Gone (16 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Joe walked up to the house that he and Marcie had
bought together when they’d found out they were pregnant. He stood there looking
at the doorbell as the past two weeks slid through his head.

Joshua had gone home with Marcie two days after Rhoda was
arrested trying to leave the state with him. And Joe had gone back to his
apartment. The psychologist assigned to them by Child Services had quickly seen
that Joshua would be better off with Marcie than with a foster family.

The three of them were attending twice-weekly counseling
sessions. In addition, a social worker visited the house once a week to ensure a
smooth transition for Joshua back into his mother’s life.

Joe was here this evening because Marcie had called and invited
him to spend the evening with her and Joshua. From her nervous and slightly
scattered phone call, he figured the invitation was an assignment from the
psychologist or the social worker. But that was okay. That day in the police
station, when his wife refused his help or comfort, it was painfully obvious
that the two of them would never get back together. So when it came to his son,
he would take anything he could get. Even an awkward, therapist-assigned evening
with his estranged wife.

He rang the doorbell and took a long, calming breath as he
waited for her to answer. From somewhere inside the house, he heard a sound that
made him smile. It was Marcie, laughing. He peered through the sidelight at the
foyer. After a couple of seconds, he saw her. She had on a sleeveless dress that
drifted around her legs and she was barefoot. She came skipping through the
foyer with a beautiful smile on her face, and quickly unlocked the door.

“Hi,” she said brightly. “I didn’t realize it was locked.
Sorry.” She beamed at him, then turned around and headed back the way she’d
come. “We’re in the kitchen,” she called over her shoulder.

He followed, watching the hem of her dress float around her
calves. It seemed to him that she left all the scents and freshness of spring in
her wake. It made his heart ache to see her so happy. It hadn’t been that long
ago that he’d been convinced that neither one of them would ever smile
again.

When he got to the kitchen, Joshua was sitting at the little
table Marcie had bought for him, trying to fit plastic cubes and balls and
pyramids into the same shaped holes of a brightly colored toy.

“Joshua, look. It’s Daddy,” Marcie said.

The toddler held up a ball. “Daddeee!” he cried, then dropped
the ball into the round hole. “I’n a good boy!”

Joe crouched down beside him and brushed his hand over his
silky hair that was just like Marcie’s. “You’re a smart boy. Look what you
did.”

Joshua picked up the cube. “I’n a smar’ boy,” he repeated, then
tried to push the cube into the triangular hole. When it wouldn’t go, he banged
it down a couple of times and started whimpering.

“Oh,” Marcie muttered and started for him, but Joe held up a
hand.

“I’ve got it,” he said, “if that’s okay.”

“It’s great,” she replied. “I’ve still got to feed him. He’s
sleepy. That’s why he’s cranky.”

Joe took the cube from Joshua’s fingers.

“No!” Joshua snapped. “Mine.”

“Hey, buddy, I know it’s yours, but you don’t bang it.”

“Bang it. Bang it.”

“Here.” Joe gave the cube back to Joshua. “Let’s put it right
here.” He pointed to the square hole.

“No,” Joshua said, banging the cube against the triangular hole
again.

Joe wrapped his hand around Joshua’s tiny one. “No banging it.
Okay?”

Joshua looked at Marcie, then back at Joe. “No bang it?”

“No bang it,” Joe said, trying not to laugh. Behind him,
Marcie’s sweet laugh rang out like a bell.

“He didn’t get a nap today because the social worker came by
right when I was getting him into his crib,” she said.

Joe guided Joshua’s hand to the square hole. The cube dropped
right in. “Yay,” Joe said.

Joshua clapped his hands together and looked at Marcie. “Mama,
look! I’n a good—I’n a smar’ boy.”

“Yes, you are,” she said, sidling past Joe to bend down and
plant a kiss on Joshua’s cheek. “Mmm. You’re a sweet boy, too.”

“Swee’ boy,” he repeated.

Joe couldn’t stop the stinging behind his eyelids any more than
he could wipe away the grin that spread across his face. Marcie’s gaze met his
over Joshua’s head and her eyes sparkled like they had when they were first
married, and while she was pregnant, and every day after Joshua was born
until—

“Joe?” Marcie interrupted his thoughts. “Would you mind feeding
him while I finish getting dinner ready?”

“Sure. I’ll feed him.” He was amazed and delighted by his son.
He hadn’t gotten to spend much time with him at all. Several new cases had
recently come into the NCMEC, so that by the time he’d gotten to the house on
the few occasions when Marcie had invited him, Joshua had already been in bed or
was just about to go. “What does he eat these days?”

“Anything he can get his hands on. Here,” she said, handing Joe
a bowl with cut-up pasta and cream sauce. “And here’s his spoon. You don’t
really have to do anything but watch him to be sure he’s eating and don’t let
him choke.”

“Okay, buddy,” Joe said. “How about some spaghetti? What is
this anyway?” he asked Marcie. “It smells terrific.” He stuck a finger into the
pasta to test the temperature, then licked off the sauce. “It
is
terrific.”

“It’s fettuccini Alfredo with chicken,” she said. “He hasn’t
had it before.”

Joe set the bowl down in front of Joshua and handed him his
spoon. It took about ten minutes for Joshua to finish the pasta and drink some
juice from a sippy cup, after which Marcie cleaned his hands and face and took
him upstairs to bed. Joe walked up the stairs with them and watched as she got
him settled in his crib and patted him while she sang a short lullaby.

The homey scene that played out in front of Joe almost choked
him up. He’d never cried, even as a kid. He’d learned early that Kit, his
mother, didn’t have any sympathy or time for a crying child and so he’d learned
to lock those feelings up inside him. He’d cried more since his son was born
than he’d ever cried as a child. He’d shed tears of joy the night his son was
born, tears of anguish when Joshua was stolen, and he’d had to accept that his
child would never be found. And for some reason, he kept having to fight the
stinging in his eyes tonight.

It was probably because it was the first chance he’d gotten to
see how smart and adorable Joshua was, and how happy Marcie was, now that she
had her baby back. He leaned against the door facing of the nursery and let
himself soak in the poignant, precious scene before him.

Just as Marcie’s lullaby was over and she’d slowed down on
patting Joshua, he stirred and whimpered. He opened his eyes and looked at
Marcie, then he started crying and wailing.

“Gram-m-ma,” he sobbed. “Where Gramma?” His crying got louder
and louder. Marcie kept on patting his tummy as she tried to reassure him.

“Joshua, it’s Mama, baby. It’s Mama. You’re okay, Shh, shh,
baby.”

With a squeezing in his chest that threatened to cut off his
breath, Joe backed out of the room and went downstairs. He sat at the dining
room table and picked up the glass of white wine he hadn’t finished.

He swirled the liquid around, following the reflection of the
chandelier, but soon he set the glass down. He didn’t want more wine. Instead,
he got up and took the plates to the kitchen, where he rinsed them and put them
into the dishwasher. He put the leftover pasta into the refrigerator and wiped
down the stove and counters.

Then he stepped out through the French doors onto the patio. It
was pleasantly warm and he could smell the gardenias that Marcie loved so much.
He stood looking up at the sky through damp, hazy eyes.

It was so easy for the therapists to talk about reintegration
of the kidnapped child back into the family unit, about time frames and usual
patterns. He couldn’t count how many times he’d sat in his office listening to a
psychologist or a social worker giving him progress reports on reunited
families. But all of that had very little to do with reality. Reality was a
scared little boy who had twice been yanked away from the people who loved
him.

He’d only been nine months old when Rhoda had stolen him. It
was doubtful that Joshua would ever have a conscious memory of those first
months with Marcie and him. Then, twenty months later, he’d been ripped from the
arms of the only parent he remembered. His
Gramma.
There was no question that Joshua was better off away from Howard, but would he
ever fully recover from the loss of his Gramma? Would he learn to think of
Marcie as his mother? And would he get the chance to know Joe, in his role of
estranged husband and weekend dad?

Marcie opened the French doors and stepped out onto the patio.
She closed the doors behind her and hooked the baby monitor onto her belt.

Joe’s head angled slightly when he heard her but he didn’t turn
around. She stepped up beside him.

Still without looking at her, Joe asked, “So did you get him
back to sleep?”

“Yes. It took a while. I’ve got the baby monitor in case he
wakes up again.”

“Does that happen often?”

Marcie gave a short, wry laugh. “In my vast experience of
twelve days with my son? Yes. It happens every night.”

Joe cleared his throat. “He’ll get over it. He already calls
you Mama.”

“And you
Daddeee!
” she said,
mimicking Joshua’s enthusiastic inflection.

Joe nodded.

Marcie frowned, studying him. The way he wasn’t looking at her.
The slight hoarseness in his voice. “Is something wrong?” she asked. Then an
awful thought hit her, right under her breastbone. “Has Child Services contacted
you? Is it something about Joshua?”

He shook his head.

“Then what?” she asked, laying a hand on his arm.

He turned his head, looking down at her hand, then lifted his
gaze to hers. “I’m just—” He shrugged and cleared his throat again. When he
spoke, his voice was odd, as if he were fighting some strong emotion. “It’s one
of those days, I guess. Seeing him playing and eating and...”

“I know. It’s a miracle, isn’t it? That we have him back?
Sometimes I just look at him and I start crying. He’s so perfect. So beautiful.”
She took a shaky breath. “And then I get this awful, terrified feeling right
here.” She pressed her palm to the center of her chest. “And I cry some more,
because I’m afraid they’re going to take him away from me—” She stopped. “From
us.”

Joe drew in a swift breath, then whirled and walked away to the
other edge of the patio. “You had it right the first time.
From you.
”

“I didn’t mean that, Joe,” she said quickly, moving to stand
beside him again. “He’s your son. I would never take that away from you.”

He rubbed his forehead. “What would you do, Marcie? When can I
expect you to start enforcing your never-want-to-see-you-again policy? Because
right now I feel like I’m in a particularly hellish limbo. My son is back in my
life—on alternate Tuesdays when you decide that it’s a convenient night for me
to drop by in time to see him falling asleep. Thanks, by the way, for the half
hour of playtime and feeding tonight.”

His voice was so bitter, so angry, it took Marcie aback, and
she realized that she had been so caught up in the all-day, every-day life of a
mom and the miracle of having her child back, even if he didn’t quite know who
she was yet, that she’d completely neglected and ignored Joe’s feelings.

She also realized that the question she’d been planning to ask
him tonight wasn’t going to happen. Her plan—her fantasy—had been that the two
of them would come out onto the patio after dinner and have a pleasant,
meaningful conversation about where their lives were going from here. They’d
talk about being together for their child and Joe might say something about how
expensive his apartment was, which would give Marcie the opening to suggest that
he move back into the house.

But instead of being excited about how smart Joshua was and how
cool it was to watch him feed himself, Joe had become angry.

“I’m sorry, Joe. I’ve handled all this badly.”

He turned to face her. “No, you haven’t. You’re a wonderful
mom. It’s obvious Joshua already loves you.”

She shook her head. “He loves
Gramma
and he thinks you are the best thing ever,
Daddeee!
To him, I’m just the nanny.” To her dismay,
her voice broke.

“You don’t see it, but I do. He couldn’t take his eyes off you
while we were putting the square box in the triangular hole. He wanted you to
see everything.”

Marcie felt the breeze cool on her cheeks as it dried her
tears. “I nearly went crazy when he was stolen.” She chuckled wryly. “I know,
understatement of the year. I know I blamed you. I know I was mean to you and I
completely ignored that you had lost a child, too. I was too sad and too broken
to realize that I was destroying the only person who could help me.

“Marcie—”

“Let me finish. I know now that you had to leave or I would
have totally destroyed you. As it is I’ve said things that I know you can never
forgive. But, Joe, if you could try. If you could possibly forgive me—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Joe snapped. “What is this? Did the
social worker tell you it’s time to mend fences? Well, it’s not going to work.
You forget that in my job I hear all this. The psychologists and social workers
report to me, so I know that this is just about the time in the reintegration
process where the parent is told to make amends.”

“That’s not—”

“Come on, Marc—”

“I love you!” Marcie shouted because that was the only way she
could think of to stop him. “I love you and I want you here, with Joshua and me.
Is that
amends
enough for you?”