A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

KATE
11 YEARS BEFORE
May
As promised, Bea and I drive to the babysitter’s to pick Leo up. We
park on the street, then walk to the door, sharing an umbrella. When
we reach the door, it sounds like mass chaos on the other side. I rap
my knuckles against the door. When that fails to get anyone’s
attention, I pound. Charlotte, the babysitter, comes. As she draws
the door slowly open, I catch a glimpse at the anarchy on the other
side. A TV is on, volume loud, but no one watches it. Instead, a
group of kids play Simon Says, while another plays tag. They chase
each other in circles around the living room, leaping on furniture
whenever necessary to get away from It.
It’s madness to play tag inside, and yet it’s raining outside. And
even if it wasn’t raining, the ground is sopping wet from days of rain.
It’s too wet to play in.
I try and get a head count. But the children are constantly on the
move; they’re impossible to count. If I had to guess, I’d say more
than a dozen, including the one who hangs from Charlotte’s leg,
wanting a ride. The kids are hysterical, slaphappy.
I have to look a while to find Leo. He sits by himself at a small
table in the corner of the room. He pieces together a puzzle, alone.
The kids run circles around him. One knocks into the table. It’s by
accident only, and yet it’s careless, insensitive. It’s a little girl who
does it, taller than Leo by a head. If she knows what she’s done, she
doesn’t apologize. She keeps running, laughing, while Leo’s puzzle
goes flying to the floor. The pieces separate. No one but Leo and me
notice. Leo’s face falls, but he doesn’t cry. He looks so small in
comparison to the others as he scooches his chair out and drops to
his knees, reclaiming the fallen puzzle pieces.
“Can I help you?” Charlotte asks, peering at Bea and me through
the screen. I let my gaze fall from Leo, feeling sad. Charlotte’s hair is