective asserted.
"She's five years-old for God's sake. A child." Mark ran his fingers through his hair then got up from the couch to pace.
The detective gave them a minute then asked again. "The color of her underwear, ma'am."
With that, Mark slammed his fist on the baby grand piano, the top coming down, the strings reverberating. "That's my daughter!"
Jennifer recoiled in her chair. The piano still echoed throughout the house.
"Get him an ice pack," the grizzled detective told his young partner. He obliged, setting the notebook on the side table before he went to the kitchen.
Lauren blew her nose. Mark held his pulsating hand.
"White." Jennifer uttered, barely audible. "Her underwear was white."
The detective picked up the notebook, jotting this down before reading back the report.
"Mother put Child to bed at approximately 8:30 PM last night. When Mother went to Child's bedroom the following morning at 6:30 AM, Child was not there. Father, Mother, and sister searched home, garage, all hiding places. Went to neighbors. Called classmates. Father called police department to report child missing at 8:30 AM, Wednesday, September 20th." He glanced at his watch. "It's now 10:40 AM."
The detective paused, silently rereading before asking, "You're positive you checked all her hiding places?"
"Yes, I'm positive," Mark said. "We all checked." Any remainder of Mark's patience was now worn down.
The detective surveyed the room. Expensive furniture, fine art work. Nothing in this house had been a clearance item.
"Do you have enemies, Mr. Robbins?"
"No!"
"You are a prosecuting attorney."
"And just what, Detective, does that have to do with anything?" Mark knew what he was getting at, but he couldn't bring himself to think about it let alone say it. He'd put dozens of criminals behind bars, the most notorious one being mobster kingpin Lorenzo DiBenedetto who had close ties to city officials. What if he actually somehow was responsible for Olivia missing? How would he ever be able to live with himself?
"Do you think she may have been kidnapped?" Lauren's voice quavered as she spoke her anxieties aloud.
"It's possible," the detective shrugged.
"No! We have a security system. The alarm would've gone off." Mark refused to believe this was a revenge kidnapping.
"So, who knows the code?" the detective proceeded.
"Just me and my wife."
Then it was most likely an inside job, the detective thought as he studied Mark suspiciously. He sucked his teeth, a habit of his, and took down a few more notes. At first glance, Robbins didn't seem the child predator type, but the detective had seen enough in his long career to know such impressions meant nothing.
"Mr. and Mrs. Robbins, as the law stands, before I can classify your daughter as missing, she has to be gone forty-eight hours." The detective hated telling parents this since every parent intuited the first forty-eight hours were crucial in finding their missing child.
"But -- but by then she could be anywhere," Lauren stammered. "Anything could--" she trailed off. She visibly collected herself. "No. No. You've got to look for her now."
"We'll search the area. Most likely she's still in the vicinity." The detective tried to calm them. "Meantime, I'd like you to make posters with her most recent photo and physical description."
He looked over at Jennifer who was trembling uncontrollably. "Can you do that, Jennifer? Make posters?" Jennifer nervously nodded yes. "Mr. Robbins, you might want to start reviewing your finances. In case you get a call."
Lauren burst into tears.
The detective didn't want to be rude or insensitive, but if he wanted to get this case moving he had no time to waste soothing anxious parents. "Ma'am, I know this is a lot to ask, but we need your full attention, so you've got to pull yourself together right now."
Mark had had enough of this detective and his hard-ass attitude. "Our daughter is missing and you ask my wife to pull it together? Un-fucking-believable. You insensitive assholes. Unbelievable."
Detective Baby Face returned with a bag of frozen broccoli for Mark's hand. He dropped the bag as he stared at the top of the staircase. "Sir?" he gestured. The detective looked up. Standing in her striped nightgown and rubbing her eyes was Olivia.
Mark, Lauren and Jennifer all turned around. Lauren reacted first. "My baby!" and then she raced to the stairs. Mark and Jennifer followed.
At the top of the stairs, Lauren scooped Olivia up in her arms, kissing her cheeks, her eyes, her nose, her ears. "Are you okay, honey?" She raised her gown, checking for any marks on her body. There were none. She pulled the gown back down and cradled her. "My baby. You're okay. She's okay."
Mark was next. He picked Olivia up and kissed her. Jennifer held tight to Mark's waist. Under her breath, she gave surprising gratitude: "Thank you, God."
"Livvie, where were you? You had us so worried, sweetheart," Mark asked gently.
"My room." Olivia was matter-of-fact.
Of all the answers in the world, no one had anticipated this one. Everyone, including the detectives, had gone over Olivia's room, the house and the yard several times with a fine-tooth comb.
"You weren't in your room, baby," Lauren stroked Olivia's hair. "We searched your room. The whole house. Where were you, honey? You can tell us. We won't be mad."
Olivia yawned, wrapping her arms even more tightly around Mark's neck. Lauren brushed the hair out of Olivia's eyes and studied her daughter's features more closely. Something was amiss. Yes, this was her Olivia, but something was different. Her smell, maybe? Her heartbeat? Her body temperature? Something was off; Lauren was certain. After all, a mother knows her child. Still, she couldn't quite figure out what the difference was. "Oh, I don't care where you were, Livvie. Just that you're here now." She kissed her again.
Both detectives stood to the side, observing. While the younger one smiled broadly at the touching family portrait, the older one hesitated. Perhaps because he'd heard so much about Olivia he'd expected more. More vibrancy. She was an arresting child to be sure, but that other undefinable quality that was supposed to set her apart from other pretty faces just wasn't there. In his opinion.
At that moment, Olivia's gaze turned to the older detective's. It was intense yet at the same time oddly distant. He raised his hand to offer a slight wave, a token of friendliness. She did not respond. Although her eyes were fixed on him, she wasn't looking at him at all. She was looking through him, staring into empty space. He shivered, cold all of a sudden.
After the police had left, the day's stress waned. The family tried to settle back into normalcy. They ordered a cheese pizza, not their usual weekday fare, but it was Olivia's favorite. For the first time, she didn't touch any of it. She excused herself and went to her room.
"Maybe she just wants to be alone," Mark suggested.
"Maybe," Lauren agreed politely. She gulped back whatever tears she hadn't cried. She threw out a half-eaten pizza in the trash.
Olivia spent the rest of the day in her room. Lauren and Mark didn't disturb her or prod her with questions; they simply let her be. She'd come around.
Except she didn't.
That night, still awake, Olivia searched intently in her closet for something, although everything she might need seemed on display around her room. Purposefully, she pulled up a chair to gain height, trying to get the thing within arm's reach, that thing that was shoved way back on the top shelf. After a brief struggle, she finally pulled it down. She looked at it, vaguely remembering the little girl who gave it to her last year for her birthday. Some appreciation she had for it. She hadn't bothered to take it out of its box. She wasn't even sure what to do with it.
As fast as she could, she ripped it from its package and snatched it up by its hair. She then examined it carefully like a scientist might a specimen. She stripped it of its clothes. She lay it on the bed to inspect it more thoroughly. With one inquisitive hand, she surveyed its face, its torso. Then she pressed a thumb between its legs. With her other hand, she felt her vagina. She inserted her fingers. She stared at the thing, her focus heated and roused. She got on her knees. She rubbed her pelvis up and down on her arm, instinctively knowing if she did this long enough she would feel warm and tingly all over. A soft pulse started beating between her legs. Her movements became more aggressive. Her breathing quickened.
When she heard the knock on the door, she immediately extracted her fingers and sat back in bed.
The door opened. "What are you doing, Peanut?" Mark and Lauren entered. Olivia gripped the thing closely to her chest.
Lauren looked at Olivia, confused. "Barbie? You never play with Barbie." Lauren tried to take it away from her, but Olivia's grasp was strong. "Okay, sweetheart. You can have Barbie."
Mark picked a book from the cubby. "Charlotte's Web," he smiled, holding it up to her. "Your favorite."
Olivia was stone-faced.
Lauren sat down on the edge of the bed, her concern mounting. "You know we love you, honey. Me. Your dad. Jenny. We all love you."
"I know it's not the Zachary kind of love." Mark could now afford to be amused.
"Who's Zachary?" Olivia asked.
Lauren was stumped. This was the boy Olivia had gone on and on about for days, the boy with whom she'd said she wanted to travel to the moon and back.
"I hope you don't mind, Peanut, but I told your dad about him."
"It's okay. But I would like to meet this boy who stole my daughter's heart," said Mark.
Olivia yawned. "I'm tired."
Lauren caressed Olivia's cheek, recalling the day she'd discovered her pregnancy. Lauren's connection to Olivia had been immediate. She'd known she was having a girl and although that girl was still only the size of a peanut, she knew she would grow up to do extraordinary things. Their bond became so profound over the years she often wondered if the umbilical cord had truly been severed. That was until now.
As she pondered the geography of Olivia's face, Lauren realized the mischievous glint was gone from Olivia's eyes. Replacing it was a vacuous stare that unsettled Lauren and left her ill at ease. Lauren found herself yearning for that familiar abdominal pull that was gone when she looked at Olivia now. That invisible maternal tie by which Olivia had strung her along had been cut. Unexpectedly, with finality.
Olivia was foreign to her.
Unsure of what else to do, Lauren whispered, "Maybe tomorrow you'll tell us where you were." She bent down for a kiss. She wanted to catch a faint whiff of Olivia's scent just to be sure it was her daughter.
"Good night, sweetie." Mark, the Caring Father, kissed her. "Keep the door open."
"And we'll do the same, in case you want to sleep with us." Lauren shut off the light.
"Mom? Leave the light on," Olivia asked flatly.
"Sure, honey." Lauren turned the light back on. She still lingered in the doorway.
Mark had to nudge her. "Come on, Lauren, let's let her sleep."
On the way down the hall to their room, Mark happened to look up at the ceiling's attic door. He saw that the latch had clearly been tampered with. He chuckled, drawing Lauren's attention to the latch. "And you said she wouldn't go in the attic."
Right then the burden of all the questions Mark had about Olivia's whereabouts were lifted. Nothing much changed for Lauren: she still carried heavy doubts, not entirely convinced that the attic had been the hiding place.
Lauren and Mark went to bed. Olivia lay in hers, wide-eyed, unblinking, gazing steadily into nothingness.
There was something Mark and Lauren had failed to see. On the easel earlier that day, Olivia had crudely sketched a picture of herself unclothed, on her back, on a table probed by a figure that, to an outside observer, might very well look like a child's drawing of an alien.
To those familiar, it was definitively a Grey.