We’ve been driving for a half hour before I decide to press him with questions. I watch as all familiar surroundings disappear into shrouds of juniper trees followed by open desert. The kids are sitting amazingly still in the back, not wanting to make a sound, the fear and apprehension silencing their little voices.

“Where are we going?” I needed to know.

He places a warm hand on my thigh, but I refuse to acknowledge it.

I ask again, “Where are you taking us?”

“Why do you need to speak with Paula?” He averts the subject as usual.

“Tell me where we are going, and I’ll tell you why I need to speak with her.”

He grins, and I can’t figure out why; how, in the midst of this turmoil, he could find this situation even remotely humorous.

“We should be safe at my parent’s house,” he finally says. “I can’t let anything happen to you and the kids.”

I should have known better. How did I not recognize the route we were taking? Has it really been that long since I’ve visited his parents? 

I sigh anxiously. The last encounter I had with his mother did not end well. I decided to say a silent prayer for courage and strength to get through what’s ahead. My prayer, however, is interrupted by a whining Lilly. 

“No! No! No!” she protests, kicking the back of Anthony’s seat.

“Sweetheart! Baby girl!” he reassures her in his calm “daddy” voice. “We’re going to Nana’s house. We’ll be there soon, okay?”

She doesn't care. It’s obvious she is lacking attention, and most definitely missing her mother. The wailing begins shortly thereafter, followed by shrieks and screams. Anthony is ignoring it, as though completely used to her outbursts. I, however, can’t stand it. 

I shift my body slightly to the left, so I can caress her soft little hand in mine. A few moments later, the screams turn into silence as she finally falls asleep. I turn all the way back to look at Adrian. He is asleep, too.

The drive to his parents’ house lasts about an hour and a half. They live in Glendale, on a new-build golf course community designed for retirees. I don’t particularly care much for the Phoenix area. I have always found it to be unbearably hot, and his parents’community had not much to offer besides, you guessed it…golf. 

I begin to calculate the years that have passed since I last saw his parents. Four maybe? Three and a half? 

“What will they think? Us showing up randomly at their doorstep? You and I together with the kids? Candace gone??”

Anthony places a hand on my thigh, and clears his throat. “It doesn’t matter, does it? What matters is that you and the kids are safe.”

“Are you going to tell me what the note said?” I remove his hand. Surely he can sense my mistrust of him.

“Take a look for yourself.” He pulls the journal out from the side pocket of the vehicle’s door and places it on my lap. His eyes are still focused on the road ahead, his expression stern.  Perhaps he’s a little annoyed at my refusal to let him get close to me.

I flip to the “to-do” list page, and examine the two sticky notes side-by-side, both warnings and barely legible, most definitely written by the same person. The sticky notes are exactly the same color and from the same note pad. 

After noting the obvious similarities, I bring myself to actually read the crumpled note he had stuck to the page on the left-hand side:

Your kids are next. Your true love second.

I don't know whether to laugh or let fear consume me.. 

“That’s it?!” I slam the journal closed. “Your kids, then your true love?! Next for what? Hah! You believe this crap?”

He grips my thigh again, but this time, much harder. “You know this note was for me, right?”

“That part is obvious,” I say.

He shakes his head, and I dare to say what comes next…

“And just who the heck is your true love, anyway?”

He didn’t like that, evidenced by his grip tightening on the steering wheel, his jaw clenching so tightly, I wondered if his teeth might break under the pressure.

“These notes are cheesy,” I manage to say. I’m struggling to make light of the situation. “Do you think a child could have written them?”

Suddenly, he makes the truck swerve aggressively to the shoulder of the highway, forcing it to an abrupt halt. 

I have to catch my breath and steady it to calm myself. I twist my body to see if the kids have woken. Anthony’s hand comes down on my right shoulder. His breathing is heavy and labored. I feel terrified, all of a sudden when I register his expression.

“Laura, I need you to take this a little more seriously!”

I refuse to make eye contact.

“Candace is missing. Is that not enough evidence for you that this person means business?!” He waits for me to respond, but I am too tired and in shock to do so coherently. He takes a deep breath, like he knows he’s overstepped. “I can’t lose you.” 

He takes my chin in his hand delicately and positions my face towards his. 

“You are my true love.”

No…I don’t believe him. How can I believe him? Unwanted tears sting the corners of my eyes as I muster all of my strength to keep my cool. Besides, I am at a loss for words. I angle my body forward and away from his.

“Can we just get there?” is all I can manage to make out. I refuse to let him win my heart all over again, refuse to let him make his way back into the spotlight, refuse to be held victim to his ways for the second time.

Thankfully, the remainder of the drive flies by quickly, the 103 degree heat of the day cooled by the setting sun to a God forsaken, albeit more bearable 89 degrees. 

As we pull up to the beige adobe-style ranch home, the driveway brightly lit, but the windows dark inside, I realize that a simple phone call to them would have made our arrival a little less imposing. 

“Wait here.” Anthony leaves me in the truck waiting anxiously as he approaches their home. 

It’s 8:05 pm, not exactly the perfect time to announce a surprise guest visit. 

I wait for what feels like an eternity, propping the car door open, so I can breathe amidst the staggering heat. The kids are fast asleep. Crickets are chirping steadily. Their ensemble seems to be growing louder and louder, as though my mere presence is irritating them. 

Just as I glance again at my phone to check the time: 8:19 pm, Anthony shows up and walks around the vehicle to open my door,

“It’s fine.” He pats me on the back, like I’m a dog. “Let’s go. I’ll grab the kids.”

I have a hard time gathering up the courage to approach the front door. I stand awkwardly, duffle bag in one hand, a bursting plastic grocery bag filled with diapers and kids’ clothing in the other, as Anthony shoulders the door open. 

The first thing I notice as I enter the home is the sweet sickly smell of perfume. I’m expecting Anthony’s mother to be lurking on the other side of the door. 

Instead of being met with friendly faces however, the house is empty and still, except for a TV quietly broadcasting the latest in international soccer. I suspect Anthony’s father, James or “Jim” as we would call him is in there now, settled down with his feet up, Irish whisky in one hand, remote in the other. 

Just as I make the decision to set my bags down on the cool travertine beneath my feet, he lurches into the hallway, his gaze meeting mine, instantly.

“Laura!” He throws his big arm around me and gathers me up into a tight bear hug. “How’ve you been? It’s been a minute, yeh?” His Irish accent is still thick as ever. He is exactly as I remember him — still a rather large and burly man, his beard a gnarled mass of course, ashy spirals. His piercing brown eyes, just like Anthony’s, are literally glowing in the dim light of the foyer. 

I try to perk up and appear pleasant, despite my exhaustion. “Jim, it’s been so long.”

The smell of sweet whisky radiates. His ways are predictable, as are his son’s, and as are his wife’s. I have a feeling she will appear any minute, wearing her light teal robe and moccasin slippers, her hair tightly pinned in curlers — a routine she has been honoring faithfully since her early twenties. I turn and wait in anticipation of her arrival, but I am caught off guard by Lilly sobbing. She has woken in Anthony’s arms.

“The spare bedroom is all yers,” Jim announces. “I’ll let you get to it.”

“I’ll put her to bed,” Anthony says. 

I recall the queen-sized bed in the spare bedroom, and wonder where the children will actually sleep. “We don’t have a cot for her,” I say, “And where is Adrian going to sleep?”

“You can sleep in Nana’s bed, right Adrian?” Mary finally makes an appearance from beyond the master bedroom. She is humming tunefully, and seemingly unaware of any tenseness over the situation. Her moccasin slippers scuff against the tile as she strolls towards us, hands up at her sides, like a dainty little school girl.

Adrian seems delighted by her offer, but I feel hesitant. He scurries towards her to wrap his arms around her frail and delicate waist.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Hello, Darling.” Mary leans in to place a superficial peck on my right cheek. She is keeping up appearances as usual, and tonight is no exception. Even at this late hour she sports a full face of make-up, her over-the-top perfume forcing me to gag and clear my throat. “Anthony told me all about your ordeal. You must be so worried, the pair of you!” 

She shakes her head in sympathy. “Now, please don’t worry about us. Just get some rest. You must be so knackered!” 

Mary was raised in England, but as the story goes, she met Jim in Waterford, when she attended college in the south of Ireland. She is a high-maintenance woman, and I mean that in a very neutral way. She has always enjoyed the material luxuries of life, and she has made Jim pay for them since the day they met. They are well off as a couple and generally good-natured, God-fearing people, but in all the years I have known them, we have never seemed to share a single thing in common, besides our love for Anthony. 

Nonetheless, I am grateful for their hospitality, and I smile politely as we say our ‘good nights,’ and ‘thank yous’ before heading to our separate rooms. 

“Anthony…” I whisper to him as he lays on the bed stroking his daughter’s hair, “Where should I sleep?”

He looks confused by my question. He stares at the one foot of space on the far side of the bed. “Right here, next to Lilly.”

“Oh…” I pause for a moment, then turn to rummage through my bag in order to find something comfortable to change into. I scan the room quickly for a place to change privately, and decide to slip inside the closet. As I undress in the darkness, I can just barely make out the sounds of Anthony chuckling to himself. 

I poke my head around the door to glare at him.

“Why do you feel the need to hide from me?” he whispers, with a grin stretched from ear to ear.

“Maybe because we aren’t married anymore, unless you somehow forgot?!” I retort, and the humor ceases immediately.

The room grows quiet except for Lilly’s faint snores. Then suddenly, Adrian’s penetrating voice can be heard bellowing through the walls, the echoes of sharp tones seeming to quake the entire house. No doubt he is asking Mary a myriad of questions about a number of topics, all seemingly irrelevant. I wonder if I should go and intervene, but then I notice the tender look on Anthony’s face. His eyes are tired, but they speak love and compassion, while I stand with my stubborn demeanor, conjuring up ways to not let him get too close. 

I’m certain he can sense my apprehension, as he hoists himself up off the bed, but I’m not expecting what comes out of his mouth…

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

I actually find myself not feeling satisfied with the thought of such an arrangement, despite my extremely confusing feelings towards him. 

“I think I want you here with us, if that’s okay?” 

He tries to hide a microscopic smirk forming in the corner of his mouth. He wants so badly to appear serious and sensible. 

“Do you think your mom is getting fed up with Adrian already?” I ask. “How often does he get to see her, anyway?”

“Not often.” Anthony makes his way over to the closet to change, just as I had, but leaves the door cracked open a few inches.

“Not often?”

“Yeah…” 

From out of the darkness, his pants go sailing across the room, and I can’t make out whether he’s trying to make me laugh, or if he’s aiming for something in particular.

“How many times has Adrian visited with your parents since we split up?”

“Uh…” His shirt goes flying next, landing directly on my head, and now I catch myself trying not to laugh.

I continue my questioning, refusing to give in to this little episode of comic relief. “So our son is totally fine sleeping next to an old woman he’s hardly met?”

“Hey! Who you calling an old woman?!” Anthony side-steps out of the closet. He’s completely naked, and with no shame, whatsoever. I gasp, catching a glimpse of him from head to toe. I am forced to turn my head away, as my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

He knows he looks good, and his ability to turn every situation into a funny one was one of the many things I adored about him. I allow myself to laugh for the first time in days.

“Shhh! You’ll wake up Lilly!” Anthony chuckles as he heads back to the closet. 

Moments later he returns from the darkness wearing boxer briefs and a clean shirt. He saunters towards me, and before I can protest, he wraps his arms around me to pull me close for a hug that seems to last forever. 

“Try to get some sleep,” he says. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Lilly is nestled snugly between Anthony and me, making me feel cramped and uncomfortable. One turn to the left, and I’ll fall off the bed, surely. 

As I lay there in the darkness, still as can be, I still hear Adrian chatting away. Waves of anxiety come creeping in, as I think of Candace and what she could possibly be doing at this moment. I say another silent prayer for God to keep her safe. All I want is for everything to go back to normal, but then again, what is considered normal at this point?