The Wednesday Group (29 page)

“To help build a school.”

“You are a … what do you call them … someone who does missionary work?” He leans toward her. She smells whiskey.

“No. Not really. I just want to do something useful for once.” She smiles more openly.

“You do not seem like a woman who has spent a useless life.”

She laughs. “No, I guess not. Maybe
change
is a better word.”

“Ah.” He swirls his drink. His gaze is pleasant.

For a moment she considers telling the truth, then decides that would ruin a perfectly genteel drink. “I just don't want life to pass me by and regret never having done the things I wanted to do.”

“So you are the type for adventure?”

She sips her cranberry and vodka and contemplates the question for a second or two. “I guess so,” she says.

“And you do this alone?” he asks.

“Yes.” She wonders if it's unwise to tell a single man she is by herself. But what the hell? She needs to stop being so guarded.

“I do not know of many people who would just go off to the jungle. I think you must be brave.”

“I'm not exactly doing it out of bravery—more like running away.” Why keep pretending? She has to put that part of her life behind her.

“I see,” he says, eyebrows raised.

She finishes her drink, liking that he didn't come right out and ask. If she tried to get up right now, she would probably stagger.

“I'm running from a bad marriage,” she admits.

He nods. “I am sorry.”

“I probably shouldn't have said that. It's the drinks.”

“Sometimes it is easier to tell a perfect stranger, no?”

“Yes, I suppose that's true. Are you married?”

“I was once, yes. But for me too it was not so good.” He tilts his head from side to side. “I traveled too much. She was bored. There was no more fire.”

He looks at her empty glass. “Would you like another?”

“No, I better not. I have a lot to do in the morning.”

The waitress comes to the table. Lizzy takes out her credit card. “I'd like to get this.”

“Thank you,” Carlos says.

It's nice he doesn't make a fuss, that he accepts her willingness to pay.

After she signs the receipt, they stand and shake hands again. This time she allows herself to enjoy his grip.

“I admire what you are going to do. I wish you luck and happiness.”

“I wish you the same.” Funny how she really feels that. She doesn't feel that for Greg. For a second, guilt washes over her, and the bristling under her skin returns.

She waits for Carlos to leave the bar first, but he waits for her. They smile awkwardly at each other and walk to the lobby together.

“You are at this hotel too?” he asks as they stand next to the elevator.

“Yes.” She glances around, hoping there will be more people.

No one else comes. They get in and watch the numbers climb. It will be uncomfortable to have to say good-bye again. The elevator stops on the ninth floor and dings as the doors open.

“It was nice—” he begins as he takes a step toward the hallway.

“Wait,” she says.

He looks at her and smiles. The doors close. He walks to her and kisses her. She doesn't hold back.

The elevator stops on the eleventh floor, and she leads him to her room. Inside, she closes the curtains most of the way. The blinking lights from the control tower flash steadily, rhythmically, comfortably. Carlos holds her shoulders, kisses her mouth, then her neck. Her lips brush against his cheek. There is a shy scent of expensive cologne.

He takes the clip out of her hair, then runs his hands through it. He tells her she is beautiful, and as the light pulses, she unbuttons her blouse. She believes him. They undress. He is gentle and confident. There is no hesitancy, no performance anxiety. The flow is natural, easy. The intimate touch of a man was something she had written out of her life plan.

She is grateful that he doesn't linger afterward. It is a luxury to be naked and feel no shame, to hog the whole bed, to stretch diagonally. After a few moments, she realizes she is submerged in silence. The ties to Greg are broken. She is simply not the kind of woman to have sex with someone else and then return to her husband.

She imagines the sounds of monkeys squalling as the sun sets on the Amazon River.

The static is gone. Sleep comes tenderly.

 

Hannah

Adam made peppermint tea, tried to get Hannah to watch TV, and suggested a drive, but all she can do is pace in the living room and make silent bargains with God. She'd give up anything. Her house, his sobriety.

Minutes feel like endless, horrific hours. If there is a hell, this is what it feels like. She desperately tries to push aside images of Alicia getting into some stranger's car. Adam's phone rings. Hannah stops pacing midstep.

“Yes,” he says. He stands motionless, next to the coffee table.

She places a hand on her chest as she watches him.

“This is Mr. Jenkins.” The left side of his mouth nudges downward. The creases on his brow grow deeper. The room has no air.

Finally, he lets out a long, audible sigh of relief.

“She's okay,” he says to Hannah.

She hurries to his side, grabs his arm, and listens with him. He brushes his lips on the top of her head, and even in the midst of this crisis, she understands that he is grateful she has allowed this light kiss.

“She's being taken by ambulance to Newton-Wellesley Hospital,” a man's voice states.

“We can be there in ten minutes,” Adam says.

Hannah races outside, not bothering to grab her purse. Just as she's about to get into Adam's car, she dashes back into the house.

“They found her,” she shouts to Sam and her mother, who are in the den. “We're going to meet her at the hospital.”

Sam bolts up. “Can I come?”

“No, honey. You stay with Nana. We'll be home soon.”

In the car, Hannah taps her feet on the floor. They took this exact same route when she was in labor with Alicia. Adam parks and they jog toward the bright red neon emergency room lights.

Hannah barrels through the swinging doors. A nurse in pink scrubs with her hands on her hips stands in Hannah's path.

“My daughter, Alicia Jenkins. Which room?”

The nurse doesn't stop Hannah; instead she turns and leads the way to a curtained-off area. Alicia is there. On the bed, eyes open. Alive. Hannah races to her daughter, kisses her forehead, and caresses her hair, as a doctor pats Alicia's shoulder.

“Everything looks good,” the doctor tells Hannah. “We're just giving her some fluids. It was a hot night, and she might be dehydrated.”

“When can we take her home?” Hannah asks.

“Soon, I imagine. But there are a couple of routine interviews for a case like this.” The doctor smiles at Alicia. “You seem like a strong girl. Think you can answer a few questions?”

Alicia nods.

The doctor walks to the opening in the curtain. “I'll be back to check on her again.”

Adam moves closer to the bed. He holds the metal rail.

“I have never, ever been so happy to see anyone,” Hannah says. Her heart is slowing, and she can finally catch her breath. There is no blood, no bruises, no bandages. Alicia's skin is pale and clammy, but her blue eyes are clear, and Hannah feels as if her sanity has been miraculously restored.

“We were very worried,” Adam says sternly.

Hannah glances at him and shakes her head just enough to show him this isn't the time to be angry.

“We're just so glad you're okay. How are you feeling?” Hannah asks.

“Scared,” she whispers. Her lips are cracked and dry. She probably hasn't had anything to eat or drink in hours.

Hannah tucks the stiff white sheet around Alicia. “No need to be frightened anymore. Soon you'll be home, safe and sound.”

“Where were you?” Adam asks.

Hannah looks across the bed. She tilts her head, trying to ask Adam what he's doing, speaking so harshly. Then she glances at his hands gripping the bedrail. His knuckles are white.

“At the mall,” Alicia whispers.

“How did you get there?” Adam asks.

“I walked,” she murmurs.

“Adam,” Hannah says, “we'll get to the details later. Let's just get her home and get a good meal into her.” When she kisses Alicia's forehead again, she gets a whiff of something that reminds her of sour milk. It's the way her children smell when they're sweaty and exhausted.

“You walked from school?” Adam asks.

“Yes.”

“Let's not do this now,” Hannah says firmly.

“Can we leave?” Alicia asks.

“In a few minutes,” Hannah replies, as a man and a woman enter.

“I'm Officer Ward,” the man says. He's beefy with strained eyes and cheeks that sit too low on his face. “And this is Miss…”

“Theresa, just call me Theresa. I'm from DCF,” the woman, who is clinging to a legal pad, pipes in. Her voice is high, her features nondescript.

Officer Ward moves forward. It's too much, Hannah thinks, all these adults hovering.

“We need to ask your daughter a few questions,” Ward tells Adam. “It might be easier if we did this alone.”

“I'm not leaving,” Hannah tells the officer.

“Okay, then.” He takes a notepad from his pocket. “Alicia, can you tell us how you ended up in Cambridge?”

“Cambridge?” Adam asks, startled. “No one told us that's where she was found.”

“Sir, it would be best if we had no interruptions, if we just heard from your daughter for the moment.”

Alicia bites her lip and looks up at Hannah.

“It's okay, honey. Just answer the questions honestly, and then we can go home. Tell the policeman how you ended up in Cambridge.”

Alicia shrugs, confused. “I went to the mall. Then I took a bus because I wanted to go home.” Her breathing is rapid as she tries not to cry.

“The person who called this in said you were on a park bench. A man was talking to you. Can you tell us about the man?” Ward asks.

She shakes her head no.

“What kind of man?” Adam asks.

“Sir, I am going to ask again that you not interrupt.”

Adam's mouth draws into a tight line.

Hannah thinks of how calm he was all afternoon, how she was the one flipping out, and now that she's grounded and rational, he's losing it. But he can't do this in front of Alicia.

“Alicia,” Officer Ward begins, “we don't think the man did anything wrong, but we just want to make sure you're okay. Did he say or do anything that felt threatening?”

Alicia looks up at Hannah, puzzled.

“Did he say or do something that didn't feel okay?” Hannah clarifies.

“He said there were a lot of bad people.” She clutches her mother's hand.

“Did this man approach you, or did you approach him?” Ward asks.

Hannah wishes they would all leave. They're only making this harder on Alicia. She's fragile and overwhelmed at the moment. “Who was sitting on the bench first?” Hannah rephrases. “You or him?”

“Me.”

Adam draws in a breath. Hannah glances at him, trying to tell him to stay calm.

“Did he try to hold your hand or touch you in any other way?” Theresa asks.

Alicia looks up at Hannah again.

“Did the man want to touch you?” Hannah asks.

She shrugs. Tears well in her eyes. “I don't know.”

“It's okay,” Hannah comforts. “You don't have to remember everything right now.”

Officer Ward flips his notebook closed. “Well, I think we have what we need for the moment. I'll let…” He looks at Theresa. “I'll let DCF take over from here.”

“I certainly hope you are questioning this man,” Adam says to Ward.

“We will keep you informed.”

“I think—” Adam begins.

“Thank you, Officer,” Hannah interrupts. Adam getting cantankerous isn't going to get Alicia home any faster.

Ward nods at Hannah, then looks at Alicia. “Good to see you're okay.” He taps the foot of the bed and walks out.

“Alicia,” Theresa chirps, “I have a few questions for you now.”

“I think it's been enough,” Hannah says. “Perhaps another day. She needs to rest and eat.”

“I understand. But it's protocol for runaways.” Her thin hair is slipping out of its ponytail, but her gaze is direct and unfaltering. Commanding even. She softens when she turns back to Alicia. “Can you tell me why you went to the mall?”

“I don't know,” she mumbles.

“Was there a reason you didn't want to go home?”

“I think she's exhausted,” Hannah says. “It's too much.”

“I know it's hard,” Theresa says to Alicia. “But can you hang in there for a few more questions?”

Alicia nods.

“Good girl.” She touches Alicia's hand. “Did you want to go home after school today?”

“No,” Alicia answers.

“Can you remember why?”

“I … I don't know. Because Daddy is sick and I didn't want to talk about sex,” she blurts.

“Why would you have to talk about sex?” Theresa asks.

Alicia looks at her mother. “Because that's what Mommy said, and because Daddy's a sex addict.”

“Right.” Hannah caresses Alicia's hair. “Because you overheard some things that were for adults only.”

Theresa clears her throat. “I think it's best at this point if I speak with Alicia alone.”

“Why?” Adam asks.

“It's protocol in this type of case,” she says quietly.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sweat beads on Adam's forehead.

As much as Hannah doesn't want to leave Alicia's side, she can see that the best thing for everyone right now would be to take Adam out of the mix. They have done nothing wrong, and interrupting and commenting on everything Theresa says may only make them look guilty.