“I’m sorry. I made a mistake. I can only say it so many times.”
“Sometimes I think you’d prefer to spend time with Navarro. I see the way he looks at you. He’s still in love with you. I’m no fool.”
“No, he’s not. But even if he was, I can’t control what other people do or how they feel. He’s been a friend of mine for a long time.”
“You’re turning to him instead of me right now. Why does he have to work Will’s case? I’m not comfortable with him always around. I’m sure he’s pretty happy he gets to spend all this extra time with you.”
“Do you hear what you’re saying? That’s ridiculous. Navarro is a pro. He’s the best detective on the force. I wouldn’t want anyone else looking for our son. You have no reason to feel insecure.”
“I’m not insecure. I just don’t like him. Navarro’s a cocky son of a bitch, and I don’t want him in our lives or especially in charge of my son’s missing persons case.”
“We don’t have any choice here. If Navarro was a hack, that would be different. But he’s not, and if anyone is going to find Will, it’s him.”
“Yeah, he’s a big, tough guy. A regular John Wayne to the rescue.”
“David . . .”
“I’m pissed off. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
I reach for David’s hand, but he pulls it away. I contemplate trying to re-engage David and make him understand he has no reason to be jealous. Navarro and I had always remained on the best of terms after our breakup more than a decade ago. I needed him for information on my beat, but more so, Navarro was my friend, and I knew that stuck in David’s craw. But the thought of cheating on David or even opening the door for the possibility of hooking up with Navarro or anyone else even in the most difficult patches of our marriage never occurred to me. Not even once.
David studies the road ahead with a moody scowl, and I suddenly feel like the one who should be pissed off over his skewed priorities. I refuse to cradle what I think is nothing more than a bruised ego.
“You need to get over it, David. We’ve got much bigger things to worry about than this petty stuff that deep down, you know isn’t true. We just need to work together and stop picking at each other. Okay?”
David’s scowl stays intact, and I finally give up. We drive the rest of the ride home in stone-cold silence as I watch Detroit’s infestation of abandoned buildings slip by. I study their crumbling debris and begin to accept that my marriage is in ill repair, unfixable just like the ruins of the now uninhabitable structures that pass outside my window.
The ride that seems like an eternity finally ends as David pulls into the driveway. We stay put for a moment, just sitting in the car, our seat belts still strapped across our chests, neither one of us making a move. David stares at some invisible spot on the horizon and finally breaks.
“I realize this isn’t a good time, but I need to tell you something. I started seeing someone. It’s casual. I was going to tell you last night when I came over to see the kids, but then the timing didn’t seem to work out right.”
“Jesus. You’re telling me this now?”
“I felt like if I didn’t, something bad would happen.”
“Something bad did happen. Christ, David.”
“Hold on. I’m going to break it off with her. She’s another lawyer. I’m sorry. Like I said, it was nothing serious.”
“I went to see that psychiatrist against my better judgment because you asked me to as part of our reconciliation agreement. Was that some kind of power play? You manipulate me and act like everything wrong in our marriage is my fault, but then you go behind my back and start seeing someone else.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Are you sleeping with this woman? That’s why you were acting jealous about Navarro, because you had something to hide.”
“I shouldn’t have brought it up. I told you already. I’m going to end it. It was a mistake. I was wrong and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Your timing is ridiculous.”
I slide out of the car and shove the door closed as hard as I can, feeling outside of my body as another piece of my life gives way.
“Julia, wait,” David calls from behind. He grabs my arms and forces me to turn around and face him. “I didn’t do anything wrong. We’re separated.”
“Separation isn’t a ‘get out of jail for free’ card, friend.”
I stare back at David and my mind flashes back to a happier time between us, and our first unofficial date at Riverside Park. We leaned against David’s convertible and ate coneys and watched the cars snake along the Ambassador Bridge, which connects the Motor City to Canada. David invited me to meet him there, supposedly to talk about a case I was covering, but after only a few minutes, I realized it was a front. David was charismatic and confident, and I was instantly smitten. Six months later, I moved into David’s apartment in a high-rise downtown. Two months after that, I was late. I took a pregnancy test and got the surprise of my life. I have to give David credit. I don’t know if he planned on asking me to marry him so quickly, but he acted like it was all part of some wonderful plan, the happy news for him about the unexpected baby and his proposal one week after my big reveal.
I had never thought about having kids. It wasn’t that I didn’t like them. I was terrified by the idea of having a baby, someone tiny and vulnerable that I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to protect. But David protected both of us, even before Logan was born. We got married when I was six months pregnant. David’s father, Bruce, didn’t come. We weren’t surprised.
(“David tells me your father was a con man?” Bruce asked me during our first meeting as his young wife, Bruce’s third, to be exact, smiled in unison with her new husband as she dutifully handed him a drink.)
When David’s stepmom and I went into the kitchen, I could hear Bruce lecturing David and accusing me of trapping David into a marriage by purposely getting pregnant. David was furious and we left immediately. Bruce came around after Logan was born and David eventually forgave his father. Not that I cared. A jerk is a jerk, and I needed to concentrate on my new baby.
When I first saw Logan after he was born, I felt an immediate love and an immediate worry that never went away. David was the fun parent who bounced Logan high up on his shoulders in the deepest part of the lake while I looked on at them in the distance and held my breath. When David wasn’t around, I wouldn’t let Logan take off his shoes so he could put his toes in the sand when we went to the shore, in fear Logan might cut himself on a shell or piece of stray glass. David thought my overprotective idiosyncrasies were funny then. And we were turning into a happy family.
After Logan’s first birthday, I was torn by my conflicting desires to return to the paper and take care of my baby. My editor let me start off slowly, two days a week, and I’d spend my lunch hour at Logan’s daycare, which was across the street from my office and had top-notch security. Gradually, when I realized Logan was safe and seemed to enjoy interacting with the other children, two days became five at work. I had struck a guilty balance. But as Logan got older and more independent, my protective fears heightened. And when Will came along after David’s urging for a second baby so Logan would have a companion and not be an only child like David was, an internal panic alarm seemed to go off inside me. With two children now to protect and Logan about to turn the age my brother was when he disappeared, my worries for my children’s safety intensified.
I look back at the lake house that had once been a place of beautiful family memories and wonder how things could have unraveled so horribly and how David could have deceived me.
“Please, Julia. Just hear me out,” David says.
“I don’t have time to deal with this conversation right now,” I answer. My voice sounds brittle in my ears, like my words could get caught up in the wind and snap into a million inconsequential pieces and fly away.
The sound of an approaching car engine temporarily dismisses the co
ntentious moment between David and me, and I squint against the sun to see an older-model navy-blue sedan pull into the driveway. Its single occupant, an attractive young girl with waist-length strawberry-blond hair, gets out of the car. As she approaches, I put her at about sixteen years of age. She wears a pair of white shorts that skim halfway down her thigh and a bright orange tank top that curves along the swell of her breasts, which bounce as she walks toward us.
“Hello. Are you Julia?” the girl asks. As she comes closer, I notice a smattering of almost pink, translucent freckles across her pert nose and cheekbones. Although puberty obviously already struck, her voice and mannerisms are more like a young girl than a teenager.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I’m Leslie, Kim’s cousin. We’re visiting her from California. I, um, I’m sorry to bother you,” she continues as she seems to grow increasingly uncomfortable with each word that comes out of her mouth. “Geez, I heard about your kid. I’m real sorry. Is my mom here?”
David, who is sitting on the top step of the front porch, stands up and extends his hand to Leslie. Unable to help himself, David flicks his eyes down to Leslie’s gravity-defying cleavage and then back up to her face.
“Hi, I’m David. I’m not sure if your mom is here, but feel free to go on inside and see.” David then reaches his hand into his shirt pocket for his buzzing cell phone. “Sorry, that’s my law office. I’ve got to take this. Nice to meet you, Leslie.”
David moves into the house, and I try and shelve his unexpected announcement—something that would have taken center stage just a day before—until it rises onto my priority list. I notice a curious Logan standing on the other side of the kitchen window, staring at the pretty young stranger on the porch.
Logan moves away from the window and bursts through the screen door with the wild energy of an eight-year-old. He foregoes the steps and leaps directly from the front porch to the yard. He then grabs a fallen branch from a weeping willow tree and begins to swat it back and forth like a makeshift whip. Logan’s easy, playful reaction provides me some relief since I know a heavy weight still rests on his fragile shoulders.
Leslie watches Logan dash across the yard and giggles. She picks up another stick lying on the ground, and the two start to have a mock sword fight with the fallen branches.
“Buddy, cut it,” I tell Logan. “Someone could get hurt. This is Kim’s cousin, Leslie. She and her mother Alice are visiting from California.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. We were just having a little fun,” Leslie says. “I don’t think he’d hurt me.”
“Not on purpose. Little boys just like to play. That’s an amazing thing with kids. No matter what situation they’re facing, kids generally can take a break from reality and play like everything is normal, even when nothing is.”
“Do you like TV?” Logan asks Leslie.
“Sure,” she answers.
“Your mom is inside, so come on in,” I say.
The smell of something wonderful hits as I walk inside my house and notice Alice and Kim are busy in the kitchen making what looks like a giant pot of homemade potato and leek soup on the stove. Leslie follows the aroma and makes her way over to inspect the dish. Alice begins to ladle a spoonful of the soup for her daughter to taste when her eyes drift down to Leslie’s formfitting shirt. The spoon falls back into the pot, and Alice grabs the front of the tank top with both hands and tries to yank it up to cover her daughter’s exposed cleavage.
“Too low cut and too tight,” Alice reprimands. “I know the other girls at school wear shirts like this, but you keep it up and Father will be chasing a line of boys down the street with a shotgun.”
Leslie’s porcelain face reddens, and she crosses her arms across her chest like she is trying to cover up the perpetrators.
“She got my figure, but now if I can just convince her to wear a bra and some loose-fitting blouses,” Alice says.
Now completely humiliated, Leslie moves her hands from her chest and covers her face.
Kim sidles over to her flustered cousin and puts a comforting arm around Leslie’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’re such a pretty girl and your mother just wants to keep the wrong types of people away from you. Why don’t you leave us boring adults and go watch some television with Logan in the living room?”
“I’ve got the Wheel of Fortune on. I just love that Vanna White, but I don’t mind if you change it.”
Leslie jumps at her chance to escape. She shoots her mother a dirty look and then hurries out of the kitchen and plops down on the couch next to Logan.
“Is there anything new on the case? Please tell me the police have a suspect,” Alice says, and gives the pepper grinder two shakes over the top of the pot.
“Yes, they made an arrest.”
Alice claps her hands together. “Thank God. Who is it?”
“I’m not at liberty to say,” I answer.
“Come on. You can at least tell us. We won’t say anything,” Kim promises.
“All right. The police arrested a registered sex offender who lives in a rundown farmhouse about five miles away from here. He may have a connection to me from my childhood.”
“Oh my God. Maybe he was stalking you all this time,” Kim responds.
“It’s possible. The suspect had photographs of me when I was a little girl stashed in his house.”
Alice’s eyes grow wide with surprise.
“Oh, heavenly father. That’s unbelievable. What’s this man’s name?” Alice asks.
“Archie Parker. But he hasn’t been formally charged yet. So let’s keep this between us for now. You can’t say a word to anybody.”
Logan turns on the TV and the theme of SpongeBob SquarePants drifts toward the kitchen.
“SpongeBob is going to teach his friend Patrick how to blow a bubble in the shape of a duck. Squidward is going to come out in a minute, and he’s going to be really mad because those two make him crazy,” Logan tells Leslie. “This is my favorite episode.”
“Television is filled with shows that turn a child’s mind to mush,” Alice says. “I let Leslie watch public television or nothing at all. And The Wheel, of course. It’s my guilty pleasure.”
“Logan, why don’t you and Leslie go back outside for a bit instead?” Kim offers. “It’s a nice day.”
“I’d like to see your tree house,” Leslie says.
“How do you know I have a tree house?” Logan asks.
“Lucky guess. Almost all little boys have tree houses,” she answers. “I can see it from the living room window, you know.”
An uncomfortable knot begins to grow in my stomach. Too many people in my house and too many distractions. I need to be alone to concentrate on the case.
“You must be existing on fumes right now,” I say to Kim. “Please go home with your family. I appreciate all you’ve done, but David and I are here now to take care of Logan. We’ll call you later to give you any updates.”
“Certainly not, Kimmy,” Alice answers for her relative. “We aren’t going to leave this poor child all alone at a time like this.”
I shoot Kim an exasperated glance, and she responds with a subtle nod of understanding.
“Julia probably just needs some quiet time,” Kim answers. “We’ll come back later. And you call me right away if you need anything or if you get any news on Will.”
Kim gives me a twenty-second hug before she goes. Leslie gives Logan a fist bump, and he looks back at his new friend like she is the coolest thing in the entire world.
A sense of relief washes over me as I watch Kim’s Volvo back out of the driveway with her entourage. I collapse on the couch and pull out my reporter’s notebook from the coffee table. On a single sheet of paper, I write down Parker’s name in capital letters and underneath it, my unanswered questions that I can’t let go.
Why would Parker wait so long to come back for me?
If Parker came back to kill me last night, why did he take Will instead?
What is the connection between Ben and Will, except for me?
My concentration is broken as David emerges from the study with his hand cupped over our landline’s mouthpiece.
“You have a phone call. I think you want to take this one,” David says. “Hey, we’ll talk about what happened later on, okay? I want everything to be all right between us, especially right now.”
“Is Navarro on the phone?” I ask.
“No, it’s a collect call from the state prison. It’s Reverend Casey Cahill,” David answers.
I drop my notebook, grab the phone from David, and retreat into the office.
“This is a collect call from the Macomb Correctional Facility. The call is from prisoner Casey Cahill. Do you accept the charges?” the voice on the other end asks.
“Yes, I do,” I quickly reply.
There’s a clicking sound on the other end of the phone and then Cahill’s voice catches excitedly.
“Miss Gooden, I’ve been thinking about your visit this morning and your promise about my upcoming parole hearing,” Cahill says.
“Why are you calling? Do you have new information about my son?”
“What a blessed day God has given us. The guards let us go outside for a few minutes of exercise and sunshine, and I just can’t help but praise our Father for his beautiful world. You know, you can always find beauty in life even in the darkest of circumstances.”
“If you have nothing to say about my son’s case, I’m hanging up.”
“I had an unexpected visitor,” Cahill continues. “It was such a nice surprise to meet one of your family members.”
“I know David didn’t come to see you.”
“It was certainly not your husband. It was another member of your family, and let me just tell you, it warmed my heart to meet someone who has such a strong love of the Lord.”
The Last Time She Saw Him Page 14