A Change in Altitude (13 page)

Or it had been, before the arrival of her daughter, Olivia, and teenage grandson, Lucas. These days a bicycle, soccer ball, and the remains of a firewood fort littered the front yard, and the house was strewn with discarded shoes and clothes, half-eaten sandwiches, magazines, school books, and the other detritus of the messy, busy occupants. Soon, she'd have her house back, she thought as she collected dirty socks and two T-shirts on her way through the living room. In a few weeks, when Olivia and Lucas moved in with her fiancé, D. J., things would be neat and peaceful again.

And Lucille was going to hate it. She dropped the dirty clothes in the hamper in the laundry room behind the kitchen, then returned to boil water for tea. After so many years by herself, she'd cherished the time with her family. She didn't know if she knew how to be alone anymore. The thought of evenings of silence and solitude depressed her. How had she gotten to be fifty-five with no one in her life? Not that she believed a woman needed a man to be happy, but did life have to be so lonely?

Right. Next thing she knew she'd be spending her evenings watching old movies and crying into her popcorn.
Get a grip,
she told herself.
Your life could be a lot worse
.

She was measuring honey into her tea when a knock sounded on the front door. The heavy, hollow sound echoed through the old house and, tea cup in hand, she hurried to answer the summons. But when she saw who was on the other side of the door, she debated retreating to the kitchen and pretending she wasn't home.

“I know you're in there,” Gerald Pershing called. “I can see your shadow on the other side of that curtain.”

Sighing, she opened the door. “What do you want, Gerald?”

“I need to talk to you about an urgent matter at the Lucky Lady.”

“Come to my office tomorrow.” She tried to close the door, but he wedged his foot in the gap.

“I really must speak to you now,” he said.

She looked down at the ostrich cowboy boot blocking the door and at the cup of hot tea in her hand. Would throwing the tea in his face qualify as assault if he was trying to force his way into her house? A local jury certainly wouldn't convict her.

“I just want to talk,” he said in the smooth drawl that still sent tingles up her spine. “You can't begrudge me that.”

She could, and should, begrudge him anything she liked, considering what he'd done to her. But she was the mayor, and had a responsibility to take care of any problems at what was, at the moment anyway, Eureka's largest investment and potential source of income. “We can talk out here,” she said, and stepped onto the porch, shutting the door firmly behind her.

If he was disappointed, he didn't show it. He followed her to the old-fashioned wooden porch swing at one end of the columned veranda. “You're looking lovely this evening, Lucille.” His standard opening line.

“I don't have time for idle chitchat,” she said. “What's this problem that can't wait until tomorrow?”

“No need to rush on a beautiful evening like this.” He settled onto the swing next to her, hands on his knees, and looked around, as if he'd never seen her house before. Purple clematis climbed the trellis at the end of the porch, dark green leaves just beginning to unfold. Later in the summer the star-shaped blooms would fill the air with their perfume. “After the tensions of a busy day, it's good to relax and recenter yourself,” Gerald said.

She restrained a snort. “This isn't a yoga class. What's going on at the mine?”

He turned to her, his lined but still-handsome face grave. “I have some concerns about Bob.”

“What has he done this time?” Bob was mean, stubborn, unpredictable, and contrary, but he shared her disdain for the man beside her, which made him her ally.

“I caught him moving a number of large boxes into one of the abandoned mine tunnels,” Gerald said. “When I confronted him about this, he threatened me.”

“What did he threaten to do?”

“He offered to skin me alive and make a blanket out of my hide if I didn't mind my own business.”

Lucille bit back a laugh. “Bob's bark is much worse than his bite. He might throw a punch if he's really riled, but he wouldn't skin you.”

“I reminded him that the mine is my business. It's your business, too, so you should take this seriously.”

She sobered. Yes, the mine was her business. “Do you know what was in the boxes?”

“He said it was supplies.”

“He's been ordering dried food from some survivalist outfit,” she said. “It was probably that. If the world ends tomorrow, he probably plans to retreat to the mine.”

“We are an operating mine, not a storage facility.”

“I'll talk to him about it tomorrow.” She stood. “Good night.”

She started to move past him, but he grabbed her hand and held it. “That's not the only reason I stopped by tonight, Lucille,” he said.

She stiffened. “What else?”

“You and I have unfinished business between us.”

“You're wrong. We're definitely finished.”

“Please. Sit down. Hear me out. You at least owe me that.”

She didn't owe him anything, but she sat. She wanted to cross her arms over her chest, but it was such a defensive posture. She was immune to his blandishments and she wanted him to know it, so she kept her hands at her sides and waited, unspeaking.

“I've already apologized for leaving you so abruptly after our wonderful night together,” he said. “But I'll say it again—I'm sorry I ran out that way. I know how it must have looked, but when I received the call from Texas, I seized the opportunity to flee.”

She didn't believe there had been a call; the cad had seduced her, then left before she woke, after scamming the town out of most of its money. Greed was the only thing that had brought him back to Eureka, not any affection for her.

“I left because I was afraid.” His eyes filled with such sadness, mouth drooping. Really, he deserved an Oscar for such a performance. If she didn't know better, she'd almost believe he was sincere. “What I felt for you—what I still feel for you—is so intense it frightens me.”

“It's a nice line, but you should sell it to someone else. I'm not buying.”

He scooted closer to her. “You can't deny that we had something special,” he said. “When we made love I felt more whole than I've felt in years . . . as if I finally found something precious I'd been searching for for years.”

That night had been pretty incredible. But then, considering it was the first time she'd had sex in more than a decade, a night with almost any living, breathing man would have been memorable. And the fact that she was still attracted—physically—to this despicable snake of a man didn't mean anything. “You're going to have to keep looking,” she said. “I'm not interested.”

“Lucille, don't you understand? I'm admitting I made a mistake. I want to try again. I'll do anything to make things right with you.”

She stood, almost dumping him out the swing with the force of her movement. “You can't make it right for me,” she said. “How much clearer do I have to be? I don't want you.”

Liar,
whispered a voice in the back of her head, but she told the voice to shut up. She was too smart to give in to a con like Gerald.

She moved past him, and this time he let her go. He sat in the swing, hands hanging loose between his splayed knees, looking old and tired—the way she felt. She walked quickly into the house and shut the door behind her. For good measure, she turned the deadbolt, then rested her forehead against the cool, smooth wood. Oh, she was smart all right. Smart and alone. Which was really the better choice?

J
osh was at Sharon's door in less than ten minutes. Seeing him dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, instead of the uniform she'd expected, caught her off guard. “I didn't realize you weren't on duty or I wouldn't have called,” she said.

“You were right to call me,” he said. “I came as a friend.”

That this man she scarcely knew considered her a friend further unsettled her, but she stepped back to let him in. “I didn't even think to give you the address,” she said. “But you got here so quickly.”

“I saw Jameso in the Dirty Sally the other evening and he told me you were staying here. And I live in the apartments over the hardware store, so it's close by.”

“There are apartments over the hardware store?”

“Yes, they're new. Very nice, with a good view of the mountains.”

She filed this information away in the tiny corner of her brain that wasn't filled with worry for her son. “Can you help me find Adan?” she asked.

“I can try.” He turned to Alina, who had retreated to the couch, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. “Hello, Alina. How are you?”

“I'm mad at Adan for going away without telling us,” she said.

Sharon wondered why Alina wasn't angry with her father. After all, Joe was the one who'd made the decision to move; this was all his fault. But maybe admitting that her father was to blame hurt too much for the girl. A sibling felt less like a part of yourself than a parent whose approval you'd spent all your life seeking.

“Let's go into the kitchen,” Sharon said. “I'll make coffee.”

He followed her into the small room and waited while she measured grounds into the coffee maker and filled the reservoir with water. When she'd started the machine and turned to face him, he asked the question she'd been dreading. “Do you have any reason to believe your ex-husband would hurt your son?”

She gripped the edge of the counter, the ridge of tile digging into her palms. “I don't think so. Or maybe I don't want to believe so.”

“How old is your son?”

“He's fifteen.” The age she'd been when she had him—the idea seemed shocking, even to her.

“When was the last time you talked to him—Adan, is that his name?”

“Yes. It means ‘little fire.' He was such a lively baby.” She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that threatened as she remembered her firstborn as an infant, always alert and curious, eager to explore the world.

“I know this is hard. Take your time.” Josh's voice was so soft and soothing. When she opened her eyes, he regarded her with a calm compassion that washed over her like a healing balm. She released her hold on the counter. Now was no time to fall apart. She had a job to do; she had to find her son.

“The last time I talked to him was last week, so . . . five days ago?” She nodded. “Yes, I'm sure it was Wednesday.”

“Did you call him, or did he call you?”

“I called him. It was about nine in the morning here, before I went to work, so eleven there.”

“How did he sound?”

She wished she could lie and tell this kind man that she'd had a wonderful conversation with her son, that he'd been glad to hear from her and told her he missed her and he loved her. It was the kind of conversation she'd imagined having when she'd given Adan the phone, but the reality was much harder to acknowledge. “He was annoyed. He was angry with me for leaving, and he didn't want to talk. But he said he was fine, and he never mentioned that they'd moved, though my neighbor tells me they'd been gone at least a week by that time.”

“Did your husband ever mention wanting to live someplace else? Did he have friends or relatives he might have gone to?”

“Joe wasn't in contact with his family. They were somewhere in the Midwest—Iowa or Nebraska or someplace—but he hadn't spoken to any of them in years.” That was something they'd had in common, a desire to cut all ties with the people who had raised them. She felt physically ill when she thought that Adan might want the same thing when it came to her.

“And friends?” Josh prompted.

“All his friends were with him.”

Josh's puzzled expression required an answer. She tried to sort out the right words to explain the strange life she'd lived too long. “Joe believed in doing things for himself, in being independent. When we first married, that meant planting a big garden and making our own furniture and stuff. But over the years, he gravitated toward more extreme groups. He began stockpiling food and ammunition. He spent a lot of time online, reading about various conspiracy theories. He became more and more paranoid, believing horrible, ridiculous things about the government. He met others who believed the same things, and about five years ago, they decided to all live together in a kind of compound on some land they bought in upstate Vermont.”

She sighed. Now that she had put some time and physical distance between herself and all that had happened, she saw how naïve and complacent she'd been. She'd told herself it was her duty to follow her husband and look after her children and yes, she'd been drawn in by the picture Joe had painted of their little family making a way for themselves, living life on their own terms, free of the interference of anyone else. “He made it sound like paradise. Our own little Eden. We moved out there and built a house and barn. We planted a garden and hunted for meat, and I homeschooled the children. I thought everything would be all right.”

“And these friends moved there, too.”

“Yes, a man named Wilson Anderson. He was a little older than Joe and had been in the military. The navy, I think. He had a lot of tattoos he said he'd gotten in the service. And there was a couple from Russia—Earl and Oksana Petricoff. They were older, too, and not very friendly. There were two other couples originally, but they moved on after a few years. I think they didn't like Wilson and Joe telling them what to do.”

“So, your husband and this Wilson were the leaders of the group?”

“Yes, he liked that—being in charge.” Joe was not a physical bully—he'd never raised his hand to her or the children. But he'd raised his voice, and he knew how to use words as weapons, belittling the opinions of others, dismissing their concerns or beliefs. With his words he'd reduced them all to lesser beings than himself. Away from his sphere of influence, Sharon could see how much power he'd wielded over them all—how much power she'd given away to him. The realization made her feel sick. How could she have left her son behind to endure that? How had she allowed Joe to convince her that she was doing the right thing in abandoning her oldest child?

Josh made no comment, and tension built as the silence lengthened. Josh said nothing, and his face betrayed no emotion beyond quiet concern. Finally, he spoke. “Is there anything else you can think of that might help us locate your son?”

She took a deep, shuddering breath, pushing aside the grief and guilt that threatened to overwhelm her. She had to be strong. She had to focus on Adan, on helping him. “Wherever they went, it was probably more remote even than where we'd been. Joe wanted to be off the grid and off the map, he used to say. He wouldn't use cell phones because he believed the government could use them to track people. He wouldn't register to vote or buy a hunting license or renew his driver's license.” They hadn't paid taxes in years, but then, they'd had so little income she hadn't thought it mattered.

“You said he spent time on the Internet. Do you know a name he might have used on the conspiracy group Web sites?”

“He called himself Badger.” Badgers, he'd explained to her, were wild and fierce loners, who fought off even much larger attackers to protect what was theirs. No mention of the badger's mate and children; they were on their own.

“That's a place to start, then. We can go on some of the sites and see if he's posted, maybe track him that way. He probably hasn't left the country. Even if he has legal custody of your son, he'd need permission from you to take him overseas or into Canada. He might be able to slip into Mexico, but it's a long way from Vermont.”

“He wouldn't have gone to Mexico. He was horribly prejudiced, and despite his hatred for the United States government, he thought of himself as a true patriot.”

“We should contact the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children and alert them. They can start circulating Adan's picture. And I'll talk to the police in Vermont. They may know something.”

In her heart, she knew all of these actions were unlikely to be of much help, but having a plan made her feel so much more steady on her feet. “Aren't you going to ask me why I left him there?” she asked. “How could a mother abandon her child to that kind of life?”

“It's not my place to judge you, Sharon.”

“Why not? I judge myself every day.” She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and choked back a sob.

“Hey, this is not your fault.” He gently pulled her hands away from her face, his arm tight around her shoulder, supporting her.

“How is it not my fault? I left him. No wonder he hated me.”

“Split custody isn't that unusual in divorce,” he said. “And plenty of teenage boys would choose a life of freedom running around in the woods over days spent in the classroom. I probably would have at Adan's age.”

“Yes.” She tore a paper towel from a roll on the counter and blew her nose. “He said he wanted to stay with Joe, and Joe wouldn't agree to the divorce unless I let Adan stay. I didn't want to do it, but I didn't feel I had a choice.”

“It doesn't sound like you did.”

“My lawyer told me Adan was old enough to choose—that a court would grant Joe custody anyway, even if I tried to fight it. I didn't have the money to do that, in any case.”

“You don't have to justify your actions to me.”

Maybe not. But she was still trying to justify them to herself. “I couldn't stay with Joe anymore. I hadn't loved him for years.” She glanced toward the living room; Alina still sat on the sofa, huddled against the cushions, staring into space. She lowered her voice. “Wilson was after Alina. He hadn't done anything yet, but I'd caught him with her in the barn.... Joe didn't see anything wrong with it. That's when I knew I had to go.”

“Your ex better hope I never meet him in a dark alley.”

The anger behind the words touched her even more than his previous compassion. No one else had cared what happened to her for so long—maybe never, really. She had to turn away to keep the emotion from showing on her face. “What do I need to do now?” she asked.

“Nothing yet. Other law enforcement may contact you for more information. And if you have a picture of Adan, I'll need that.”

“Of course. I have a photo album in my bedroom.”

He waited while she retrieved the photo. “It's a couple years old,” she said when she handed him the snapshot a friend had taken at a picnic. “Adan is taller now, and his hair is longer, past his shoulders.”

“This will be fine.” He tucked the picture in his pocket. “I'd better go now. Do you want me to call someone to stay with you? Jameso?”

If her brother came, what could he do? She'd headed to Eureka with the idea that Jameso would look after her, the way he had when they were kids. Because all the other men who'd been important in her life—her father and her husband—had told her she wasn't capable of looking after herself, she'd believed them. She shook her head. “I'll be all right now. Thank you. You've already helped so much, just coming here tonight.”

“Hang in there. I'll let you know what I find out.” He squeezed her shoulder, a brief, reassuring gesture. She walked with him to the door, then stood at the front window and watched until the taillights of his car were no longer visible.

She felt like someone coming out of anesthesia after surgery. Away from the belittling words men had showered her with all her life, she was finally waking up. She felt new pain, but she was alive and building up her strength. She had to take care of herself and her daughter; no one else would care as much about them as she did.

 

“It feels so great not to have to sit at the library all afternoon,” Alina said as she peddled hard after Lucas up the slight hill leading to the Eureka County offices. She squinted into the bright sun, and a breeze blew back her hair, bringing the scents of cedar and vanilla, which Lucas had explained was the smell of ponderosa pine trees. Just ahead of her, Lucas stood on the pedals of his bike to blast up the steepest part of the hill, long legs pumping, shoulders straining against a black T-shirt with the logo for the Drive-By Truckers, which he said he'd borrowed from his mom's boyfriend.

“I'm glad your mom finally lifted your punishment,” Lucas said, when she joined him at the top of the hill. “I was waiting for you to do this.”

“Thanks.” She slid off the seat of the mountain bike Uncle Jameso had said she could use as long as she liked. “And thanks for your help with the science project. I never would have gotten an A without your help. I don't know anything about rockets.”

“You'd have done all right. You're smart.” They walked their bikes into the gravel lot in front of the brick building that served as courthouse and clerk's office for tiny Eureka County.

She liked it when he said things like that. Her mother told her all the time that she was smart and pretty and good, but mothers always thought those things. No one else had ever given her compliments, not and really meant them. “Do you know where we go to find out about your house?”

“Miss Wynock said I had to ask for the tax records in the clerk's office.” He held the door open and they stepped into a wood-floored room flanked on one side by a long counter.

“May I help you?” A sandy-haired woman with a long face and deep grooves on either side of her mouth asked.