"And you'll be able to go outside, too," Daddy added. "All of your buddies have been calling and asking about you, Pierre."
He didn't respond to any of this, but his eyes moved from side to side, and I was sure he was wondering about Mommy.
"Mommy can't wait to see you, Pierre," I said. "She's out getting things for you."
Daddy said nothing.
When we arrived at the house, Aubrey came out to help and to introduce Pierre's nurse, Mrs. Hockingheimer, a short, stout woman of about fifty with light brown hair cut so straight it looked as if it had been ironed down to her jawbone and over the back of her neck. But she had pleasant green eyes and a soft, gentle smile that immediately put me at ease. As soon as we were all introduced, the first question on my lips for Aubrey was "Did Mommy return?"
Aubrey glanced quickly at Daddy and then shook his head.
"Did she call?"
"No, mademoiselle."
"Let's just get Pierre up to his room," Daddy said angrily. "Then we'll worry about your mother."
He carried...Pierre into the house and up the stairs, with Mrs. Hockingheimer following. She got Pierre dressed in his pajamas and comfortably settled in his bed. She already had provided something cold for him to drink. Pierre must have felt comfortable with her, because he let her give him a glass with a straw in it and started to drink when she asked him to. His eyes continued to shift from our faces to the doorway, anticipating Mommy's entrance. Daddy and I looked at each other, and then he signaled for us to leave.
"We told her Pierre had made some improvements," he reminded me. "Why wasn't she at the hospital today instead of gallivanting about with these voodoo women? I'd better start making phone calls to see if any of her friends or acquaintances have seen her today," he said and went to his office.
Later he came to tell me no one had seen or heard from her. "It's as if she stepped off the face of the earth," he added, now more concerned than angry. It was getting later and later, and the twilight was already turning the shadows in our gardens darker and making the streetlights come on.
"What should we do, Daddy? Should we call the police?"
"And tell them what? That my wife is out performing voodoo rituals somewhere? She's an adult, Pearl. I can't ask them to find her."
"But she's not thinking clearly, Daddy. Maybe she's wandering about confused."
He gazed out the window. Night was waving its wand of darkness over the world around us. "Maybe she'll come to her senses soon and return or at least call and tell us where she is," he said. He looked up at me with desperation and held out his arms. "I don't know what else to do, honey. We've got a little boy upstairs, who desperately needs his mother and she doesn't even know he's home from the hospital."
"Maybe that's where she'll go, Daddy," I said hopefully. "Then she'll come home quickly."
"Maybe, but she obviously hasn't gone there yet." He reached for his bottle of bourbon.
"Daddy, please don't drink too much tonight."
He hesitated and nodded. "You're right. I'd better stay alert. Who knows what will happen next?" he said, which put the pitter-patter in my chest and turned my legs to cold stone.
Another hour passed. Mrs. Hockingheimer tried to feed Pierre, but he was reluctant to open his mouth. I knew why. He wanted his mother. I stayed away from his room, not knowing what white lie to tell.
Daddy and I tried to eat a little, but neither of us had much of an appetite. We talked and waited and shifted our eyes from the clock to the door. Every gong of the grandfather clock was like a punch in the stomach. After dinner we went up to visit with Pierre. Mrs. Hockingheimer must have been wondering where Mommy was too, but she was too polite to inquire. She stepped out of the room while Daddy and I tried to talk to Pierre about everything else. Every once in a while, his eyes shifted back to the door until finally a single tear crawled over his right eyelid, and his lips began to move.
"Mom . . . Mommy . ." he said.
"Mon Dieu," Daddy said, bouncing up. "I can't stand this any longer." He charged out of the room and down the stairs.
I turned back to Pierre and took his hand into mine. "Mommy's very troubled and confused by what has happened, Pierre. She's trying to find the answers, but she loves you very much and wants to do something to help make you better quickly. She'll be here as soon as she can. You'll see," I promised, and then I kissed his cheek.
"Mom . . . Mommy," he repeated. He closed his eyes.
Mrs. Hockingheimer returned and examined him when she saw the concern on my face. "He's just exhausted," she said. "For him in his fragile state, being brought out of the hospital and set up here was a major effort."
I nodded and rose as she
helped Pierre lean back on his pillow. It looked as if he had fallen asleep. In this case, I thought, that was a blessing.
I went downstairs to look for Daddy and found him pacing back and forth in his study and gulping from a tumbler of bourbon. He was muttering to himself. "What right has she to do this? Why isn't she thinking of Pierre, if not of me? And Pearl. We have a family to protect, a little boy to heal. How could she do this?"