Lost and Found

Chapter Twelve

Underneath my bed, used to house old shoe boxes and as of lately, bottles of alcohol, but now there are a few small boxes of diapers, a changing mat I found at Target, and a bag full of baby clothes I have been collecting for months. In a small purse, I've long since given up using, is cash. All of the tips from work, old christmas money, birthday loot and any other cash I have ever come across. I wonder, if subconsciously I knew something bad was going to happen, perhaps that is why I squirreled away all my cash since I was fourteen. It is, good now to have that. For, when I turn eighteen the only stop before Los Angeles, will be the bank. To drain my savings account and drive. The money, which was for college, and rent, and groceries will hold me over for a while. Then I remember, that money is supposed to hold Harper, and I over. I feel a twinge in my chest. When the police finally started searching, it had been two whole days, and there was no leads yet. Absolutely none, it was as if she had gotten in the car with him, and vanished. Maybe she had, then another worse thought comes to mind. What, if he made her vanish?

I don't know, really how my mother hasn't realized the pregnancy. I thought, she would've realized when I was puking every morning for two months, or when my stomach swelled to the size of a basketball. But for almost full term, my stomach is surprisingly small. Something she could chalk up to weigh gain, or bloat. Or, she hasn't noticed. I did look it up, I'm on the small end of things. Even though I thought that it would show, even through the shirts that were meant for people who weighed three hundred pounds. But I suppose, when your child is missing, and your other child is safe at home, or at work you do not worry about her, or look at her too deeply. Especially, if you have knocked back enough chardonnay. My mother, has thrown herself into her work, hearing other people speak about their problems, to ignore the looming one in her life. The fact that there is, no trail, no leads, no Adrian, no Harper. I guess, with her spending her days at work, or doing whatever it is she does, there has been little interaction between the two of us. We stick to our boundaries, and parameters, do our best to move within them.

My daughter, is the size of a corn. I am in considerable pain now, my feet are also the size of corn. My body, is no longer mine, and I can't sleep unless it's on my side, with a pillow under my back and I can't sleep long anyway.

I have never been an active dreamer, my sleep has always been dark and completely dreamless. But, ever since I got pregnant, my imagination has kicked into overdrive. My dreams, have become vivid, and real. Last night, I dreamed they found Harper. Her body, that she was found in a bus terminal, in a suitcase. I had been there, and so had Adrian, who had remained completely silent. When I woke up, it was in a cold sweat, the sheets around me drenched. I shuddered now, feeling fear bubbling up inside me. It was then, I felt three kicks, in a row. This, calmed my nerves a bit. I rolled onto my side, which took a great deal of effort as pregnant as I was. I sat up then, and reached for my phone. I was half hoping that here was a text, from Will. What would be the first one in months. But there wasn't. He had gotten the hint, to stop texting me, after I hadn't responded for weeks.

But now, racked with the guilt of losing my sister, and hiding my daughter from the world. I wanted him, I wanted to tell him. But how? I was seven months pregnant. He would know, and he would hate me for keeping his own child a secret from him. Or, he would know and be grateful I had kept it a secret. He was twenty, I was seventeen. He could get, in too much trouble. And, who's to say he even wanted to be a father. He had gotten clean, and perhaps a child would change that. I wouldn't blame him, if it did.

So, I rolled over and stared at the wall. I'd painted stars on it, two years ago. I used to love to paint. On the mantel in the living room, there are drawings and paintings I used to make, when life had meaning and things were easy. Now, as I glance around the room at the small things I've painted here and there, it gives me joy, to see the sun and moon painted on the ceiling above me. It reminds me of innocence.