Night, Forgotten

Original Edition - Chapter 32: Now

Diana meanders on the wooded path ahead of me. Her hair is tied in a loose braid, a few silver strands trailing beside her on the frosty breeze. Thomas's tiny head, covered in a warm knit cap, bobs up over Diana's shoulder with every other step she takes. She's wearing him on the front of her body in a long piece of fabric that she's fashioned into a sling.

I never had a moment alone with Sadie after we came inside last night. I wanted to talk with her when they got home from Mass an hour ago, but before I could bring it up, Father Eagan came to take her back to Boston.

Almost immediately after Sadie left with Father Eagan, Owen went out again to borrow some extra paint from Marcus. Apparently, the Dolans have some powder blue left over from a recent project and Owen's going to use it to finally paint Thomas's nursery.

I'm still beyond confused about why he reached out to Marcus for help on anything. As far as I know, they haven't seen each other since Thomas was born except that one time Marcus and Liza brought over a meal. And it's not like Owen ever liked Marcus that much anyway.

I have so many questions for him when he gets back. Even though I have no idea why Owen would borrow paint from Marcus instead of just buying some, I'm relieved to have a little more time to get my thoughts together before I have to face him.

Because he'll certainly have questions for me, too. He'll want to know the details about what Sadie drew at breakfast this morning, especially since he said that he'd heard me get up in the night. It's up to me to get Diana on board with my story before he gets home.

That's why I'm following her through the woods; I'm on a mission. I need to steer her toward the Dolans' shed, so she can stumble upon my missing earring for herself. It should be safe where I left it yesterday, before Thomas was kidnapped in the night, even though it rained this morning. I need her to find it there and it needs to look like a coincidence, as if I, too, am shocked to find the tiny golden bird hidden beneath the shed's bottom step.

Then, when Owen comes home and asks me to please explain why Sadie drew the shed and what she's talking about when she says I was outside with our infant son last night, I won't be the only one with something odd to report. It will be a lot easier for him to believe that something suspicious, even supernatural, has been going on with the shed if his mother defends my position.

Diana needs to find the earring herself.

A few strides ahead of mine, Diana's boots crunch in the fallen leaves. Her gentle voice, speaking aimlessly to Thomas, is carried back to me on the wind. She seems to be playing an observation game with my son, pointing out the almost-bare branches and the calls of the winter birds, as if Thomas can comprehend the meaning of her words.

She's doing what you're supposed to do with babies: Talk to them and encourage them to observe the world around them. If only I could be one of the natural things that Thomas observes around him.

"Look at the trees," Diana coos to the baby. "See them up there, Thomas?" The trees bend and wave overhead, obligingly, but Thomas gives no indication that he notices them. "They've been here forever," she continues. The way her Boston accent spins off that last word, "fo-re-vah," gives it the quality of actually going on forever. Without the closure of the final "r" sound, the word seems to float around us endlessly.

The dark shape of the Dolans' shed comes into view through the trees, up ahead to our left. We're nearing our destination, even if Diana doesn't know it. It's hard to tell whether or not she knows I'm listening to her. But if she continues on this trajectory, she'll end up right in front of my missing earring.

"The trees here are big and old," she tells the baby, allowing her voice to take on a singsong, storybook quality. "They've watched every person who has ever walked along this path, over all the generations. Lots and lots of people. And now here we are." She stops walking abruptly, forcing me to stop, too, so I don't collide with her.