by Brenda Novak
“Screw ’em,” he muttered and pocketed the few bills and some odd change he’d managed to collect when he’d forced Ryan to hold the collection bucket. Standing, he stretched and thought how good a beer would taste, then circled to the driver’s side of the car and got behind the wheel.
At the squeal of door hinges, Ryan peered over the seat. His face was swollen from sleep, his hair mussed and sticking up on one side.
“Where are we?”
“After that little phone trick, you don’t need to know,” Dennis barked. His patience was wearing thin, not only with the boy but with life in general. After Ryan’s stunt in Medford, Dennis had cuffed him a time or two—nothing like the beating he would’ve suffered for such disobedience when he was a kid—but his son had barely spoken a word since. When Dennis tried to draw him out, Ryan had answered in monosyllables and kept his gaze firmly fixed to whatever he saw flying past his window.
But his son’s behavior hadn’t been the worst part of the day. They’d had to stop for long periods of time to beg for enough gas money to make the next town, and because of the stingy assholes they’d met, it was taking forever to get to Portland.
“Do we have enough money for dinner?” Ryan asked, rubbing his eyes.
“What do you mean? I just bought you a Happy Meal, and you didn’t even appreciate it.” Dennis started the car, hearing the foreboding sputter of the engine, a noise that had been getting louder all day, and backed away from the curb.
“That was lunch. Aren’t you hungry?” Ryan persisted.
Dennis was hungry—for a beer. And for a little peace. When he’d taken Ryan, he’d thought only of punishing Jenna, of showing her that he was every bit as good as she was and capable of raising their son. But the reality—constant bathroom breaks, recurring hunger, thirst and moodiness—was far different from what he’d envisioned. With his car acting up, his pockets empty and his son crying at any mention of his mother, Dennis doubted he could survive the rest of the night without a drink.
“Dad, my stomach hurts. Can’t we get something to eat? Please?”
“Shut up!” Dennis growled. His hand flexed at the impulse to hit Ryan, but the boy flinched and ducked behind the seat before he could move. Gazing at his fisted hand in surprise, Dennis shook his head. Ryan hadn’t done anything wrong this time. It was after ten o’clock and his son hadn’t eaten since noon. Of course the boy was hungry.
Forcing himself to relax, Dennis shook out his hand and left the concrete oasis of the rest area behind as he again headed north on Interstate 5.
“We’ll get you something at the next stop,” Dennis muttered, but the weight of the change in his pocket felt far too light to purchase everything they needed: gas, food, beer.
More than anything, beer.
No. Dennis took firm hold of himself. They’d eat, put the rest in gas and forget the beer, he decided—until his craving grew so strong he broke out in a cold sweat. Then he decided to feed Ryan a cheap bean burrito, skip his own dinner and buy the beer, leaving the problem of gas money till tomorrow.
But by the time they reached Winston, Dennis had changed his mind. Ryan had fallen asleep again. The kid wouldn’t die if he had to wait until morning to eat, Dennis thought, because he already knew he was going to spend every cent they had at the liquor store—and on something far stronger than beer.
ADAM STRETCHED OUT on the motel bed, wondering if Jenna would allow him to hold her. She was curled on her side, facing the wall, and hadn’t spoken since they’d finally given up their search for the day. Though they’d hired kids in every town and city to post flyers and had received numerous calls because of the reward, they hadn’t learned anything that would lead them to Ryan.
“How are you feeling, Jen? Okay?”
She nodded.
“All this worry can’t be good for the baby.”
“It’s hard to think about the baby right now. All I can think about is Ryan.”
“Have you been to a doctor yet?”
“I have an appointment next week.”
“Good.”
He watched her for another minute, resisting the urge to gather her close. “I’m going to call Dennis’s brother, Russ.”
“I’ve tried a dozen times. The last time was just a few minutes ago. All I get is an answering machine,” Jenna said, turning toward him.
Adam vaguely remembered Russ and Dennis’s other siblings. At least a decade older, they’d left home before Adam and Dennis reached high school, but he’d seen them around town occasionally, when they’d come back to visit. “It can’t hurt to try again. Unless he’s out of town, he has to get home sometime. Isn’t he married?”
“Divorced.”
“Still…” Adam had transferred the information in Jenna’s old address book to his day planner and quickly found the number. Picking up the phone, he dialed, expecting to leave another message, when a male voice came on the line.
“Dammit, Jenna, this sure as hell better not be you again, or I’ll call the police and tell them you’re harassing me!”
“Is that any way to respond to the news that your nephew’s been kidnapped?” Adam asked.
Jenna sat up and climbed onto her knees, a hopeful look on her face. “Is he there? Is that Russ?”
Adam nodded as silence stretched between him and Russ Livingston. Then Dennis’s brother asked, “Who is this? The police?”
“No. This is Adam Durham—” Adam held Jenna’s hand away from the phone “—an old friend of Jenna’s. I’m helping her look for her son, and I’m calling to see if you’ve heard from Dennis.”
“I’ve heard your name too many times. Why the hell would I tell you?”
“Because you know your brother’s a drunk, and if anything happens to Ryan, you won’t want it on your conscience.”
“Dennis would never hurt his son.”
“He hurt his wife. Who knows what he might do if he really tied one on?”
Russ Livingston sighed. “He loved Jenna. She should’ve stayed with him. It’s her fault he’s the way he is.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You weren’t the one he was beating.”
“It wasn’t that bad. He only hit her once or twice.”
Adam tried to distance himself from the emotions that would have him arguing with this guy. “Look, I wasn’t there. I don’t know how bad it was, but then, neither do you. So let’s cut the bias and the loyalty rhetoric, and get down to what really matters now—Ryan. Dennis just got out of jail for threatening Jenna’s life—”
“What?”
“It’s true. You can call the Mendocino County Courthouse if you don’t believe me. He’s angry and he’s probably shaking from withdrawal and he’s broke. Where do you think he might go?”
Another long silence. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him in three weeks or more.”
“Do you have a pencil?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to give you my number. I think deep down you’re a decent guy, Russ, who wouldn’t like to see a little boy get hurt. I’m going to ask you to call me if Dennis contacts you. Will you do that?”
Another sigh. “Yeah.”
Adam put a calming hand on Jenna, who was staring at him with frightened eyes. “Thanks, Russ.”
“What did he say?” Jenna asked as soon as Adam had hung up.
After plugging his car phone into its charger, Adam lay back and pulled Jenna down beside him. With her head on his shoulder he idly stroked her hair and said, “He hasn’t heard from Dennis, but if he does, he’ll call us.”
“You’re sure?” she asked, her voice full of hope.
And though he wasn’t, he knew Jenna needed the reassurance enough to say, “I’m sure, sweetheart. I’m sure.”
THE FACE STARING BACK at him from a blue flyer posted on the wall of the twenty-four-hour liquor store looked surprisingly like Ryan. Dennis hadn’t seen it when they’d arrived several hours ago, shortly after eleven o’clock. But then, he’
d been thinking of only one thing—getting a drink. It was only after he’d finished the bottle that he’d gotten up and stumbled from the back of the building to the front, where he’d left Ryan asleep in the car. He’d approached the liquor-store entrance, blinking at the bright light spilling through its glass front, wishing he had the money for another bottle—oblivion didn’t come as cheaply or easily as it used to—and that was when he saw it.
Tearing the flyer from the painted cinder-block wall, Dennis squinted to improve his blurry vision. He still carried the empty bottle because it felt good in his hands, but now he set it down and moved closer to the light.
Missing: Ryan Livingston, 4’5”, 75 pounds, blondish-brown hair, brown eyes, eight years old…
The flyer went on to give a description of himself, too, but it was the reward that sent his temper soaring.
“$25,000! Shit!” He whirled and kicked the bottle he’d left standing on the cement. It crashed and broke on the pavement not far from the car.
The clerk inside the liquor store must have heard the disturbance because he came to the door and told Dennis it was time to move on. “No loitering here,” he insisted, and stood waiting to make sure Dennis disappeared. “I’ll call the cops if you don’t leave.”
But Dennis paid no attention. Jenna was offering a $25,000 reward for the return of their son. Where would she get that kind of money? The whole thing reeked of Adam Durham. Worse, if a flyer could be posted here, at a run-down liquor store, there could be flyers everywhere. Everyone in Oregon would be looking for him, hoping to cash in!
“Son of a bitch!” he ground out, but the store clerk had already headed back inside, probably to call the police, and Dennis didn’t dare linger. The shock had left him nearly sober. He jumped into the Escort and started the car, hoping he had enough gas to get to some out-of-the-way place on the fringes of the city, some field or parking lot, where they could wait for morning. He was a sitting duck now, thanks to Jenna and Adam. If he wasn’t careful, he’d go back to jail, this time for kidnapping.
“Shit, oh shit, oh shit,” he muttered as the car rattled along. What now? He couldn’t go to Portland. He’d be stopped long before he got there, if not right afterward. He had to do something unexpected. But he had no money and was almost out of gas.
“What’s wrong, Dad?” Ryan’s voice came from the backseat.
“Nothing. Go back to sleep!”
“But I can’t. I’m cold and I’m hungry. Can’t we eat, please? You said we’d get something.”
“I said go back to sleep!” Dennis hadn’t meant to yell as loudly as he had, and regretted it the instant Ryan started to cry. He couldn’t think while the kid was blubbering in the back seat, mumbling about his mom and Gram and Pop Somebody, and how bad he needed to eat.
“Shut up or—”
Dennis caught himself before he finished the threat, not wanting to make the situation any worse. Ryan’s sobs died down, but the soft gasps that emanated from the back seat maddened Dennis almost as much as the outright crying.
Trying to ignore the urge to pound Ryan until the sounds stopped completely, Dennis decided he had two choices. He could abandon his son and take off on his own. The police probably wouldn’t waste their time searching for him if Ryan was back with his mother.
Or he could surprise them all by striking out across country and taking Ryan with him. With no job and no home, he might as well live in Carolina as Oregon. If he chose back roads and avoided any of the places his family lived, he had a good chance of slipping away, provided he could beg enough for gas and food or come up with money some other way.
And wouldn’t it just serve Jenna right if she never saw her son again!
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE CALLS FROM THE FLYER continued through most of the night. Sometime after two o’clock, Jenna had grown so exhausted from experiencing the emotional highs and lows of hope and disappointment whenever Adam’s cell phone rang that she just didn’t hear it anymore. She felt as though she couldn’t take one more vague sighting of Ryan that contradicted the previous caller.
Jenna shut out all sound except Adam’s deep voice as he sifted through the leads, reporting the ones that seemed legitimate to the police. She retreated into a dark safe place in her head where she could sleep.
Periodically, when there were no calls and only the hum of the television broke the silence, Jenna would start awake, afraid that Adam had fallen asleep and left no one standing vigil for her son. But she would find him staring at the television, a frown of concentration on his face, or sitting against the headboard, jotting notes in his day planner. He would shift on the bed and tuck the blankets around her again or smooth the hair off her forehead. Sometimes he’d murmur, “It’s okay, Jen, I’m here.”
“Anything?” she’d ask.
He’d shake his head, but add, “We’ll find him.”
She’d shudder at the knowledge that it was colder and later than the last time she’d asked, then say, “I need to give you a break.” And he’d insist he felt fine and couldn’t sleep even if he had the chance, which was the greatest kindness of all. Then the exhaustion that still weighted her limbs and hovered at the fringes of her mind could take over again and pull her back into the darkness of sleep. There she felt Ryan’s absence only in a vague subconscious sense that something was wrong, instead of the poignant longing that wracked her soul every time she opened her eyes.
Finally a call came that changed everything. Jenna sat up the moment the phone rang, somehow knowing, before Adam even answered it, that she would need to hear what this caller had to say.
Taking her cold fingers in one hand, Adam smiled reassuringly as he retrieved the phone from its place on the nightstand and pushed the talk button.
A moment later his smile vanished and white lines of strain appeared around his mouth and eyes. “I know where it is. We’ll be right there,” he said, and hung up.
Jenna stared at him, completely vulnerable, no longer capable of shielding herself. “What?”
Adam put his hands on her shoulders, and the compassion in his eyes terrified her even more. “There’s been an accident,” he said. “A single-car collision or something. The description fits Dennis’s Escort, but the police don’t know if it’s his yet.”
“And Ryan?”
“There’s been no report of victims or injuries. It happened back in Camas Valley on a rural road. A farmer reported seeing something burning that turned out to be the car.”
“But Camas Valley is south of here.”
“It’s about an hour away. We don’t know how fast Dennis and Ryan were traveling. Maybe we passed them in our hurry to get to Portland. A woman who called said she saw a man and a boy matching their descriptions at a rest stop in the same general area.” He rubbed the whiskers that had sprouted on his chin. “Or it’s possible that this is completely unrelated, someone else’s accident, someone else’s sadness.”
Numbly Jenna nodded. Though she’d tried not to lean on Adam or depend on his emotional support, at that moment she’d never been more grateful for another human presence in her life. She doubted she could have faced this nightmare alone, was glad she didn’t have to. “Thank you, Adam, for sticking it out with me,” she whispered.
Closing his eyes, he drew her toward him and kissed her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere, Jen. I’ve already told you that. We’ll get through this together, okay?”
She nodded, somehow beyond tears. “Let’s go.”
The sun stained the east pink, purple and finally blue, as they drove south to Camas Valley. Jenna refused to dwell on the worst possibilities, telling herself that Ryan would be all right, but from the first moment she saw it, the charred Escort forged a lump as hard and heavy as iron in her stomach. It was Dennis’s car. She knew it, deep in her bones.
Adam pulled off to the side of the road, where several police cars were already parked. After giving her a silent look of reassurance, he jumped out and she scrambled to follow hi
m, bracing herself against the smell of smoke and burned rubber that hung in the air. A barrel-chested police officer came to meet them before they reached the wreck.
“You the man I talked to on the phone?”
“Adam Durham,” he said. “This is Jenna Livingston, Ryan’s mother.”
“Well, we have good news for you folks. There’s definitely no bodies in there, and there was no accident, either. From what we can tell, the car was torched.” He motioned to Jenna. “I suspect your ex-husband did it to destroy the evidence that he’d been here.”
Jenna realized she hadn’t been breathing only when the fear squeezing her heart and lungs finally eased enough for her to manage a breath. “You’re sure?”
“We’re sure.”
Adam’s brow furrowed. “The farmer saw the fire about an hour ago, isn’t that right?”
Hooking a thumb in his pocket, the officer used his other hand to scratch the back of his head. “That’s right, which means Dennis Livingston and his son can’t be far away, if Mr. Livingston is indeed the one who set the fire. They were probably on foot when they left, unless someone picked them up and gave them a ride.”
Jenna squinted at the rolling farmlands surrounding them, noting the early mist that capped the tops of the hills. “Have you started to search the area?”
“We just determined the cause of the fire, but we’re on it now. We’ll let you know when we find something.”
Jenna thanked the officer and urged Adam back to his car. “We’ve got to call Russ,” she said.
“You think Dennis has contacted him?”
“Dennis wouldn’t burn his car to cinders unless it wouldn’t run anymore, or he had plans to get around some other way. In either case he’d need money.”
“And Russ is the likely benefactor.”
Adam had carried his cell phone with him to the burned car. Jenna watched him dial Russ Livingston’s number, then took the phone.