Hiding Place (9781101606759) (37 page)

Janet followed Rose inside, and the two women sat. Rose wore a housecoat, and her hair looked limpid and dirty, as if she hadn’t bathed for a couple of days.

“Did he leave, Rose?” Janet asked. “Did he leave town?”

Rose didn’t answer. She rubbed her hands up and down the tops of her thighs, back and forth across the gray floral-patterned material.

“Rose? Just tell me.”

“He packed some things earlier today,” she said.

“He was here?”

“He was here and gone. He threw his clothes into bags. He said he’d stayed too long as it was, and he needed to get out of town.”

“Where was he going?” Janet asked.

“He didn’t say. I didn’t ask, I guess. I don’t want to be a nag.”

“He’s your son.”

“I know, but…” Her words trailed off. She seemed to not have the will to finish.

“Do you know the police are going to the hospital to question Ray?” Janet asked.

Rose’s eyes widened.

“They found another witness who saw him in the woods that day. They’re going to ask Ray if he’s ready to confess to killing Justin. They’re hoping to do the whole thing without a trial.”

Rose stopped rubbing the tops of her thighs. She raised one hand to her mouth, covering it as though she might cough or say something inappropriate. But she didn’t speak. She held the hand there for a long moment.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you that, Rose.”

She nodded her head. “It’s okay, honey.”

“Why do you think Ray would kill his own child?” Janet asked. “He knew, or suspected, that Justin was his son. Why would he hurt him like that?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Ray wasn’t violent. He never hurt Michael. He never laid a hand on me. He didn’t hurt us that way.”

“Was Michael ever violent?” Janet asked.

Rose scooted back on the couch a little. “Michael? Why would you ask me that?”

“Because he beat the hell out of Ray the other night,” Janet said. “And I saw him, right after he did it. He looked…different, Rose. There was something wrong with him.”

“I know he did that to his father,” Rose said. “But that was his father. Michael was gentle—”

“He wasn’t, Rose.”

Janet’s words came out hard and flat, like a smack against the top of the table. Rose flinched.

Janet continued. “He enjoyed it when other kids were bullied in school. That man in the jail, the one pretending to be Justin. Michael egged other kids on when they bullied him. He wasn’t always peaceful or benevolent.”

“Why do you hate him so much?” Rose asked. “Michael paid a price for what happened in that park. He’s lived with it all these years, too. I know what it was like for him after he came home that day.” Rose fussed with the hair at the back of her head before resuming. “He was upset. Very upset. He cried and cried because something had happened to Justin.” Rose’s eyes grew misty as she thought about her son in distress or pain. “He told me it was his fault. He said he was right there, and it was his fault that Justin didn’t come back out of the woods. I guess he ran after him or something.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I told him it wasn’t his fault, of course. I told him there were bad people in the world, and sometimes they wanted to hurt small children. We didn’t believe in sheltering Michael. Not really.”

“And did Ray say anything?”

“He was adamant that Michael not blame himself. Adamant.”

“And did that help Michael settle down?” Janet asked.

It took Rose a long time to answer. Before any words came
out of her mouth, she started slowly turning her head back and forth. Finally she said, “He only calmed down when we agreed to let him see you.”

“See me?”

“He went to your house.”

“Why?”

Again, Rose hesitated.

“Why?” Janet asked.

“Because your dad called and asked if we could bring Michael over to your house.”

“Why would he do that? After everything he knew.”

“You were upset, too. Just like Michael. You know what that’s like, to see your child upset or sick or scared. You wouldn’t calm down, and you kept asking to see Michael. After everything he found out that morning, of course your father didn’t want Ray or any of us coming near his house. And I didn’t want your mother coming near us. But, you see, eventually Bill gave in. He couldn’t take seeing you so unhappy, so he called over here. He said Michael could come over to your house if I brought him over there. He said if Ray showed up he couldn’t be held responsible for his actions. But I could do it if I wanted.”

“And you did?”

“I didn’t want to,” Rose said. “I was sick, too. Just sick. Physically, I felt ill after what Ray had told me that morning. I didn’t think I’d even be able to walk.” She shook her head. “I wish I’d had the guts to kick Ray out—I really do. But I never had them. I never did. It’s sick for me to admit this, but if he knocked on that door today, I might just take him back.”

Rose’s admission gave Janet a touch of sickness in her gut. “So you came to our house with Michael.”

“Your dad let me in. The house, your house—it was just
crazy. There were police there and reporters outside with cameras. A lot of your parents’ friends were over. People your dad worked with. Women from the church who knew your mom. It was a bit of a madhouse.”

“Did my mom see you? Did you talk to her?”

“I don’t know where she was,” Rose said. “Maybe she was lying down or resting. Your dad met me at the door and he led us upstairs. You were in your room, alone. He didn’t…we didn’t…”

“You didn’t talk about what had happened?”

“No. We were the aggrieved parties. But it seemed petty to mention anything like that when Justin had been taken. We just wanted to settle the two of you down. I remember your dad standing in the doorway of your room after we got there. You and Michael sat right on the floor together and started playing. As soon as you two saw each other, the crying stopped. The look on your dad’s face,” Rose said. “When I saw him at the door, he looked older, worn down. He looked like a very sad man. But for just a moment, when he stood there looking at you in your room with Michael, and because you had stopped crying, he almost looked happy. I know how heavy his heart was, but he did look happy.”

Janet had been there, but she didn’t remember any of what Rose was telling her. She felt her emotions catch in her own throat as she thought back, wishing she could have seen that look on her dad’s face, a moment of contentment as everything in his world fell apart. She wished she could see that look on his face in the present.

“So you just sat with us while we played?”

“Someone called your dad away. His happiness didn’t last long. I don’t know if it was the police or a reporter, but someone called his name, and I saw the weight lower onto him again. He
left the room and closed the bedroom door. We were in there together, you and Michael and me. For an hour or so, and when we left, we promised we’d let you two play together again the next day if you wanted.”

“And I guess we talked to the police while you were there,” Janet said.

“You remember that?”

“I don’t remember it really. But I know it happened because we told them about seeing Justin in the park with Dante Rogers.” Then something occurred to Janet. “Did you say you sat with us alone in my room after my dad left?”

“For just a little while.”

“Did you tell us what to say?” Janet asked. “That night, did you tell us to tell the police that we saw Dante and Justin together in the park? And did you tell us not to mention seeing Justin run into the woods chasing after that dog?”

Rose didn’t answer. But Janet understood. All she had to do was think back just a few minutes to Rose’s admission that she would still take Ray back if he knocked on the door right then. If she felt that way in the present, what would she have done for him in the past? Janet had recently begun to wonder how Ray Bower could have reached them if her father knew about the affair. It was simple—he didn’t have to. Rose did the dirty work for him.

“Why did Ray not want us to mention Justin running away?”

“I don’t know.”

“He didn’t tell you.”

“No, he didn’t. And I didn’t ask. I saw him come home with that dirt on his clothes. I knew what that might mean. But I never asked him about it. He just told me to make sure Michael understood what to say. He told him here at home not to mention
running into the woods, but then he wanted me to repeat it at your house. I just assumed it was true. How do I know what you saw at the park?”

“That’s witness tampering, Rose. I think that’s what they call it.”

“Oh, honey, look at me. Should I even care what anyone does to me or thinks about me now? Does any of it matter?”

“It still matters,” Janet said. “It matters a great deal.”

Ashleigh sat on her bed with her earbuds in. The music went on and on, a nearly continuous loop of sound. She barely heard it. She stared out the window, watching the evening fall. The sky glowed red through the large tree in their yard. She did this sometimes, stared into space, felt herself alone, felt her mind drift. It had been a long day. She got up early for her uncle’s funeral service, and then made awkward conversation with the few relatives and friends who came back to the house. She took a nap in the afternoon, but rather than making her feel better, the nap made her feel more tired, more sluggish.

She’d felt off her game for a few days. Lazy, lethargic.

Why?

They finally knew the answer. The man on the porch wasn’t her uncle. There was no prize to bring home for her mother. Ashleigh thought all along that just knowing something for sure would help, but she saw that for what it was—a falsity. A lie. Only one thing could make everything better: bringing her uncle back. Short of that, she had failed. Even the reburial had felt a little hollow. When she stood next to her mom, leaned in against her, felt her warmth and comfort, Ashleigh understood how tough her mom really was. She had been through so much, and still Ashleigh could do little to change it all.

Her grandfather must have knocked more than once. He always acted like such a freak about coming into her room. She knew he wouldn’t just barge in without knocking, so when he opened the door and appeared at the foot of her bed, she knew he must have knocked several times, but she couldn’t hear him over the sound of the music.

She sat up, pulled the buds out of her ears.

The old man stood there, looking down at her. Something showed on his face. Was it fear? Was the old man scared?

“What’s wrong?” Ashleigh asked.

He didn’t answer right away. For a moment, he looked like he couldn’t talk, like he spoke and understood a different language and had no idea what the gibberish coming out of her mouth amounted to. “Grandpa?” she said.

“You should come down and see this,” he said.

The local news was playing on the TV. Neither one of them spoke. They took their spots—Ashleigh on the couch and Grandpa in his chair. What they saw shocked Ashleigh. She had wrongly assumed a plane had crashed or some nutjob had blown up a building. What else would have prompted her grandpa to come to her room and ask her to watch TV with him? But it was bigger than anything she could have imagined.

The screen showed a blond-haired guy, a reporter, holding a microphone and reading off a yellow legal pad. Ashleigh recognized the backdrop. The brick building, the traffic moving in a circle behind the reporter. He was standing near the courthouse and police station downtown, and he was talking about her uncle Justin. It took her a moment to catch up
to the words, to really hear them and register them in her brain…

“Sources tell us that the break in the case came about as the result of a witness coming forward, someone who had this information for quite some time but only now chose to reveal it to the authorities. Police are keeping that witness’s name and identity a secret from the media now. And I want to emphasize that no charges have been filed against Raymond Bower, the local man now inside the police station talking to authorities, but sources are saying charges could be filed sometime soon…”

Ashleigh looked at her grandpa. He held one hand to the side of his head, like something or someone had delivered a strong blow. But his eyes remained wide-open, staring at the screen.

“Grandpa? Are you okay?”

He nodded but didn’t speak.

“That name,” Ashleigh said. “Raymond Bower? That’s Michael’s dad, right? I mean, he’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?”

“Used to be. A long time ago.”

Ashleigh looked back at the screen. The reporter was gone. In his place was the photo Ashleigh had seen so many times, the one she kept on the shelf near her bed. A portrait of her uncle Justin, smiling, his head turned slightly to his left. It was the only image Ashleigh carried in her mind of him, the only way she ever had and ever would see him.

“Did you—?”

She meant to ask if the news surprised him, if he thought all along that Raymond Bower might be involved in Justin’s death. Surely he suspected something, right? Did things like this ever come out of the blue?

But she broke her words off and stopped. Her grandfather
was still staring at the screen, but his eyes were full of tears. That sight shut Ashleigh up, froze her. She didn’t know what to do or say. She’d never seen her grandpa cry.

“I loved that kid,” he said, his chin quivering. “I loved him like my very own.”

When Janet came in the door, she saw Ashleigh sitting on the couch, the television playing a game show. Ashleigh never watched that kind of mindless television. She hardly ever watched television at all. But there she sat, her eyes glued to the screen. She looked up when Janet came in.

“Mom?”

Janet heard something in Ashleigh’s voice, a hint of a plea. Or fear. Something not quite right, not quite normal. Or was it just Janet herself superimposing her own emotions onto her daughter’s? Janet had driven the whole way home thinking about what she had learned that day and evening. Michael was gone, Ray with the police. Would it end right there? Would Michael just walk—run—away from her and the town and never look back? Never say good-bye?