“Thank God. You should have called me—”
“Before the lecture starts, listen to me. For you and Chad only, Shannon left home early Saturday morning. She left a note for her mother, and we don’t know where she is, or who she’s with.”
“I knew it. I knew something else was going on. I just couldn’t believe you were that upset over some computers being stolen.” Then she gasped. “And Mrs. Molinsky, bless her heart, so soon after your son.”
“Yeah, I don’t know how much more Bobbi can handle. Jack found out who helped Shannon leave, and I’m on my way to talk to him now.”
“We’ll be praying you find her. Don’t give us another thought, though. We can cover everything.”
“I know,” Chuck said. “You should give yourself a raise.”
“As soon as you approve the new budget.”
“Leave it on my desk, on top of everything.”
* * *
Chuck clutched the notepaper with the scribbled address for Dylan Snider’s house against the steering wheel. Stay calm and matter-of-fact. Never let the kid know how desperately he needed his help. Bobbi begged him to bring Joel. He was rational and reasonable, she said. Chuck couldn’t argue with that, but he had to do this by himself. Besides, if he did lose it, he didn’t want anyone here to see it.
Before he double-checked the paper, he knew it had to be the big house at the end of the cul-de-sac. It all made sense. The spoiled brat who’d never heard the word no painted a glorious picture for Shannon. Your parents are the problem. Ditch the parents, and everything will work out. And she was vulnerable enough to soak it all in.
He wheeled his car around before he parked, in case he needed to make a quick exit. Before he got out, he took a deep breath and whispered a prayer for a level head, for a restrained temper, and most of all, for help bringing Shannon home today. Bobbi and Jack were praying. He knew Christine would be, too. God had to hear one of them.
He left the car unlocked and walked the long sidewalk up to the porch. The air conditioner hummed, but no other sounds came from the house. Surely, somebody was awake. Somebody in there had to have a job to be able to afford the house.
Chuck rang the doorbell and a full fifteen minutes later, a bleary-eyed man in his early forties opened the door. He raised his hand as a shade from the morning sunshine. “This better be important.”
Buddy, you don’t know . . .
“My name is Chuck Molinsky. My daughter is missing, and I know your son has talked with her in the last few days. I want to talk to him.”
“I don’t even know if he’s home.”
“Where else would he be?”
“How should I know? I don’t keep up with him.” He leaned out the door slightly. “His car’s here. Hang on.” The man disappeared inside the house. Another fifteen minutes later, Dylan stepped out onto the porch, dressed in a wrinkled T-shirt and shorts. Chuck guessed he’d slept in them.
“Dylan, I’m Shannon’s father. She’s disappeared, and I know you’ve talked to her recently.”
“Did Jack send you over here?”
“Jack?” Chuck played dumb, letting Dylan believe he’d gotten away with punching Jack. “I’m here about Shannon. Where is she?”
“Like you care.” Dylan smirked and crossed his arms across his chest, flexing his biceps.
Chuck wasn’t impressed. Don’t let him bait you. He fixed his eyes on Dylan’s and never moved.
“Well, I don’t know where she is.”
“You were with her Saturday.”
“You can’t prove that.”
“Don’t press me, boy.” Chuck felt a flash of heat move from his neck across his face.
“What? You want to yell at her some more? Is that it?” Dylan leaned back against the door, dropping his hands to his hips. “She doesn’t want anything to do with you.”
“So you put her up to leaving home?”
“She called me because she knew I would help her. Because I didn’t judge her. Unlike you.”
“You didn’t help her.”
“I helped her become a woman.”
The part of Chuck’s brain that comprehended that statement refused to let the information out. “What?”
Dylan looked Chuck in the eyes, his mouth curling into a malicious grin. “I said, Shannon’s a woman now.” Chuck felt the punk’s breath as he leaned in closer. “And you know what else? She liked it. She begged me—”
In a flash, Chuck had Dylan by the shirt and slammed him up against the house face first, pinning Dylan’s arm behind him. “You shut your filthy mouth.” Dylan squirmed, trying to work himself free, but Chuck wrenched his arm even tighter. “You’ve never dealt with a father who cares about his children. You don’t know who you’re messing with.”
“Don’t threaten me, old man. I’m not afraid of you.”
“It’s not me you have to worry about.” Chuck shoved Dylan away and walked off the porch.
“Who are you talking about?” Dylan asked, but Chuck ignored him. “Crazy old man,” he muttered, adjusting his shirt.
Chuck sprayed gravel as he tore out of the neighborhood. “God, forgive me, I wanted to kill him right there.” Angry tears spilled onto his cheeks. “Dear God, he’s lying. Please, he’s gotta be lying. Father, You take up for Shannon and avenge her.”
For a long time Chuck drove, unaware of distance or direction. His pulse throbbed in his neck, and his grip on the steering wheel never relaxed in spite of the extra driving. He had to calm down before he faced Bobbi. He knew she was pacing by now, worrying, or even worse, she’d be expecting Shannon to be with him because of the delay.
He couldn’t face her. This was so much deeper than fury and heartsickness. This was retribution for things he had done. Payback in kind. Things . . . things Bobbi didn’t know, things he never even told Phil Shannon. And his daughter was paying for his sin. He’d rather have a curse.
Bobbi met him in the entry hall. “What did you find out? Where is she?”
“He wouldn’t tell me anything. I’m sorry.”
She dropped her eyes, bit her bottom lip, then scuffed back toward the kitchen, her shoulders drooping.
He couldn’t tell her the rest of it. Not now. Give her something to cling to. He jogged to catch her. “Honey, he’s not our only option.”
She dropped into one of the kitchen chairs and rubbed her temples. “You know what? I’m tired. I’m tired of people telling me how sorry they are.”
“And I would have given anything not to come home empty-handed.” He pulled a chair over close to hers, and as soon as he touched her hand the floodgates opened. He lay over on the table and shook with sobs. He could hear Bobbi call his name. He could feel her hand on his back, a gentle kiss on his neck and a whisper in his ear. He didn’t deserve her compassion, but he didn’t have the strength to pull away from her.
“Calm down,” she whispered. “It’s not you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it . . .”
“No . . . Bobbi . . . there’s . . . we need to talk.”
“I’m listening.”
He nodded then pushed back from the table and staggered to the kitchen sink to splash water in his face. He yanked a paper towel from the roll then forced himself to face his wife. “You said Shannon was ashamed to come home.”
“That’s what she told Katelyn.” Then Bobbi raised a hand to her mouth and tears brimmed in her eyes. “That boy.”
Chuck could only nod. “But . . . Bobbi . . . this . . . When I was in college, there was a girl, and God help me, I don’t even remember her name. Cute girl, and . . . just a good person. Went to church. We went out a couple of times.”
“All that’s in the past. I don’t care—”
“Bobbi, I stole that girl’s virginity! She gave me a boundary, and I violated it.”
“Chuck, what are you saying? Did that boy . . . ? Because if he hurt Shannon . . .”
He shook his head. “Shannon was emotionally compromised, Bobbi. That’s where it starts, a
nd that’s my fault. She was hurt and angry at me. And now it’s payback time for what I did to that girl, and to her father.”
“Not that idiotic curse again!”
“Not exactly, but—”
“There’s no connection. The only curse you’re living with is guilt and bad memories.”
He shook his head. “It’s all coming back. I intentionally . . . She told me ‘no,’ and I . . . and now Shannon’s paying for it.”
Bobbi slipped her arms around his neck, held him while tears silently trailed down both their cheeks. “It’s been paid for,” she whispered at last.
Chuck blew out a long, deep breath and raised his head. She was right. She had a gift for finding redemption, tracing the hand of God back to His heart. Even in the midst of her own maelstrom, she could find the anchor he needed. He squeezed her hand and gently kissed her. “Thank you.”
They sat in silence for several long minutes, then she leaned back and gazed across the room at nothing in particular. “I’ve been thinking . . . I’m going to take my retirement.”
“Retirement? But Bobbi—”
“I don’t feel like teaching. The thoughts of trying to get everything ready . . . I just can’t.”
“I understand you don’t feel like teaching right now, but by August all that may change.”
“Is Shannon coming home before August?”
“Surely—”
“But we don’t know.”
“No.”
“Then I’m retiring.”
Chapter 10
Languor
Thursday, July 10
Bobbi had already used a day’s worth of energy showering, but she still had to get dressed and get moving for a ten thirty appointment. Shannon was officially a missing person now. However, that meant most folks expected her to get on with her life. As if there could be a normal, natural routine without her daughter.
In the four weeks since she’d lost Brad, the chance for justice faded daily. Detective Ramirez gave Chuck details of all their efforts, the dozens of people they had interviewed, but in a neighborhood where distrust of the police ran high, he didn’t get much. He held out hope that Brad’s character and reputation would be enough to get someone to step forward with some crucial piece of information. Translation—they had no chance of finding and catching Brad’s killer.
When her second attempt to button her blouse left her shirttails uneven again, she gave up and pulled a sleeveless cotton sweater from her drawer. This appointment wasn’t critical. It was just a mammogram. Easily rescheduled. But then Chuck would give her that look—the disapproving but worried one—and start hovering.
He gave her that look this morning when she put him off about their anniversary. Thirty-eight years, and he wanted to go celebrate. Celebrate. Now. Honestly.
The clock on her nightstand showed five after ten. If she was going, she had to leave now. Get it over with. She checked her hair one last time, then turned out the light and headed downstairs.
Jack stood in the entry hall, waiting for her. “Mom, I’d like to take you to lunch today for your anniversary.”
“Thanks, but I’m not in the mood for celebrating.”
“Okay then, can I take you out to lunch because I don’t have to go to work today?”
“Jack . . .”
“I need to talk to you. Please?”
“But I’ve got this appointment.”
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll drive you, then we’ll go eat.”
“You’re determined, aren’t you?”
“Yep, besides that, all the women at the mammogram place will think I’m cute.” Jack grinned and adjusted his Cardinals hat.
“They’ll be absolutely right about that.” At least Jack finally sounded like his old self again. Maybe there was hope. She fished her keys from her purse. “Here. We’ll take my car.” She couldn’t ride in Brad’s car.
“You have to get these every year?” Jack unlocked the passenger side door of her car.
“Since I was thirty.” Bobbi slumped in the seat. “Because of my mother.”
“She was really young, wasn’t she?”
“Diagnosed at thirty-nine, and she lived another . . . almost three years.”
Jack pushed her door closed, then rounded the car and got in. “Well, I’m glad you stay on top of it.”
“Yeah,” Bobbi muttered.
Once the test was finished, she found Jack in a corner of the waiting area with a magazine. “You’re something else,” she said, tapping his knee.
“What? It was a Sports Illustrated, and I’m all caught up on spring training camps now.”
“Spring training was three months ago, wasn’t it?”
“Yep.” He grinned and laid the magazine on the table beside him. “So where do you want to go?”
“Oh no. Any young man who endures the humiliation of the imaging center should at least get to choose the restaurant.” Choices paralyzed her.
“I feel like spaghetti. Want to go for Italian?”
“Always.”
“And it wasn’t that bad.” He held the door for her and unlocked her car door before walking around to the driver’s side.
“Even so, you must have something major to discuss.”
“At the restaurant. I can’t talk and drive at the same time.” He grinned again, and his eyes twinkled.
Maybe lunch with Jack was just what she needed. Maybe for an hour or so, she could lay everything else aside and just soak in his energy. When he turned toward Antonio’s, her favorite restaurant, he watched her until she smiled.
He checked his watch. “It’s not too early for you to eat, is it?”
“No, this is fine. We won’t have to wait for a table.” Jack held the door for her, then when they reached the table, he steadied her chair so she could sit. “I must be hungry. Everything smells wonderful.”
“Joel and I used to say they should make perfumes that smell like food. Guys would be much more responsive to pot roast than some dumb flowers.”
Bobbi shook her head. “Now I know why you don’t have a girlfriend.” She flipped the menu open and held it at arm’s length. “I don’t know why I even look. I can’t resist the manicotti.” She laid the menu to the side, then looked across the table at him. “You seem happier than you’ve been in several weeks.”
“I don’t know about that,” he said. “I guess I’m just confident that you can help me.”
“Don’t bank on it.” He had his hopes pinned on her, and there was no way she could come through for him. She sipped her water to buy some time. If she had any wise words, she’d use them on herself. He sat across the table looking like he’d had his hands smacked for reaching in the cookie jar. Great. She took another gulp of her water and dove in. “So you’re still struggling with Brad and Shannon?”
He sat up and scooted his chair closer to the table. “I keep praying, and reading, trying to find some kind of answer, but there’s nothing. So why won’t God answer me unless I’ve done something wrong?” He dropped his eyes. “Just like Shannon said.”
“You and your dad.” Before she could say any more, the waiter returned with their drinks and salads. Bobbi opened a package of sweetener and poured it into her tea, stirring it slowly. “Shannon validated your fears, so you’re buying everything she says. Your dad’s the same way. She told him this was all a curse he brought on us, and he swallowed every bit of it. It’s a lie.”
She tasted her tea, decided it was sweet enough, then laid the spoon beside the glass. “I want you to get this, Jack. Brad is not dead because of anything you did or didn’t do. Brad’s gone because we live in a sinful, fallen world, full of sinful people who behave in terrible, evil ways.”
She watched him blink and nod. He needed to hear more, but she wasn’t certain she could go on. Three or four sentences had been her absolute limit. “That’s the only way I can make it make sense to me. Maybe it will be easier when someone is finally arrested for it.” She took a long drink
from her tea. “I wish I knew what God was thinking when He let it happen.”
“You’re mad at God?”
Was she? Maybe. Probably. Yes. “I can’t believe that there wasn’t any other way for Him to accomplish His purposes than to take my son. He didn’t have to do this.”
Now that she’d opened the door, the rest of the indictment spilled out. “Your aorta is three centimeters, just this big,” she said, indicating the width of her two fingers. “Anywhere else on his body, and Brad would have lived. It was such an implausible shot—” She gulped her tea and pushed the threatening emotion back down. “But that’s not helping you.”
“It helps more than you know. At least I’m not the only one who thought that.”
“It’s not a good way to think.” The church answer. The mother answer. Paste on a happy face and tell everyone you’re blessed. She sighed and tried to come up with something that would help him. “Jack, the times I’ve felt like God wasn’t listening to me happened for one of two reasons. I wasn’t listening to Him, or He’d already told me the answer and I was ignoring it because I didn’t want to do what He’d said.”
“When? I didn’t think you ever had to struggle with doing what God said.”
Poor, deluded boy. “Believe it.”
The waiter brought their food, and Jack watched until he was out of sight, then he turned back to her. “I’m sorry. It was with my mom, wasn’t it?”
She pulled her plate closer and stabbed at the pasta. “Sweetheart, I don’t know if it’s really appropriate for me to discuss your mother.”
“So how much older do I have to be?”
She sighed and laid her fork down. Sure, why not tell him exactly what she thought of his mother? Shatter him. Alienate him. Let him blame himself for all of that, too.
“Your mother . . .” She pulled her napkin from her lap and dabbed at the corners of her mouth, stalling. “When your mother came back, all that pain, it churned right back to the surface.” She pushed at her food, avoiding Jack’s eyes. The same eyes Tracy had. “Truth is, I was terrified. I was afraid for my family.”
Precedent: Book Three: Covenant of Trust Series Page 11