Before the Storm (29 page)

Andy out of his next class to find out what had happened. I’d

really mess up his day then, but I’m sure he was already befuddled from talking to the police. Before I could decide, Flip

Cates called on my cell phone.

“I just heard that one of your guys talked to Andy,” I said.

I’d known Flip for years and knew he’d be straight with me.

“That was Sergeant Wood,” he said. I didn’t recognize the

name. “We needed to ask him some more questions about the

fire.”

“Shouldn’t I have been there?”

“It’s mandatory for a parent to be present when questioning a minor under fourteen,” Flip said. “Sergeant Wood told

Andy he had a right to have a parent present, but he didn’t

seem to have a problem with it.”

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“He was probably confused, Flip!” I stood up and shut my

office door. “Someone should have contacted me.”

“I think he did fine, Laurel,” Flip said. “And I’m sorry to lay

this on you right now, but we’d like to search Andy’s room.

We’ll need you to sign a consent-to-search form, and we’d like

to do it this afternoon. Can you take some time off work?”

“You want to search his
room?
” I thought I’d better sound

shocked. Most likely Marcus had been out of line when he

tipped me off.

“Yes. It won’t take long.”

I could say I wouldn’t sign. That consent-to-search form

wasn’t the same as a warrant. But what would they find in

Andy’s room that I hadn’t already found? The shoes, I thought.

I should have simply thrown the shoes away.
Stupid.
Why didn’t

I toss them? I’d just have to tell them about the lighter fluid.

“I can be there in about forty-five minutes,” I said. I’d let

them search the room and clear his name, putting an end to

the rumors. Then they could get on with the business of

looking for the real criminal.

“Great,” Flip said. “We’ll meet you at your house at noon.”

Even though I arrived home at eleven forty-five, a police car

was already parked at the end of the street by the water, and

I waved at the two figures inside as I pulled into my driveway.

I wondered if they were intentionally early because they

thought I might try to go through Andy’s room before their

arrival. Surely that would be a typical parent’s response.

I met them on the front porch. Flip smiled and shook my

hand. “Laurel, this is Sergeant Wood,” he said.

“Ma’am.” Sergeant Wood nodded to me but didn’t offer his

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hand. He was prematurely gray with bright blue eyes, and he

would have been handsome if he’d allowed anything approaching a smile to cross his lips. I didn’t like picturing Andy being

questioned by him.

Flip handed me a clipboard and pen. “Here’s the consent-

to-search form,” he said.

I looked at the form as if I were actually reading it, but the

words ran together in front of my eyes. “You just need to look

at Andy’s room, right?” I asked as I signed. “You don’t need to

see the whole house?”

“Correct,” Flip answered. I thought I saw an apology in his

eyes.

“It’s no problem.” I led them inside. “I know you have to

follow up every lead and I want Andy’s name to be cleared.”

They followed me upstairs to Andy’s room. The sergeant

carried a large canvas bag and I wondered if he planned to take

items away with him. How would I explain
that
to Andy?

In the doorway to the bedroom, both men stopped and put

on latex gloves.

“Can I stay while you look?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Flip said, as if forgetting how long we’d

known each other.

I took a seat on the very corner of Andy’s bed, folding my

damp hands in my lap, trying to stay out of the way as they

started opening drawers and reading the cards on the corkboard wall. “When you spoke to Andy today, Sergeant Wood,

did he say anything that made you want to search his room?”

I asked.

“No, ma’am,” Flip answered for the sergeant.“We’d already

planned to ask your consent.”

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“What did you talk to him about?”

“You keep parental monitoring software on this computer,

ma’am?” Sergeant Wood asked as if I hadn’t spoken.

“Yes, I do. He’s not much of an Internet surfer. He likes

games, mostly.”

Sergeant Wood sat down in Andy’s desk chair and popped

a CD into the writable drive. I thought of the nasty IM from

MuzicRuuls
and wondered what other hurtful messages he

would come across.

While Sergeant Wood clicked mouse buttons and studied

the computer screen, Flip started pulling out desk drawers. I

knew what he was seeing in them and relaxed a bit. He asked

me to stand up, then ran his arm beneath the mattress and box

spring and peered under the bed.

“What exactly are you looking for?” I asked as I sat down

again.

“We’re particularly looking for lighter f luid. Matches.

Arson instructions he might have looked up on the Internet.

That sort of thing,” Flip said. “I know this must be hard to

watch.”

“Well, Andy’s not the kind of person who could or would

set a fire, so I’m not concerned,” I said. “You know that, too,

Flip,” I added, trying to remind him of our friendship.

He was into the messy drawer now, his back to me. I knew

when he found the condom, because he asked me if Andy was

sexually active.

“Not hardly,” I said with a laugh.

I heard the front door slam shut.

“Mom?” Maggie called, and I suddenly remembered today

was a half day for the seniors.

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“I’m up here,” I said.

“Why’s a police car here?” she called from the stairs. She

nearly flew into the room. “What’s going on?”

“Hi, Maggie,” Flip said.

“Are you—” she looked from me to Flip to the sergeant

“—are you searching Andy’s
room?
”

“Yes, they are,” I answered.

“Why?”
Maggie looked at me. “Shouldn’t you…can they

just do this?”

I nodded. “It’s only Andy’s room,” I reassured her in case she

was afraid of her own privacy being invaded. “Not the whole

house.”

“But it’s ridiculous!” she said.

“I know, sweetie.” I patted the bed next to me. “Sit down.”

“Is this because of what Keith said?” She directed the

question to me and I shrugged.

“Probably.”

Sergeant Wood stood up from the computer, popped out

the disk and dropped it in a small plastic bag he took from the

canvas carryall. Then he pulled out a stack of paper bags.

“We’d like to take the clothes Andy had on the night of the

fire,” he said.

“Sure, but I’ve washed them.” I stood up, pulling open the

louvered closet doors. “A couple of times, actually, to get rid

of the smoke smell.”

“We’d still like to have them,” the sergeant said.

I reached into the closet for the green-striped shirt, but my

hands, as if they had a mind of their own, moved to his solid

sage-colored shirt instead.

“No, Mom,” Maggie said, “he had on—”

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I looked at her sharply enough to cut her off. She understood.

“Oh, I forgot,” she said. “I thought he wore that other shirt,

but he had that on during the day, didn’t he?”

I nodded, afraid she would say too much, embellish the lie

to the point of it being obvious. I handed the shirt to the

sergeant, who put it into one of the paper bags. Then I reached

for his pants. Thank God, he had several pairs of tan pants. My

hands passed over the ones he’d worn and handed some khaki

ones to Maggie, who gave them to Sergeant Wood.

Flip looked up from the basket of cards he was filing

through. “Don’t forget shoes and socks,” he said.

“I’m not sure which socks he wore,” I said. I leaned over to

pick up the shoes, but Maggie beat me to it, pulling out a different pair of sneakers than the new ones he’d had on that

night. She avoided my eyes as she handed them to the sergeant,

who put each shoe in a separate paper bag. We were in it

together now, Maggie and I. I cringed at the realization that

I’d made her a party to tampering with evidence.

“We appreciate your cooperation,” Sergeant Wood said, as

he added the last paper bag to his canvas carryall.

“Thanks, Laurel.” Flip took one last look around the room.

“We’ll let ourselves out,” he said.

Maggie and I didn’t look at each other as the men went

downstairs, even after we heard the front door close. We

listened to the sound of their car doors slamming shut and the

crunch of their tires on the gravelly end of the road where

they’d parked. I wondered if Maggie felt as stiff with guilt as

I did. I couldn’t believe I’d dragged her into my lie.

I put my arm around her shoulders.“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

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“I would’ve done the same thing if I’d thought of it first,”

she said.

“But why?” I asked her. “Why did we do it? If we’re one

hundred percent sure of his innocence, why did we…why did

we just tamper with evidence?”

She shook her head slowly.“To protect him. We don’t know

what they’d find on the clothes he wore that night,” she said.

“I mean, maybe he accidentally stepped in a puddle of gasoline

or something and then they’d really go after him. This way, we

know they won’t find a thing.”

My gaze drifted to the shoes he wore the night of the

lock-in, and I thought I could still smell the scent of something

caustic, something
flammable,
on them even from where I sat.

I wouldn’t tell Maggie. I didn’t want to make her doubt him.

“I was afraid maybe his lighter leaked onto his shoes,” I said.

I let go of her to reach for Andy’s pillow, which lay on the

side of the bed where Flip had tossed it after searching beneath

the mattress. I hugged it to my chest. Andy’s scent was on it,

still more the scent of a little boy than a man. Even if he could

have figured out how to get fuel to the church and how to set

it on fire in a way that would make him appear heroic, he never

would have done it.

I knew my son. I knew his heart. He would never hurt a

soul.

1991

SARA’S BABY ARRIVED THREE WEEKS EARLY. She and Steve

named him Keith, and he had a mild heart condition that might

require surgery when he got a little older. I felt terrible for

Sara. She deserved the perfect baby I’d had.

Sara and Keith spent two nights in the hospital in Jacksonville. The second night, Steve called to tell me that Jamie was

in the emergency room. While visiting with them in Sara’s

room, Jamie had suddenly doubled over with chest pains.

I tried calling Marcus, but he was out, so I had to drive

myself to Jacksonville. I’d had an accident the week before. I’d

been parked in front of the grocery store, and when I backed

out of the space, I somehow smashed into a light post. I got

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out of the car to check for damage and tripped over my own

feet, cutting my cheek on the side mirror. A few people rushed

to help me, but I scrambled back into my car, waving them

away with a smile as though my cheek didn’t hurt a bit and the

parking lot wasn’t spinning around me. I didn’t want them

close enough to know I was three sheets to the wind. When I

got home, I discovered the long, deep crease in the fender of

my car and hoped Jamie would never notice it.

As I drove to the hospital in Jacksonville, though, I wasn’t

drunk. Still, I’d had enough to drink that I knew I had no

business being on the road. I drove slowly, my eyes wide open

and fixed to the white line. There were few other cars on the

road that late, but I worried about running into a ditch or

smashing into a deer. I wasn’t worried about Jamie, though. I

was quite sure what was wrong with him.

Sure enough, the E.R. doctors could find no problem with

Jamie’s heart, but they kept him overnight for observation. I

sat by his bedside, woodenly holding his hand. In his eyes, I saw

that he, too, knew what was wrong, something he wouldn’t

try to explain to the doctors: Sara and Steve’s pale little baby

had triggered Jamie’s empathy gene. His gift. His curse.

Jamie and Maggie moved back into The Sea Tender while

Sara’s mother stayed with the Westons for a week. The first

night, Maggie had trouble going to sleep in the crib she hadn’t

slept in for nearly a year, and I listened to Jamie getting up with

her from his bed in our guest room. I was relieved he hadn’t

expected to sleep with me.

I felt awkward with him in the house, especially the second

evening when Marcus stopped by to greet his brother and

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niece. Marcus and I had made love only that once. In a sober,

remorseful moment the following day, we’d made a pact never

to let it happen again and we’d stuck to it in the month since

that night. But we were close, emotionally bonded in a way I