Together Alone (25 page)

“No.”

“Did you
hear
anything unusual, something that might have registered, even while you were dealing with your mother, like the squeal of tires?”

Susan looked apologetic. “You wouldn’t be asking that if you knew my mother. She talks nonstop. All the while we were at Belle’s that day—I remember, because when we found out what had happened, it seemed so petty—she was jabbering on about how unflattering the dress styles were and how much smaller the dressmakers were making their things, so that she had to buy a bigger size than she used to. She took time off to complain about Frank Balch and his old car and the awful noise it made, but all
I
heard was her voice. I’m sorry. I wish I could help.”

Later, sitting in John’s office, Brian repeated that thought.

“They all want to help. But they’re not telling me anything new. Everyone liked Emily. Everyone feels bad for her. No one knows who would take her child or why. Frank Balch’s name keeps popping up. Sounds like he was a mean son of a bitch. Could he have done more than he said?”

“Don’t know how. Don’t know
why.
He hated kids.”

“Maybe that was why.”

“Nah. He had just gotten rid of his own. He wouldn’t want to go anywhere near Daniel. Besides, we questioned him, questioned him two, three times. His story didn’t change. Myra corroborated it.”

“She wasn’t with him.”

“No, but she was at home when he got back, and that was five minutes after he left the post office. So what’s he gonna do? Take the kid and dump him in five minutes? Give me a motive.”

“Meanness.”

“Meanness ain’t no crime. The guy never even got a speeding ticket.”

Brian sighed. “Well, I’m sorry he’s dead. I’d have liked to talk with him.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Trust me.”

But Brian held firm. “Guys like that are sometimes the biggest help. They have chips on their shoulders. They love bad-mouthing other people. They have the guts to say things that kinder people don’t. They don’t protect
anyone.
”

“No kidding. Poor Emily was going through a time of it, and all Frank could do was flay her for leaving the child in the car. Sweet guy, huh?”

Myra sat on the bench under the willow. She was wrapped in the large wool jacket that Frank used to wear to chop wood. Her daughter-in-law, Linda, wearing a more stylish parka, sat beside her.

Myra hadn’t invited her over. Linda had just shown up and insisted they talk. So Myra had said, “Fine, but I’m going outside,” as she pulled on the jacket.

It was cloudy at midday, and chilly as October days went. The grass had been crunchy that morning, and though it had softened some, crunchy meant winter was at hand.

“We worry about you,” Linda said. “Carl doesn’t like the idea of your being out here all alone.”

“I’m not alone. I have people in town. And Emily and Brian. And Frank.”

“Yes, well, we were wondering if you’d consider a move.”

“Good Lord, no. I’m not moving.”

“There’s wonderful place, garden apartments not a half hour from us. The people are lovely.”

“I can’t move.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve lived here for thirty-seven years. Everything that matters is here.”

“Maybe when Carl, Peter, and Nowell were home, and when Frank was alive, but it’s only you now.”

“It’s more than that.”

“These apartments are wonderful, Myra. You’d have a bedroom, a den, and a living room, all carpeted. The kitchen was just redone. It even has a microwave.”

“I can’t work a microwave.”

“You can learn. It’s freezing out here. Wouldn’t you like to go back inside?”

“No,” Myra said. She brushed shriveled leaves from the bench and tipped back her head. The boughs had thinned. Two more weeks, and a good rain would leave them bare.

“Would you just
look
at this apartment?” Linda asked.

“No. You’d only have to drive me right back. I’m not interested in moving.” She gazed out over the pond. It was what she had first loved about the house. She couldn’t imagine living where there wasn’t a pond.

“It’s adorable, Myra. The bedroom and den are up a curved stairway. The living room has a separate dining area with a door to the kitchen. And there are sliding doors off the living room that lead to a private patio.”

Myra wondered why Linda thought a patio would appeal, when she had all this.

“The closet space is good. There’s a window in the bathroom. There’s even a ceiling fan in the bedroom.”

That gave Myra a moment’s pause, but only a moment’s. “Frank wouldn’t like it,” she said. Rising, she went to the water’s edge. It was dark where it lapped at the rocks, and, farther out, gray beneath the clouds. She imagined that a world of creatures lay under the murk.

“Myra,” said Linda, softly, from behind, “Frank is dead.”

Myra didn’t bother to argue. Linda couldn’t understand that Frank lived on, any more than Carl could, or Peter or Nowell, or Emily or Brian could. But he did live. Myra felt the force of him every day and every night.

As she stood there beside the pond, with Linda going on about an apartment that Myra wouldn’t move to, couldn’t move to, she dreamed that the creatures under the surface rose up one night, took form, and left the water. She imagined that they came across the grass to the willow.

E
MILY SAT IN THE ATTIC WITH HER BACK AGAINST
A carton labeled
JILL’S DOLLS
and her legs askew on the aged wood planks. Open before her lay the large accordian-pleated folder that held all the bits and snatches of things she had written in the days following Daniel’s disappearance. They weren’t in any order. She had jotted down thoughts as they’d come, on whatever material was handy, and had stashed them here. After years of random extractions and returns, they were a jumbled mess.

She drew out a piece of paper and read, “I touch his crib and see him playing with his toys on the floor, then I blink and see nothing, just my mind playing games. I remember him as he was, doing all the things he loved, and I want him to do them again. He’s been gone four months, an eternity in such a young life. With each day that passes, chances of things ever being the same grow smaller.”

She reached in again and drew out a phone bill with writing on its back. “I lost control again today. We were eating dinner in silence, as seems our way since Daniel, when I started to sweat and shake. I left the table and went outside for air. Doug was annoyed with me, but I couldn’t help it. The walls were closing in. I felt that if I didn’t
move
I would suffocate. So I started walking down the street and kept going, into town and around and back. At the head of China Pond Road I saw him, or imagined I did. He was wearing the same clothes he had on that day, the little dungarees bulging around his diapers, the red striped jersey, the sneakers, the baby baseball hat with the pin on the front.
DADDY’S BOY
, it said. Doug bought it for him.”

Emily remembered that hat, clear as day. She remembered the dungarees, the jersey, the sneakers. She remembered thinking horrible things about what might have happened to those clothes, picturing them torn and bloody. She remembered coiling into herself on the edge of the sidewalk, hugging her knees, wanting to die there and then if all there was to her future were torn and bloody thoughts. She remembered John coming by, stopping, talking softly.

She hadn’t remembered those silent dinners until now, though. Once Jill had been old enough to join in, her presence had livened things up. But there had been that silence before.

Her marriage had been good until Daniel disappeared. Much as she had downplayed cause-and-effect when Brian suggested it, she might have been wrong.

She sifted through the folder for the piece of faded yellow construction paper that she often drew out. She had been in the process of making a card for Doug, when he had burst into the room, wanting to know why his partner had seen her car parked at the office of her obstetrician. There had been no point in making a card then, since the cat was out of the bag. Later, she had simply written out her thoughts.

“I’m pregnant again. Still can’t believe it. Must have conceived shortly before Daniel disappeared, because Doug and I haven’t had sex since. Some would call it a cruel joke, what with the hell of our lives now. I call it a miracle. After so many nights when I honestly didn’t care if I lived to see the day again, I do now. A new baby means a second chance.”

She tucked the yellow paper in with the rest and stretched a thick elastic band around the accordian-pleated folder. Then she went down to Doug’s den. She set the accordian-pleated folder on the desk, pulled up the telephone, and dialed New York.

A receptionist announced that she had reached Renton Press.

“Kate Cerrillo, please.”

She looked off toward the pond. Framed by the mullioned window, Canada geese were poking their bills through the backyard grass, three, four, five of them. They would be gone soon, flown farther south, leaving the chicadees and the squirrels to fight for the feeder’s seed.

“Kate Cerrillo.”

“Hi, Kate. It’s Emily.”

“Emily! Good to
hear
from you! I’ve been thinking about you. How’s Jill?”

“Jill is great. Back at school after fall break, and liking it a lot.”

“Do you like advanced parenthood as much?”

“I’m not sure yet. It’s different. I’m still adjusting.”

“Emily.” All business. “I need a book.”

Emily smiled. It was a familiar line, delivered by Kate each time they talked. “What is it now?”

“A juicy scandal brewing in Washington. One of the president’s top aides is involved with the wife of a senator from the opposition party. No, you haven’t read anything about it yet, mainly because there is bipartisan opposition to a leak, but the leak is coming. We want a book. It has your name written all over it.”

Emily didn’t think so. “Not good timing for me.”

“Why not? Jill’s away. Doug travels. You’re young and energetic. I’d do it if I weren’t so old.”

“You’re not old.”

“For running in and out of corridors and up and down marble steps? I’m nearly sixty. Besides, too many people know me. Not you, though. You’re low key enough to slip through doors that would be shut in my face. It would mean spending time in Washington. Don’t worry about money. We’ll cover all your expenses—”

“It’s not that. I’m kind of involved in something else.

“Something to do with writing?” Kate asked.

“Possibly.”

There was a pause, then a hopeful “Are you serious?”

“I’m getting there.”

A quietly excited “About Daniel?”

Emily’s smile was skewed. “How’d you guess?”

“I can hear it in your voice. It’s your Daniel tone. You’re terrified, but you’re thinking of all those notes you’ve kept all these years, and you know that you won’t be able to write anything else until you’ve done this.”

“But can I do it? That’s the question.”

“Sure, you can. Writing was an outlet for you after Daniel disappeared. It kept you sane. You told me so.”

She had indeed, during one of several lunches that had gone on for hours and hours. From the start, there had been a rapport between Kate and her—not quite mother and daughter, not quite best of friends, but a tight connection nonetheless.

“Okay, it’ll be tough reliving things,” Kate went on, “but you have all the raw materials right there.”

“Would you be interested in publishing it, if I did it?”

“I’ve been wanting it for years. Give me a month, and you’ll have a contract.”

But Emily wasn’t ready to commit. “No contract. Not yet. I said I was
getting
there. I didn’t say I was there.”

“Do it, Emily. Please?”

Kate’s plea was still echoing in Emily’s ear when Brian called. “How about lunch?” he asked.

She brightened. Lunch was innocent—a broad day-light rendezvous between friends. “Can you take the time?”

“Sure. It’s a quiet day. Want to?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. I’ll be there soon.”

When he pulled into the driveway five minutes later, she was wearing a fresh sweater and slacks, and a pleased smile. She ran out to the Jeep and slipped inside.

“Hi,” she breathed.

“Hi, yourself,” he said with a grin and started off.

“This is a treat.”

“My treat. You’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen all day.”

“That may or may not be a compliment.”

“It is. I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“This is safe, isn’t it?”

“Depends what you’d call safe. If you mean we can’t make love at the Eatery, you’re right. But I won’t promise that my eyes won’t give it a try, and if you feel a wandering hand under the table—”

“You won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I asked you not to. Right?”

He didn’t answer the question, simply said a soft, “I’m glad you came.”

Over sandwiches, they talked about his morning’s interrogations of one drunk driver, one obscene phone caller, and one victim of a spray-painted car. Emily told him about her talk with Kate, but it wasn’t until they had been there for nearly forty minutes, that Brian said, “This is the first time we’ve been out together in public.”

“We’ve eaten here before.”

“Not without Julia. It’s different without Julia. What if people talk?”

“If? Make that when. And it won’t bother me.” She had sworn off sex, not friendship. “Will it bother you?”

“No. Will it bother Doug?”

Emily wasn’t sure. It was actually an intriguing thought. “He thinks you’re great. He tells me he’s glad you’re next door. He feels better leaving me alone, knowing you’re here.” She found the irony of it amusing. “He should only know.”

“Detective Stasek?” It was their waitress. “Chief Davies just called.” She passed him a slip of paper, along with the bill.

Brian read it, took money enough from his wallet to cover lunch and a tip, and drew Emily out of the booth. On the sidewalk, he said, “Something’s come up. I’ll have to drop you home.”

“What is it?”

“Another visit to Leila Jones.”

As he settled her in the Jeep, she asked, “What’s up?”

“She’s having trouble with her kids.” He shut the door, rounded the hood, and slid in behind the wheel. “I won’t know what ’til I get there.”

Emily accepted that for all of thirty seconds. He had barely swung a U-turn when she decided that he knew more than he was letting on. Most everyone in Grannick knew Leila Jones better than Brian did. Yet John wanted Brian there.

She reached over and pulled John’s note from his pocket.

“Emily—”

The words she read tied her stomach in knots. “One of her kids is
missing?
”

He sighed. “That’s what it says.”

“I’m coming.”

“You’re not.” He continued along LaGrange in the opposite direction from where Leila Jones lived.

“I’m coming,” Emily insisted.

“You can’t. This is police work.”

“I came once before.”

“That was different.”

But Emily wasn’t giving up. Who
better
to be in on the search for a child than one who knew firsthand how it felt? “I know Leila. I know what she’s thinking. I can stay with her and help keep her calm while you look for the child.”

“No. It’s too close to home. I don’t want you upset.”

She let him have it. “I’ll be
more
upset sitting home waiting for word. I’ll be imagining that the child was kidnapped by some perverted stranger who is doing the same kind of unspeakably terrifying things to it as someone did to Daniel. I’ll be thinking that the first few hours are the most crucial, and that if I could be there with Leila, I could maybe pick up something from her that would give a clue as to who took the child and where they went. I can be a
help
, Brian,” she begged, needing the redemption of it. “Don’t deny me that.”

His mouth was set, his eyes firm ahead, but when he reached China Pond Road, he swore, made another U-turn, and started back toward town. “This is not good. I just know it. I don’t know why I listen. Either you are the most persuasive woman in the world, or I’m just such a sucker for a sweet thing that common sense goes right out the window.” His finger pointed at her, while his eyes hugged the road. “If this upsets you, don’t come crying to me. I’ve warned you. I’ve tried to protect you. You are
impossible.
”

“But you do love me.”

He sighed, his fight gone. “Ain’t it the truth.”

It was a light moment, that dissipated the closer they came to Leila’s street and was forgotten completely when the flashing lights atop the cruisers at Leila’s house came into view. Neighbors were standing in small clumps, keeping their distance. A bald-headed man in an undershirt was watching the goings-on from the sill of the third-floor window.

Memory, and the smell of tragedy pulled the knot in Emily’s stomach tighter.

Leila was on the front steps with the baby on her lap and the three other children looking out from the door behind her like caged beasts, eyes wide, noses flattened on the misshapen screen. The children were silent. Leila was the one making noise this time, a wailing sound, halfway between a whine and a sob.

Immersing herself in Leila’s grief, Emily sat and slipped an arm around her shoulder. John and another officer were hovering, with two more officers wandering around the house.

Leila’s eyes went to Brian. “I was out back hanging the wash. I had the baby, but th’ others was
s’posed
to stay
inside.
Travis followed me out.”

“Travis is the two-year-old?” Brian asked.

“I
told
him to stay inside, but he’s
never
listening to what I say. I
told
him to stay with the others, and that if he didn’t something bad was gonna happen to him, but what was I s’posed to do, stay inside watching him
every
minute? I had to go out to hang the wash, and then when I came back inside, he wasn’t there, and th’ others told me he was out, so I went back out, and he was there, and then he
wasn’t.
”

“Did you see anyone around the house?” Brian asked.

“I didn’t see
no
one. I was hanging out the wash. There was so much of it, nothing stays clean for long, they’re always spilling stuff all over the place. I try my best, but I can’t do
everything
, not with them
squalling
all the time.”

Brian turned to John and said in a low voice, “Has someone searched the house?”

“He isn’t
in
the house,” Leila cried. “He came
out
, after I told him not to. I told him
so many times
to stay inside with Lissie and Davis and Joey, but they’re always doing awful things to him,
even when I tell them not to
, so he wanted to come out.”

“Sam’s in there now,” John told Brian. “Hooks and Munroe are out back. We got a description of the boy. I put it on the horn.”

Brian made to lean against the stair rail near Leila, but caught himself when it started to give. “Did you actually see Travis outside?”

“He was right there, walking all through my clean laundry, pulling on things so I had to slap his hand.”

“What did he do then?”

“He sat down and
screamed.
”

The baby started to cry. Leila put it to her shoulder and began a convulsive rocking. Emily offered to hold her, but Leila didn’t respond. Her eyes were fixed on Brian.