Out of Reach: A Novel (11 page)

XIV

S
UNDAYS WITH
C
LAIRE
were always an ordeal.

From one week to the next, Erin never knew what to expect. Often Claire was sullen and irritable, or simply refused to see or speak to them. That was hard enough on Erin and Marta, but devastating to poor Janie, leaving her confused and hurt.

Even on her good days, though, Claire was unpredictable. She might be wildly silly and childlike, playing games with Janie as if they were peers instead of mother and child. Or Claire might remain quiet and thoughtful, gracing them with her presence and a few words, but hardly noticing her daughter.

Either way, Janie was usually fussy and demanding afterward, and Erin came to dread their weekly excursions. According to Claire’s doctors, however, she needed regular contact with her family. They said it grounded her and aided the healing process.

Their concerns were validated when Erin had to cancel one of their visits in early spring. She’d been called to a last-minute meeting at Langley and didn’t want Janie and Marta going alone to see Claire. As it turned out, that decision had been a mistake.

Claire called the house and, getting Janie on the phone, accused the little girl of not loving her. By the time Marta claimed the receiver from the sobbing child, the damage had been done. But Claire wasn’t finished; she continued to berate the older woman, alternately sobbing and ranting, accusing Erin of heartlessness and desertion.

Erin had been furious when she’d first heard about the call. Janie had been through enough. She didn’t need her mother berating her about things she couldn’t help. Then, after a long talk with Claire’s doctor, who’d put her under watch in case she hurt herself, Erin had calmed down.

Claire, after all, wasn’t well and hadn’t been for a very long time. Her official diagnosis was Post-traumatic-Stress Disorder, or PTSD, stemming from severe childhood trauma. But Erin suspected not even the doctors really knew how those years of abuse had damaged her.

Still, Erin worried about Janie and how her mother’s illness affected her. How did you explain to a seven-year-old that her mother behaved irrationally because she’d been kidnapped as a child, because years and her innocence had been torn from her life? It was a horror story no child should have to hear, much less live with, and Erin couldn’t inflict it on Janie.

So all her niece knew was that Claire was very ill and lived at the hospital, where the doctors were trying to make her better. And after the phone incident with Claire, nothing got in the way of their weekly visits. Not even the Company.

Today, Erin felt more on edge than usual. Her encounter with Alec Donovan had left her unsettled. After leaving him at the diner, she’d gone home, showered and changed, then headed down to the police station to work with the sketch artist. It had taken a couple of hours, but he’d come up with a remarkable likeness of the man she’d seen. Now, if the authorities could just locate him, they might also find Cody Sanders.

She told herself she’d done her part. The rest was up to the FBI and police. Still, Donovan’s request buzzed in her head, whispering that there was one more thing she could do to help. Except the last thing she wanted was to ask Claire about the fateful day nineteen years ago when she’d disappeared from a Miami playground.

Claire had never spoken about her ordeal, about the kidnapping or her missing years. Not to Erin or to their mother. Not to numerous psychiatrists or mental health professionals. Not to anyone. Whatever she’d endured during those years was locked in her damaged mind. But the physical exam after she’d finally been brought home told them enough about what she’d been through, about the monster who’d taken her, about the abuse, physical and emotional, that she’d suffered. Fortunately, according to her current set of doctors, Claire didn’t remember what had happened to her. She’d blocked out the memories because they were too painful.

Erin had never quite believed that explanation. In her opinion, everything Claire had done since the police had found her indicated she did remember, but couldn’t put words to the memories.

Despite that, Claire had been steadily improving over the last year. After their mother’s death, Erin had moved her sister to Gentle Oaks, a psychiatric hospital on the outskirts of Fredericksburg, about an hour south of Arlington. It had taken the bulk of their mother’s life insurance to keep Claire there, but the facility was world-class and well regarded.

So Erin didn’t want to risk whatever progress Claire had made by picking at a subject that could tumble her sister back into the abyss. She had Janie to consider, and no matter how Erin felt about her sister’s ability to mother her daughter, Janie loved Claire.

When they arrived at Gentle Oaks, they found Claire outside, sitting under a tree. She seemed lost in her own world, wearing a loose cotton dress of soft blue that emphasized her pale skin and hair. From a distance she looked young and beautiful. And fragile.

“Mommy!”

Claire turned, a smile brightening her face, and spread her arms. Janie rushed into them, nearly knocking Claire to the ground as she pulled the child onto her lap.

“Did you miss me?” Claire asked as she buried her face in curls so like her own.

Janie giggled and squeezed her mother’s neck. “This much.”

“Is that all?”

Janie tightened her hold, scrunching her face in an expression of effort. “And this much, too.”

“Ooh, that’s a lot.” Claire laughed, a high, tinkling sound.

“Did you miss me, too?” Janie asked.

Claire untwined the small arms from her neck and leaned back to look into Janie’s face. “Of course.”

“I made a picture. Want to see?”

“I do, but first help me up.”

Janie climbed off her mother’s lap and pulled her hand as if helping her to her feet. By then, Erin and Marta had reached them, and Claire gave Marta a warm hug. “Are you taking care of my baby?”

“With your sister’s help,” Marta answered.

Claire brushed the comment aside. “Oh, I doubt that.” Then, offering her cheek to Erin, added, “She’s not exactly the maternal type.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” Erin gave Claire a perfunctory kiss, sensing the accusation—never spoken—but always there, just beneath the surface of Claire’s words. She was here because Erin had failed her all those years ago. “And I manage to find a maternal moment or two when needed.”

“Did I hurt your feelings?” Claire looked surprised. “I didn’t mean to. You’re just so good at everything else . . .”

“Come, let’s sit down,” Marta said, diverting them. “I packed us a nice lunch.”

Claire brightened and turned back to Marta. “I’m ready.” She looped her arm through Marta’s and started toward a nearby picnic table beneath a sprawling oak, its leaves just starting to turn. In another week or two, it would wear its full fall regalia. For now, though, only a smattering of yellow tarnished its summer cloak.

Erin followed with the promised basket of goodies, and Janie skipped alongside.

While Marta started unloading the basket, Janie pulled at her mother. “Can I show you my drawing now?”

“After we eat,” Claire replied absently, still focused on Marta. “Did you bring my favorite?”

The little girl’s face clouded.

“Janie is becoming quite the artist,” Erin said, upset by her sister’s lack of interest.

Claire met her gaze, irritation and understanding sparking her eyes. “Of course she’s a good artist, she takes after her mother.”

“Then I’d think you’d take the time to look. She spent a lot of time—”

“Enough,” Marta said. “Janie, come help me set up lunch.”

Janie looked from Marta to the two sisters, then nodded and climbed up onto the bench.

Erin bit her tongue, angry with herself for losing her patience. Just being around Claire was a trial, making Erin act like the twelve-year-old child who’d once lost her baby sister rather than a grown woman. She knew better. She was the adult here, the one in control of all her actions. Yet she always managed to let Claire get to her, especially when it came to Claire’s lack of maternal instincts.

“Marta made fudge,” she said, smiling an apology. It was Claire’s favorite.

After that, lunch was uneventful. Claire ended up looking at Janie’s picture of her school as they ate, letting the girl explain and point out all the details of the building. When they finished, Janie turned back a page of her sketchpad and pushed it toward her mother.

“Now you draw, Mommy.”

Claire flushed, obviously pleased. “Okay. Do you have your pencils with you?”

Janie produced the box of precious pencils.

To anyone watching Claire work, there was no doubt where Janie had gotten her talent. Claire sketched the graceful stone building that looked more like an expensive boarding school than a psychiatric hospital, added the stately oaks, and filled in the finely manicured lawns. Unlike Janie, whose attention to detail marked her drawings, Claire used broad strokes, which gave her work an otherworldly appearance.

Erin experienced a moment of sadness at the waste of Claire’s talent, and guilt over her own part in that waste. What would Claire have done, what would she have become, if a stranger hadn’t plucked her out of that Miami park nineteen years ago?

While Claire focused on her drawing, Marta and Janie went in search of the ice cream that was always available to patients and their guests during Sunday visiting hours. Erin watched Claire for a minute or two, her thoughts slipping to Cody Sanders.

Like Claire before she’d been taken, he had his whole life in front of him. Erin wondered what talents, what gifts he possessed that might be lost if the authorities never found him. What damage would his kidnappers inflict on him? If he even survived. Would he end up in an institution like Claire, or become a monster himself? And if
she
had the power to stop any of those fates, how could Erin turn her back on him?

With that question weighing on her mind, she made a decision she hoped she wouldn’t regret.

“You’ll never believe what I saw yesterday,” she said.

Claire didn’t seem very interested. All her attention was focused on the sketch coming alive under her hand. “Hmm.”

“An ice-cream vendor, performing magic tricks for the kids in the park.”

Claire’s shoulders stiffened. “Really.”

“Do you remember that in Miami?”

“No.” Claire’s hand moved faster, adding the concrete walkways that crisscrossed the grass.

“Sure you do. He came to the park near our house a couple of Saturdays. He wore that bright orange Hawaiian shirt, and we giggled and called him a snowbird.”

“I said, I don’t remember.”

Erin let the silence settle for a minute, then pushed on. “Mom gave me money for ice cream the day you disappeared. I think you ordered a Creamsicle.”

Claire turned on her, angry and frightened. “Why are you talking about this?”

“I just thought it was an interesting coincidence, that’s all.”

“Did you?” Claire shut the pad and started putting away the pencils, her hands trembling. “I think it’s time for you to go now.”

Erin ached for her sister, for making Claire think about things she preferred to keep buried. But as Donovan had pointed out, there was a young boy’s life at stake.

“Claire, you have to help me. This man in the park yesterday, he looked an awful lot like the man we used to see in Miami. Please.” She clasped Claire’s hands, tried to steady them with her own. “Was he the one who took you?”

Claire yanked her hands free and stood abruptly. “I need to go in now.”

Erin followed and grabbed her hand again. “Could it be the same man? There’s a missing boy, and he’s running out of time.”

Claire pulled away. “I don’t want you here.”

“Claire, please—”

She covered her ears and backed away.

“What’s going on here?” From behind them, Marta hurried forward and wrapped her arms around a distraught Claire. “What did you say to her?” Marta snapped as she glared at Erin.

Erin turned and saw Janie, who hung back, eyes wide, staring at her mother. She held two ice-cream bars: a partially eaten Fudgsicle and a Creamsicle, still in its wrapper. On the ground beside her were two more in wrappers, which Marta had dropped in her rush to Claire.

Guilt raced through Erin, but she squelched it. She hadn’t meant to hurt her sister, but she knew she’d ask her questions again if it meant a chance to help Cody Sanders. She could do nothing to change what had happened to Claire all those years ago, but Erin might be able to prevent the same horrors from happening to him. And whether Claire realized it or not, she’d given Erin the answer she needed.

“I’m sorry, Claire.” She raised a hand to her sister, who huddled closer to Marta and buried her face against the older woman’s shoulder.
For everything that happened to you.
Erin backed away.

“I think you better go out to the car,” Marta said.

Erin nodded.

“Janie, go with your aunt. I’ll take care of your mother and be out as soon as she’s settled.”

Janie reached up and took Erin’s hand, and the two of them walked silently across the grass toward the parking lot. They waited beside the car, neither speaking. Erin thought she should say something to Janie, at least to apologize for ruining their visit, but she couldn’t. Not without explaining about Cody Sanders. And Janie didn’t ask, a sad testament to her mother’s illness.

About a half hour later, Marta finally joined them.

Stepping forward, Erin asked, “How is she?”

Marta frowned, then seemed to deflate, as if only her anger at Erin had given her the strength to handle Claire, and now that was gone. “She’ll be okay. The doctors will keep a close watch on her for the next twenty-four hours, just to make sure she doesn’t . . .” Marta glanced at Janie. “To make sure she gets some rest.”

“I’m sorry this always falls on you, Marta.”

The older woman shrugged, evidently resigned. “There are sweet compensations.” Marta reached down and stroked Janie’s cheek. “I’m not going to ask what you said to her, but I know whatever it was, you meant well.”

Erin smiled tightly and slipped an arm around Janie’s shoulder.