get some help with Travis in between. Your old job didn’t sound very conducive to motherhood, especially with all that traveling you said you did.”
Encouraged by her friend, Ann hired a nanny to watch Travis. Alma’s first day on the job was rough. Travis kept banging on the closed door to Ann’s home office, crying for her. It was weeks before Travis accepted that Alma would be his daytime caregiver. If Alma had not returned toMexico to enter a convent eighteen months later, Ann imagined that she would still be helping with her son today.
Ann was happy that the nanny loved Travis and that he loved her. Yet, she couldn’t help feeling a little jealous. Their closeness was an unsettling reminder that it was she, Travis’s mother, who had abdicated a share of her son’s precious life to another woman. It was around that time that she came to understand how her own mother had struggled to balance her own needs with her responsibilities to her daughter.
Ann’s feelings of guilt and inadequacy returned with a vengeance, the day CPS came into her life.
1:00 P.M .
I n the living room, Ann pulled the floor-to-ceiling drapes shut. The heavy folds of silk made a gentle, rustling sound as she adjusted the material to block the daylight. Since Travis disappeared she couldn’t stand to have any sunlight coming into the house. Turning, she faced the room. The oversized chairs were covered in navy and cream-striped, brushed silk. The rest of the furniture, of hand-hewn walnut—child-sized tables, toy chests and a few chairs—was placed around a white shag rug in the far corner of the room. Four tall floor lamps shaped like blossoming cherry trees, with small pink and white bulbs, remained darkened. Open French doors led to the adjoining dining room. The smell of Clorox from the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom permeated the air.
Ann could hear her husband at the front door welcoming an unexpected visitor. The visitor’s voice was low and solicitous, but unmistakable.
Why is Chet here?
Chet March was the last person Ann expected to see in her home, given his captious attitude toward her in the past. Since founding New Way Evangelical Church, four years ago, Chet had started a campaign to get his mother, Nora, to accept Jesus as her personal savior. He explained to Nora time and again that if she did not heed his warnings she would surely burn in everlasting hell when she died. He had even accused Ann of convincing Nora to stop donating money to his church. As if anyone had that kind of power over her strong-willed friend.
The door to the living room opened and Richard stepped in. “Chet March is here,” he said in a quiet voice. “His church is organizing a search for Travis. He wants to offer his condolences and tell us their plan. Do you want to talk to him?”
Ann dry washed her hands. The prospect of seeing Chet frightened her. Maybe because Chet’s presence implied that she needed people like him, whose ideas she had never agreed with, to help her through this nightmare that was now her life. But the pastor had come to offer his help. There was no way she would refuse him.
She nodded. “Bring him in.”
Chet was not exactly handsome. He was of medium height and build, with dark hair, noticeably balding above a prominent forehead. The roundish glasses he wore obscured his eyes somewhat, giving him a scholarly, detached look. A three-inch crudely-shaped wooden cross—Ann had never seen him without it—hung from a worn, leather thong around his neck.
All apologies for “barging in” Chet sat on the chair opposite Ann. “I’m sorry about what’s happened,” he said, his solemn eyes moving from her to Richard. “A difficult time. But,” he hastened to add, “not without hope. You may have heard of New Way’s efforts to find the Villarreal girl. We’re doing the same for your son. We’ve set up a search center at the church. Volunteers are posting thousands of flyers all over San Diego, as we
Encouraged by her friend, Ann hired a nanny to watch Travis. Alma’s first day on the job was rough. Travis kept banging on the closed door to Ann’s home office, crying for her. It was weeks before Travis accepted that Alma would be his daytime caregiver. If Alma had not returned toMexico to enter a convent eighteen months later, Ann imagined that she would still be helping with her son today.
Ann was happy that the nanny loved Travis and that he loved her. Yet, she couldn’t help feeling a little jealous. Their closeness was an unsettling reminder that it was she, Travis’s mother, who had abdicated a share of her son’s precious life to another woman. It was around that time that she came to understand how her own mother had struggled to balance her own needs with her responsibilities to her daughter.
Ann’s feelings of guilt and inadequacy returned with a vengeance, the day CPS came into her life.
1:00 P.M .
I n the living room, Ann pulled the floor-to-ceiling drapes shut. The heavy folds of silk made a gentle, rustling sound as she adjusted the material to block the daylight. Since Travis disappeared she couldn’t stand to have any sunlight coming into the house. Turning, she faced the room. The oversized chairs were covered in navy and cream-striped, brushed silk. The rest of the furniture, of hand-hewn walnut—child-sized tables, toy chests and a few chairs—was placed around a white shag rug in the far corner of the room. Four tall floor lamps shaped like blossoming cherry trees, with small pink and white bulbs, remained darkened. Open French doors led to the adjoining dining room. The smell of Clorox from the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom permeated the air.
Ann could hear her husband at the front door welcoming an unexpected visitor. The visitor’s voice was low and solicitous, but unmistakable.
Why is Chet here?
Chet March was the last person Ann expected to see in her home, given his captious attitude toward her in the past. Since founding New Way Evangelical Church, four years ago, Chet had started a campaign to get his mother, Nora, to accept Jesus as her personal savior. He explained to Nora time and again that if she did not heed his warnings she would surely burn in everlasting hell when she died. He had even accused Ann of convincing Nora to stop donating money to his church. As if anyone had that kind of power over her strong-willed friend.
The door to the living room opened and Richard stepped in. “Chet March is here,” he said in a quiet voice. “His church is organizing a search for Travis. He wants to offer his condolences and tell us their plan. Do you want to talk to him?”
Ann dry washed her hands. The prospect of seeing Chet frightened her. Maybe because Chet’s presence implied that she needed people like him, whose ideas she had never agreed with, to help her through this nightmare that was now her life. But the pastor had come to offer his help. There was no way she would refuse him.
She nodded. “Bring him in.”
Chet was not exactly handsome. He was of medium height and build, with dark hair, noticeably balding above a prominent forehead. The roundish glasses he wore obscured his eyes somewhat, giving him a scholarly, detached look. A three-inch crudely-shaped wooden cross—Ann had never seen him without it—hung from a worn, leather thong around his neck.
All apologies for “barging in” Chet sat on the chair opposite Ann. “I’m sorry about what’s happened,” he said, his solemn eyes moving from her to Richard. “A difficult time. But,” he hastened to add, “not without hope. You may have heard of New Way’s efforts to find the Villarreal girl. We’re doing the same for your son. We’ve set up a search center at the church. Volunteers are posting thousands of flyers all over San Diego, as we
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