Chapter 8
Marcus didn't say anything at first when we got to the entryway. He just stood with his hands by his sides and looked at the front door, then back at the living room where Tara was.
The entry was small and bright, the hardwood catching the afternoon light from the sidelight windows. Our shoes were lined up on the mat. Tara's black purse was still on the console table where she'd left it, zipped shut. Her coat wasn't there though. It was hanging in the closet, the door cracked open an inch.
"You've checked everywhere else I've been?" Marcus asked her.
Tara stayed near the couch, arms crossed over her black shirt. Her gold pendant caught a little light when she moved. "I've looked where I put it. It was in my purse. I counted it this morning."
Marcus nodded once. He didn't argue. He turned to me. "Maya, stay here for a sec, okay?"
I nodded. My cream sweater felt too warm. I pulled at the ribbed neckline a little and then let my hands drop.
He stepped toward the closet and then stopped. He looked down at himself, at his brown trousers and navy polo like he was remembering something. He slipped his right hand into his front pocket.
The silver watch on his left wrist glinted when he moved his arm. It was a quick flash against the dark blue of his sleeve.
He pulled his pocket inside out. Empty. Just the white lining. He did the same with the other front pocket. Nothing. Then he checked the back pockets, patting them flat before he turned them out too.
"See?" he said, looking at me, then at Tara. "I had pockets. If I'd moved something without thinking, it would be here."
He wasn't being dramatic about it. His voice was even. He just showed his palms afterward, like that was the point. He wanted us both to see there was nowhere to hide anything.
Tara's mouth tightened a little but she didn't say anything.
"Can you hold this for me?" Marcus asked me, and handed me his keys. They were warm from his pocket.
I held them tight. The metal edges pressed into my palm.
He then opened the closet door all the way. Tara's coat hung there, dark wool, over the other jackets. He didn't touch it. He just looked at it for a long second, then shut the closet again gently.
"Come on," he said to me. "Let's check the car. Same way we checked everything else. Fair."
Tara followed us to the door but stopped at the threshold. "You don't need to go through the car," she said. "It wasn't in the car."
"We didn't think it was in the kitchen either," Marcus said, not unkindly. "But we looked. Let's just be thorough."
The air outside was cooler. Our car was in the driveway, a silver sedan that still had pollen on the windshield from the oak out front. Marcus unlocked it with the fob and the lights blinked.
He opened the driver side door first. The inside smelled like coffee and that air freshener Tara liked, the little tree hanging from the mirror.
"Where did you set your purse when you got home?" he asked Tara over his shoulder.
She stayed in the doorway, one hand on the frame. "On the passenger seat. For a minute. Then I brought it inside."
Marcus nodded and leaned in. He checked the door pocket first, running his hand along the bottom where there were napkins and a gas station receipt and a pack of gum. He pulled each thing out and set it on the roof of the car so we could see.
I stood on the other side and looked through the passenger window. The seat was empty except for a faint crease where something heavy had sat.
"Can you check that side, Maya?" he asked.
I opened the passenger door. It made that soft chime sound because the keys were still in his hand. I felt along the door pocket the same way he did. There was a folded parking lot ticket from school pickup and some loose change. No folded bills. I showed him my empty hands.
He crouched and ran his hand between the passenger seat and the center console, where things always fell. His watch glinted again as his wrist turned, catching the sun through the windshield. His fingers came up with a french fry that had gone hard and a penny.
Nothing else.
He checked under both floor mats, lifted them, shook them. He looked in the glove box and closed it. He even checked between the back seats where my booster seat used to be.
There was no fifty dollars. No money at all except the quarters and nickels in the door.
He stood up and brushed his hands on his brown trousers. He looked at Tara in the doorway, then at me.
"Okay," he said quietly. "So it's not in my pockets. Not in the car where the purse sat. Not in Maya's backpack, not in the living room, not in the kitchen."
He wasn't accusing. He was just listing what we'd cleared, one by one.
I felt my shoulders drop a little, even though my sweater still felt itchy. I wasn't the only one being checked. He'd checked himself first.
Tara shifted her weight. Her hand slipped off the door frame.
"So what does that leave?" Marcus asked. He wasn't looking at me anymore.
May you like
I knew what it left. The purse was still on the console inside, and the coat was still hanging in the closet behind it. The two things that had been with Tara all day.
We stood there in the driveway with the car doors still open, the chime still going, and none of us moved to close them yet.
