I walked past them and the police officers, heading out the screen door. I knew neither Tom nor Kate would follow.
I instantly heard Roxy’s voice as I moved across the dewy grass that would soon become bone dry in the oppressive heat.
She was railing into her phone, which was barely visible amidst her mess of black hair streaked heavily with gray. She wore a white T-shirt with a Beethoven face, his eyes peering out from beneath her denim vest. There was some kind of embroidered flower on both the vest and her matching shorts. She slipped her feet in and out of her Birkenstock flip-flops.
“Get your ass over here, Rick. I’m calling the entire garden club. We’re all going to help in the search. See you in a minute,” Roxy said. She turned to see me walking across the grass.
“They can’t find him.”
“Don’t start saying that.” She pulled me close and patted the curls on the back of my head, just as she had done when Marty Throw broke up with me before the eighth-grade Sweetheart Banquet. Those same hands would later punch him in the gut in the alley behind the gym. “He’s gonna turn up any second now.”
“I wanted to call you, but I kept telling myself we would find him by now.”
“You should have. I’ve already told the cops they need as many trusted volunteers as possible to comb the woods and the neighborhood. So I’ve already called the sewing group, the garden club, and the Roseworth Democrats, and they’re all headed this way. I’m going to the shop to make coffee for everyone, then I told the cops I’d screen all the people showing up, to make sure no media types get in. No offense to Stella.”
“I keep thinking about William, hurt out there or in some stranger’s car—”
“Don’t go there yet, Lynn.”
“I have to get it together,” I rubbed my face. “I tore into Tom about that damn magazine article.”
“I doubt very much you tore into him. In fact, you haven’t raised your voice to him in decades.”
“If I wasn’t so afraid, all I would be is angry. Let’s just say we learned last night that the magazine was coinciding with a big announcement Tom would like to make.”
Ever active in the Democratic Party, Roxy raised her eyebrows. But she quickly shook her head. “Go wash your face and change your clothes. Then get back out here. We’ll find him, Lynn. Look at me. We’ll find him.”
I nodded once and turned back to the house. As soon as I began to hurry away, I heard Roxy once more on the phone. I could still hear her as I crossed the porch and entered the kitchen.
Kate and Tom were standing and talking to Detective Strombino, their arms identically crossed in front of their chests. The two men in suits were looking at a laptop computer and conferring with the police officers.
Kate approached me. “They’re FBI.”
“Strombino thinks he’s been kidnapped, doesn’t he?”
“He’s not said that yet.”
“That’s what he thinks. That’s why you’ve called in the FBI. Kate, you have to tell them about—”
A scream came from upstairs.
I scrambled up the stairs, everyone else in my wake. One of the officers said something about letting him go first, but I ignored him and pushed open the bedroom door.
Brian was sitting upright on the bed. Barely audible under his screaming was the sound of static coming from the television in the open armoire. I’d forgotten to turn off the alarm. The television was programmed to turn on automatically at 5:30 A.M. Instead of HGTV, all that buzzed was a grainy white-and-black screen.
“Baby, it’s OK, it’s OK,” I swept him into my arms. “Tom, turn off the TV.”
Tom scrambled for the remote. Brian continued screaming as I rocked him. Finally, Tom found the device and the TV went dark.
My grandson immediately stopped crying, but continued to stare at the screen.
“It’s OK, it just scared him,” I said. The cops and the FBI agents looked around the room to make sure. Tom came over to the bed and sat down, patting Brian’s back.
“Hey buddy. You’re OK. You got spooked.”
“Must have been a power surge last night,” Kate rubbed her eyes. “All the clocks in the house are blinking.”
“He’s asleep again,” Tom noted.
I looked down to see Brian solidly passed out. I laid him down, brushing his hair from his forehead.
“We really need to talk to him,” Detective Strombino said quietly from the hallway.
“Lynn, we have to wake him up.”
“Not until one of his parents is here. Kate, go get Chris. Let Anne sleep.”
I continued to stroke Brian’s hair as the minutes dragged on. The clock in the room ticked irritatingly loud. Tom stood by the window and looked out at the large gathering of volunteers and police.
“You told them, didn’t you?” I asked. “That’s why the FBI is here. That’s why you didn’t tell me I was wrong about the article. They know, don’t they?”
He kept staring. I buried my nose in Brian’s hair.
“They know what?” Chris asked, wearily walking in, with Kate and Strombino behind him.
“About what I told everybody last night.” Tom looked out the window. “The agents know what that means—”
Chris sat on the bed and put his arm under Brian, a little rougher than I would have liked. “Wake up, son. You’ve got to wake up.”
I couldn’t watch, hearing the frustration and desperation in his voice. I also feared that if he successfully woke Brian, the boy’s only response would be a dense stare.
“You think this is all connected?” Chris asked.
My husband waited a moment before answering. “When you agree to run for vice president, you make a lot of enemies overnight.”
FOUR
“Mom, are you with me?”
As my youngest daughter leaned in closer to apply a heavy coating of concealer under my eyes, I realized how haggard even she looked in the bright lights of the makeup mirror, although her face was void of wrinkles and age spots.
“If I can make myself look awake at four in the morning to read about car wrecks and shootings on TV, then I can surely make it seem like you haven’t been awake for twenty-four hours,” Stella said.
“I did sleep for a while. They shouldn’t have let me sleep.”
“Mom, you were probably asleep for fifteen minutes. You need to rest. You’re going to bed right after the news conference—”
“I will not do it, Stella. I told your father that, and I told Kate that. I cannot do it. I am in no shape for it. The only reason I am sitting here now is because you practically strong-armed me. I should be out looking for him.”
Stella put the makeup brush on the bathroom counter. “One thousand people, including members of the National Guard, combed over every foot of the woods. It’s not that big of an area. Every house in the near vicinity has been searched. William is not in the woods. He is not in the neighborhood. You have to realize that. We have to reach a wider audience.”
“I can’t do it.”
“Yes, you can. You’ve done a million election nights.”
And I had hated every one. Sitting nervously in the room at the Hermitage Hotel watching the results come in, Tom pacing even though he knew he was a shoo-in every time. The Washington staff flown in for the election, complaining about the slow pace of the servers in the restaurants and checking their cell phones frantically.
“You have to do it, Mom. For Anne, Chris, for William. For Dad. It will be hard enough as it is for him to make the statement. All you have to do is stand beside him and hold that picture of William.”
“I will start crying.”
“You’re not a big crier. You know that. I’m the same way. So is Kate. Anne got all the waterworks genes. You stand up there and know that what you’re doing is getting William’s picture out all over the country. It’s urgent that we do this now. This news conference will be carried by every cable channel and will be in every paper in the morning. It will be the top story on every news website and will be all over social media—Twitter, Facebook. There is no place in the world that won’t know he’s missing. It will bring him home.”