And now he was missing? Susan felt as if she’d been thrown into nightmare. Instinctively, she felt a dread anxiety about the child who worried Griff most, followed by an unsettling disorientation. Griff had turned into a stranger as soon as he saw his ex-wife. He’d become a cold and furious man barely keeping his violence in check… Sheila seemed to goad him deliberately. Susan tried to dredge up some compassion for Sheila, aware that the woman was frantic with worry, that her panic made her seem shallower and more selfish than she really was. She reminded herself that people weren’t themselves in times of trouble… Yet it was Sheila who was in the house with Griff. It was Sheila who was wrangling with him in a way that seemed sadly familiar to them both. Susan had been left outside, forgotten and forlorn, frantic to help but somehow feeling like an intruder.
She grabbed her purse and followed, the weekend of intimacy fading into the past. The blazing light in the kitchen seemed harsh after the soft darkness; she blinked hard and silently set down her purse. Griff was already on the phone, his face ashen, his movements as tautly controlled as those of an angry cougar. He slammed the phone book down on the table as Sheila nervously paced, lashing out at Griff whenever he gave her the least opportunity.
“I fail to understand how you could not know her name-”
“I told you. It’s Candice. There was never any reason for me to know her last name.”
“You’ve also all but told me you think he’s sleeping with her. I think that’s more than adequate reason to know her last name. And God knows how long you’ve let that go on.”
“You’ve always had the most archaic ideas. That’s probably exactly why I didn’t tell you. He’s spent the night there plenty of times. That’s really why I wasn’t even worried at first.”
Griff drew in a very long, very slow breath. “You are not going to tell me the boy has been out of your sight for days at a time.”
“Not for three days. That’s why I-”
Griff hurled out an expletive, and suddenly there was silence. Sheila slumped in a kitchen chair, staring at her hands while Griff riffled through the phone book and then started dialing.
In those long seconds as the monotonous ringing sound reverberated in his ear, Griff felt an explosion of terror and rage and anguish inside him. Gut terror for his son, rage at Sheila’s neglect, and anguish at himself for having failed to snatch his children out of harm’s way long before this. From the corner of his eye, he saw the movement of Susan’s red flannel shirt and turned.
Susan’s face was as white as chalk, and her slim fingers were shaking. She was pouring cream into a pitcher; the coffee was perking, and cups were lined up on the counter. Her fragile profile struck him as incredibly beautiful. She kept moving, all lithe grace and total quiet. Nothing else on earth could have soothed him at that moment. His head was racing out of control with images of his son lying wounded in some alley, in an accident, in trouble…yet he kept his eyes riveted on Susan’s back. By the time a boy answered the phone, Griff had gained control of his voice.
He pelted the boy with quiet, fast questions. Tom’s best friend, John Paul, knew nothing. No, Tom had not been in school on Friday, but then he’d been skipping classes lately. No, nobody really knew much about Candice; she went to a different school, and ever since Tom had started going around with her…
Griff knew other names. Steve Baker, another friend. Harley Ross, the principal of the high school. He called one hospital, then another.
Susan placed a cup of coffee in front of him, then quietly set one down for Sheila, who barely looked up. Food seemed the thing then. Not that anyone was going to eat it. But what else was she going to do? Sit across from Sheila and get involved in the cross fire?
“His grades have always been terrific,” Sheila snapped defensively. “Why should I get all upset just because he skipped an occasional day at school? It would be different if he were a poor student…”
The tirade had lost its momentum. Griff was no longer even looking at his ex-wife. Susan spooned mayonnaise onto slices of bread, aware as Sheila evidently wasn’t that Griff was all done shouting. His profile was rigid as he made phone call after phone call, asking the same exacting, probing questions. His fingers mechanically flipped a pencil over and over, tapping first the eraser and then lead against the telephone.
Sheila let out a strangled sound when Griff dialed the police. “For God’s sake, there’s no need for that. It’ll be in all the papers-”
Griff held the receiver to his shoulder. “They need to know what he was wearing Friday morning,” he said coldly, his eyes like gun metal. At his ex-wife’s look of bewilderment, he made a strangled sound of disgust and held the receiver to his ear again. “Probably jeans. We don’t know. I do know the make of his car and the license number.”
There were no more calls after that. Silence flooded the kitchen like a threatening stranger, and fear touched all of them in very different, lonely ways. Susan knew Griff too well. For a few minutes, he’d been busy making telephone calls. Now he could do nothing but wait. Taking charge came easily to him; sitting helpless was a form of torture.
She placed before him the sandwich that she knew he wouldn’t touch, and pressed her palm to his shoulder, letting it linger there. His eyes met hers, just for a second, bleak with anguish, almost unseeing. He covered her hand with his, but his gaze moved past her to his ex-wife again. “You didn’t see Tom Friday night, you said you were out. But even if he skipped school, he might have gone back home that night. You must have checked his bed when you did come in.”
“Actually, I didn’t exactly-” Sheila bit back the rest of the sentence. No one could have missed the way Griff’s jaw locked. She stood up jerkily, her dark eyes darting in his direction. “You can have custody of the damn kids,” she shot out wildly. “I don’t care! I just don’t care anymore. You think it’s some kind of crime that I need to lead my own life. You always did. It’s not as if they’re not old enough to spend the night alone on occasion.”
As if in slow motion, Griff unbent from his leaning position against the wall by the phone and raked a hand through his hair. His eyes met Susan’s again, hers just waiting to pour out a stream of silent communication. Easy, Griff. She’s hysterical, you must see it. Don’t say anything that…
He understood. More than she knew, Griff understood. He was well aware that Susan hated the sound of bitter, harsh words. Her fingers were trembling violently, his Susan who always acted out of gentleness and compassion and who loved that in him…but Susan had had no experience with women like Sheila.
She was confused and unhappy over his treatment of his ex-wife; he would have liked to offer Susan an apology for that, but he couldn’t. What he did do was reach out and very gently smooth back the tousled hair from her cheeks. A chair scraped behind them. Griff’s hand didn’t falter. His voice was gentle, directed at Susan alone. “I’ll be back, honey. Just…be here.”
“Griff-”
“The police may call back. They’ll check the hospitals and runaway centers. Beyond that, there’s nothing anyone can do. Susan…” He hesitated only a moment. “Stay here.”
He didn’t give her time to nod her automatic agreement before striding past her into the hall to grab a corduroy jacket.
“Griff? Where are you going?” Sheila demanded, taking a step toward his retreating form. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”
Griff strode back into the kitchen only long enough to button his coat, staring impassively at his ex-wife. “I’m going to find my son. And as for what you said about custody, Sheila, you didn’t need to bother. You and I both knew already that after tonight the kids were coming here. To stay. With or without the approval of a court of law.”