A Change in Altitude (15 page)

She nodded. “You can go around correcting everyone—‘my name's not Theriot, it's Gruber.' ” She slipped out of his arms and punched his shoulder lightly. “Though you know somebody is going to end up calling you ‘Goober' instead.”

He laughed. “Then I guess I'll be a goober. I've been called worse.” He moved over to the window and looked out across the alley. “D. J. says we can move in in a couple more weeks. I can't wait.”

“Has your ghost been up to anything lately?” she asked.

“D. J.'s missing a pocketknife and my mom's favorite paintbrush is gone. I told them maybe the ghost is going to open a hardware store on the other side.”

She smiled, because she knew he was trying hard to cheer her up.

“I still wish we could spend the night here and take photos,” he said. “That would be so cool.”

“It would. But I'd better not risk it now.”

“Yeah, I know.” He glanced out the window. “It's getting late. We'd better get home before you're sentenced to another month at the library.”

“No!” She waved her hands in mock horror. “Not that!”

They'd just crossed Main when a sheriff's SUV pulled alongside them. Sergeant Miller rolled down the window. “Hello, Alina, Lucas,” he said. “How's it going?”

“Have you heard anything about my brother?” Alina asked.

“I wish I had good news for you, but I haven't heard anything. I did contact the police in Vermont, and they're looking. And we haven't heard anything to make us think anything bad has happened. Your dad just moved and neglected to tell anyone. We'll find him.”

“Thanks.” She wanted to believe him—that Adan was safe and happy, hiding out with their paranoid dad, playing survivalists who didn't need anyone or anything. It was all so stupid and pointless. Friends, and especially family, were important. Why couldn't they see that?

They skidded to a stop in front of the lilac house. “I'll see you in school tomorrow,” Lucas said.

“Can you wait here for half a second?” she asked. “I just have to run inside and get something.”

“Okay.” He looked puzzled, but he didn't pump her with questions. That was another thing she liked about Lucas—he accepted you wherever you were. And he was patient.

She found the camera case in her room and ran out to him with it. “Here.” She thrust it at him. “You can borrow this and try to take pictures of your ghost.”

“Alina, I don't like to take your camera. I know it means a lot to you.”

She shook her head. “It doesn't mean anything. My dad didn't really give it to me. I stole it.”

His eyes widened. “You stole it?”

“I took it from a guy named Wilson—my dad's friend who lived with us. I was mad because he was the reason we had to leave—because my mom caught him trying to kiss me . . . and stuff.” She shuddered, remembering Wilson running his hand over the top of her breast and pinching her bottom whenever she walked by. “And I was mad at my dad because he stood up for Wilson instead of for me. He wouldn't have given me a camera. He didn't think girls were worth anything.”

“I think you're worth a lot. And I'll take good care of this camera, I promise.” He stowed the case in his backpack and zipped it up, then reached out to pat her shoulder. “You're really special, Alina. Don't let anyone ever tell you different.”

She nodded, afraid if she said anything, she'd burst into tears. Sometimes having people be nice to you was even harder than when they were mean. You could build up walls against the meanness.

“I'll let you know what I find.” He mounted his bike again. “And I'll say a prayer that your brother is okay.”

“Thanks,” she whispered. She hugged her arms to herself and watched him ride away, blond hair blowing in the wind, long legs pumping.

W
hen she was younger, Sharon had believed that the gift of getting older would be letting go of the angst and self-doubt that had plagued her teenaged self. She'd envisioned a day when she'd be so calm and put together that she could look in the mirror in the morning and not fret about her hair or the shape of her nose or an impending zit on her chin. She'd imagined nights not spent lying awake worrying about what people thought of her, or what she should have said to the man who cut her off in traffic, or replaying in an endless loop the stupid mistakes she'd made that day.

She might as well have continued to believe in Santa Claus and the tooth fairy. Adult Sharon was just as angsty and self-doubting as teen Sharon. Only with adulthood came more things to stress over—parenting mistakes, relationship flaws, job crises, and general bad decisions. Now she believed she was doomed to spend her retirement reviewing a lifetime of missed opportunities and poor choices—worrying about her weight or her hair or things she should have said, long past the point they really mattered.

Neuroticism might play well in television comedies, but in real life it was just, well, exhausting. Proof: the fact that she spent ten minutes the morning before Maggie's baby shower trying unsuccessfully to cover the circles under her eyes with a tube labeled “concealer” that did nothing to hide the dark smudges but only seemed to highlight them.

She'd tossed and turned all night, imagining half a dozen terrible scenarios at the shower. She had told Jameso about Adan, and he had, of course, shared the news with Maggie, who had probably told Barb and everyone else, so now all these women knew she was a mother who'd abandoned her son to a man who she could see now was probably unstable. She was a terrible mother, and they all knew it and they would hate her for it.

In the light of day those fears seemed a little extreme, but she still couldn't think about Adan without wanting to throw up. Her baby—her firstborn. Maybe he looked and talked and acted too much like a man now, but he was still her boy. He'd insisted on staying with his father, but she was his mother—she knew better how to take care of him. And now he was gone. Vanished. She gripped the edge of the sink and watched the tears fall into the basin, smearing her freshly applied makeup. Oh God, how was she going to get through this?

She grabbed her phone and punched in the number for Sergeant Miller, which she'd already memorized. It rang three times before going to voice mail. “Um, hi. This is Sharon Franklin. I'm just wondering if you've found out anything about my son.” She hung up, feeling foolish. If he'd heard anything, he would have called her.

Her gaze shifted to the mirror and she groaned. Now she looked like something out of a horror movie. She'd have to start over, and be quick about it or she'd be late to the shower.

Thirty minutes later, she parked on the street down from Barb's bed-and-breakfast. As far as she knew, the business as yet had no other name, and no doubt even after it was christened, locals would continue to refer to it this way. On her third day in town she'd asked someone how to find the office to register her car and they'd told her to turn “where the yellow barn used to be,” as if, of course, she knew where that was. Every town was filled with these ghosts of places and names that, though changed or vanished, remained fixed in the memories of long-time locals.

The bed-and-breakfast definitely stood out from its neighbors, with its fresh white siding and new Victorian gingerbread highlighted with green and purple paint. A stone path led to the front door, which was inset with stained glass in a wisteria pattern. The effect was both opulent and homey.

As she'd feared, Sharon was the last guest to arrive. “We were getting worried about you,” Barb said as she ushered her inside. “If you didn't show up soon, I was going to send Jameso to fetch you.”

“Jameso's here?” She looked around the circle of women gathered in the front room on sofas and folding chairs.

Barb laughed. “He wouldn't come near this much estrogen, but I have the man on speed dial.”

“Hello, Sharon.” Maggie heaved herself out of a chair to embrace her future sister-in-law. She patted Sharon's shoulder. “How are you doing?”

“Okay.” Sharon bit her lip. “Okay,” she repeated, forcing a smile. “How are you doing? You look ready to deliver any day now.”

“Oh, no. I'm definitely not ready.” Maggie returned to her chair. “I doubt I'll be ready even when the baby gets here.”

“You'll be ready,” Barb said. “You've been waiting most of your life for this little one.”

“That's true enough,” Maggie agreed. She addressed Sharon. “My first husband didn't want children, so he made me think I didn't want any either.”

“Amazing how men can brainwash us sometimes,” another woman, her hair a cloud of baby-fine blond around her pale features, said. “When we first married, my husband convinced me that if we didn't have sex every day, he'd get some horrible disease and die.”

“How long did it take you to figure out he was wrong?” Barb asked.

“We'd been married about three months when I came down with the flu. I told him he'd just have to die, since I obviously was—but there was no way I was letting him anywhere near me. He lived and so did I, and he never tried that line on me again.”

“That's one of the benefits of getting married at my age,” Maggie said. “I hope I'm not quite as naïve as I was in my twenties.”

“Do you know if you're having a boy or a girl?” Danielle took a cookie from the tray on the coffee table and broke off a bite.

“It's a girl.” Maggie smoothed the front of her maternity top. “We've picked a name, but we're not telling anyone yet.”

“Is Jameso excited?” A middle-aged woman with a German accent asked.

“It's hard to tell with him, but I think so, yes,” Maggie said. “I was worried he'd be disappointed in a girl, but he seems thrilled. He said he wouldn't know how to handle a boy like him.”

“Boys have their challenges, but so do girls,” Sharon said.

“I heard about your son,” Janelle said. “We're all praying they'll find him safe.”

“Thank you.” She had a hard time getting the words out around the sudden lump in her throat.

“Now that everyone's here, let's get this party started,” Barb said.

“You promised no silly games.” Maggie gave her friend a stern look.

“Since when do I listen to you?” Barb shook her head. “I promise nothing too silly.”

“I was once at a baby shower where we had to bob for nipples,” Olivia said.

Everyone stared. “Seriously,” she said. “There was this big punch bowl full of baby bottle nipples and we had to try to snag them with our teeth.”

“Baby bottle nipples.” Lucille put a hand to her chest. “I don't even want to tell you the images that went through my mind.”

“I thought we could just eat all the wonderful food Janelle and Danielle brought and talk,” Maggie said.

“And open gifts—you can't forget that,” Olivia said. “We want to see all the great stuff you got for the baby.”

“But don't you want to guess what's in the diaper bag or play baby charades?” Barb asked.

A groan went up from the assembled crowd. Barb stuck out her lips in an exaggerated pout, but Maggie patted her arm. “You know you'd rather eat, drink, and talk, too. And you can keep track of the gifts for me.”

“Well, all right.” Barb led the way into the dining room, where the table was laden with food, and soda and liquor bottles filled a sideboard. “Help yourselves, ladies. Then we'll look at all of Maggie's loot.”

“I want to see the rest of the B and B,” Janelle said. “Downstairs is gorgeous.”

“Only one of the bedrooms is finished,” Barb said. “I'm still waiting on some of the bedding for the others.”

“I'm trying to talk her into opening up that one bedroom for Chris Amesbury,” Lucille said.

“Who's Chris Amesbury?” Sharon asked.

“He's a director who thinks Eureka would make a great location for his next movie.” Olivia selected a raspberry tartlet and added it to her plate.

“You should definitely put him up here,” the fair blonde, whom Sharon remembered was named Tamara, said. “It's the classiest place in town. He might even end up using it in his movie.”

“I say all we need to do is feed him Danielle's baked goods and he'll never want to leave.” Maggie popped a bite of lemon bar into her mouth, closed her eyes, and moaned.

“We'll do all of that and more if it will convince him to bring a film crew here to pour some money into the town coffers,” Lucille said. “We're not proud.”

“Eureka in the movies.” Olivia shook her head. “I can't imagine.”

“I'll do my best to impress this director,” Barb said. “Though I was really hoping Maggie and Jameso would be my first guests, on their wedding night.”

“We'll still have the wedding here,” Maggie said. “Having this other guy stay here first won't spoil that.” She winced and put a hand to her belly.

“What is it?” Barb asked. “You're not going to go into labor right now are you?”

“Before the presents are opened?” Maggie shook her head and rubbed her stomach. “No, the baby just kicked me in the kidneys.”

“She's reminding us who the real guest of honor is.” Barb took Maggie's arm and led her back toward the living room. “All right, everybody. Let's open the gifts. You can bring your food and drinks with you.”

For the next half hour they all “oohed” and “aahed” over the diapers, stroller, baby seat, and other items Maggie received. The clothes were Sharon's favorite—delicate little shirts, pajamas printed with images of kittens, dresses trimmed in lace and ribbon. She fingered the soft fabric and longed for a return to her own time as a new mother, when she'd been too absorbed by the wonder of her new baby to notice or care about anything else.

If she had the chance to start over with Adan, she would have done things differently. She would have found a way to keep him with her. To keep him safe.

“Thank you, everyone,” Maggie said when the last box was open, the last ribbon carefully tucked away. “Now all I need is a house to put everything in.”

“You still haven't found a place to live?” the woman with the German accent, who Sharon had learned was a massage therapist named Katya, said.

“Not yet.” Maggie sighed. “And neither of us really has time to look. If worse comes to worse, we'll make do with my dad's cabin, I guess. Babies are little and don't take up much room.” She looked at the items stacked around her and laughed. “Though apparently their stuff does.”

The party began to break up. Sharon stayed to help clean up. As she stacked plates to carry to the kitchen, Maggie touched her arm. “Thank you for coming this afternoon,” she said. “I know you have a lot on your mind.”

“It was good to have a distraction. Though seeing all the baby things reminded me of when mine were little.”

“You were still a baby yourself when your children were born, from what Jameso tells me,” she said.

Sharon smiled. “I was and I wasn't. I was always mature for my age. And I liked being a mother. For me, that was the best part about marriage.”

“Have you heard anything from the police?” Barb joined them beside the now-cleared table.

Sharon shook her head. “Joe knows how to cover his tracks. He's not going to be easy to find.” It was the first time she'd said the words out loud, admitted that she might not see her son again anytime soon. She wouldn't say never. Surely he'd want to find his mother again. She had to cling to that one hope at least.

“But he wouldn't hurt his son—would he?” Barb asked.

“Not physically.” She had to believe this. Joe was a lot of things, but he'd never been violent with her or the children. “But he's paranoid about the government, and about other people, too. I'm afraid he'll pass along those crazy ideas to Adan, who really worships his father.” Her voice caught and she looked away.

Maggie rubbed her shoulders. “You did what you had to do,” she said. “What I'm sure any of us would have done.”

Barb pressed her lips together. Sharon recalled that she had a son; maybe she didn't agree with Maggie's assessment of the situation. Sharon didn't blame her; if they had changed places, she might have judged harshly, too.

Maggie continued to rub Sharon's back. “You have to believe everything will work out all right,” she said.

Sharon nodded. To do otherwise meant giving in to despair, and she had Alina to think about, too. Her daughter needed her.

A musical chime sounded and she looked up, grateful for the distraction. The kindness of these women, whom she barely knew, overwhelmed her. They eased her pain, but also made it impossible to escape from her feelings for even a moment.

“The party's over!” Barb called, as she headed for the door.

Lucille and Olivia came in from the kitchen. “Is that everything?” Olivia asked.

“I think so,” Maggie said. She put a hand to her back and grimaced. “Time to go home and take a nap. I'll let Jameso come by later and get all the gifts.”

“Don't leave yet, ladies,” Barb called. “We have a visitor.” She ushered Officer Miller into the room.

He removed his Stetson, and nodded. “Hello, ladies.”

Sharon's heart thudded hard and she took a step toward him. “I got your message,” he said. “I still haven't heard anything. I'm sorry.” He turned to Lucille. “I really came here to see you, Madam Mayor.”

The lines around Lucille's eyes and mouth deepened. “What's wrong now, Josh?”

“I drove by the park just now and saw some activity there. I wanted to double-check that you'd authorized it.”