by Dan Walsh
“That may be true. But we already know he doesn’t like me. He might react differently to you.”
“That’s right, he might just shoot me. What if he’s a member of the Klan? They’re all over the place in these small towns.”
“Oh, I don’t think he’s a member of the Klan. I’ve never seen any evidence of that. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Worst thing that would probably happen is, he’ll toss your pie in the trash can like he did mine.”
What a waste if that happened, Etta Mae thought. But she could live with that disappointment.
Josephine pulled the binoculars down with a mischievous smile. “Maybe we should just send him over that little baby pie you made instead.”
Thirty minutes later, the pie was cooled off and Etta Mae had helped Josephine get all situated. They had just prayed together for God to protect Etta Mae and give her strength, as she put it, “not to turn and run the minute that ornery ole cuss answers the door.”
Etta Mae was just now putting the pie on a tray with handles. They had decided the Christian thing to do was to give August the bigger of the two pies, fearing that if they gave him the smaller one, he wouldn’t share it with Timmy.
Suddenly, Josephine began to shout. As loud as one can shout when they’re trying to whisper. “There he is, Etta Mae. The boy. Timmy.”
Etta Mae left the pie on the table and ran over to the window. “You seen him?” She looked out for herself.
Josephine, still glued to the binoculars, said, “I did, I did. Just a moment ago.”
“Where? I don’t see him.”
“He walked right past the window. The front window. The first one there, on the right side.”
Etta Mae didn’t see anything but an old green house. “You sure it was Timmy?”
“I think it was him. It was just for that moment. But he’s got to come back by. Unless I already missed him.”
Etta Mae looked right at that window again, squinted her eyes all up. But it made no difference, not from this distance. “Well, I guess I better get over there then with this pie. If I go there right now, maybe Timmy’ll answer the door. If he’s still there in the living room.”
“You can try,” Josephine said. “But I doubt August will let that happen. I don’t recall the boy ever answering the door. Not just this time, but when he was here months ago.”
“What you mean, months ago? Timmy’s only been took a week.”
Josephine set the binoculars down. “August definitely had a little boy living with him before. A good long while. Kept him on a short leash. Not as short as the one he’s on now. But then he was gone, the boy, I mean. Not sure how long, but a few months, anyway.”
“Well,” Etta Mae said, “whoever he was, that other little boy, he couldn’t have been Timmy. Like I said, Timmy’s just missing since Monday. What’s that, six days?”
Josephine looked out the window again but left her binoculars on her lap. “If that’s true,” she said, “then who was that first little boy? And where is he now?”
54
Now who could that be at the door? August walked over and peeked his head in the dining room. Bobby was in there, coloring in a coloring book. “Didn’t you hear the door?” Bobby looked up, set his crayon down. He shook his head no, then nodded yes. That same fretting look on his face he wore most the time.
“Well, then,” August said, “you know what to do. Get in that room. And be quick about it.”
“You mean . . . the dark place?”
“No, your bedroom. But I’ll put you in the dark place if you don’t get up this instant.” The boy got up and ran down the hall. “Close the door and stay away from the window. And don’t you make a sound.” August turned and walked toward the front door. “Let’s go see who this is,” he muttered.
As he neared the front door, he eyed his shotgun leaning in the corner. He peeked through the crack in the curtain in the front door window. Couldn’t believe what he saw. “What in the world?” He opened it and looked down at a colored woman standing on his porch, dressed like a maid, holding a pie.
“Morning, sir,” she said, smiling, holding the pie up toward him.
“How did you get here?” Far as he knew, no one in this neighborhood had domestic help.
“I came from next door. From your neighbor’s house.”
From the direction she pointed with her head, she must mean . . . “Josephine? You work for Josephine now?”
The woman nodded. “Just for a few days, though. Maybe a few weeks. Depends on how long it takes for her foot to mend.”
“What, she break it?” Why did he ask that? Not like he cared.
“I think it’s just a bad sprain. Anyway, I work for her older sister in DeLand. She asked me to come here for a couple of days to help Miss Josephine. And she asked me if I would make this pie for you. Well, for you and your little boy. So here I am.”
The maid started looking past August into the living room, like she was hinting at being invited in. That wasn’t going to happen. He looked down at that pie in her hands. The last time his neighbor had sent one over, he’d tossed it out. He wasn’t thinking of doing that now. This thing looked and smelled pretty good. Problem was, he didn’t want to get too friendly with her, or anyone else in this neighborhood. Especially till things settled down with the boy.
“Do you want it?” the maid said. “If you don’t, maybe your little boy would. What’s his name?”
“His name’s Bobby.” Wait a minute, why was he telling this colored woman his business? “I suppose if she went to all that trouble to have you make it, guess I can take it off your hands.” He reached out through the doorway, and she handed the pie to him. She looked at him some more, then looked past him and around him. At first, he wondered if she was thinking she should get some kind of tip. Then he decided she was just being nosy.
That was easy enough to fix. He nodded at her, stepped back into the living room, and closed the front door. He was carrying the pie toward the kitchen when he heard a knock at the front door again. He set the pie on the dining room table.
What now? He opened the door.
“I’m sorry to bother you again. But could I get that carrying tray back? That’s Miss Josephine’s. I only used it because the pie pan was still hot.”
“I suppose,” August said.
“I see it there on the table,” she said. “If you like, I’ll just go get it and be on my way.”
“I don’t like. You stay here. I’ll go get it.” August wasn’t about to have no colored maid walking through his house. He walked back to the dining table and gently felt the edges of the pie pan. It was still hot, but not dangerously so. He quickly lifted it out and set it down, then returned the tray to the maid. “Here.”
Then he closed the door.
The man didn’t say good-bye, didn’t say thank you. Just took the pie and closed the door. Well, I’ll be. Etta Mae stepped off the porch, glad this little assignment was over. But she wished she could have seen Timmy. Wherever he was, he wasn’t in the living room.
She started making her way across the mostly dirt side yard between the two properties. As she did, she looked toward the dining room window in Josephine’s house. She couldn’t see her there, because of the reflection, but she knew Josephine was probably watching her through her binoculars. So she shook her head no to let Josephine know she hadn’t seen Timmy.
When she got to the boundary of Josephine’s place, she glanced back at the man’s house. Some movement caught her eye. A side window. She looked. A curtain moved. A little hand holding the curtain’s edge. It was Timmy’s window, the window Josephine had been staring at over the last two days. She couldn’t see the face behind the curtains, but it was definitely a little hand. Probably Timmy’s hand, she thought. She stopped walking and waved toward the window. Instantly, the hand disappeared.
But she was sure it was him. She stood there a few moments more, but the curtain remained closed. She headed back to Josephine’s house. Part
of her wanted to go the opposite direction. To walk right back to that man’s house, bang on the door, and demand to see Timmy. But one look in his eyes had convinced her he was not a man to mess with. Even if she had tried, he wouldn’t have produced the boy. He probably would’ve chased her off with a shotgun.
She walked up the steps of Josephine’s back porch and headed inside. Before she even set the tray down, Josephine called to her from the dining room.
“Did you see him?” Josephine asked.
“Not when I was on the porch. But I definitely saw him on the way back. Did you see where I stopped for a moment?”
“I did, and I saw that little hand holding the curtain.”
“Could you see his face?”
“I couldn’t,” Josephine said. “He must have had the bedroom light turned off. Nothing but shadows.”
“Well, at least we know he’s in there. Are you going to keep watching the place?”
“I certainly am. All day.”
55
Two hours had passed. Vic and Nate were almost to their destination. They had driven up from Orlando on State Road 19 through the Ocala National Forest. Then through the little town of Interlachen. Now they were on State Road 20, very close to the address on the little slip of paper Nate held in his left hand. For the most part, the roads were deserted the whole way here.
“Didn’t see any military vehicles,” Nate said. “Got used to seeing them.”
“My guess is they’re all in place already. Down south.”
“You mean for the invasion?”
Vic nodded. The invasion of Cuba. Seemed inevitable now. He hadn’t heard any more news since the story broke about the Russians shooting down the U-2 plane earlier today. But considering how the tension had been building all week, he couldn’t see the military generals in Washington settling for anything less than an invasion now. He remembered the excitement and anticipation when General Eisenhower had announced the D-Day invasion back in ’44.
This wasn’t like that at all.
Mutually Assured Destruction. That’s what this invasion meant. We invade Cuba. They launch their nukes. We launch ours. Vic hoped they would at least wait to invade until he got done with this assignment and drove home.
A man should be with his family on the day they all die.
“This place on the right or the left side of the road?” Nate asked.
“I believe it’s on the right, judging by the other address numbers I’m seeing. Should be just up ahead.” Also, he could see a lake on the right, set back from the road in between the trees. This house was supposed to be on a lake.
“How do you want to work this?” Nate said. “Go in strong or check things out first?”
“I’m thinking we should park on the side of the road. See what we can see through the binoculars. Maybe we’ll get lucky like that deputy did and see the little boy outside.”
“If we don’t, I think we should go in with our guns drawn. If this is the kidnapper, he might be desperate.”
“Agreed,” Vic said. He counted a few more mailbox addresses. “Here it comes. You can pull off the shoulder right here.”
Nate did, and both men got out. They stood on the driver’s side, allowing the car to provide blocking between them and the house. Vic took out the binoculars and began scanning the property. It was a ranch-style house with a big front lawn, set back about a football field’s length from the road. A fairly new blue Chrysler was parked in the driveway. No one was walking around outside.
Rats. That would’ve made it nice and easy.
“How long do you want to wait here, Vic? Before we ring the doorbell.”
“At least an hour or two. See if we spot the little boy. If it’s him, if it’s Timmy, we hop in the car and race down the driveway. You drive, and I’ll keep my gun out in case the father comes out of the house.”
“But what if that scares Timmy off?”
“We’ll just have to chance it. My guess is, he’s probably scared and wants to be rescued. I’ll flash my badge out the window and call his name.”
“All right, I’ll be ready,” Nate said. He stood by the car, leaned up against the fender. “Wish I had some coffee.”
The day had dragged on for Gina. Every hour felt like two. The only reason she knew it was a Saturday was because Colt had watched his favorite cartoons that morning. It was comforting to see him smile, even if for a little while.
Nothing on TV made her smile. Nothing on the radio. Nothing in the newspaper.
She glanced at the telephone in the living room. Again. The only thing that would make her smile would be to hear that phone ring. And to hear Special Agent Vic Hammond’s voice on the other end, saying they had found her little boy, safe and sound.
“Hey, Gina.” She looked up. It was Scott.
“I’m going to take Colt down to the 7-Eleven to buy a soda and a pack of baseball cards. You want anything?”
“No, but thanks for asking.” Mike and Rose were at the store buying supplies for their Sunday dinner tomorrow.
“I could buy you a Creamsicle. Might cheer you up.”
She doubted it. Though she did love Creamsicles. During the summer, Gina enjoyed hearing the music of the ice cream truck coming down the street almost as much as Colt and Timmy.
She sighed. “Better not. It’ll just spoil my dinner.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. As he walked by, he patted her shoulder gently.
“Come on, Colt.”
It was nice to see him working so hard to be nice. As soon as the front door closed, the telephone rang. She rushed to answer it but was disappointed to hear a female voice say, “Is this the Harrison residence?”
“Yes, it is. This is Gina Harrison.”
“I’m so glad it’s you. Otherwise I’d have to hang up.”
What did that mean? she thought. Could this have something to do with Timmy? “I don’t understand.”
“Well,” the woman said, “it would take too much time to explain. Let’s just say, I called to talk to you, not your husband.”
“Do I know you? Do we . . . know you?”
“You don’t know me. Well, we’ve met, actually. Once.”
Gina didn’t have the energy for this. But what if it was a reporter? “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing really.” The woman sighed heavily. “I’m the one who needs to do something for you. And for your husband, in a way.”
Gina wished she would just say what she needed to say so she could get off the phone.
“See,” the woman continued, “I went to confession this afternoon. First time in almost two years. It’s all this Cuba stuff. It’s scaring me to death. If those nuclear bombs start falling, I don’t want to have such a huge sin on my conscience. I know something that big would send me straight to hell.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with me, or my husband.” As soon as Gina said it, she instantly did. Was this . . . that woman? The young secretary from the Christmas party? If it was, she didn’t want to hear anything she had to say. “Is this Marla?”
A long pause. Then, “Yes.”
“Look, Marla, I really don’t want to hear this now, whatever it is you want to say. I’ve had a terrible day. A terrible week. The worst week I ever had. I can’t be your—”
“No, listen, Mrs. Harrison. I need to tell you this. The priest said so. He said for something like this, a few Hail Marys and Our Fathers wouldn’t cut it. He said I needed to tell you what I told him.”
“Marla, I’m not even Catholic. So if you don’t mind—”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re Catholic or not,” Marla said. “I think you’ll really want to hear what I have to say.”
Gina took a deep breath. “Okay, what do you want to tell me?”
Another long pause. “Your husband and I were not having an affair. He was never unfaithful to you. I made the whole thing up.”
Gina couldn’t believe her ears. “What?”
/> “I had developed a serious crush on him—lots of the secretaries had—I’m sure you know how handsome he is. And I was trying to get him to feel the same way about me. For months before that Christmas party. But he hardly noticed me. He never responded to any of my attempts to flirt with him. Not even once. I thought maybe at the Christmas party with everybody drinking so much, this time might be different. So I made up a reason to get him back into that office. That’s . . . when you walked in.”
“But you were kissing,” Gina said. “I saw it. It wasn’t just you kissing him. He was kissing back.”
“It may have looked that way,” Marla said. “But he was definitely pushing me away. Then you walked in, and I felt so humiliated by his rejection that I just . . . lied. I was angry that he turned me down again. So I said . . . what I said. I’m not proud of it now. It was the wrong thing to do. To him, but especially to you. I see that now.”
“Why have you waited all this time to tell me? Do you have any idea of the trouble you’ve caused? Scott and I are separated because of you. Because of that, my two little boys have . . .” She couldn’t finish.
“I’m so sorry,” Marla said. “So very sorry. The reason I haven’t said anything until now is because I was still angry at Scott . . . Mr. Harrison. He didn’t just reject me that night. After the party, he told my boss what I did, and I was forced to move to a different job in a different building, working with people I hate. But I know that’s no excuse. It’s just the reason why I didn’t say anything before. I have no excuse. And I’m really sorry for all the pain I caused you and your family.”
Gina heard her begin to cry.
“Well, I better go.” The girl hung up. Just like that.
Gina sat on the edge of the chair nearest to the phone, stunned. This certainly wasn’t the news she was hoping to get from the telephone today. But as she sat there, and as the realization of what this young woman had just confessed began to sink in, Gina couldn’t help it.