She fell silent a moment, staring into the marble fireplace as if it might hold some magic answers for her. But apparently there were no answers, and when she looked up again, she raised her glass and took another drink. “I’m sorry, I should have asked. Would you care for something?”
“No, thank you.”
“You’re so quiet. I don’t remember you that way.”
“That was a long time ago,” Teri said.
“Oh, yes. People do change, don’t they? Nothing stays the same for long.” Her gaze went wandering back to the fireplace again, like a moth that can’t stay away from the flame. This flame was made of old memories and bad dreams, Teri thought. And sometimes it could be dangerous. And sometimes you still couldn’t keep yourself from wandering back. It was just too mesmerizing.
“I lost my son,” Cindy said quietly. “It happened a long time ago, and I suppose I should have learned to live with it by now, but I haven’t. I’m not sure I ever will.”
You won’t.
Because it won’t let you.
“I’m sorry,” Teri said. “I know how you must feel.”
A muted smile rose and fell across her face, and she shook her head. “No, you don’t. You might think you do, but trust me, you don’t have the slightest idea.”
“I lost my son, too,” Teri said evenly.
Cindy looked up. For the first time, her eyes seemed to clear a bit. She looked as if she were peeking out from behind a veil of hidden secrets, as if she had suddenly found a reason to come out into the sun and let herself be seen. And she also looked shocked. “Cody was seven.”
“Gabe was eleven.”
“He went out to play one afternoon, in the front here. We didn’t like him playing in the garden or on the lawn, so he used to go across the street and play at his friend’s house. He…” She swallowed back the rest of the sentence, as if it were bad tasting medicine. The wine glass in her hand looked heavy now. She placed it on the glass end table next to the couch, and tried again to finish the sentence, this time in a near whisper. “He never came home.”
“When was this?” Teri asked.
“March of ’85.”
“Oh, my God,” Teri said softly. She put a trembling hand to her mouth. Gabe had disappeared that same month, that same year. Perhaps it meant nothing at all, but if that were true, then this had to be the coincidence to end all coincidences.
“What?” Cindy asked. “What is it?”
“That’s when Gabe disappeared. March 27th, 1985.”
The color, what little there had been, drained out of Cindy’s face, and she reached for her glass of wine again. She took a sip this time, only a sip, but her hand was shaky and she was a long time getting the sip down. When she was done, she lowered the glass to her lap and held it in both hands, as if she feared she might spill what remained if she weren’t careful.
“That’s not an accident,” she said softly.
“No, it isn’t.”
“Why us? Why our children?”
“I don’t know,” Teri said.
A mild state of shock hung over her friend a moment or two longer, then her eyes seemed to clear a bit and the color gradually came back to her face. She took a deep breath. “Is that why you’re here?”
Teri shook her head. “I’m sorry, Cindy. I didn’t know you even had a son.”
“Someone should have noticed,” she said numbly. “I mean one of the detectives or someone. They should have seen the pattern. They should have checked it out. And someone should have told us.”
She was right, of course. Teri wondered briefly why Walt or someone else in the department hadn’t said anything to her. Two disappearances in the same month. Two little boys. Someone should have noticed. Someone, Teri thought, hadn’t been doing his job.
“Did you give up looking?”
Teri nodded, ashamed to admit it.
“Me, too,” Cindy said. “About three years ago. I woke up one morning and realized I just couldn’t go on living like that. It never stopped. I was always checking faces, hoping and praying that I’d find him riding his bike on the sidewalk or playing catch at the park. He was always the next face, the next phone call. I just couldn’t handle it anymore.”
A deep breath filled her lungs, slowly escaped again, and it was as if she had just emptied herself of a lifetime of shame. She put aside the wine glass, and smiled weakly. “I’m glad you came by.”
“I’m glad I did, too.”
For a moment, it seemed there was nothing left to talk about. It was strangely out of place to think of bringing up the old days now. They had died a death of their own, Teri supposed. Long before either of the boys had disappeared.
“I’m not going to drop it,” Teri said finally.
“You know they’re dead, though. After all these years.”
She nodded slightly, hating herself because she knew Gabe wasn’t dead and she didn’t like playing the charade. At the same time, though, she didn’t want to risk getting Cindy’s hopes up, either. There was no way of knowing for sure if Cody was alive or not. It had been ten years now. Gabe had come home, Cody hadn’t. The thought of anyone having to go through the pain of losing her child twice was more than Teri could stomach. She didn’t want to be responsible for that kind of pain. She didn’t want to fuel the flames only to have to smother them again later.
“I’d still like to know,” Teri said.
“I guess I would, too.”
[81]
After awhile, the conversation drifted into private thoughts, and Teri finally made an effort to excuse herself. She was late for a meeting, she said, and even though it had been great seeing Cindy again, she had better get moving.
Cindy walked her to the door. “Like I said, I’m glad you came by.”
“Maybe we can have lunch sometime?”
“That would be nice. I’d like that.”
There was one more thing Teri needed to ask. The answer was already a given, she assumed, but she wanted to make certain anyway. “Oh, before I go, I was wondering something.”
“What’s that?”
“I was wondering if Dr. Childs happened to be your doctor?”
“Yes,” Cindy said. “Why?”
“Oh, I just found out he had a practice up here, and I was thinking about switching, that’s all.” Teri stepped outside, onto the porch and appreciated the warmth of the sun slanting in against her back. “Was he Cody’s doctor, too?”
“Yes. Since birth.”
[82]
There was only one person aware of the procession, and he was at the very back, driving a Mercury and chewing on a toothpick. He pulled into traffic, the fourth of four cars, finding the idea of this being a scene out of It’s A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World amusing enough to bring a smile to his face. This car following that one, that car following the one in front and finally, here he was at the very back, following them all. Definitely amusing.
There was one vehicle with which he was unfamiliar – the car directly in front of him. It had California plates, and he had already put in a trace. The information would be coming back shortly, and that would probably be enough to place the guy in some sort of context. In the meantime, he supposed it was most likely Michael Knight, the woman’s husband. Word was out that the guy was back in town again.
In the middle of the procession, of course, was Mitchell Wolfe. Now there was a pathetic excuse for a man. Divorced. No kids. Never kept a non-military job in his life. Basically a screw-up. The kind of guy who needs to be told how to take a piss or he’ll never unzip his pants. Dangerous, though. He was one of those thrill-seeking types who enjoyed finding himself in a pot full of boiling danger. Thrived on it, in fact.