A Father's Quest

by Debra Salonen

  “Are you a ghost?”

  “Not yet,” the child answered, then she turned and walked away, disappearing into the maze of dead-looking trees.

  “Wait,” Remy pleaded, her own feet welded to the earth apparently. “Come back. Do I know you? Can I help you? Please…”

  But her calls and questions went unanswered.

  She opened her eyes and looked around. She felt chilled even though the day was hot and humid. Her pulse still raced a little. She didn’t know what it meant, but the overall sense she had was that Birdie was close to giving up.

  The dream was legit, but was the child Birdie? If it was, how had Remy come to see this kid hours before she ever saw a photo of her? Was it possible Miss Charlotte had a picture of Birdie in her apartment at Shadybrook and Remy’s mind somehow squirreled away the image?

  She rubbed her knuckle across the pain in her temple. Right, she thought, and I fabricate a dream about the kid on the very eve of her father’s reappearance in my life. Sure. Why not?

  Jonas popped his head out the door. “Done. You wanna go? You look wiped out.”

  She stood. “Yeah. I am. I didn’t sleep well last night. But, would you mind swinging by Shadybrook on the way? I’d like to say a quick hello to your mother.”

  “Seriously? You’re not sick to death of my family?”

  “No. I’m good. Plus, I can ask the director if she’s picked up any extra funding recently.” She smiled at him. “For after my temporary job is up.”

  “No problem. I was going to stop and see Mom this evening.”

  He locked the house behind them—a gesture that seemed out of place in Baylorville. Probably a result of living in a big city, she thought. Although when she and Jessie had lived in Nashville, their friends knew the twins’ apartment would be open if they needed a place to crash for an hour between shifts. Mama had prided herself on always offering an open door, which probably accounted for why there were always so many women hanging around Mama’s kitchen—including, on occasion, Jonas’s mother.

  “Do you remember coming to our house with your mother when you were a kid?”

  “No.” He leaned forward to start the car but paused to look her way. The sunlight, filtered in a dappled effect by the giant magnolia in front of his mother’s home, made the skin of his bare arm seem to glow in a warm, peachy color that made her hungry again.

  Not for food.

  She forced her gaze out the window. The fields behind his home had long since been built upon. New streets and smaller, less interesting houses had cropped up like watermelons in late July. The empty well he’d fallen into was probably somebody’s basement, she thought with a shiver.

  “Are you okay? Did you see something? Was it Birdie?”

  “No. I don’t get messages,” she said, angrily. In all truth, she was mad at herself. For thinking things she had no business thinking. “I told you, I’m not a psychic. I do not receive sudden, trancelike revelations from above. I was thinking about something else and I shivered. That’s all.”

  He turned on the car. “Sorry. I guess I’m still pissed off about getting blown off by the Memphis P.D. My friend is swamped with work and he’s gone above and beyond checking databases. He’d even called in a few favors from friends in other counties, but there’s no trace of these people, and that’s really got me worried.”

  “Why?”

  “This sort of traveling gospel show relies on contributions. They usually have a couple advance teams that plaster the target area with posters and give away a bunch of free admissions to drum up interest. If the GoodFriends have pulled out of the revival business, then that might mean they have to find some other source of revenue.”

  “Drugs?”

  “I have no idea. I’d like to think they simply disbanded and went legit but that would mean people like Cheryl would resurface at home. And there’s been no sign of that.”

  They drove in silence for a few blocks then Jonas asked her, “Why did you ask about coming to your house when I was little? I’m positive the first time we met was after I was rescued.”

  “Jessie and I were talking about how chaotic it was in our house growing up. Mama had lots of friends. Male and female. There was always a pitcher of sweet tea spiked with a little something—wine or moonshine, I don’t know. Jessie stole a glass one time and said it tasted like rubbing alcohol.”

  “I’m not surprised,” he said.

  “That our mamas were imbibing in the afternoon?”

  “That you didn’t taste the cocktail. You always were the straight arrow. A good girl. You wouldn’t even kiss me good-night till we’d been dating for two weeks.”

  She bolted upright. “Stop the car and let me out. That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me. You have your nerve, Jonas Galloway. Asking for my help, then insulting me before…before…” Some of her bluster left when he burst out laughing.

  “You’re mad because I called you a good girl? That was a compliment.”

  She crossed her arms. “It was not. You’re still mad at me because I wouldn’t put out that night after the spring formal.”

  He looked at her, mouth gaping, then pulled to the side of the street between a broken-down Jeep and a brand-new Hummer. The juxtaposition would have amused her if she wasn’t still fuming.

  “I know exactly what night you’re talking about. I remember it like it was yesterday. I can tell you what color your dress was and what kind of perfume you were wearing. I even remember the color of your fingernail polish. But the reason I remember isn’t because you said no.”

  “You called me a prick tease.”

  “Okay, yes. I was frustrated. Blame it on my hormones. You were gorgeous. Sexy. God, I walked around semihard the whole night. My stupid male ego was convinced you were going to put out, even though you told me—oh, I don’t know, a million times—that you weren’t going all the way until after you graduated from high school.”

  “That’s because Rita Jean got knocked up halfway through her senior year, and Mama said she ruined her life.”

  He turned to look at her. “Did it?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so anymore. That child is my eldest niece. She’s gorgeous, brilliant and has three or four colleges courting her to play basketball for them. Rita’s the most stable one of us all.”

  “Well, there you go. Our mamas didn’t know everything, after all.”

  The comment gave her pause. “But they were friends. Remember when Mama sat us down for the big revelation? She made you promise not to tell your mother because she didn’t want anything to come between them.”

  “Yeah. So what? We already discussed this.”

  He was right. This was old news. Mama was dead; Miss Charlotte’s memory was fading like cheap wall-paper. Maybe she should let the whole thing go, but…

  “When you and your mother left for Europe so suddenly, I wondered if it was because Miss Charlotte didn’t want us to talk. You know, compare notes. Mama refused to say another word, but that was Mama. I couldn’t help but think that maybe your mother knew more than she let on.”

  “You think our mothers colluded to break us up?”

  “No, not necessarily. But, come on, your dad was no angel. And your mother was a smart woman. She couldn’t have been completely in the dark.”

  Jonas wasn’t sure where she was going with this misstep down memory lane, but his head was starting to pound from talking about his father. Their father.

  He put the car in gear. “Mom made a lot of excuses for him. Maybe she loved him. Or wanted to believe for the sake of their marriage vows. The whole ‘for better or for worse’ thing, you know?”

  Remy didn’t answer.

  “I don’t know, Remy. Mom was never the most independent woman on the planet. And her family cut her off when she married Dad. Maybe she was afraid. Fear can make you do a lot of things you don’t want to do.” Or make you not do something you do want to do.

  “You’re right. This is old
news. We’ve taken the DNA test, so until we get the results it’s all speculation, isn’t it? We need to be talking about what steps have to be taken to find Birdie. Do you have a plan?”

  “I wish I had a plan. It kills me that I don’t. I guess that’s why I’m here, hoping you’ll sort of jump-start the process, which is definitely stalled. Do you have any ideas?”

  “Not really. But when you mentioned Cheryl’s medications, it occurred to me there might be a way to trace her through her prescriptions. Especially if she used any of the larger chain pharmacies.”

  He parked in a spot marked “visitors” in front of the small, homey-looking, one-story brick building that was his mother’s current residence. “That’s a good idea. I’ll give my friend a call.”

  She climbed out. “I’m going to say hello to my friends. I’ll meet you inside.”

  He watched her stroll toward the building. He called his buddy but had to leave a message.

  He felt bad for assuming the worst where Cheryl was concerned. Just because she didn’t fill her existing prescription didn’t mean she hadn’t found another means of staying on her meds.

  Remy was standing at the front desk, exchanging hugs with the nurses and staff when he entered the building.

  “Jonas,” Patsy, the head nurse, exclaimed. “We didn’t know you knew our Remy. What a small world.”

  “How’s my mom today?”

  “Fantastic. I was just telling Remy, Miss Charlotte—” all of the residents were either Miss So-and-so or Mister Whatever “—seems on top of her game today. A young gal from that new fitness center in town has been stopping in once a week to teach… What’s it called, Bev?”

  “Zumba,” a woman filling little cups with pills called out.

  “Modified, of course. But I think the music and movement, even limited, is great for our residents.”

  A buzzing sound made Patsy clutch a walkie-talkie at her waist. “On my way,” she said into it a moment later. “Remy, come talk to me next week. We’ve really missed you. Especially the residents. We’ll see what we can work out.”

  “Great. I’ll give you a call.”

  Remy headed toward the wing where the full-care folks resided. His mother’s door was wide-open, of course. She never remembered to close it—even when she wasn’t dressed. An oversight that would have shocked her beyond dismay if she were aware of the social gaffe.

  “Hello,” Remy called, knocking as she entered. “Miss Charlotte? Are you home? It’s me, Remy Bouchard, and your son, Jonas. We’re here to see you.”

  “Mom?”

  They looked around the one-bedroom studio.

  Jonas checked the bath. “She’s not here.”

  “Is today her regularly scheduled beauty-parlor visit?” She walked to a large calendar the residents used to help keep track of appointments.

  Her finger landed on a big red mark that Jonas couldn’t read but assumed said hair appointment. He didn’t care that his mother was gone—he would see her later. But the mix-up seemed symbolic of everything he’d tried to accomplish in the past few weeks—and failed.

  “Shit,” he swore. “Why is this so damn hard? I used to be able to make things happen. I taught Afghan soldiers how to fight. Uncovered dozens of complex insurance scams. I don’t wait around for information to drop out of the sky or from someone’s dream. And, yet, here I am. Twiddling my thumbs. And, frankly, it sucks.”

  Remy appeared more sympathetic than alarmed by his outburst. But the last thing he wanted was her feeling sorry for him. Sympathy meant something bad had happened. He refused to think about that.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I just want my daughter back.”

  As he turned to leave, his phone rang. He unhooked the little clip on his belt loop and flipped it open without looking at the display. He figured it was his pal from Memphis calling back. “Jonas Galloway,” he barked, his tone sharp.

  “Daddy?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BIRDIE’S HAND WAS SHAKING SO bad she could barely hold the phone. It was Brother Thom’s phone—he’d left it on the picnic table after the prayer meeting he’d ordered all of the GoodFriends to attend. Her mother had stood in the very front row, directly across from Thom, her hand holding Birdie’s so hard Birdie nearly cried.

  But Mommy had let go partway through when Brother Thom said something about the missionaries who were bound for glory. Birdie didn’t know where Glory was. She hoped it was a long way from here.

  When Mommy made a funny crying sound and ran off before Thom was done preaching, Birdie got a bad feeling in her tummy. She stayed where she was, not sure if she should follow after her mother or not.

  Brother Thom ended his prayer pretty quick after that. Birdie dropped her chin and put her hands together like she’d been taught, but she’d kept one eye on Thom, too. She’d noticed his phone, and when everybody else was praying for redemption, she prayed that he would walk away and leave the phone.

  And he did.

  God was listening.

  She’d sat at the picnic table, ignoring the scratchy seat on the backs of her legs. Slivers were nothing compared to getting the chance to call her daddy. Being fast, she’d reached out and grabbed the small black phone. She pushed the number buttons in the order her daddy showed her then pushed the button marked Send.

  She’d slipped to the ground under the table as soon as she heard the ringing sound. Her heart was beating hard. She wanted to talk to him so bad she was afraid she’d start crying if he didn’t answer.

  Then she heard his voice. His name. He was there. Somewhere. Real.

  “D-daddy.” Her nose started to run and a sob got caught in her chest, making it hard to speak. “Daddy, you have to come and get me and Mommy. Right away. I don’t like it here, Daddy.”

  Daddy asked her a question and she tried hard to think past her fear so she could answer him. But before she could finish telling him, a face suddenly appeared to one side of the table.

  “Why you obnoxious little brat,” Brother Thom yelled. He looked madder than she’d ever seen him. His hand stabbed at her face. She closed her eyes and tried to roll away but he caught her.

  His fingers clamped down hard on her hand—the one holding the phone. She let out a shriek of pain.

  “Gimme that,” he said, his voice mean and hateful. He pried the phone from her fingers.

  “Daddy…” She fell on the ground, crying. She saw the look in Brother’s Thom’s eyes. He hated her. She didn’t know why, but he did. She was so scared all she could do was lay there and cry. Like a baby.

  “BIRDIE,” JONAS CRIED, his hand trembling. “I’m here, little girl. Oh, my God, it’s so good to hear your voice. I miss you so much. Where are you, baby? Can you tell me so I can come get you?”

  He looked at Remy who made a motion to slow down.

  Of course. He needed to let Birdie talk. Some shred of rational thought told him to hit the speakerphone button.

  “Daddy, you have to come and get me and Mommy right away. I don’t like it here, Daddy.”

  He squeezed his eyes closed to keep all the pent-up emotion he felt from spilling out. “I’m sorry, baby. I’ll come right this minute, but I don’t know where you are, sweetheart. Can you tell me where you are?”

  There was a pause. “There’s lots of trees. And water that comes up around their roots. It’s brown and Mommy says there are snakes and alligators in the water. And bugs that suck your blood and make you die. I don’t like this place, Daddy.” Her voice broke and she started to cry.

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I wish I could come pick you up right this minute but I need to know a little more about where you are. Is there a building? Or street signs?”

  “Why you obnoxious little brat,” a voice shouted. “Give me that.”

  A man’s voice. An angry man’s voice.

  “Birdie? Birdie?” Jonas shouted.

  He could hear her crying in the background. And she let out a shriek as if she’d been struc
k. Jonas felt a blast of adrenaline explode in his veins. “If you lay a hand on my daughter, you bastard, I will kill you,” he shouted. “Do you hear me? Let her go. She’s an innocent child. Let—”

  He stopped ranting the moment he felt Remy’s hand on his shoulder. He looked at the phone. The line was dead. His screen showed his daughter’s happy, Tooth-Fairy’s-a-coming grin.

  “Oh, God, Remy. She needs me and I’m standing here as useless as my father. What do I do?”

  She took the phone. “What did the caller ID say?”

  Why hadn’t he thought of that? He watched her press the appropriate buttons. Her frown told him the news wasn’t good. “Restricted,” she said, showing him the display. “Let me try redialing.” She shook her head. “It says ‘invalid number.’”

  She set the phone on a nearby table and stepped closer to give him a hug. “I’m sorry. At least you know she hasn’t forgotten how to reach you. You taught her well.”

  Birdie. I’m so sorry, baby. I never should have left you. This wouldn’t have happened if I’d stayed home. Not that he had any choice in the matter, but his guilt was eating him alive. Images of what might be happening to his brave little girl at this very moment nearly brought him to his knees.

  “I’m so sorry, Jonas.” Remy patted his back. “Don’t give up hope. We’re going to find her, Jonas. We will. I promise.”

  Remy’s kindness and support, her declaration—regardless of how empty it might be—eased the fist-hold on his heart somewhat. He took a step back, forcing her to remain at arm’s length. He was a freaking soldier, for God’s sake. He knew how to plan and mobilize. He didn’t wallow.

  “I need to go. I’ll drop you off, then call my friend. Maybe there’s a way to trace the call.” He didn’t believe that. They’d only been on the line a few seconds. But that call was the first authentic lead they’d had in weeks. And, above all, it proved that his daughter wanted to come home. She was being kept somewhere against her will. Surely that constituted kidnapping in somebody’s book.

  They closed the door to his mother’s room and hurried down the hall to the side exit. There was no way Jonas was going to make small talk at the front desk. “Do you think he’ll hurt her for making that call?” he asked.