Hold Me Close

by Rosalind James

  She’d known he would be here, of course. But nothing could have prepared her for being held against that broad chest, hearing that rumbling voice.

  Happy Thanksgiving indeed.

  There hadn’t been much to be nervous about with this dinner after all. She wasn’t a stranger, and she was welcome. Besides, there was gravy to stir, vegetables to slice, potatoes to mash, rolls to heat, tables to set. And everywhere, women sidestepping, dodging, and turning, doing the dance of holiday-meal preparation in a small kitchen. Catching-up and laughter and warmth and the silent snow falling outside. Three tables shoved together, taking up the entire living room, and, eventually, thirteen voices filling every corner of the room until Cal banged on his wine glass, stood up, and said, “Ahem. Excuse me.”

  Conversation stopped gradually, and he said, “It’s Thanksgiving, and traditionally, as we know, that’s a time to think about what we’re thankful for.”

  “Thank you,” Steve said. “Sure appreciate that.” No love lost between Cal and his brother-in-law, as Kayla had already noticed.

  Cal ignored him. He took Zoe’s hand, pulled her gently to her feet, and said, “So I was thinking on the way over here that a person could say I’ve got quite a bit to be thankful for, and that person would be right. But there’s this one thing that really sticks out. This one beautiful thing. And then I thought—wait a minute, I almost forgot. Two things. But, man, I hope that wedding dress can get let out, because we’ve got more than three weeks to go here.” He shook his head. “Dark cloud behind every silver lining, I guess. What do you think, darlin’?”

  Zoe was gasping. “In three more weeks? How big do you think I’m going to be?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I just know that Father Patrick had better prepare to be shocked, because I’ve got myself a pregnant bride.” And if ever a man had sounded proud, that man was Cal.

  Everyone was talking at once then, and Raylene was leaping out of her chair to hug Zoe.

  “You know,” Zoe said, laughing and hugging her back, “some people wait to make the announcement until at least a day after they pee on the stick.” And then she blushed and stammered, “Whoops. Sorry,” and Cal laughed and grabbed her himself, lifting her straight off her feet, and said, “Guess they aren’t as excited about it as me, then.”

  “Well, if we’re making announcements,” Stan said when the fuss had died down and everybody was seated again, “I’ve got something here I’d like to read. You all go on with your dinner, because this could take a minute or two. Somebody had quite a bit to say, and I think you could even say that person was eloquent. Might take me some time to do justice to it, because I might just choke up. But I’ll do my best.”

  He took his reading glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on, then reached under his seat, pulled out a newspaper, and cleared his throat. “This morning’s Idahonian. I take it none of you Philistines gets the paper these days?” He shook his head. “Huh. Don’t get it. Some good stuff in here. This thing here, for instance. Won first prize in a contest, as it happens. I thought it was pretty special, and that maybe some of you would like to hear it.”

  He made a production of turning the page, folding it over, and frowning at it, and then he began.

  What I Am Thankful For

  by Eli Chambers, Paradise

  I will have a lot of things to be thankful for on Thanksgiving. I am thankful that my mom and I have jobs, and that we have an apartment and food to eat. Lots of kids live in shelters and probably don’t have Thanksgiving dinner. Some kids even have to live in their cars, because their parents don’t have jobs.

  I am thankful that my mom can play whatever she wants on the radio now and she gets to sing. I am thankful that we don’t always have to have everything cleaned up and we can cook whatever we want for dinner. Some kids have moms who get beat up, and they can’t do anything about it. I am thankful that my mom is home at night and I can see that she is safe.

  I am thankful that I have friends and that I get to play with my friend’s dog, Daisy. I am thankful that I got to go trick-or-treating this year and that I have my dad’s cowboy boots. I am thankful that I got to see where my dad is buried and that I got to see my grandma and grandpa again. And those are all the things that I am thankful for.

  Kayla had frozen as soon as Stan had started reading. Eli’s name. Their location. In the paper. And she could tell from Luke’s hand gripping hers, the look on his face when she met his eyes, that he’d had the same thought.

  But right now, there was Eli. And what Eli had written. And for just a minute, she had to listen. She had to sit still and hear.

  “Oh, baby,” she managed to say when Stan had finished. She reached for her son. “Oh, sweetie.”

  “Mom,” Eli said, agonized.

  She let go of him and said, “Why didn’t you tell me?” Because then she could have stopped its publication. Then she could have read it, but Alan wouldn’t have.

  Maybe he isn’t looking anymore. There was no warrant out for her arrest, Luke had quickly found. Alan had lied about that, or he’d never bothered to take it that far. Her heart leaped at the thought, then settled back down, a leaden lump. He was looking. She knew it.

  She had to force herself to pay attention to Eli.

  “I thought maybe . . .” He was looking down now, at the napkin in his lap, his ears bright red. “That it was a mistake. I thought maybe they’d change their mind.”

  “Didn’t you get a . . . a letter, or something?” she pressed.

  “Um . . .” He looked a little hunted. “It’s in my backpack, I think. I forgot it.”

  “Bud,” Luke said quietly, “that was awesome. Great job.” He’d taken hold of Kayla’s hand as soon as Stan had started reading. For comfort, and then to share the moment. Now, the pressure of his hand reminded her that fear was for tomorrow. Today was for love, and for pride in her son.

  Luke put his arm around her and said, “What did I tell you, once upon a time? That you’ve got a boy there who’s going to grow up to be a real good man, because you’ve done one heck of a good job yourself.”

  If a few tears had spilled over now, well, who could blame her? “If anybody . . . If anybody has a lot of things to be thankful for this year, it’s me,” she managed to say. And she let herself be hopeful, just for today, that it would stay that way.

  WAITING

  Alan had sat in his study on that Friday afternoon, his drink forgotten, and stared at the search-engine results page. Had clicked on the link and scrolled down impatiently, read the article, then gone back to the beginning and read it again.

  “Bingo,” he’d breathed. “No more calls. We have a winner.”

  Now, three weeks later, he sat in the white Ford compact for the third afternoon in a row and waited. Just another parent picking up his kid from school.

  The first two days, he’d waited outside McDowell School on the west side of town, where the cheap apartments were. One morning and one afternoon each to cover all four sides, with no results.

  Now, it was Thursday afternoon and his second school. No luck this morning on the other side of the school grounds, and only one more day to get this done. It would happen, though. What was it Thomas Edison had said? It wasn’t failure. It was just finding all the ways that didn’t work, and getting closer to the answer.

  He’d scheduled the four days off long ago, and two weeks earlier, he’d told everyone at the office who would listen that he’d decided to spend them skiing in Sun Valley. With, he’d hinted to Joan, somebody new and special, because he’d gotten over Kayla. He’d moved on.

  He’d moved on, all right. From Sun Valley, that is. He’d checked into the huge, anonymous lodge on Monday evening, unpacked his suitcase and his skis, rumpled up the bed and the towels in the bathroom, and walked out the back door with his overnight bag. He’d le
ft his car in the lot and picked up this one in a lot two hotels over: the car he’d driven all the way to Ketchum the weekend before to buy for cash. And then he’d driven the night through to the anonymous vacation cabin outside Coeur d’Alene that he’d rented online with a false name and a money order.

  He’d had a few minutes of apprehension about the only possible glitch in his plan—whether the dim old bag in Ketchum would get the instructions right about where to leave the car. The promise of two hundred bucks afterwards had done the trick after all, though. That was two hundred he’d save, too. Who would promise to do something for a stranger with no guarantee of payment? Only somebody incredibly trusting, or incredibly stupid. Or both.

  So, yes, it had been a long night, but the fatigue hadn’t slowed him. He had a mission, and he didn’t do fear or doubt.

  For three days now, he’d left the cabin in the dark and driven to Paradise in time for school to open, had watched and waited in vain, only to have to come back at the end of the day and do it all again. All according to plan, but if he didn’t find the kid by Friday, he was going to have to come back in the spring and try again.

  He forced his tense muscles to relax. He had three more chances. All he needed was to find out where they were living. Then, an accident, and he had a plan for that, too. If they didn’t survive it—a sad story for the hometown news. Young Eli Chambers, so sweet and touching, his whole new life ahead of him, cut down so young.

  And if they survived it—a puzzling disappearance. Out of guilt, or homelessness? To find refuge somewhere else? No telling. And meanwhile, he’d be taking a drive back through the lonely wilderness of the Lolo National Forest deep in a December night, until he turned off the road into the primitive campground he’d already picked out.

  There’d be a stumbling walk ahead of him in the faint light of his headlamp then, with duct tape binding their wrists behind them and covering their mouths. Both of them nearly paralyzed by the sickening knowledge of what would come next, because that was what fear did to weak, whimpering little Kayla.

  Until, that is, they left the trail. And then—two bodies without a tale to tell, left deep in the woods. Scavenging animals glad of a winter meal, the snows of winter, insects in the spring. And maybe, someday, a hunter finding a pile of bones, the coldest of cases.

  Kayla and Eli. Rest in peace.

  As for Alan, he’d be driving all night again, ready to put in a couple days on the slopes before he headed home refreshed from his Sun Valley vacation.

  He’d thought of everything, in fact. All he had to do now was find the house. Damn Kervic for losing his nerve. He could’ve gotten into those school records and made this all so much easier. Now, there was nobody Alan could trust to do it. But then, that was how it always worked. Nobody he could count on but himself to do things right, because people were either morons, or sheep, or both.

  But if it didn’t work this time, it would work next time. If he had to wait until spring, he’d wait. There were only three elementary schools in Paradise, and eventually, he’d find the right one.

  “Let the best man win,” he said aloud, then put on his jury-summation smile, the confident one. He’d always been the best man, and he still was. Nobody made a fool of him and got away with it. He had this.

  He heard the clang of the bell, sat up straighter, and focused as kids started coming out of the gates, first in a trickle, then in a rush. He’d chosen the side with a bike rack this time, annoyed for a moment that he hadn’t thought of that before. Of course Kayla would have bought Eli a bike, even if it had meant selling her jewelry to do it. That was exactly the kind of sentimental, stupid-ass thing she’d have done.

  He forced his hands to relax on the wheel and took a few deep breaths. He was good because he was cool. Because he could think logically. Because he could plan. Finding Eli was step one, and every step after that was laid out, cold and clear. This wasn’t about emotion. It was about justice. Natural consequences.

  He was almost ready to pull out and circle a few blocks, just in case, when he saw him. Skinny and gawky, trailing along in the rear of the crowd with three other boys. Heading to the bike rack, because Alan had been right. Of course he’d been right.

  Alan turned the key, waited until the boys had ridden out into the street and were well up the hill, then pulled out and drove slowly along behind them. When he got too close, he pulled over and let them get ahead again. Playing it cool.

  Only a few blocks, and the other kids peeled off, and Eli rode on alone.

  Almost. Almost.

  Eli jumped off the bike at the top of a hill in a part of town Alan wasn’t expecting—the most prosperous part. Alan pulled over and watched from across the street as Eli walked the bike down a gravel alley between a house and a wedge of open space where the street curved. Which was where Alan lost him.

  No choice. He got out of the car, crossed the street briskly, and stepped into the shelter of a grove of trees, the adrenaline pumping now that he was out of the car and visible.

  He could see Eli now. His bike was under the eaves of the big, blue-gray house on the edge of the bluff, and he was running around the backyard, where stray patches of snow still lingered under the trees, tossing a rope to a barking dog, then starting to play tug-of-war with it.

  A dog. Alan hadn’t considered a dog. He hated dogs. A dog could bark, and bite, and mess up all his plans.

  He waited another twenty minutes, getting colder and more frustrated by the minute. He was too exposed, standing here like this, even under the trees. And still the stupid kid played with the dog. His house? Then why didn’t he go inside?

  A frumpy woman in a ponytail came up the sidewalk pushing a stroller, and Alan shrank back into the trees and held his breath even as Eli put his backpack on again, opened the gate, and rode his bike down the hill. The woman with the stroller stopped less than twenty feet away, pulled a ringing cell phone from her purse, and started to talk. And didn’t move. If Alan took off after Eli, she’d have a clear view, so he was stuck.

  He turned his head by slow degrees and checked Eli’s progress. He was at the bottom of the hill now, and there was a whole other neighborhood down there, apartments and houses, mostly small, mostly run down. Damn. He was going to lose him. But tomorrow, he’d wait at the bottom.

  Eli didn’t disappear into the neighborhood, though. He stopped in front of a dark-brown fourplex almost directly below the blue house and pulled something from his pocket. A key. Even as he inserted it into the lock, the door opened. Alan couldn’t see who was on the other side, because Eli was inside, the door shutting. But there was only one person it could be if Eli had the key.

  Kayla.

  The woman on the phone quit yapping at last, put the phone back in the purse, and started pushing the stroller. She didn’t see Alan, or if she did, she wasn’t paying attention. But a group of kids was heading in the other direction, and it was time to move. Alan stepped out ahead of them, walked down the street past the blue house, around the block, and back to his car. He pulled out, turned around, and drove back the way he’d come. Down into the flats, a couple of right turns, and he parked down the street from the brown house and waited.

  Eli didn’t leave, and nobody came to get him. Not at five o’clock. Not at six. Not at seven.

  At eight thirty, Alan drove away.

  Because Eli had gone home.

  END OF THE LINE

  Three full cans of white paint. Oil based, of course. Home improvement.

  One small can of paint thinner, necessary for oil-based paint. Practical.

  A small brush, a large one, a roller, and a pan. Convincing.

  A stack of newspapers weighed down by the can of paint thinner. Reasonable.

  Four rags, soaked in paint thinner, set on top of an entire plastic bag of rags with more paint thinner spilled inside. Careless.

  A match.
>
  Done.

  Ever since Eli’s name had appeared in the paper, Kayla had worried. She’d kept Eli close, hadn’t let him do more than ride his bike to and from school, much to his disgust, and only because he could go almost all the way with his friends. They’d done their errands with Luke, and if he hadn’t been around, they’d stayed home with the burglar alarm on.

  She’d been more nervous than ever this week, because Alan was on vacation. He’d gone to Sun Valley, Luke had found out, and his deputy-sheriff cousin had somehow even confirmed that he was staying in a hotel there. His luggage was there, and his car was there. He was there.

  And Sun Valley was eight hours away. And all the same . . .

  Tomorrow, she’d decided that evening as she’d checked the burglar alarm and the locks yet again, they’d move in with Luke as he’d been pressuring her to do, no matter how she felt about that, no matter how Eli might feel about it. She didn’t really think that Alan would pursue her for more than five months. Not really. It had been two weeks since Eli’s name had appeared, and nothing at all had happened, yet she still had bad dreams, still woke up sweating, her heart thudding, her eyes staring into the darkness.

  They were flying open again now. This time, she’d dreamed she was cooking dinner with Luke, and they’d forgotten about the pie. She’d opened the oven door, and the smoke had billowed out as she’d exclaimed in distress and grabbed for the mitt.

  There was no saving it. It was ruined, and she was crying. Shaking.

  She was shoving the pie into the garbage, rushing to open a window, frantic to hide what she’d done. And then the kitchen door opened, and it wasn’t Luke. It was Alan. He was putting her hand over the stove and turning the knob, the coils were glowing, and she was already screaming, trying to twist away. She couldn’t do it, because he had her pinned there, his hand hard around her wrist, her hand spread over the burner. Please no please no please no.