“She’s not going to say yes?”
“She says she isn’t ready for another commitment.”
“She has some sense left, then. If she means it.”
“Anyhow,” Cassie said, “it’s a good thing she’s letting him stay there, isn’t it? Now?”
“You think so? My guess is he’d run at the first sign of trouble.”
“You’re wrong. Ryan’s not like that anymore.”
“Right, the big change. Now he’s got you believing it.”
“I have eyes. You’d see it, too, if you opened yours.”
He let that pass. “It’s not just her safety that’s worrying me. It’s her mental state.”
“She’ll be okay. She was when I left her. I wanted to stay until Ryan came, but she’d had enough mothering.”
“For tonight. What about tomorrow and the days after that? Suppose there’s another note? She’s liable to take it into her head to run away again.”
“I asked her about that. She said no, it’d take a lot more than a note or two to send her back into hiding. But she’s been through so much... I doubt she can stand much more.”
I doubt any of us can.
“If she does decide to take Kenny someplace safe, I can’t honestly blame her. I don’t think you can, either.”
“Not if Rakubian really is back,” he said.
“Why do you keep saying ‘if’? I don’t see who or why anyone else would send a note like that.”
“Neither do I. I want it to be somebody else, that’s all. A crank, somebody harmless.”
“We have to be realistic,” Cassie said.
“Two months, don’t forget that. I just can’t see Rakubian staying away and keeping silent that long.”
“He’s crazy and unpredictable. After all the things he’s done already, I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
Except resurrection from the dead, he thought.
Bitterly he said, “Rakubian or whoever, if there’s any real danger, running away isn’t going to keep her and Kenny safe. Neither is Pierce, if she stays. And neither am I with this goddamn cancer.”
“Don’t start feeling sorry for yourself. You’re not Superdad, and nobody expects you to be but you. The job isn’t yours or mine or Ryan’s anyway, it’s the police’s.”
“What the hell can they do? They couldn’t find a trace of Rakubian in two months. The note isn’t conclusive proof she’s in danger from him or anybody else — it could be the work of a crank. If we go to the cops they’ll make sympathetic noises and tell us not to worry. No. That’s not the answer.”
“Neither is doing nothing. Maybe we should hire a private investigator.”
“To do what, act as a bodyguard? Camp on Angela’s doorstep, follow her around wherever she goes?”
“I didn’t mean as a bodyguard. I meant to try to track down Rakubian.”
“If the police couldn’t find him, how is a private detective going to manage it after two months? They’re not miracle workers, that’s a lot of fictional crap.”
Strained silence.
At length Cassie said, “This isn’t doing either of us any good.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“I’d give anything if he’d stayed missing, if he really was dead. In my mind I had him dead and buried somewhere for good. Didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Hollis said. “Dead and buried for good.”
Saturday Morning
Eric said, “Oh, it’s you, Dad. Jeez, you woke me up.” He sounded sleep-fogged and grumpy; he’d never been much of a morning person. “You know what time it is?”
“Seven-fifteen,” Hollis said. “I wanted to be sure to catch you home. I tried to call twice last night.”
“Date I told you about. I left straight from work, got home late. I didn’t get much sleep.” A woman’s voice rose querulously in the background, close by. “That’s why. And she’s not what I thought she might be. Ms., not missus—”
“I need to see you.”
“See me? When?”
“Right away. We have to talk.”
“About what?’
“When I see you, not on the phone.”
“Something wrong?” Eric sounded more awake.
“Yes. I want you to fly up to SFO this afternoon.”
The line hummed.
“I called United,” Hollis said. “There’s a flight out of Santa Barbara at one-twenty, gets in at two-thirty. I’ll pick you up at Arrivals. Reservation’s already made in your name and paid for. Round-trip — you can fly back tonight at five-fifty.”
Again the line hummed emptily for a few seconds. Hollis tried to imagine the expression on his son’s face, what might be going through his mind. And couldn’t.
“Okay, if it’s that urgent.” Calm acceptance, in a voice that betrayed nothing of his feelings. “You sure you want to drive all the way to the airport? I can rent a car, come up there...”
“I’ll manage. One thing: This is just between you and me.”
“Whatever you say.”
“I’ll see you at two-thirty. Don’t miss the flight.”
“I won’t,” Eric said. “Whatever this is about, you can count on me.”
We’ll see about that. We’ll find out a lot of things this afternoon.
16
Saturday Afternoon
San Francisco International, like so many things to him these days, seemed different, strange. It had been nearly two years since the last time he’d been there, and the ongoing airport construction had altered both its shape and its access; the entrance and exit ramps had been moved, the entrance lanes now ran through an underpass beneath one of the new terminal buildings. New signs pointed him to Arrivals, but the Saturday congestion made it difficult to get around to the United terminal. And when he did get there, ten minutes after the scheduled arrival time of the Santa Barbara flight, Eric was nowhere to be seen among the crush of waiting passengers. He tried to squeeze the Lexus into a parking space between a taxi and a limo; an airport security cop waved him off. He had no choice then but to loop all the way back through the maze of lanes and construction for another pass, fighting aggressive and reckless drivers like a participant in a stock car race.
He had to make four passes, better than half an hour’s wasted time, before he finally saw Eric — Cal Poly sweatshirt that clashed with his old maroon-and-white windbreaker — waving at him from the curb. He jammed on the brakes, cut in front of a stretch limo, and stayed put through a series of angry horn blasts until Eric piled into the car.
“Jeez, I’m sorry, Dad,” he said. “Plane was thirty minutes late taking off.”
“Not your fault.”
Neither of them spoke again until they had cleared Arrivals and were in one of the airport exit lanes. Then Eric asked tentatively, “Where’re we going?”
“Someplace quiet where we can talk.”
They rode in heavy silence after that. Hollis took the north ramp that led to Airport Boulevard, where there were a number of large travelers’ hotels. He swung into the parking lot of the first one he saw, slotted the car near the entrance. His shoulder muscles were tight and he had a vague headache; otherwise he felt well enough, too keyed up to be particularly tired yet. Later, after he was done with Eric and the long drive home, he knew he’d be exhausted.
In the hotel lobby he asked, “You hungry?” and Eric shook his head. They bypassed the restaurant, entered the bar lounge. Dark, quiet except for a TV tuned low to a baseball game, only half a dozen patrons lining the bar. Hollis led the way to a back-corner booth. He ordered coffee for both of them, waited until it was served before he opened the discussion.