Read Online Where They Found Her by Kimberly McCreight - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kimberly McCreight
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tone of voice. With Hannah, Barbara could never do anything right.
Barbara spotted Cole at the far back of the group in his dark gray caterpillar-body sweatsuit, a hand cupped near his mouth, whispering to his friend Will. Whatever he said made Will giggle. It was nice, the boys’ friendship. And Will was very sweet. High-energy but very, very sweet. He wouldn’t necessarily be the boy Barbara would have chosen to be Cole’s friend, but that was more because of Will’s mother.
Barbara didn’t even dislike Stella, she just found her so confusing. It wasn’t simply that the two of them were different either. Despite what some people seemed to think, Barbara didn’t pick her friends based on whether they made the same life choices. She did tend to steer clear of women with “big” careers. But that was because they so often made her feel as though talking about her children meant she was a less worthwhile (and significantly more stupid) human being.
The worst part about Stella—who had said she used to be a stockbroker so many times that Barbara sometimes wondered if she had Tourette’s and waved her divorce around like a bra on fire—wasn’t her swollen résumé, it was her unpredictability. Stella could be blatantly inattentive in certain ways, wildly overprotective in others. It turned scheduling a simple playdate into a minefield. The latest was Stella’s claim that Will didn’t like going to other people’s houses, that it made him nervous. It was obviously a lie. Will was the least nervous child Barbara had ever encountered.
Barbara had always gone into every conversation with Stella hoping they would find common ground, only to walk away feeling as though she’d stepped on Stella’s toes again. It was silly, really. The fact that Stella and Barbara would never be friends—and there was no question about that—hardly seemed reason for them not to be friendly . These days, Barbara would have settled for civil.
When the children had gotten their coats on, Barbara watched them shuffle single-file toward the door. She wiggled her fingers in Cole’s direction, but he didn’t see her as he headed toward the steps to the side yard. Barbara drifted to the windows to watch them spill outside. Most of the children ran for the playground equipment, a few clinging to the edge of the building as if they’d been turned loose in an unfriendly prison yard. Cole moved fast, sprinting alone for the back fence. He didn’t stop until he’d reached it, linking his fingers through the wires as he stared across the empty, muddy fields that stretched behind the school. Watching him made Barbara’s heart ache.
She felt such love for both her children, but Cole was much more like Barbara: simple, straightforward. Her love for him was, too. Hannah was like Steve, a big bleeding heart. Between Hannah’s tutoring and Steve’s police work, it was as if they were trying to save the world one needy stranger at a time. Deep down, Barbara knew that their compassion was their strength. But in her experience, all that caring for strangers came at a cost. The only question was who would pay.
There were benefits to Hannah’s sensitivity though. She never wanted to disappoint. So she didn’t drink or do drugs or anything like that, and there were no tattooed older boys sniffing around. There were no boys at all to speak of yet. Barbara had made clear that girls who ran around having sex in high school had no self-respect. And Hannah, being Hannah, had listened without Barbara ever having to repeat herself.
Barbara squinted in the direction of Cole, still staring across the field. What on earth was he looking at?
“Oh, Barbara,” Rhea said, startling her from behind. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was going to call you later today.”
“Call me?” Barbara asked, feeling caught off guard. “Why?”
Rhea smiled and motioned toward two small chairs. “I was hoping we could match notes about Cole.”
“Cole?”
Barbara spotted Cole at the far back of the group in his dark gray caterpillar-body sweatsuit, a hand cupped near his mouth, whispering to his friend Will. Whatever he said made Will giggle. It was nice, the boys’ friendship. And Will was very sweet. High-energy but very, very sweet. He wouldn’t necessarily be the boy Barbara would have chosen to be Cole’s friend, but that was more because of Will’s mother.
Barbara didn’t even dislike Stella, she just found her so confusing. It wasn’t simply that the two of them were different either. Despite what some people seemed to think, Barbara didn’t pick her friends based on whether they made the same life choices. She did tend to steer clear of women with “big” careers. But that was because they so often made her feel as though talking about her children meant she was a less worthwhile (and significantly more stupid) human being.
The worst part about Stella—who had said she used to be a stockbroker so many times that Barbara sometimes wondered if she had Tourette’s and waved her divorce around like a bra on fire—wasn’t her swollen résumé, it was her unpredictability. Stella could be blatantly inattentive in certain ways, wildly overprotective in others. It turned scheduling a simple playdate into a minefield. The latest was Stella’s claim that Will didn’t like going to other people’s houses, that it made him nervous. It was obviously a lie. Will was the least nervous child Barbara had ever encountered.
Barbara had always gone into every conversation with Stella hoping they would find common ground, only to walk away feeling as though she’d stepped on Stella’s toes again. It was silly, really. The fact that Stella and Barbara would never be friends—and there was no question about that—hardly seemed reason for them not to be friendly . These days, Barbara would have settled for civil.
When the children had gotten their coats on, Barbara watched them shuffle single-file toward the door. She wiggled her fingers in Cole’s direction, but he didn’t see her as he headed toward the steps to the side yard. Barbara drifted to the windows to watch them spill outside. Most of the children ran for the playground equipment, a few clinging to the edge of the building as if they’d been turned loose in an unfriendly prison yard. Cole moved fast, sprinting alone for the back fence. He didn’t stop until he’d reached it, linking his fingers through the wires as he stared across the empty, muddy fields that stretched behind the school. Watching him made Barbara’s heart ache.
She felt such love for both her children, but Cole was much more like Barbara: simple, straightforward. Her love for him was, too. Hannah was like Steve, a big bleeding heart. Between Hannah’s tutoring and Steve’s police work, it was as if they were trying to save the world one needy stranger at a time. Deep down, Barbara knew that their compassion was their strength. But in her experience, all that caring for strangers came at a cost. The only question was who would pay.
There were benefits to Hannah’s sensitivity though. She never wanted to disappoint. So she didn’t drink or do drugs or anything like that, and there were no tattooed older boys sniffing around. There were no boys at all to speak of yet. Barbara had made clear that girls who ran around having sex in high school had no self-respect. And Hannah, being Hannah, had listened without Barbara ever having to repeat herself.
Barbara squinted in the direction of Cole, still staring across the field. What on earth was he looking at?
“Oh, Barbara,” Rhea said, startling her from behind. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was going to call you later today.”
“Call me?” Barbara asked, feeling caught off guard. “Why?”
Rhea smiled and motioned toward two small chairs. “I was hoping we could match notes about Cole.”
“Cole?”
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