Joyce Carol Oates Reads "Lost Child"

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1:40This is The Writer's Voice, new fiction from The New Yorker. I'm Deborah Treisman, fiction editor at The New Yorker. On this episode of The Writer's Voice, we'll hear Joyce Carol Oates read her story, Lost Child, which appears in the September 21, 2026 issue of the magazine. Oates, a winner of the National Humanities Medal and the Jerusalem Prize, among others, is the author of more than 70 books of fiction, including the novel Fox and the story collections Clint Kill Creek and The Frenzy. Now here's Joyce Carol Oates.

2:20Lost Child He said, come with me, take Daddy's hand How all the stories begin Our large hand lowered Your small hand lifted She isn't sure she admits exactly what happened Or when She knows that she was little, maybe four years old, maybe three. Just guessing. Mists of time, thinly whitewashed wall of memory. No, Catherine does remember something about when. For today, Thursday, March 12, 2026, is an anniversary of that day.

3:02Joyce Carol Oates:It was, take Daddy's hand but hurry. Something was going to happen, unless it had already happened. For with Kit's father, something was always either going to happen or had already happened, and it was either too late to stop it from happening or too early to even imagine it happening. But in any case, hurry, sweetie, God damn. Not used to dressing herself, the new rosy pink raincoat crookedly buttoned, but maybe Daddy wouldn't notice. hours later at the hospital parking at the rear a high-rise garage which kitt's father hated because it slowed him down fucking god damn kitt cringed a little when daddy spoke in a harsh voice but she understood daddy was not talking to her when they were alone together which was often now.

4:01Daddy joked that the two of them were practically living in this shithole car. Daddy was rarely silent. He was too nervous, edgy, to be silent. He seemed to be addressing Kit, but Kit knew that he would be annoyed if she interrupted him to reply. Crucial to Kit not to annoy her father. If she was sweetly quiet, obedient, Daddy smiled at her with the radiance of daddy love, and Kit basked in his love like a cat stretched out in the sun. Kit's fear was that daddy's smile would disappear like a light switched off. You would have to have known him to understand, Catherine says. Cursing as he made his way up through the parking garage, turning the wheel sharply, row after row of vehicles, nowhere to park, though the sign at the entrance had said open.

4:55True that Daddy was in a hurry, but true also that when Daddy at last found a parking space on the top level of the garage, he did not drive into it headfirst, but took time to maneuver the vehicle around so that he could back it in. Daddy felt compelled always to back into a parking space. Here, an alarmingly narrow gap between two large vehicles, which required many excruciating minutes. Daddy grimacing as he peered into the car's side mirrors, easing back a few inches, then forward again. His breathing came fast. His forehead glistened with moisture. Rain water and puddles on the garage floor, slow drifting fog mist, the smell of her father's breath like fumes.

5:45In the back seat of the car, a potted plant, its bloomed wraps and crinkly cellophane amid random newspapers, napkins, coffee cups. Also a small suitcase so stuffed that one of the compartments was only partly zipped. Come on, silly, nothing to be afraid of. Kit smiled uncertainly, for Daddy was smiling. Nothing to be afraid of? it had not occurred to Kit that there might be something to be afraid of. Two elevators in the parking garage, both were slow to ascend to the top level. Daddy took the concrete steps down, gripping Kit's hand. Kit was out of breath descending the stairs. But here was relief in the cold, wet air.

6:35She could not smell Daddy's strong breath. And Daddy stood tall above her and would protect her, for he was the daddy, as he told Kit often. He remarked as they approached the revolving doors of the tall building on how cavernous this place was, which, he said laughing, could sound to the careless ear like carnivorous. Kit had no idea what her father meant these jokes of his, though now that they were together so much, she heard them often. Nothing to be afraid of, Smoochie. hauling Kit into the revolving door the way you would lift a startled little dog for Danny knew Kit was afraid of revolving doors that moved too fast for her short legs.

7:21See, nothing to be afraid of. Inside the hospital,

7:25Joyce Carol Oates:a high ceiling, bright lights and echoing voices, that sharp smell, a chemical smell that made Kit's nostrils pinch and cause a sick sensation in her stomach for she remembered she'd been here before in this hospital place. It almost returned to Kit then what this place was and who was waiting for them inside. But then the memory faded the way a dream does when you open your eyes too soon. Sir, excuse me. Long-legged Daddy walking fast but not fast enough for he was stopped by a security guard and asked to show ID. He extracted his driver's license from his wallet, saying in a loud, sarcastic voice, every fucking time pretending you don't know who the fuck I am.

8:15Embarrassing to Kit, Daddy's loud voice. Strangers glancing at him, curious, startled. Usually Kit's father was affably smiling. People liked him on sight or wanted to like him, women especially. A man who, if he smiled, winked. Even sarcasm turned sweet in his mouth. Kit's father scrawled his name, or an insolent semblance of his name, into a book. The security guard issued him a time-stamped badge, waved Kit's father through the checkpoint stiff-faced, unsmiling. But a smile for her, sweet little girl tugged along by Daddy. More walking, more jostling Behind Kit's eyes, tiredness swam Like a soft explosion of warm water Almost Kit's bedtime, except there was no bedtime now exactly For the day had been long Kit could not remember the beginning of this long day Driving to the bank It was impressive to Kit to drive with Daddy to the bank Kit's father expressed the wish for cash, good old-fashioned cash, and polite daddy voice expressed the wish to close out the account.

9:36But there was a problem. A bank officer had to be summoned. Your wife's signature is required to close out the account. Kit stilled herself knowing that, since the bank officer was a woman, there would be a disagreement because Kit's father did not like to be bossed around by a woman. Kit's father's voice rising indignant, he sent Kit away to sit in a chair by the wall. Eventually a second bank officer was summoned. This was a man, an older man with a waffle face and a thatch of white hair atop a burly body, but he was a man, so Kit was not so worried. In the hard-cushioned chair, Kit could not keep her eyes open, and being asleep and being awake became confused.

10:29Roughly, Daddy woke Kit, tugged her to her feet, asking if she needed to use the restroom now, better now than later. What was the right answer? If Kit said no, she would be scolded for changing her mind later, for when Kit needed a bathroom, it was often sudden or near emergency. But if Kit said yes, maybe that was the wrong answer too. Before Daddy was ratting his car keys, she could see that he was in a hurry. Daddy's eyes squinched when he smiled, winking, assuring Kit that they were in the home stretch now. The words home stretch were drawn out like an elastic band. No idea what any of this meant, but Kit laughed to please Daddy.

11:17Lunch they'd eaten late in the car Out of crinkly white paper bags Daddy drinking from a can of something harsh-smelling Then from a bottle of something sweet-smelling Inside another paper bag Kit was very hungry, but then not so hungry Coarse hamburger meat she had to chew and chew Icy cold french fries smeared with ketchup Falling between the front seats where even Kit's small hand could not retrieve them. Hey, wake up! Kit's father sounded more amused than annoyed. Kit's eyes flew open. There had been Kit's mother smiling at Kit, trying to explain, but her words were muffled, trying to explain why she'd gone away, how it was not her choice, but just something that had happened.

12:10Kit did not like elevators. Daddy always positioned himself right in front of the elevator door with Kit in front of him, his hands heavy on her shoulders.

12:21Joyce Carol Oates:But when the elevator door opened, people pushed out. Kit's father seemed never to be prepared for people pushing out as if it were a personal annoyance to him. Nudging Kit, get in, push in. Always too many people, adult legs, handbags pressing against Kit, close, stale air that Kit tried not to breathe. And if you were the first into the elevator, that meant you were pushed toward the back as people stepped in, and always there were more people pushing in than there was room for, and so a man's voice would intervene sharply. No more room. Take the next elevator, please. The elevator door shut.

13:07Joyce Carol Oates:Lights began to flicker on the panel above the door, indicating the floors. one, two, three. Kit tried not to panic. As the elevator was rising, she knew the cable pulling and up could snap at any time. Suddenly, the elevator could be falling. Once Kit had seen an empty elevator shaft, just greasy cables like giant snakes. The sight had terrified her, but Daddy had laughed. Indeed, Kit was being silly. The elevator jerked to a stop, the door opened, and people exited, but this was not their floor. Another stop. The doors opened, and people exited, but still, this was not their floor. At last, on the eighth floor, Kit's father nudged her to exit, and so she did, pushing past Lays, stepping out of the elevator with two other people, both men, and standing to the side, waiting for her father to join her.

14:06Joyce Carol Oates:But where was Daddy? The elevator door was closing, and Daddy was still inside. Kit stood staring incredulous. Her mouth was slack with wonder at how the elevator door had just closed. It had been one of Kit's worries for as long as she could remember that in a strange place like this, she would become separated from her mother. At the grocery store, with many aisles and people pushing shopping carts, or in Macy's at the mall, or on an escalator that was moving where, if you stepped onto one of the stairs, you could not step back down but had to go up. It had not happened yet to Kit that she had been separated from her mother, but still, her mother seemed to have been separated from her.

14:55and now it was Daddy that Kit worried about being separated from. Daddy is just hiding to make me laugh, she thought. Daddy did like to make Kit laugh and Daddy did like to tease, but Daddy could not now see Kit or laugh at her for being silly. It was not possible that Daddy had stepped out of the elevator just behind her because Kit would have seen him if he had. Kit would be seeing him now, and she did not see him. Too frightened, too stunned to call, Daddy, Daddy! Her voice was such a sad, weak voice. No one would hear. What to do?

15:38Joyce Carol Oates:Where to go? She was just standing there by the elevator, her heart beating as fast as a sparrow's heart, waiting for the elevator door to open, for Kit was sure that it would open, and Daddy would step out laughing at her. Unless he was annoyed with her, perhaps Kit had done something wrong unknowingly. Catch up on the car seat, French fries fallen beneath the seat, a mitten lost, another mitten lost. He didn't like her crying, that was for sure. He would probably tell her, don't be a silly baby, just stay where you are. I am on the way. Trying not to cry, trying not to shiver so hard, waiting right in front of the elevator door so Daddy could not miss her.

16:24Joyce Carol Oates:How long it was, how many terrible minutes before the elevator returned going down. Kit could see the numbers above the door, an arrow going down from 11 to 10 to 9. And the door opened, but it must have been a mistake as no one stepped out. The elevator was full of people, but Daddy was not among them. Daddy did not emerge from the elevator as Kit peered inside frantically. No one noticed her. No one cared in the slightest about her, brooding and inward with their own thoughts, as Daddy sometimes was. And to her horror, the elevator door closed again. But where was Daddy? All this had to be a mistake.

17:08Joyce Carol Oates:Daddy knew that Kit was on the eighth floor. Daddy knew and had to be looking for her. so it was important to stay right where she was. If she did not, Daddy would not be able to find her. Kit was so scared that her teeth were chattering. Her mouth had gone dry. She could not swallow, could not stop shivering. Breathing in gasps like hiccups, couldn't draw enough breath. So it felt as if she were drowning because she was so, so cold. Abruptly, Catherine's voice breaks off. She is very pale, seems to be having difficulty breathing even now. She lifts a water glass to her mouth, but a fit of coughing overcomes her.

17:54Joyce Carol Oates:Water spills down her hand and onto the enamel tabletop. Catherine, are you all right? I am anxious for my friend who may be hyperventilating. But when I reach for her hand, Catherine jerks away and with a weak smile, signals that she is all right and I shouldn't make a fuss. Catherine's eyes are shadowed. Her usually smooth forehead is creased. Her hand holding the water glass is trembling. She is embarrassed and apologetic, vexed with herself for having lost control in this public place. It is so unlike Catherine Carpenter, who is normally poised, restrained, Not one to talk at length and rarely about herself, but the day she has been telling me her chilling story in a halting voice as if she were groping in the dark.

18:49Joyce Carol Oates:Though it is obviously a personal story, she tells it as if the child, Kit, were a stranger, a figure to be pitied. Catherine rises unsteadily from the table, excuses herself to go to the restroom. So sorry, I'll be right back. Left alone at our table, I'm feeling awkward, self-conscious. Usually at the Purple Onion, a moderately priced cafe, we are a group never fewer than four friends, always at one of the cafe's round tables, which we book in advance. The restaurant is nearly deserted as it is early, only a few minutes past noon. The story that Catherine has been telling is painful to hear.

19:35Joyce Carol Oates:I'm dreading what comes next. Shortly after eight this morning, Catherine called to ask if we could meet for lunch. It was late notice, but there was such urgency in her voice that I hardly recognized it. Our lunches at the Purple Onion are often lively, festive, the laughter of women together without men, divorcees, widows. When the ex-husband dies, the divorcee becomes an honorary widow. At another lunch, we'd welcome Catherine to this status amid much laughter. Today feels odd, just Catherine and me, as if the world has shrunk. We live in a small town, officially a village, a university community.

20:20Joyce Carol Oates:We can recognize when one of us is, but also isn't, herself. The first wrong thing, Catherine ordered a drink as soon as we were seated. Catherine Carpenter, who never drinks. She did this with a giddy, embarrassed laugh to acknowledge and deflect my curiosity, explaining that today was sort of a special day, an anniversary. A frothy pink drink, she ordered, with a festive name like ginger lemon spritz. Anniversary, I asked. But she didn't care to explain at that moment. She'd taken up the menu frowning, of men who she likely knows by heart, as I do. Catherine Carpenter is an attractive woman in her mid-fifties who carries herself so lightly that she might be mistaken for a much younger woman.

21:11Joyce Carol Oates:She retired from her job as a full-time curator at the University Art Museum, but when the museum was renovated, expanded to twice its former size, she was rehired as a consultant, a position that suits her. Catherine's features are delicate Her eyebrows thinly arched like birds' wings In an ancient Chinese scroll She usually wears neutral colors Inconspicuous clothing of probably good quality Her hair is brushed practically Behind her ears, a fair, fading silver brown Today her eyes appear slightly bloodshot As if she slept poorly last night her smile is twitchy, eager flattering that Catherine Carpenter is eager to see me but she is clearly desperate not to be alone today perhaps she first tried other friends who did not pick up I understand that I must help her I must not shield myself from her though it is not my way to share emotions with others I am not an emotional person and it is unfair to me to expect more of me than I have to give but now I'm wondering if I should follow Catherine to the restroom, see if she is all right.

22:30Joyce Carol Oates:Maybe she has changed her mind. Maybe she regrets speaking so openly to me, bearing her heart. Maybe Catherine has fled the purple onion and will send a text message apologizing. Please forgive me, I will explain soon, which would be a relief to me, I have to admit. Not that I'm afraid of feeling. For a very long time I have avoided feeling, as I have avoided close contact with others. But it is not fear, just simple caution, not wanting old wounds to be rudely reopened after serviceable scabs, now scars, have grown over them. The friendly waiter Hugo has delivered our lunches, heavy stoneware plates heaped with salad greens, Multigrain rolls in a little woven basket.

23:21Joyce Carol Oates:I am not sure if I have no appetite or if I am ravenous with hunger. Catherine's frothy pink ginger lemon spritz is inviting. I'm almost tempted to sip from it. When Catherine returns and sits across from me at the table, she looks more composed. Though her skin is still ashen, her eyes threaded with thin, broken capillaries. She says, embarrassed, sorry, couldn't stop coughing, and touches the back of my hand lightly in apology. Her fingertips are icy cold. I feel a sudden urge to grasp Catherine's fingers to reassure her, you are safe now. Catherine tells me that she would understand completely if I would prefer not to hear any more of her sordid, sad tale.

24:10Joyce Carol Oates:I assure her that it isn't sordid. But yes, it is, she says and laughs. Of course I want to know what happened, I tell Catherine. How could I not want to know? That poor, terrified girl waiting by the elevator for her daddy. What became of her? She isn't sure she admits exactly what happened. For it isn't what happens that you remember, but what you are told to remember. Waiting for daddy, but where is daddy? Never would Kit think, why did Daddy do this to me? A child does not think in such ways ascribing blame to an adult. Over the weeks, months, years to follow, Kit would think, what did I do that made Daddy abandon me?

24:57Joyce Carol Oates:Not what you see with your eyes, but what you are told you have seen. Kit waited by the eighth-floor elevator for almost an hour, or so she was told later, Though to the child paralyzed with fear, this was an incalculable amount of time. Petrified little girl with a sickly pale face in need of washing, snarl hair that Daddy had given up brushing, crookedly buttoned raincoat with ketchup stains. It would be noted that on this wet, cold March day, Kit was wearing flip-flops on her very grimy feet. Kit's eyes were leaking moisture, her nose too. She wasn't supposed to wipe her nose on her coat sleeve, but she didn't have a Kleenex.

25:44Joyce Carol Oates:Just staring at the elevator door, so hard she stared, so badly wishing that Daddy would come back. Several times she was certain that she saw him in the midst of other passengers, and that he saw her. He lifted his hand, waved, blew a kiss. even as the elevator door shut again, bearing Daddy away. Jostled by strangers, exiting the elevator without seeing her, for they were looking over her head, Kit was so small. But it was then as she was waiting for Daddy by the elevator that Kit's brain taught itself a trick of survival. Yes, Kit was that silly, sad, pathetic child, but she was also observing that child from just enough distance that she could feel her anguish the way one might hear a muffled cry in another room.

26:36Joyce Carol Oates:Excuse me, little girl, are you waiting for someone? You've been here quite a while. Hello? A kindly concerned woman in a nurse's uniform was bending down to Kit, who shrank away. Not looking at the stranger's face, trying not to cry, trying not to gasp her breath, to sob in the way that so annoyed Daddy and made Mommy wince. We just want to help you. We are not going to hurt you if you could tell us. But no, Kit could not, was not supposed to trust strangers. No, did she know her last name, her father's name? He was just Daddy. And soon a security guard joined the nurse. It appeared that the child was too young or too frightened or too confused to tell them her name.

27:23Joyce Carol Oates:Or maybe this child was mentally slow. She could barely speak. know that she seemed to comprehend what she was being asked. Maybe she didn't speak English? Hello? Hello? Do you speak English? Didn't want to be lifted and carried in the woman's arms. No, she did not. Walked hand in hand between the nurse woman and the security officer who took her to the nurse's station on the eighth floor, asking if Kit was familiar to anyone there? No. Led along the corridor past patient's room, peeling inside. Excuse us, do you know this little girl? Kit wanted to hide her face in shame. Daddy would be so angry if he found out.

28:06Joyce Carol Oates:Waiting up by the elevators all alone, so we think she must have wandered off, and her mother or father is here somewhere. No, are you sure? Security was checking downstairs. Visitors to the hospital had to sign in with ID. the missing parent's name would be in the book. An alert was sounded through the hospital. Attention, please. A little girl has been found on the eighth floor. Anyone who knows her, please report to security, first floor. Attention, please. Repeatedly, the alert was sounded. No one came. A female police officer insisted on taking Kit outside to a police cruiser to drive slowly through the parking garage, past rows of vehicles, asking Kit if any of the cars looked familiar.

28:57Joyce Carol Oates:The garage was still partly swathed in a thin mist, so that seeing was not easy, and Kit was barely responsive, very tired, worn out from crying, grinding her teeth into resistance. She did not like this woman's loud, sharp voice, a remark the woman had made about Kit's face needing washing, the flip-flops on her bare feet. Clearly, this was a case of child neglect, possibly child abuse, a case for Child Protective Services, she had said. Kit would be taken into custody even if they found her parents. Suddenly then, Kit did remember that her father had parked on the highest floor of the garage, but when the officer drove to that floor, there were only a few cars remaining and none looked familiar.

29:46Joyce Carol Oates:You sure? You don't see his car? Hey, are your eyes even open? Kit never saw Daddy again, not ever. Nor Mommy either, the woman she remembered vaguely as Mommy. More than 50 years have passed. Catherine still isn't sure what happened, how they worked out who she was. Shuts her eyes, amnesia like drifting mist, fog. What she does remember, that night she was taken by police officers to a children's facility and, the following afternoon, picked up by an aunt, an older half-sister of Kit's mother, whom Kit scarcely knew, did not recognize, who lived in another city 20 miles away. Just like that it happened, whisk the way.

30:41Joyce Carol Oates:Daddy would have joked, whisk the way as quick as a whisker, not to be confused with whiskey. Certain that she heard her father make that joke, as well as, between whiskey and nothing, I will take whiskey. But why was it funny? From that rainy, misty March night when she was taken away to live with an aunt, an anxious woman, who had never explained to Kit what had happened to her parents, except that her mother was no longer living, and her father was gone from their lives. Growing up, Kit knew not to ask questions. Eventually, she forgot what questions she might have reasonably asked. All the relatives Kit knew were her mother's relatives, who never spoke of her mother either, except to say that she had been a beautiful woman.