We Don’t Have Much Time

“Pull your pants up.”

The three-year-old shuffled toward Lindsey, Batman underwear tangled at his ankles, pajama top riding up his stomach. His face was red, wet with tears, mouth stretched wide as he screamed at the top of his lungs for the tablet pressed tight against her chest.

Fuck my life.

Luca was mistake number two. Mistake number one was click-clacking through the kitchen in a princess dress, plastic high heels, and a shedding boa looped around her neck.

The click of heels and Luca’s screaming sent a tremor through her body. Luca knew he wasn’t allowed to bring his tablet into the bathroom.

He swung back without warning. His fist connected with her side.

Pain flared, then scattered.

The sound of Lindsey’s own laughter echoed inside her mind, Uninvited.

The room tilted. Her eyes scanned the space, searching for the danger her body insisted was there. Her hand clutched her chest. Her heart hammered loud enough to hear. The clicks. The clacks. The screaming. The impact. All of it collapsed into a single, unbearable noise.

I can’t.

And then she let the moment go dark.

“Coming,” Lindsey called, already moving toward the knocking at the door. Her legs buzzed, and her fingers tightened around the case of her phone as everything reconnected.

It had to be Leo. He was the only one who never used the doorbell; pounding on the metal door made more sense to him.

Forgot his key again.

She rolled her eyes and then noticed the house. Quiet. The counters were clear. The floor clean.

Perfect Lindsey had been here.

She sighed. Three days, she guessed. Sundays were when Leo took the kids out. Today was Sunday. It could have been any number of Sundays in the future, but the bananas were still on the counter next to a piece of mail she remembered tossing there on Monday.

Three days, then.

She paused. There was something new.

A photo hung on the fridge of Lexie and Luca. Their smiling faces were transformed by face paint, balloon animals twisted in their hands. A carnival, Lindsey guessed. Perfect Lindsey stood behind the butterfly and Spider-Man in the photo, arms wrapped warmly around both kids.

“Mommy, Lexie hit me.”

“No, I didn’t,” Lexie protested, her voice sharp and high.

Oh great.

Lindsey locked eyes with Leo, who grinned while ushering the kids inside. He never seemed to mind the constant, rhythmic stream of “Daddies” that followed him through the door—a relentless, chirping loop of demands. Daddy, look. Daddy, help. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. To Leo, it was a song; to Lindsey, it was the sound of a fuse burning down.

Lindsey’s phone vibrated as the screen cast a blue hue inside her hand.

I don’t have much time, Liz…

Lindsey stared down at the screen.

Laughter erupted from the next room.

Lindsey’s head started to throb, and her heartbeat quickened.

Leo was on the floor playing with Luca and Lexie. She knew instinctively.

The high-pitched, blissful squeals pierced her ears.

Lindsey locked eyes with the almost full trash bin as her breathing started to labor.

She placed her phone on the counter, pulled the bag from the bin, and headed to the garage to dispose of the trash.

The bag was heavier than expected.

The stale odor of the garage wrapped around her as she placed the bag into the large bin and began circling the space.

Here, her chest finally loosened.

Light from the garage door panels warmed her skin.

Lindsey felt her eyes close, the muscles in her body release. The waist of her jeans slipped at least two inches and came to rest on her hips.

The air left Lindsey’s lungs, and her eyes opened.

She noticed something in the corner of the garage. On top of the deep freezer was a red marker and a pad of paper.

The kids weren’t allowed to play in here, and they knew that.

Lindsey walked over to the objects but stopped short when she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

She felt her hands brush across her face. She needed more sun, and it showed.

Lindsey grabbed the marker and pad before heading inside.

The marker’s cap came loose, and Lindsey felt the tip brush against the palm of her hand.

Great, absolutely great.

The mechanics of the door clicked into place behind Lindsey as she entered the kitchen again.

Lindsey pulled at the cabinet door where the art supplies were kept, but it didn’t budge. She lost her grip, and the pad fell to the floor.

When it landed, she noticed Leo’s handwriting staring back at her. Even with the red marker, she could tell it was his.

It appeared to be a schedule for the kids. Lexie and Luca’s names were listed along with all their scheduled fall activities.

It’s July, though.

The sound of small feet headed her way, so she gave the cabinet a stronger-than-normal tug and shoved the marker and pad inside.

Her chest tightened. She moved toward the sound, stopping at the counter where she had left her phone to slide it into her back pocket.

Lindsey stepped off the last step and savored the sound of the floorboard giving under her foot.

Her eyes scanned the room.

She headed toward the coffee table where Luca’s shoe sat on top and blocks were scattered underneath.

Lindsey gathered the blocks and returned them to their proper place.

“Leave it and come to bed.”

“I’ll be up in a few minutes, Leo,” Lindsey called over her shoulder as she knelt to collect a sock from the corner of the room.

“You need your rest.”

“I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Lindsey headed to the laundry room with socks, swim trunks, and a Disney princess dress in her arms.

How did this get down here?

She glanced up at the shelf two feet above her head.

She dumped the items in the laundry room, then returned to the book lying open on the floor.

The words written in colorful gel pen caught her.

“You rock, Liz.”

“Enjoy your summer, Liz.”

“Always stay, you, Liz.”

Always stay you, Liz.

She reached down to shut the book and return it to the shelf where it belonged.

Her hand hesitated.

Lindsey flipped the page.

Her body started to shake, and she struggled to catch her breath.

The pages had been cut with scissors.

Jagged scraps, marked in gel pen, remained.

The room tilted. The world went dark.

Head still hurts?

Everything was still dark. Lindsey’s body buzzed.

Hide and seek?

Perfect Lindsey’s favorite game with the kids.

Lindsey reached up, fingers searching for the chain that dangled from the pantry ceiling.

Perfect Lindsey’s favorite hiding spot.

Her hand met nothing.

Where is it.

Where is the ceiling.

She turned. Slowly. Blinking into it.

When is this?

Her outreached hands fell back to her sides, untouched.

Messages.

Lindsey reached into her back pocket and slid the phone out.

The screen lit up. The blue glow reached nothing.

Lindsey’s fingers tapped on the screen clumsily.

Where is it?

It’s not here.

The text.

Lindsey swiped out and tapped the blue icon.

I don’t have much time, Liz…

We don’t have much time.

Leo took the kids to a carnival he’d heard about at work. After you left.

Lexie and Luca were so excited.

I couldn’t keep up.

Even with Leo helping.

They kept getting ahead of me.

Thank God for Leo.

After the face paint, I couldn’t catch my breath.

Eventually, Leo and the kids were barely in sight; the crowd had swallowed them.

Lindsey’s eyes scanned the message.

Then her heart misfired in her chest.

Lab results.

Positive.

Lindsey laughed once, sharp and breathless, then stopped.

Of course.

Perfect Lindsey needed time.

Lindsey lowered the phone to her chest, blocking the light.

We don’t have much time.

She understood now.

Time could no longer afford her.