As expected, Cahill is trying to play me again, and I won’t go along with his game.
“I’m hanging up now, Cahill.”
“She’s such a striking girl, but I think several years older than you,” he continues, undeterred by my warning. “You two look nothing alike, you with your dark hair and features. If she hadn’t told me she was your sister, I would have never guessed.”
“My sister, Sarah, came to see you?”
“Well, yes, she did. Such a sad story about that poor girl, but she found redemption. I was delighted to find out she used to watch my service on television every Sunday morning. She said it changed her life. I’ve heard so many people tell me that exact same thing. Only God knows how many lives I’ve saved.”
“Why did my sister visit you?”
“Sarah said it was God’s hand that led her to your son’s press conference. She heard one of the reporters ask a question about our meeting this morning, and she came right down to the prison to sit with me. She said you didn’t want to see her. Your rejection has caused that poor child to suffer. You continue to tear lives apart, Miss Gooden, just like you did with mine. I’m the good shepherd, and when you sent me to prison, you tore away my flock. And they will stray without my guidance. You hurt more people than you’ll ever know.” Cahill makes a disapproving clicking sound with his tongue. “But I’ve forgiven all you’ve done to me. Why can’t you do the same for your own blood?”
“I’m not talking to you about my sister.”
“You know, she asked a lot of questions about you. That woman is just grieving for your little lost boy and wants to help in the worst way,” Cahill insists.
“I bet she did.”
“Your sister told me what happened to the two of you after your brother Ben was taken. Such a feeling of betrayal and rejection you two must have faced.”
“I am ending this call now,” I respond and begin to pull the phone away from my ear.
“I got another letter a short while ago. It came in this afternoon’s mail. I know you would be very interested in the contents of this letter.”
“It’s from the same person?”
“Yes, with the same lovely penmanship and pleasurable praise for our Father. The letter mentioned your baby.”
“Cut to the chase.”
“You really should only speak when spoken to, Miss Gooden. But very well then. The letter said, ‘Julia Gooden failed her brother, and now she failed her son. For the unjust, the good will be taken away again and again, until they learn.’ The author of the letter claims they put an Indian arrowhead underneath the beds of both your brother and son right before they snatched them.”
I feel my heart stop for a minute. I take the receiver away from my mouth and try and steady my breathing so Cahill won’t hear.
“When was the letter sent?”
“There was no postmark,” Cahill answers.
“So it was hand-delivered,” I say. And most likely by Parker’s accomplice. “The police will be down to collect that letter into evidence.”
I slam the receiver down and reach for my cell phone to call Navarro. As I start to punch in his number, a steady knock beats against the office door.
“Can this wait?” I ask.
“I don’t think so,” David says from behind the door. “Your sister, Sarah, is here.”
CHAPTER 10
No matter how grievous the act, if you loved someone once, there is still an indestructible connection that links you to the person. No matter what they did.
(“How long have you children been living here by yourselves? My God, where are your parents? I’m going to have to call Social Services.”)
My recent angry memories of Sarah are momentarily silenced as I recall our neighbor’s startled expression as she peered back at Sarah and me inside our dark house. The power had been shut off two weeks earlier after our parents took off and never came back. The older woman had knocked on the door with a bag of groceries after we had begged her for food earlier that day. Sarah and I had been alone then going on a month, and we had long finished foraging for any meager remains leftover in my mother’s pantry.
I stare vacantly at a framed photograph of Lake Michigan hanging on the wall and recall the Sarah I used to know. She was never protective or kind like Ben. Sarah was seven years older, a very pretty girl who was more interested in high school boys than hanging out with me. We were never close, even after Ben was taken, but she was still my sister. I close my eyes and remember Sarah, who huddled by Ben and me for warmth as we tried to fall asleep in the backseat of my father’s old Chrysler. And I remember Sarah, who smoked pot and let the boys feel her up under the bridge by the high school. And I remember Sarah, as we waited by the pay phone for our mother to call us after she took the Greyhound bus south to see my dad and never came home. It was the winter after Ben was taken, and a thin sheet of ice covered the pay phone that never rang. We waited, shivering in the cold for hours, until we silently accepted the fact that no one was going to call. We never said a word to each other. We didn’t have to. Sarah and I realized we were abandoned and our parents were never coming back for us. I was devastated after Ben’s abduction and tried to cling to Sarah, but she pushed me away, like it was every man for himself.
“Logan, what do you have there?” David asks, snapping me back to the here and now. Logan stands in the office doorway carrying a white box with a big silver bow.
“Aunt Sarah brought me some saltwater taffy. She says it’s from the shore,” Logan says excitedly. “Aunt Sarah promised she would take me to the park after she visits with you. Can I go?”
“Go to your room and don’t talk to my sister again,” I answer.
“Why? Aunt Sarah seems really nice. Maybe she heard about Will and came here to help.”
“Don’t call her your aunt. I told you to go to your room. Don’t come out until I tell you to. Do you understand?” I ask and snatch Sarah’s gift out of Logan’s hands.
A flash of surprise and hurt moves across Logan’s face. He nibbles on his bottom lip, trying not to cry, and then tears down the hallway until he is out of sight and I hear his bedroom door slam.
I follow his path, feeling badly about my harsh tone, and prepare to confront my only link to a past I tried to escape from long ago. Any glimmer of warm nostalgia gives way to anger as I turn the corner and see Sarah. She stands in the living room with her back to me as she browses through framed family photos of Logan and Will on the bookcase.
She looks better than I remember from our fleeting encounter at the press conference. Despite years of substance abuse, she is still a beauty with her thick blond hair, lean build, and suntanned long legs that I’m sure she purposely showcased in a short white skirt and pair of black high heel sandals.
“What are you doing here, and how do you know where I live?” I ask, keeping the length of the living room floor between us.
Sarah spins around and gives me a rehearsed smile, revealing teeth so white they look like chalk.
“Aunt Carol had your address from your last Christmas card,” she replies and reaches into her purse.
Sarah pulls out a white box that brings me back for a moment to a bittersweet time.
“I brought you this from the Candy Grove. It’s caramel corn from the Sparrow boardwalk. You used to love the Candy Grove. Remember? It was your favorite. I’d always buy you a box of fresh caramel corn after my shift at the Starfish Shack.”
That is one memory of Sarah I don’t recall. Ben was the only one who tried to make my life better.
“What are you up to, Sarah?”
Sarah places the caramel corn down on the table and gives me a disappointed frown.
“I’ve been living down in Naples, Florida, for the past few years. It sure beats the Michigan winters we’re used to, right? I flew out here yesterday to see you. I called to let you know I was in town, but you didn’t return my calls. And then I heard the news about your poor baby. I just had to go to the pres
s conference, because I knew that would be the only way I could see you. But you blew me off, and that really hurt me.”
“Why are you really here?”
“I was going to write you a letter, but it seemed like the coward’s way out. I originally came here to tell you I’m sorry. Granted, you did me wrong when we were kids, but you were too little to know what would happen because of your actions. Regardless, I’m here to help you.”
“Let me be blunt,” I answer. “I don’t care. I don’t care what you did. I don’t care if you found God. You have a funny way of always turning everything back to yourself. Even now when my son is missing, the spotlight is still on you, isn’t it? About how I hurt you and what happened to you after our parents left is all my fault and none of your own?”
“Stop. I know you’re mad, and I’m sorry for the things I’ve done. I’m different now. I found God, and His peace changed my life.” Sarah retrieves the gold cross I saw earlier from around her neck and holds it out to me as if proof she is indeed rehabilitated.
“I can’t tell you how many times the dirt bags on my beat tried to feed me that line, as if it somehow absolved them of their crimes and everything was magically forgiven.”
“You’ve changed. You seem harder,” Sarah says. “But I can’t imagine the pressure you must be under right now with your boy missing.”
“You paid a visit to the state penitentiary right before you came here. How was your meeting with Reverend Cahill?”
I’ve surprised Sarah. She looks angry for a second, and horizontal frown lines crease her forehead. I can see her mind working quickly as she tries to pull out a palatable explanation that will appease me. When she gets the answer she wants, her expression softens and the fake smile returns.
“It’s funny how things work out. I came to Michigan to visit with you, but God had other plans,” Sarah says. “I’ve kept the faith all these years, even though you and countless others turned your backs on me. But not God. He rewarded me with the gift of the good reverend today.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve watched Reverend Cahill every Sunday for years now, and it was Reverend Cahill who got me through my darkest times.”
“How did it feel to be back in prison today?” I ask.
“You never give me a chance. You always hold me accountable for my past. I forgave you for yours.”
“I was seven and trying to do the right thing. What’s your excuse? Are you going to pretend like what you did to me didn’t happen, that you’re a good person? You served time for fraud, burglary, and embezzlement, amongst a laundry list of other charges.”
“Please stop. Your words hurt me more than you’ll ever know.”
“You’re hurt? The last time I saw you, I got a surprise visit from you and your boyfriend. I had just gotten home from the hospital after Logan was born. Don’t you remember? You said you were there to see the baby, and I was so excited you came to visit, but while I was putting Logan to sleep, you and your boyfriend cased my house.”
“If I could take it all back, you know I would,” Sarah pleads. “Please, we’re sisters after all.”
“A sister wouldn’t steal my personal information, my Social Security number, and my credit cards. A sister wouldn’t steal the engagement ring I got from my husband. Do you want me to continue?”
“I’m not going to talk about this,” Sarah says and folds her arms across her chest in a defensive motion.
“After you and your boyfriend left, it took me a couple of days to realize what happened, but when I did, I confronted you. Do you remember what you told me?”
“I’m not that person anymore,” Sarah says.
“You said if I went to the police, you would come after my family and you would come after my son.”
“I’m so sorry,” Sarah says, her cheeks beginning to flush. “I was using back then. The drugs, they stole everything from me. I’ve been through rehab, two years clean and sober. My sponsor said you would most likely reject me, but I had to face you again.”
“You and your dirt-bag boyfriend threatened my child eight years ago, and suddenly my other son goes missing. Are you involved in Will’s kidnapping, Sarah? Did Parker agree to pay you if you helped him break in and steal Will last night? He was a bus driver when we lived in Sparrow, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you knew him from back then.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sarah says. “This isn’t at all how I thought things would turn out. You don’t have to forgive me. But please hear me out. It was so hard for me. You got to stay with Aunt Carol when Mom and Dad left us. Remember how we went to the bus station and said good-bye to Mom? She gave you a candy bar and said she would see us soon. But she never came back. Neither did Dad. We were left alone and we were just kids. I wound up being shuffled in and out of foster homes. It didn’t matter how many homes I went to. It was all the same. No one wanted me there. They just wanted the paycheck. You have no idea what I had to endure. I was abused by some of the families. But I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s life. Some people’s lives are harder than others. I don’t feel sorry for myself, and I don’t feel sorry for you,” I answer.
“You don’t understand how it was for me. You don’t know how hard it was for me when Ben was taken.”
“You were never close to Ben. You couldn’t stand either of us. We were just idiot brats, remember?”
“It was very hard for me to lose a brother,” Sarah says and pulls out a cigarette. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
“Yes, I do,” I snap.
“I realize you’re very angry with me. All I can say is I’m sorry for what I did in the past. Please give me a chance. Please let me help you.”
I look at Sarah, and something buried way down deep inside me does want to believe she changed and that maybe there is still a glimmer of the person left inside of her that I thought I saw when we were kids. The spring before Ben was taken, my mom entered Sarah into a local modeling contest the city of Sparrow was putting on that offered a hundred-dollar cash prize for the winner. Sarah came in second. At the end of the event, the girls got to bring up on stage a family member or friend to be included in one of the photos. Most of the other winners brought up their mothers, best friends, or boyfriends. I was shocked when Sarah beckoned me to join her.
(“You’re prettier than any of the girls up here,” Sarah whispered as she bent down to face me, realizing my discomfort. “I’ll hold your hand. Okay? Smile pretty for me, Julia. When you smile, it makes everyone happy.”)
I try not to show emotion over the unexpected memory, but Sarah seems to sense my sentimentality and drapes her arm around my shoulder.
“Pastor Curtis Cahill told me all about those letters,” Sarah says. “He’s such a godly man. Pastor Curtis said he was devastated to see your son’s picture on the TV news this morning. He said Will is such a beautiful boy with white blond hair. Do you have a picture of him? You know, I brought him a teddy bear. Maybe you could tell me where his room is, and I could leave it in there for him when he gets back. I know he’s coming home.”
I get a bitter taste in my mouth as something clicks. Sarah’s con was decent but not good enough.
“You’ve been watching Cahill for years, correct? If that’s true, then you wouldn’t have botched his name. It’s Reverend Casey Cahill, not Pastor Curtis Cahill. You talked to a tabloid reporter at the press conference, right? How much did they offer you for inside information on Will’s abduction? That’s why you went to see Cahill, and that’s why you’re here now.”
Sarah covers her face with her hands and pretends to break down.
“You say such hurtful things,” she says and dabs at her waterless eyes.
“How much are they going to pay you?” I ask again.
Sarah leaps to her feet and moves toward the front door.
“Well, you obviously don’t want to accept my apology,” Sarah says, her tone suddenly shifting from di
sconsolate to ice-cold. “That’s fine, and by the way, I didn’t reach out to the press. They reached out to me. They wanted to hear about Ben’s story. And they did ask me questions about Will, but I’m an ethical person. I wouldn’t make anything up. I was just trying to help you. I was just trying to give the press information on the case to help bring your baby home.”
Sarah continues toward the door. But I stand in front of it and block her path.
“Fool me once,” I say.
I grab Sarah’s handbag and dump out the contents. Scattered across the kitchen counter are a package of Marlboro Lights cigarettes, a set of keys, a wallet, a tube of red lipstick, and finally, what I expected to find. There, smiling up at me, is a picture of Will. I took it last year when he was nearly toothless and immensely happy with his little fat legs poking out of a red onesie. Sarah snatched it off the living room bookshelf when David went to find me in the office to tell me about her impromptu visit.
“You stole this picture of Will to give to the tabloids. Get the hell out of here,” I explode.
The beautiful Sarah is caught, and her true face, the one with the permanent sour and hateful look I remember so well, finally resurfaces.
“I would’ve shared the money with you. They were going to pay me a lot for the picture, but fine. Have it your way. Too bad you’re the one who’s suffering now. How does it feel, special girl, to have your perfect little life destroyed? You’re selfish and you always have been,” Sarah says. “You sit here and judge me still, but you’re the one who deserves to be judged. You told Aunt Carol what I did. That’s what got me kicked out. Every bad thing that’s happened to me is your fault.”
I feel a familiar stab of guilt and look away from Sarah’s hateful stare-down, knowing she is at least partially correct. Aunt Carol initially took both of us in to live with her, but right away Sarah started acting out. She was escorted in the back of a cruiser to Aunt Carol’s house on more than one occasion when the police picked Sarah up for truancy or smoking pot, and Sarah narrowly missed a stint in juvenile hall for stealing a necklace. Shortly after that, I caught Sarah stealing money from our aunt’s wallet. I told Sarah what she was doing was wrong and to put the money back, but Sarah swore if I said anything, she’d tell our aunt that I was the one who took the cash. Ben always hammered into me to do the right thing, and I was worried about my sister, so I told Aunt Carol what I’d witnessed. That was enough for my aunt. Sarah went into foster care for stealing a sum total of sixty-three dollars and forty-seven cents. I cried for days and blamed myself for not keeping my mouth shut.
The Last Time She Saw Him Page 15