“What was the child wearing?”
“A…uh, a Bluey t-shirt? And shorts, I think. Long red shorts past his knees.”
“No, wait,” the mom interrupted. “Wasn’t he wearing that yesterday?”
The mall security guard looked between them.
“He, uh, he slept in it,” the dad continued, “he didn’t wanna change before we left and I didn’t wanna fight him on it.”
“So, blue shirt, red shorts” the security guard said, returning his gaze to his monitor.
“No,” the dad said, “the shirt is green. Bluey, the cartoon, is on it. The dog.”
“Cartoon dog,” the security guard repeated, pecking at the backspace key. He amended his entry, then looked at the parents blandly. “I’ve notified security across the mall to be on lookout. We usually find them pretty quickly, usually near the toys.”
“Are you gonna check the cameras?” the mom asked tightly. Her face was puffy and red from crying.
“We’re not there yet, ma’am. Why don’t you both have a seat? We’ve got a handle on it, I promise. Kids dip away from their parents all the time. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, they wind up back in here crying.
Henry Newport, please report to the nearest security kiosk. Henry Newport, please report to the nearest security kiosk. The announcement had cut suddenly into The Backstreet Boys’ “I Want It That Way” on the mall sound system. After a brief silence, they resumed singing.
The security office was smaller than their bathroom at home, and smelled faintly of popcorn and back sweat. They sat side by side in plastic chairs designed to discourage anyone from sitting very long. They looked around. The room felt beige. The carpet was grey and threadbare and punctuated by black spots where gum had been compressed by feet and time into smooth black slicks. Someone had taped a poster about lost children on the wall. They both avoided looking at it.
“I was only on my phone for a second. Mallory called. She had a bad connection. I told her to text me instead. And I hung up. That was it. And when I looked up…” the mom said, trembling.
“Hey, hey. No, this could’ve happened to anyone. I mean, I could’ve insisted he come to the restroom with me instead of waiting with you. If we start asking ‘what if,’ we’re gonna make ourselves crazy.” the dad responded. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“No, this is my fault. And now he’s who knows where? Scared and looking for us, or dead and left in some food court trash can.”
“Honey, come on, he’s definitely fine. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, right? What’s that, a one percent chance? When has our son ever been exceptional huh?”
Despite herself, the mom laughed nervously. “Oh, don’t say that!”
The dad, emboldened, continued “if you wanna know the truth, when you first told me he was missing, you know what I thought? Hand to God? I thought I’m glad he’s someone else’s problem.”
The mom gasped. The security guard looked up from his monitor. “You did not!” she said in a whisper.
“Oh, uh, no, of course not!” the dad said sheepishly. He should’ve stopped talking. He didn’t. “I mean, you know…right? He can be…a lot. Especially in public.”
The mom, stunned, pulled away from the dad. Her eyes were pulled immediately to the poster of the missing children. She sat, speechless, gazing at it, as if trying to gauge what sort of children ended up on it.
“You said yourself this morning that you weren’t looking forward to coming here with him. We can’t take him anywhere without it becoming a whole big dumb thing, right?” The dad floundered.
The mom pulled her phone out of her purse and began texting, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Hun, it was just for a second. I swear. I’m worried about him, but he’s gonna be fine. Pop in here any minute.”
A long silence. Then a buzzy voice burst from the security guard’s radio, startling everyone. “Go ahead.” the security guard said to his walkie. Both parents eyed the desk hopefully. But it was something about a raccoon or a balloon. The security guard glanced at them. “Nothing yet, but soon, I’m sure,” he said.
More silence. Then, in the middle of his quiet guilt spiral, the mom reached out and took the dad’s hand. And she said, just above a whisper. “Me too.”
“What?” the dad said, matching her volume.
“When I looked up and Henry was gone. The very first thing I felt. Was…relief.”
The dad only listened.
“I swear to God, I love him, I do. You know I do. But I couldn’t help it. In that moment. You know?”
The dad put his other hand on top of hers.
“Are we horrible parents? Are we even good people?” she asked. He didn’t answer. They sat in silence, holding each other’s hands.
