I saved every message.
I did not answer.
At 7:17, Natalie called.
I let it ring twice.
Then answered.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
No greeting.
I turned on the recorder.
“What do you mean?”
“You called the police.”
“I did.”
“She’s not abandoned.”
“Where are you?”
“Orlando.”
“And where is Skyla?”
“At home.”
“Exactly.”
Natalie exhaled loudly.
“Steven.”
“Don’t.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
“We planned this months ago.”
“Okay.”
“Alex has been begging to go to Disney.”
“Okay.”
“Skyla has school.”
“So does Alex.”
“He has a teacher workday Friday and Monday.”
“Skyla’s school is also closed Monday.”
Silence.
That surprised her.
I had checked the school calendar while sitting at the airport.
Natalie recovered.
“She doesn’t even like Disney.”
I almost laughed.
“She is eight.”
“She likes Disney.”
“She gets overwhelmed.”
“Then plan for her needs.”
“She complains.”
“Children complain.”
“She doesn’t appreciate things.”
I stopped.
There it was.
Something deeper.
“What does that mean?”
Natalie hesitated.
“Nothing.”
“No.”
“You said she doesn’t appreciate things.”
“She doesn’t.”
“She sulks.”
“She asks why Alex gets things.”
