All The Hidden Pieces
Page 26
At this point, a small crowd had formed around Hobbs’s desk. Adams and Martinez walked over. Even Weaver emerged from his office and stood next to Colt. “What’s going on?” Weaver asked.
“Colt Bundy is a private investigator,” Hobbs said. “He says he received a letter from Greta Carpenter and that the family is in…Mani….?” Greta gave Colt a quizzical look and the private investigator finished her sentence.
“Manitoulin Island; it’s in Ontario, Canada, along the lake,” Colt said. “They’re sailing.”
“Why did she write a letter to you?” Weaver asked.
“It’s not meant for me; the letter is to her mother, who she asked me to track down.”
Colt reversed the sheet of paper and pointed to black scrawling. Colt, please find my mother, Johanna Wagner, and send this letter to her. When I get back to town, I will pay you whatever cost. All My Best, Greta.
Hobbs recognized Greta’s handwriting – the lettering in black felt tip on the dry erase board in Greta’s kitchen, the name with the curvy, looping G she’d used to sign the report in the traffic file.
“They’re sailing,” Weaver repeated.
Hobbs wasn’t sure he had asked a question but Colt answered as though it was. “Yes, they’ve been on a sailboat this whole time. I don’t even think they know they’re missing.”
“How does the Carpenter family have a sailboat?” Adams asked.
Martinez pulled out his phone and keyed Manitoulin Island into the maps feature. “It’s on Lake Huron,” he said. “If someone is after them, maybe they thought this was the best way to hide out for awhile.”
“No one is after them,” Colt said decisively. “I read the letter. Marcia Brock gifted them the sailboat and now they’re having an adventure.”
Hobbs smiled vaguely at Colt and then took a seat in her chair. She felt like her brain was suspended and swimming at the same time – looking back and looking ahead, and reconsidering every conclusion she had reached thus far. All this time – and with every similar case – their job was to figure out who the missing people were running from. Who was chasing them? What were they trying to avoid? It was the default position for anyone in law enforcement to get to the crime.
But in this case, the Carpenter family wasn’t running from anything or anyone. They were running towards….towards the completion of Marcia Brock’s conceptions, towards an opportunity that fastened the family together.
There was still a lot about the story that Hobbs didn’t know. Why did the family have to leave in such a hurry? Was it Marcia Brock who called from a burner phone, and who gave it to her?
Later that evening, as she nestled next to Adams under the warmth of her bedspread, they relayed their lingering questions and talked about possible theories. Any number of reasons made sense, and the only thing that kept Hobbs from going mad with ambiguity was the idea that Greta Carpenter and family would return to Vetta Park at some point. Hobbs didn’t know it for certain, but she believed it to be true. In the meantime, Weaver would assign another case to Martinez and Hobbs… and the days of interrogating, investigating and deliberating would continue like they always had.
Except that one thing was different. Hobbs turned out the light and crept closer to the warm body next to hers. Her relationship with Adams was no longer a secret, held together by surreptitious meetings and repeated avowals for discretion. Their coupling was an open story, a connection that grew stronger as it was made more real.
Adams reached for her in the dark and drew her closer to him. In the darkness she could only make out the faintest trace of his chest and torso. But she could feel his breath against her forehead, the tightness of his clasp as he whispered to her: “Good night Roberta, I love you.”
Hobbs smiled and hugged him tighter. “Good night Dean. I love you too.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Dear Mom,
I’m so sorry that it has taken me all this time to write you this letter. I wish I’d reached out to you years ago. Here is what I’ve wanted to say to you for so long.
I walked away from you when I was 16 because I was angry and proud – angry that things were hard for me that came so easily to others, and too proud to turn around when I realized I was wrong. And how I was wrong! The first night away from you, I found a bed in a homeless shelter for teens in St. Louis, after hours of wandering the streets.
I was so scared, Mom. I missed you so much. I slept right by an open window and every time a breeze blew in, I imagined it was you. You were watching me, lying next to me, blowing air on me to comfort my pain – like you used to do when I was a kid. Your brown hair tied back in a ponytail, your long arms secured around me. I cried myself to sleep that night, but it was silent kind, the kind of crying you do when you realize you’re on your own, your mother is not really there to comfort you.
I wanted so badly to turn around and go home…but I was afraid of what you’d say and what I’d have to confess – that I was wrong, that I’d made a mistake. So I stayed gone.
But here’s the thing. I always missed you and I always thought about you. Every morning, I woke up and tried to smell the pancakes you used to make in the morning. I always brewed a cup of green tea at 4 o’clock in the afternoon, just how you liked it. I started singing the silly rabbit song you used to sing to yourself all the time. You see, I kept you with me – in my thoughts, in my songs, in how I raised my children. You don’t know it but you were right there with me the whole time.
I know these little rituals and relics don’t substitute for you actually being there. You should have been with me for all of it, Mom, and that’s my fault and I’m so sorry. I should have said these words in 1995 but I’m finally writing them now. I don’t want to look in the direction of Southwest Missouri and wonder which of the smoke plumes coming from a chimney in the far distance might belong to your house. I want to know.
So, on to the present. We do have time, Mom. I really believe that. We have the whole future to make up for lost time.
I’m currently sailing the Great Lakes on a little adventure, courtesy of my former mother-in-law. But at some point the weather will change and we’ll head back to Missouri. The first thing I’m going to do when I walk in the door will be to be to find you and make amends. We will have all the long talks we never had, share all the photographs, re-live all the milestones. You can meet my husband Tuck, and my kids John and Olivia. We can start again.
I will come home this time, Mom, I promise.
I love you.
Your Daughter,
Greta
Greta rested her pen on the table and went up the tiny staircase. John was sitting on a cushioned seat at the edge of the boat, reading a book out loud, while Olivia stretched out next to him and listened attentively.
Tuck was behind the wheel of the boat – a self-proclaimed skipper. Sailing was a pastime he’d learned one summer as a teenager, but he was surprised to find it wasn’t difficult to pick up again – especially now that they were further away from the crowded Chicago shoreline.
In a few days they’d be at Manitoulin Island and then Greta would mail the letter. In the meantime, she could finally relax. Greta reclined on a cushioned divan opposite her children and felt the dips and bobs of the current beneath her. She fell asleep to the gentle resonance of her son’s voice, and when she opened her eyes again, all she could see was the sky.
About the Author
Jillian Thomadsen grew up in Baltimore, and has lived in Virginia, New York City and Los Angeles before finally settling in St. Louis, MO. A former finance professional, Jillian now spends her time chasing after her three active boys and repairing all the damage they’ve inflicted to her house.
Jillian first got the writing bug at age seven, and has been honing her craft ever since. She has written for Sophisticated Living, ADDitude, ScaryMommy, Today Parenting and BusinessWeek. All the Hidden Pieces is her first novel.
Get on the mailing list! Please contact Jillian at jillianthom
adsen@gmail.com or Twitter: @JillianA_T
Acknowledgements
It would be impossible to fully acknowledge everyone who supported me throughout this process but I’m going to give it a shot.
First of all, my beta readers Nicole Oppenheimer and Cara Goldberg. Thank you a million times over. Your advice was invaluable and improved the book tremendously.
Thanks to Melissa Abrams who put together a project plan that I diligently followed once I decided (6 months later but who’s counting) to actually stick my neck out and self-publish. I’d have been lost without your guidance.
To all of my friends who helped throughout the way: Jen Jim, Robyn LeBoeuf, Jackie Jarvis and Michele Weiss, who put me in touch with their author friends or other people in the publishing world that they knew. Thanks to Becky Marbarger who assured me an unyielding social media campaign when I revealed my social media inhibitions.
Thank you to Carrie Edelstein for giving me my first shot in print publishing and to Paul Hollis who spent awhile on the phone with me detailing the ropes.
I can’t give thanks enough to the dyslexia community who has supported me, particularly Jayme Fingerman who continues to help me chart my course, and of course the teachers and staff at the wonderful Churchill School, who have given me hope for my child’s future literacy after years of struggle. Thanks in particular to Dan Carney.
I’d like to thank Amy Wagner and Amanda Luft, who advised me and gave me that final push to actually do this. Also Jenny Kissel, Rekha Ramanuja, Jane Curry, Jessica Garnreiter, Tim Gabrielle, Stephanie Dahl, the Hellmanns, Lori Siegel and Sarah Glasser for their support along the way.
And of course, my family – those who have read the book and those who have simply provided guidance, support and babysitting: Mom, Dad, Judy, Chris, Laura, all my in-laws, and of course those immediate family members who have to put up with me every day: Andrew, Ryan, Josh and of course my amazing and supportive husband Raphael. Thanks to all of you.