We returned home after a day of work at the city house, to a locked home. I opened the door, and all was quiet. Where was Grandma? My son? Maybe they'd both fallen asleep? But I didn't hear any deep breathing or snoring, as would be expected. I stuck my head back outside to report that the house was very quiet.
"Maybe they've been abducted" was my husband's response.
Ha ha.
Or so I thought. Til I looked further.
At nearly 5 p.m., my little boy and his Grandma were nowhere to be found. Not curled up on the couch together. Not upstairs. All that was left were toys strewn everywhere, and a lunch table that looked like it was abandoned mid-meal.
Hmm.
Their winter gear was gone, so I figured they were out for a walk or sled ride. Grandma came by train, and my car was still in the driveway, so I knew they hadn't taken off for a ride. I went back out and looked up and down the street. I knew they wouldn't go far, and it didn't take me long to realize they were nowhere in sight.
My husband was putting things away in the garage when I reported: "They're GONE."
Suddenly his little crack wasn't so funny, and I flipped into panic mode. Fortunately, my husband's the level-headed one in crisis, and he immediately devised our divide and conquer strategy.
"Get in the car and drive where they'd walk. I'll check across the street with the neighbors." He tossed me his charged cell phone (knowing mine was dead) so we could stay in touch, and I was off.
I drove to the end of our street first, having spotted a snowbank that I knew my son would love if he were out in his snowsuit. What if something happened to Grandma and she's collapsed behind that mound of snow? What if my son was then left outside alone without adult supervision?
What if? What if? What if?
My heart raced as I approached the snowbank in my car. I looked for tracks in the snow. Footprints. Sled marks. Whatever. I saw none. I knew they hadn't gone that way. Relieved and frightened at the same time, I turned around and headed the other way. Off to neighboring streets where they may have gone walking. Again I looked for footprints on the snow-covered sidewalk. Again, I saw none.
Where the hell were they??
My mind raced to worst-case-scenario and I had to force myself to breathe. With petrified determination, I turned down another street, fighting back tears, gripping the wheel and my lower lip tighter than I've ever needed to.
Then the cell phone rang.
"They're across the street."
Oh dear God. Thank you.
Grandma had accidentally locked them out of our house, and she didn't take a key. So they'd gone to the neighbors' house to call us and find out if there was a spare somewhere. The neighbors had my cell number and left 3 messages on my dead phone. Naturally I didn't get the messages. They'd called my husband's work cell too -- the only cell number they had for him. Not his personal cell phone, which was the one we had with us!
So my son and his Grandma were stranded at the neighbors' for 4 hours that day. Luckily they have a 4-year-old boy and a boatload of toys. My little boy had a marvelous day.
And me? I kicked myself for my very bad habit of leaving my cell phone on in my purse, where the battery invariably goes dead.
But mostly I'm unbelievably grateful that this tale had a happy ending...
