retracted.
“Ma’am, unlock the door and let the girl out.” His
voice was calm but Lane noticed his hand was resting
on his gun.
She pointed to the old man. “He’s threatening us.”
But now, she saw, he wasn’t. She could hear the old man
pleading with his policeman to do something about her.
“Your granddaughter’s okay,” his policeman was say-
ing. “See? She’s okay.”
“Ma’am.” All courtesy was gone from her policeman’s voice. “Unlock her door.”
Numb, she pressed the button and the lock clicked.
The old man swung the door open and yelled for Francesca
to hurry up and get out. He struggled to pull her free.
“I’m stuck, Grandpa. That hurts.”
Through a haze of confusion Lane told Francesca,
“You have to unbuckle.” She told the old man, “Her
seat belt is buckled.” She told the cop, “She can’t get out.
She’s still buckled.”
There was a rush of fabric, shirt struggling against
seat belt, and Francesca was free. Her arms were wrapped
around her grandfather’s neck. As he ran she asked him,
“Why are you crying? Grandpa, don’t cry. It makes me
cry when you cry.”
The crowd split apart to allow them across the
lawn. The man, Francesca’s grandfather, clambered up
the steps and stumbled, clumsy as a bear. The crowd
gasped. A policeman ran over and ushered grandfa-
ther and granddaughter to the house. A door yawned
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Rules for Moving
open to receive them. Several people hurried in. The
door closed.
“Miss Fiske went inside,” Henry whispered to Lane.
“With Miss Abramowitz.”
She tried to take this in, that someone had called the
school counselor because Francesca was missing. That
someone had called Miss Fiske.
An ambulance careened onto the block. Competing
strobes from the emergency vehicles cut through the dark
of the night turning it red, then blue, then white.
The policeman at Lane’s door left to talk to a team
of paramedics.
“Can we go?” Henry whispered.
Lane flicked on her blinker and pulled away from the
curb. She could not afford to look in the rearview mirror
because she knew if she saw Henry’s frightened face now
she might fall apart, right here, driving the car. She sat up straight and focused on the road, which was why she
had no idea until she turned onto her block, until sirens
pierced the quiet of the night, that two police cruisers
had followed her.
h h
h h
She saw the rest as if watching from above. The first
squad car pulled close to her rear bumper. The second
one pulled ahead and then backed up until that fender
was kissing hers too. Her car was sandwiched in, as if
they were worried she might try and escape.
It was a different policeman at her window now, one
with a granite face and slits for eyes. “Do you know why
we pulled you over?”
She shook her head.
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“Why did you flee the scene?”
“What scene?” she asked but another siren tore through
the night, drowning out her voice. A third squad car
turned onto her street. Three sets of cherry lights flashed.
House lights flicked on next door and then across the
street and then spread, like a virus, up and down the
block. The new policeman conferred with the ones who
were already there.
The granite cop came back and stood at Lane’s car door,
pointing his flashlight toward the back seat. Henry lifted up his arm to shield his eyes. “Ma’am, who’s the boy?”
“My son.”
“Can you please ask your son to roll down his win-
dow? What’s his name?”
“Henry. He won’t speak to you. He doesn’t speak to
anyone—”
“Ma’am. Window. Down.”
She saw Henry fumbling with the buttons on his
door panel to lower his window and realized with a start
that he had never raised or lowered his own car window
before. His parents controlled his windows. His parent, she corrected herself. She pressed the button on her door
panel and his window slowly lowered.
The granite policeman moved a few steps back.
“Henry, right?” Henry nodded. The policeman shined
his flashlight on Lane. “Can you tell me who this is?”
He waited a moment and then asked again. “Son, who’s
sitting behind the wheel of the car?”
“Hey buddy,” Lane said. “I know this is hard for you,
but can you try—” Lane saw his eyes fill. Another piece
of her heart chipped off. Henry tried. He always tried.
“He can’t answer a question like that,” she told the granite policeman. “He can’t speak to strangers even if he wants
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Rules for Moving
to.” She could feel her anger surging. It wasn’t going to
help this situation if she was in a rage. She paused, took in a breath, let it out. “He can understand you and he can nod and shake his head. If you ask him a yes-or-no question, he can answer.” She turned back to Henry. “Don’t
be scared, buddy. He’s just trying to find out if I’m—”
“Ma’am. I need you to be quiet now.” The hard surface
of the policeman’s face was interrupted by a line where
his mouth was supposed to be. When he turned back to
her son nothing softened. “Son, I need you to tell me
who is driving this car.”
“I told you,” Lane snapped. She stopped. It would not
help to yell. She took another breath. “He cannot answer
that kind of question.”
Two cops hurried over, hands on holsters. Granite
cop stepped away. The three cops huddled. Even as they
discussed how to proceed, granite cop’s eyes remained
fixed on Lane. When they split up, it was a different cop
who came to the car. A younger cop, whose face hadn’t
turned to stone.
“How you doing?” he asked Henry. Henry didn’t
move. “Not so good, huh? Me neither. I’m going home
soon, though. I got a son your age at home. You’re seven,
right?” Henry shook his head.
Lane watched through the mirror, hands clenched
on the wheel.
“My mistake,” the cop said. “Eight?” Henry shook
his head again, this time with more conviction. “Don’t
tell me you’re six. You’re too big to be six. Are you six?”
Henry nodded. The policeman pointed to Lane. “You
know this lady?” Henry nodded. “She a neighbor?”
Henry shook his head. “Friend?” Henry shook his head.
“Relative?”
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“He wants to know if we’re from the same family,”
Lane explained.
Henry nodded.
“Is she your aunt?” the cop asked. Henry shook his
head. “Is she your mom?” Henry nodded.
Lane didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath.
It came out in a rush. “Why are you questioning hi
m?
What’s going on?”
Granite cop was back. “Because of the girl. The one
you locked in your car.”
“Francesca?” This made no sense. “Her mother asked
me to take her to book group.” Her voice got louder. “As
a favor. She asked me to take her and I took her and I
brought her home.”
For a moment both cops, granite and young, stood
still. They looked as confused as she felt. When they
stepped away to join the third cop for a conference, she
felt her heart racing. Her eyes took in the small crowd
that had gathered across the street. The old woman from
the corner house—she met her the first time she picked
up Henry at the bus—was standing in her bathrobe next
to her neighbor, the man Dana told her lived alone with
his five daughters. There were other neighbors, neighbors
she’d never seen before, all of them standing with mouths
agape, watching the drama unfold as if this was their own
personal episode of Law & Order.
A walkie-talkie broke the silence. Two of the cops
peeled off to respond, their squad car squealing as they
raced to the next emergency. Only granite cop and not-
yet-granite cop remained. They stood close, granite cop
glancing over his shoulder at intermittent intervals to
make sure Lane had not fled again while not-yet-granite
cop spoke on his phone.
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Rules for Moving
When not-yet-granite cop was done with his call he re-
turned to the car. “Appears there’s been a misunderstanding.
I apologize. I’m sure you can understand that when we get
a report about a crime in progress we have to check it out.”
He turned to Henry. “Sorry if we frightened you, sport.”
“What kind of crime?” Lane asked.
“Abduction. We got more than one call.”
“I abducted Francesca? Her mother asked me to take
her to book group. I told her aunt that’s where we were
going. Did you talk to her mother? Did you talk to the
aunt? Francesca told me her aunt was mean. What did
her aunt say?”
“We’ve been in contact with the mother. She’s embar-
rassed. There were complicating factors. It was a confus-
ing situation. I apologize. But calls come in—more than
one—that a woman grabbed a child off the sidewalk, we
have no choice but to respond.”
Lane thought about the car that drove down Francesca’s
street, the one that would have hit the girl if Lane hadn’t pulled her out of harm’s way. Was that who called? The
glaring driver with the big eyes? Or was it the mean aunt
with the tortoiseshell clip who wouldn’t open the door more than a crack? “Something is not right in that house,” Lane said. “Instead of questioning me you should look into that.”
“It’s an unfortunate misunderstanding.”
“Are you going to explain that to my neighbors?” She
gestured to where they stood, watching. “Are you going
to report that to my son’s teacher?” She didn’t mean to
be shouting. She wasn’t a shouter.
“Ma’am. I understand. And I apologize. Are you okay?”
She had to be okay. Henry was watching her closely.
She took a deep breath. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine if we can
go inside. We both want to go inside.”
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Nancy Star
The cop opened the door. “You know what I think?”
he asked Henry. “I think you deserve an extra cookie
tonight. What do you say, Mom?”
“Yes.” Lane got out of the car. She could feel
her neighbors watching, hungry for details. Should she
go over to them to tell them what happened? She started
toward them, but Henry tugged at her sleeve so she
stopped. He wanted to go in the house. So inside they
went.
They were there just long enough for her to find—to
her relief—that there was a box of cookies in the cup-
board, when the bell to the side door rang. Henry stood
up, ready to bolt.
“Hang on, buddy. I’m sure it’s just a neighbor checking
to see if we’re okay. Will you stay with me? You don’t
have to talk.”
He nodded.
She didn’t recognize the man at the door, even after
he introduced himself.
“Nathan,” he said. “Nathan Knapp. Silent K.” He
waited. “Your landlord.”
“Oh. Of course. I’m sorry. Come in.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry,” he said as he
walked into the kitchen. “Dana’s been telling me about
all the things that have gone wrong here. I apologize. I
had no idea. I thought I kept the house in great shape.”
He noticed Henry and smiled. “Hey pal.”
Henry moved behind her. Lane moved her hand be-
hind her back and Henry held on to it.
“Sorry to intrude,” Nathan said. “But when the police
called, I figured I better come over.”
“They called you?”
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Rules for Moving
“Not exactly. The monitoring company called the
house. When no one answered here, they called Dana’s
cell. That’s the first number on their list. Dana’s out of town—overnight, I don’t know where—so she told the
monitoring company to call the police. Then she called
me. She told me she’s going to call the monitoring com-
pany tomorrow to get your cell added to the list.” He
saw her confusion. “The alarm went off. Dana tried your
Lane pulled out her phone and saw the long list of
missed calls.
“Everything’s fine,” Nathan told Henry. “No intruder,”
he told Lane. “The alarm company says something went
kerflooey in the electric panel.” He saw something in
Lane’s face that he couldn’t read. “You okay?”
And just like that the events of the night hit her; she
felt unsteady on her feet. She gently moved Henry so that
she could sit down on the closest chair. Henry sat down
beside her. “I’m fine,” she told her landlord. She turned
and saw Henry was studying her face. “I’m fine, buddy,”
she told him and then leaned over to give him a hug.
“I apologize,” Nathan said, “for all the stuff that’s gone wrong with the house. I swear I thought it was in great
shape. I asked my contractor if he ever heard of a house
all of a sudden going bad. He said sometimes it happens
with an old house. But it’s nothing fatal. It’s like a phase.
It will pass. Everything can be fixed. I wouldn’t set the
alarm tonight, though. Are you okay with that? They’re
coming tomorrow between noon and two to check it out.
I can let them in, if you can’t be here. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s not a problem. I’ll be here.” It really was the least of her problems. Henry looked up at her and leaned over
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Nancy Star
and rubbed her arm and she gave him another gentle hug,
this time longer.
Later Nathan told her it was that moment, seeing
Henry gently rub her arm, seei
ng her lean over to give
him that tender hug, when he had the surprising thought:
Could a woman like this ever be with a man like me? He knew right away the answer was no. This woman had the world
ahead of her and he was like his house, in a bad phase,
except with him the phase was probably not going to pass.
What Lane remembered about meeting Nathan that
night was thinking, This man, watching this sweet domestic scene, he really has no idea.
196
May 15, 2017
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Dear Roxie,
Something is weighing on me and though I’ve tried for
some time to navigate the best way forward, I finally
realized this is not something I can figure out myself. I
need your help.
Here’s my question: When is the right time for a
parent to reveal themselves to their child? I’m talking
about their deep down true self. The person they start-
ed out wanting to be before certain things happened,
the way things do, that turned their life’s path into a
dead end.
Some days I think it’s best to do this early on. Share
your story when your children are young. If that’s correct, 197
Nancy Star
it’s too late for me. Other days I think a person should
wait until the children are grown, with children of their
own. If that’s the case, the time for me to tell is now.
Some days I think the answer is never. Some things are
never okay to share. Some days I think the most loving
thing a parent can do is to die with their story untold.
This comes up now because it’s just occurred to
me that my children don’t know me at all. Not really. At
least not the person I started out to be, before my life
took a turn.
Sadly, I’ve been through this once before, with my
mother. When she was alive, we were close. People
were jealous of how close we were. They’d say so all
the time. But after my mother passed away, I learned I
only knew a fraction of who she was. I was only a frac-
tion of her story.
Now I’m on the other side of that equation. I’m not