“Because of all the reasons we talked about earlier—the difference in our ages, what my kids would think, the fact that we’re still both in mourning and emotionally vulnerable. There are so many reasons they make me question my sanity now.”
With his elbows at her shoulders he put his thumbs in the hollows of her cheeks and pushed gently. He watched her lips press into a false pout and relax as his thumbs retreated. He studied her eyes, locked on his and happy, in spite of her words.
When he spoke, his voice was deep with candor and honesty. “Any mother fixation I ever had on you is gone. Do you believe me?”
She studied his face, wiped clean of smiles and teasing. She felt a thrill and a warning inside, that what they’d begun could lead to hurt for both of them if they let this get out of hand. She hooked his neck and brought his mouth close enough to kiss. Once. Fast.
“Yes. And now I must go.”
“Why?”
“Because I like this too much. I like you too much. You feel too good and I’ve had too much fun today and I’m getting so mixed up.” His eyes seemed to be studying her as if putting great thought into what she said. “And because I’m afraid of what we’ve started here. Aren’t you?”
Again he considered before answering, “No, I’m not. Not like you.” Then he sat back and worked his way off her, grabbed her by both hands and hauled her up. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
12
THE following Saturday night Lee closed the store at nine after a grueling day spent mostly on her feet. The demand for fresh-cut flower arrangements had become so great she and Sylvia had decided to hire an additional designer now and have her stay on when Nancy quit after the holidays. The new designer was named Leah. She was Asian, and brought to Absolutely Floral a fresh, new visual aspect in flower arranging. Many of her arrangements were minimalistic, asymmetrical and stunning. Lee had watched her work, caught Sylvia’s eye and known within ten minutes she was the one they wanted. They had offered her ten dollars an hour, compromised at eleven when she asked for twelve, and believed they were getting a bargain. However, even with the additional designer, and with Rodney making extra delivery runs each day, they could scarcely keep up with poinsettias for churches, centerpieces for Christmas parties and gift bouquets, both personal and business. There had been three weddings today as well, plus the foot traffic in the store, which got so bad Lee had called Joey over for a few hours just to help bag green plants and carry them out to the cars, take tailings out to the trash, scrub buckets, polish the showcase doors and keep the floor swept in the designing area. She had kept him there till five o’clock, then had given him fifteen dollars and a kiss as thanks before he walked out the door saying, “A bunch of us are going to do something tonight so I won’t be home when you get there.”
Now it was 9:15 and Lee arrived home nearly exhausted. Her feet hurt, her legs hurt, she had cut her hand on her Swiss army knife and that hurt. She’d been pricked by so many juniper sprigs her hands had developed a puffy red rash. The constant hammering of woody stems had given her a headache. At this time of the year and at Valentine’s Day, the banging went on hour after hour until the place sounded like a carpenter’s shop instead of a florist. Sitting in the silent house the absence of sound was so abrupt it seemed felt rather than heard.
She threw her coat across one kitchen chair and plunked down on another to scan the mail, too tired to open the two envelopes mixed in with the junk. She yawned, stared absently at Joey’s note lying beside the potted pothos on its red plaid runner. Mom, a bunch of us are going bowling together, then over to Karen Hanson’s for sloppy joes. Home by 10:30. His curfew time was ten, but she was too tired to quibble over trivialities. It was the Christmas season, and he’d come to the shop to help her without complaining: She’d give the kid a break.
She heated up a can of Campbell’s tomato soup, put it in a mug and took it, steaming, to the bathroom where she filled the tub, sank into bubbles to her armpits and leaned back, sipping when she remembered to, mostly letting the mug wobble back and forth on her knee while she dozed.
She awoke with a start when the soup spilled down her leg and stained the water orange. Groaning, she sat up, washed, dried, powdered herself from stem to stern and crawled into some warm, soft pajamas. In the living room, she turned on a single lamp and the television, lay down on the sofa and covered herself with an afghan to wait for Joey.
Sometime later she awoke again, startled, disoriented after sleep so sound that the hour, day and all basic reason momentarily eluded her. On the screen Raymond Burr was holding forth in an old Perry Mason rerun. It was Saturday night. She was waiting for Joey. Time was . . . she checked her watch . . .
Ten to twelve!
She threw off the afghan and sat up, heart racing from the discombobulating effects of her startled awakening and the sudden plunge into fear for Joey. He was never late! Never! Ten or fifteen minutes lately, since his hormones had started rampaging and little Sandy Parker had come on the scene.
If he was late, there was something wrong.
Oh God, not another one!
The thought skittered through her brain while it was still short of oxygen from getting vertical too fast. She swayed a bit and sat back down to regain her equilibrium. As surely as she knew he hadn’t come in, she knew he was dead. It was Greg all over again, and baby Grant. Oh God, a third one, and she’d have only one left. Panic sluiced through her as she rose and ran to his room to find it empty, the bed rumpled but still made from morning, his work clothes from today lying in a heap on the floor beside a pair of hand weights and a carrying case of CDs.
“Joey!” she shouted, turning frantically into the hall, then hurrying toward the kitchen. “Joey, are you here?”
The light was still on over the stove the way she’d left it. There were no empty dishes in the sink, no evidence of recent snacking.
“OhGod . . . ohGod . . .” she despaired under her breath, checking her watch against the kitchen clock. “Where can he be?”
It was midnight when she dialed the number for the Anoka police station—not 911, which was routed through a county dispatcher, but the direct line into the station on Jackson Street.
A woman answered and Lee struggled to keep the panic out of her voice.
“This is Lee Reston. I’m Greg Reston’s mother, was Greg Reston’s mother, I mean. I know this sounds silly, but my fourteenyearold son Joey is missing. I mean, he didn’t come home when he said he would, and he’s always on time. Always. I’m just wondering if by any chance there’s been any . . . well . . . report of anything . . . or word of him . . . anything you know of.”
“Hi, Mrs. Reston. This is Toni Mansetti. No, I’m sorry. Nothing at all. But I’ll certainly put it on the radio and alert the officers on duty.”
“No!” she exclaimed, struck by the nebulous illogic that as long as she kept it unofficial he was okay. Then quieter, “No. It’s probably something perfectly explainable and he’ll come walking in any minute. He was with a bunch of kids so he’s probably just fine.”
“His name is Joey and he’s fourteen?”
“Yes.”
“Can you give me a description?”
“Oh listen, no, no, I don’t want . . . he’ll be . . . just forget it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m . . . thank you, Toni. I’m sure he’ll show up any minute.”
WHENToni Mansetti got off the phone she went into the squad room but none of the on-duty officers were around. Christmas season was a violent time of the year and Saturday nights were the worst. Suicides, burglaries, robberies and lots of drunks. Domestics broke out over ridiculous reasons: whose in laws couples were going to spend Christmas with, who spent too much money on Christmas presents, who was flirting with whom at the company Christmas party. Money shortages, alcohol and loneliness kept 911 ringing more often than at any other time of year. Of the five officers on duty, none were in the squad room when Toni Mansetti checked. Back at her radio, she ca
lled Ostrinski, who was cruising. He picked up immediately.
“Pete, this is Toni. I just had a call from Greg Reston’s mother. She sounded a little panicky and said her fourteen-year-old son isn’t home yet from some teenage get-together, but she didn’t want me to declare him missing. Keep your eyes open though, will you?”
“Ten-four. Toni, is Lallek around there yet?”
“No, he got off at eleven and left right afterwards.”
“Do me a favor, will you? Give him a call at home and apprise him of the situation. He’s close to that family and I think he’d want to know. He’s just like the rest of us, has a hard time sleeping when he gets off mid-shift. He’ll probably still be up.”
“Copy, Pete. Will do.”
* * *
CHRIShad gone to bed but was lying awake when his phone rang. He rolled over, grabbed it in the dark and said, “Yuh.” “Chris, this is Toni down at the station. We just had a call from Greg Reston’s mother saying her fourteen-year-old son Joey is missing. We’re going to keep an eye out, but Ostrinski thought you’d want to know.”
Chris was already out of bed, stretching the phone cord while reaching for his clothes. “What are the details?”
“All she said was that he was with a bunch of friends and that he didn’t come home when he said he would. She hung up before I could get a description out of her. She sounded panicked.”
“He’s about five feet seven, short brown hair a little wavy, no glasses, probably wearing a red jacket with white sleeves—no letter. He looks a lot like Greg. Home address is 1225 Benton Street. Put it on the radio, okay, Toni? And thanks for calling. I’ll get over there right away. She’ll be going crazy worrying.”
“You want me to send a squad over, too?”
“Not yet. I’ll call in if I want one.”
“Copy. Good luck, Lallek.”
Christopher was not a praying man, but a prayer went through his mind, directed at Lee Reston. Hang on, Lee, I’m coming, I’m coming. He’s going to be okay. He’s not going to be dead like your other two, but I know what you’re going through, so hang on, babe, till I can get there and help you through this!
While he drove to her house disregarding every driving law he’d ever learned, he found his heart ramming in fear for her and what he knew was going through her mind.
AT12:15 when Lee saw car lights turning into her driveway, she opened the door and went out onto the icy concrete step barefoot, in her pajamas. The engine and lights were cut, a door slammed and Christopher came striding up the sidewalk.
The sight of him was a gift of greater value than any she’d ever received in her life. His presence—his sturdy, commonsense, trained presence—lifted a portion of the weight from her heart. He knew, always knew when she needed him. It was uncanny.
“Have you heard from him yet?” he asked well before he reached her.
“No. Oh, Christopher, I’m so scared.”
She had come halfway down the sidewalk to meet him. He swept her forward in one arm toward the storm door, which had already grown frosty with the inner door open. “Get inside. My God, you haven’t even got any shoes on.”
The tears she’d held at bay while alone began stinging her eyes now that he was here to carry some of the burden of worry. “He’s never done this before. He’s always had a curfew and always obeyed it without complaining.”
Inside, he shut the doors and she rocketed into his arms. “I’m so glad you’re here. How did you find out?”
“The station called me.” He hugged her briefly, then gripped her arms to press her back. “Tell me where he was going, what time he left, who he was with.”
“He said he was going bowling with a bunch of kids. He left the shop around five o’clock—he’d helped out there this afternoon because we were so busy. After bowling, he said they were all going over to Karen Hanson’s house. She’s one of the girls he hangs around with. There’s a whole bunch of them who always do things together. Here, he left a note.”
She led him to the kitchen table. While he read the brief note she told him, “They’re all a bunch of really good kids.”
“Do you know these Hansons?”
“Yes. I already called there and Karen’s mother said the kids went home about ten-fifteen.” The tens of dire possibilities implied by the words brought more unwanted tears, but he remained clearheaded and practical.
“Walking?”
“Yes. Different parents give them rides whenever they ask, but a lot of times they just walk in a big group. I never thought to ask him if he needed a ride tonight. He knows that all he has to do is call though and I’ll come and pick him up.”
“Have you looked in his room?”
“Yes. Nothing.”
He headed back there and she followed, stood in the doorway with her arms tightly crossed while he switched on the light and assessed everything slowly. She wondered what his trained eye might pick out that she’d missed, and felt another rush of gratitude for his understanding how hard it would be for her to go through this alone.
“Are these the clothes he was wearing earlier today?”
“Yes.”
“Anything missing that you can see?”
“No. Just his jacket, the one he usually wears.”
Christopher continued assessing the room while she felt compelled to explain her parental breach.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I didn’t call earlier, but I came home from work at nine and I was so tired I took a bath and fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up I couldn’t believe it was nearly midnight and he wasn’t home.”
Christopher switched off the light and they went back to the kitchen. “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about yet. These things happen a lot—kids are reported missing and they just come home later than usual, that’s all.” He gave her a hug and rubbed her back.
“But he would have called. He knows how I worry.”
“How can he know if you’ve never had to before?”
“Because he knows me, that’s all. He wouldn’t . . .”
The front door opened and Joey walked in, dressed in his red wool jacket with white leather sleeves, his cheeks rosy from walking in the winter night.
Anger and relief battled in Lee. She marched toward him, demanding, “Where have you been!”
One-handed, he freed his jacket snaps. “With the gang.”
“Do you know what time it is!” she bellowed.
He hung his head some while he opened the front closet and hung up his jacket but gave no other sign he shared her concern over the hour.
“It’s almost twelve-thirty at night!”
“It’s the first time I’ve ever been late. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
Lee scarcely controlled the urge to smack him on the side of his head.
“The big deal is that I was worried half out of my mind, that’s what the big deal is! While you were nonchalantly hanging out with the gang I was wondering if you were alive or dead! Calling parents’ houses and asking if you were there, finding out you’d left at ten-fifteen. Where have you been since ten-fifteen?”
“At Sandy’s,” he answered, so quietly she could barely make out the words.
“At Sandy’s,” she repeated disparagingly. It was then she saw the hickeys on his neck and everything suddenly became clear. The room got uncomfortably silent. Into that silence, Christopher spoke.
“You’re okay then, right, Joey?”
Joey shrugged, looked sheepish and mumbled some wordless reply.
Lee stood by feeling guilty for hearing the question she herself should have thought to ask, but she was so angry with the kid, it took an effort to keep from striking him.
To Lee, Christopher said, “I’d better call the station,” and moved toward the kitchen telephone. Nobody else spoke while he dialed and said, “Yeah, Toni, this is Chris Lallek. All clear on Joey Reston. You can radio the squads he’s home and he’s all right.”
When he hung up,
Joey’s face became a mixture of disbelief and embarrassment.
“You had the police looking for me?” he said to his mother, his voice cracking with chagrin.
“You don’t seem to realize, young man, that things happen to kids your age when they wander around the streets late at night.”
“But, gol, Mom . . . the police.”
She was about to tear into him again when Christopher said, “Well, now that he’s home okay, I’ll be going.” He walked past Lee and when he got to Joey, curled a hand over his shoulder in passing. “She’s right, you know. And you had her awfully scared.”
Joey’s lips hung open and he stared at the floor, but said nothing.
When Christopher opened the door, the sound seemed to jar Lee from her absorption with her anger. She went to him and stood very close, saying, “Thank you, Christopher, again and again.” She banked the strong urge to hug him, but with Joey nearby she could only put a hand on his jacket sleeve. “I can’t tell you what it meant to me to see you walking up that sidewalk.”
“Anytime,” he answered. “See you.” Before he left, he said, “ ’Night, Joey.”
Joey said, “Yeah, g’night.”
In Christopher’s absence, the silence in the front hall seemed to reverberate. Joey headed for safety, for once bypassing the refrigerator in favor of his room. He hadn’t made it to the head of the hall before his mother spoke in the sternest voice possible.
“Joey, come in the living room.”
She led the way and sat down stiffly on the sofa, waiting. He followed, walking in that peculiar fashion adopted by guilty teenagers, with their napes high and their chins low. He perched on the edge of a chair at Lee’s right, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, studying the carpet between his tennis shoes.
“All right, let’s talk about it,” Lee said.
“Talk about what?” The glance he gave her skittered away again in a millisecond.
“About what you were doing at Sandy’s house.”
“Nothing. Just watching TV.”