Derek was a wreck for months.
Then he got the news.
The baby had died at birth.
He couldn’t believe how it hit him. Months earlier, he would have been secretly relieved to hear Marla had lost the baby. Off the hook. Problem solved. Case dismissed. But he was devastated.
My kid died.
Except, of course, as everyone now knew, that wasn’t what had happened. Marla’s mother and her doctor had tricked her into thinking her baby had not survived. Ten months later, Marla was reunited with her child.
Not that everyone lived happily ever after. Marla’s mother and the doctor were dead. Marla remained pretty screwed up. She’d refused to believe, for several days, that her mother had actually killed herself by jumping off Promise Falls. She and Matthew were living with her father, and being checked on regularly by the local child welfare authorities.
But everyone thought it was a good sign that she wanted to bring Derek into the loop.
Even Derek’s mother and father.
This was the really good part.
He’d figured his parents, Jim and Ellen, would be all over him about this. Still in school, got a girl pregnant, didn’t have a job, why couldn’t he keep it in his pants? — that kind of thing.
It hadn’t been like that at all.
They hadn’t really judged. His dad just made it clear that he had to step up to the plate, do the right thing, accept his responsibility, fill in whichever cliché you want here. The really weird thing was, Derek having a kid seemed to be bringing Jim and Ellen, who had split up a few years ago, back together.
They were grandparents. And they appeared to want to enjoy the experience together.
They’d met a few times for dinner. They’d gone to the Pickens house twice to see the baby. They’d bought stuff. Diapers, clothes, board books.
Jim had asked his son if he wanted to come back to work with him this summer at the landscaping business.
Derek said yes.
So he felt pretty good this morning. The events of two nights ago at the drive-in were still fresh in his memory, but he wasn’t going to let that drag him down too much. He jumped into the shower, got dressed, and was out front of his place by seven. He didn’t have a car, but Gill Pickens, Marla’s dad, had offered to come over and pick him up.
Gill was there.
They didn’t have much to say to each other. Derek figured that whenever he looked at him, he was probably thinking, You’re the dickwad who knocked up my little girl. Then again, you couldn’t blame the guy for being quiet. His wife had just died, and he had a whole lot on his plate right now.
Marla was at the door, holding Matthew in her arms, when they pulled into the driveway.
“You’re just in time,” Marla said. “He’s really hungry.”
Derek followed Marla and his son into the kitchen. “You hold on to him while I get his breakfast ready.”
“You sure?” he said.
She handed Matthew over to him. Derek took him under the arms, settled him up against his chest, put his right hand on the child’s back.
“I can feel his heart beating.”
“Yeah, well, that’s a good thing,” Marla said.
Matthew made soft gurgling noises. Derek said, “He looks bigger than he did two weeks ago.”
“He’s growing — that’s for sure. You guys look good together.”
A cell phone started to ring.
“Who’s that?” Marla asked.
Derek could feel the buzzing on his upper thigh. “It’s me,” he said. “I don’t know who’d be calling me this early. Can you take him?”
He handed Matthew off to Marla, then took the phone from the pocket of his jeans. He saw the name on the screen and said, “What?”
“Who is it?”
“Lydecker,” Derek said. “As in George Lydecker.” The phone continued to ring in his hand. “Except it’s his home phone, not his cell. He never uses his home phone.”
“Who’s George Lydecker?”
“He’s this idiot. The other night, before the screen came down? He was shooting at stop signs and stuff.” The phone kept ringing. Derek sighed, accepted the call. “Hello?”
It wasn’t George on the other end. It was a woman, and she was speaking loud enough that Marla could hear every word.
“Hello?”
“Is this Derek?” the woman asked. “Derek Cutter?”
“Yup.”
“It’s Hillary Lydecker. George’s mother. Is George with you?”
“What? No.” Why the hell would George be with him this early in the morning? Wait, maybe that wasn’t so implausible. George had been known to drink too much and pass out at a friend’s place, then head home the next morning.
“I’ve been calling everyone he knows. I found your number on his cell phone bill. I think I’ve called just about everyone!” The woman sounded frantic. “You sure he’s not with you?”
“I’d kinda know. I haven’t seen him since night before last.”
“We’re all set to go. We were supposed to leave for the airport a couple of hours ago. We thought maybe he was out partying or something and maybe he passed out and didn’t wake up in time to get home for the taxi. We’ve missed our flight. We’re going to have to rebook everything.”
“When did you last see him?” Derek asked.
“Last night, we had an early dinner. Then he said he was going out, and I said to him, ‘Be back early, because we’re flying out in the morning.’ All of us, we’re going to Vancouver to see my husband’s family, and we told George the taxi is coming really early, at five, and he promised he’d be home in good time, but I’ve tried his cell and I can’t get him and—”
“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Derek said. “You know what George is like. I’m sure he’s okay. It’s probably like you say. He went to a party and had a bit too much and fell asleep on somebody’s couch. Too bad about your flight, though. That’s really a drag.”
Hillary Lydecker said, “I just hope he hasn’t done something really stupid.”
Forty-eight
It wasn’t as though Barry Duckworth was expecting a plate covered with four scrambled eggs, half a dozen strips of bacon, and a heap of home fries. He rarely got something like that at home. If he wanted a breakfast like that, he hit one of Promise Falls’ greasy, wonderful diners.
But a grapefruit and a slice of toast? Seriously?
“Maureen,” he said, “we need to talk.”
She was drinking her coffee across the table from him, having a quick look at the news on her tablet before heading off to work.
“What’s the problem?” she said. “I cut the grapefruit in half, and even took a knife to the little wedges so you won’t get any grapefruit juice in your eye and blind yourself. Also, I sprinkled some Splenda on it so it’s not so bitter. I couldn’t see sprinkling sugar all over it. That kind of defeats the purpose, don’t you think?”
“What kind of toast is this? It doesn’t look like my regular toast.”
“That’s multigrain,” she said, not moving her eyes from the tablet. “There’s something pretty amazing on here you’re going to want to see.”
“It looks like birdseed stuck to the crust.”
“It’ll make you a better warbler,” Maureen said. She looked at him. “Oh my God, you’re not actually picking those seeds off, are you?”
“I don’t like them.”
“I buttered the bread for you. Not a lot, but that’s actual butter on the bread. I would never expect you to eat dry toast. My God, the way you’re carrying on, you’d think you were being waterboarded.”
“I like my usual toast,” he said.
“I’m sure you do,” Maureen said. “Really, you’re going to want to see this, unless you’ve already heard about it.”