“Habit, I guess.” Richard pulled Christopher close to him. “Listen, son, I want to chop wood with you today, but let’s do it indoors. I don’t feel like leaving the apartment today, okay?”
Christopher smiled. “Writing in the morning, Scrabble and videos in the afternoon. Sounds like a great day to me, Daddy.”
When he heard the front door open, Richard looked at his watch. Nine o’clock. They hadn’t talked since the night before. He thought of getting up, but he didn’t know what to say. Carol had been so angry with him, like it was his fault someone had tried to kidnap their son. He knew he was supposed to get up, but he couldn’t let himself. He kept listening for her footsteps to pass down the hall. They never did. She must be just standing near the front door, not far from the office. There was a knock on the office door.
“Come in,” he said.
The door opened and Carol walked in, carrying a couple of bags that filled the small study with the smell of Chinese food. She was smiling. And she’d left her briefcase in the hall.
“Hungry?” she asked.
“Sure, I guess.”
He got up from the desk, ready to go into the kitchen, but she closed the door and pulled out two sets of chopsticks from one of the bags. She sat on the floor and leaned against the wall.
“It’s been a long time since we ate Chinese take-out on the floor,” he said.
“That’s the whole point, it’s been too long. For a lot of things we used to do.”
Richard began eating his dinner, watching Carol as she talked. She told him some of the details of the big Matsushita case she’d been working on, about how it looked like one of the associates would be fired because he wasn’t billing enough hours to justify keeping him until it was time to not make him partner, about how one of the senior partners might be retiring, which meant she might get an even nicer office.
At one point she asked about his writing. He talked a little about it, careful not to reveal too much, but she appeared genuinely interested. The more he talked, the more she encouraged him to share, until he ended up telling her all about the porch and its significance.
“That sounds like a powerful metaphor. Are you going to carry it throughout the novel?”
When he said he wasn’t sure yet, that he was more or less just getting the first thoughts on paper, she surprised him by suggesting that might be the best way to go.
“Have you been writing all day?” she asked before taking a bite from her egg roll.
“We wrote in the morning, but spent the rest of the day doing whatever came to Christopher’s mind—so long as it was here. I just wanted to stay home. Keep him safe.” He knew he could’ve said it better, made it sound more productive and less dramatic, but the words just came out.
“Sounds like a good idea. I wish I could’ve stayed with you.”
Richard shook his head and put down the almost empty carton.
“What?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, Carol, this has been great, but you’ve got to tell me what’s going on.”
“What do you mean? We’re eating dinner.”
“I feel like I’m in a play or something, and nobody’s shown me the script of the next scene.”
“I just wanted to be with you.”
“But this isn’t like you.” Carol frowned when he said that. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”
“It used to be like me.”
“I guess so.”
“Let’s go off for a couple of days.” She held his hand. “We need to get away from the city.”
“Where?”
“The Bahamas? Maine? You name the climate.”
“I thought you wanted us to watch our budget, with just one income.”
“It was just an idea.” She pulled her hand away and started picking up.
“Wait a minute, maybe this is a good idea,” he said. “Christopher loved being in Vermont. It would do him some good to get away again.”
“I was really thinking of just the two of us going.”
Richard stared at her. “Are you serious? Leave him after what happened last night?”
“Richard, we need to work on the two of us if we want to help him.”
“No way,” he said, shaking his head. “I need to know he’s safe.”
“There’s this place I’ve heard about, called TempCare. It’s amazing. Parents can leave their children there for up to two weeks. Highly recommended and completely certified by all the state and national boards. Great teachers. Lots of learning activities. Better than being at home.”
“There’s no way—”
“Very safe, Richard. Probably the safest place he could be.”
Richard picked up the tablet and said “TempCare.” He took a minute to read the website, then looked up at Carol.
“Carol, this place looks like a mini-version of Newman. Why would we want to put him there?”
“He’d have other children to play with,” she said. “What are you planning on doing, Richard, keep him cooped up here for the rest of the summer? What kind of life is that for him?”
“I don’t like keeping him in all day anymore than you do,” Richard said. “But we’re together, and that’s a good life. For both of us.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
They argued for a few minutes, then Carol went to bed about midnight. Richard felt confused about his wife’s suggestion they leave Christopher so they could have a weekend together. Right after he was almost kidnapped? She said TempCare was highly recommended. By whom? Who had she been talking to?
His cell phone rang. Harold.
“I’m sorry about what happened to Christopher yesterday,” Harold said. “We’re all grateful he’s okay.”
“How did you know? Never mind, you always know things.”
“We’ve got to meet.”
“No we don’t,” Richard said. “Just let me be with my son. I don’t really want to get involved—”
“Richard, this is an emergency. If we don’t meet, you may not have much time left with your son.”
Harold told him where to meet, but nothing else. Richard ran down the stairs, two at a time, to the lobby. When he got outside, he ran to Park Avenue and flagged down a cab. Richard told him the address, and the driver headed for Washington Heights. Richard sat in the back, sweating. It was hot, and the air coming in from the window didn’t seem to do any real good.
They drove past Columbia and Barnard. A couple stumbled along the sidewalk and into the street past stores, tightly closed and barred against attack. Four cops ran down into a subway entrance, guns drawn. This was a different world from his parents’ town in Vermont, and it bothered him that he accepted it all without question or surprise. Then he reminded himself where he was going, to meet with a group of good people who cared about each other. That was New York just as much as the dirty streets and the dangerous shadows.
He paid the driver when they pulled to the curb and jumped out, running up to a squatty brick apartment building of only five or six floors. Richard found the Solomon name, then buzzed the apartment. The door unlocked, and he ran up the stairs. When he got to the third floor, he found Harold standing in a doorway, waiting.
“It’s Sandra’s daughter,” Harold whispered.
“What happened?” Richard asked.
“She’s dead.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Richard followed Harold into the living room. Sandra’s husband had his arm around her on the couch. Rebecca sat right next to her, trying to offer what comfort she could, and Joan and Lauren, from the discussion group, were nearby as well. No one spoke or made any sound whatsoever.
Richard still didn’t really know anyone in the group, and he suspected it was expected of him, now that he was here, to remain off to the side, quiet. But he found himself walking over to where Sandra and her husband sat and kneeling next to them. He reached out and touched Sandra’s hand.
“I don’t know what to say,” he whispered. “I’m so
rry.”
Sandra nodded.
Richard stepped back and Harold motioned for him to follow. They left the living room and found Paul, alone, leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking a cup of coffee. Harold poured himself and Richard some coffee and the three men stood there, breathing a little easier away from the living room.
After a moment, Paul spoke up. “I’m glad you came, Richard.”
“Thanks. Paul, right? The Columbia student.”
“Right.” Paul took a sip of his coffee. “I wasn’t sure you’d come. I told Harold not to bother calling you.”
“Why?”
“You didn’t seem all that into it when you met with us. Like you thought we were crazy.”
“No, I never thought—”
“Maybe not crazy, but like we’d carried this thing too far. Like the school wasn’t as bad as we thought it was.”
“I won’t argue with that,” Richard said. He turned to Harold. “What happened to her?”
“The school said Tanya was having a nervous breakdown, remember?” Richard nodded. “Claimed she couldn’t handle the thought of leaving Newman and going home. Tonight, Sandra gets a call from the hospital telling her that her little daughter had died.”
“How?”
“They’re not sure. Autopsy tomorrow.”
“What do you think now, Richard?” Paul asked. “Are we still paranoid?”
“You think the school killed Tanya?”
“Oh, man, I never said it did,” Paul said. “I never said it killed Joseph’s boy, either. But you can keep your nose clean, avoid all responsibility, and let things happen. And that’s just as bad, isn’t it?”
They heard something going on in the living room and went to investigate. In the living room, they found Sandra standing up with her husband, and both of them embracing Joseph. The three were sobbing as they held on tightly to one another.
“They know what it’s like when people let things happen,” Paul whispered to Richard.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The curtains were drawn, and a single lamp on the floor softly shone its light. Richard sat on the floor and leaned against the wall. Harold and Rebecca sat across from him. It was almost two o’clock, and everyone else had left over an hour ago.
“So, what do you suggest? What can be done?” Richard asked.
“We pray,” Rebecca said.
“The synagogue is our second home,” Harold added.
Richard smiled.
“What is it?” Harold asked.
“You sound like my parents.”
“They’re Jewish?” Rebecca asked. They all smiled.
“No, Episcopalians. But often attributed good things that happened in our lives to prayer.”
“And what about you, Richard?” Rebecca asked.
“Oh, I used to think I was somewhat religious. But things started happening with my younger brother, and I decided life needed more action and less prayer.”
“Don’t be so sure they’re different,” Harold said. “Besides, prayer isn’t all we are doing. We’ve got our plan.”
Rebecca gave her husband a sharp look.
“What plan?” Richard asked.
“Nothing specific, I guess,” Harold said.
“Well, then, generally? What is there left to try? The courts?”
“It’s difficult to prove the school does anything illegal. All we have are children with empty eyes.”
“And two children who have died,” Richard said.
“Think about it,” Rebecca said. “The children look happy enough at Newman. They’re learning, they’re among friends, their teachers seem to love them. It’s only when they’re home they seem lonely, so robotic. It’s hard to make the case to a judge that they’re better off with their parents.”
“Unless we have evidence that links the school to the deaths,” Harold said, “we have nothing.”
“Politicians?” Richard said. “What about getting the mayor or someone involved?”
“The mayor’s daughter is at Newman. Besides,” Harold said, “Newman knows where to send his lobbyists, and his money. There are good men and women in government, but without proof, they can’t bite the hand that feeds them.”
“Even with proof, some still wouldn’t,” Rebecca said.
“Then what? What’s your plan?”
Rebecca and Harold looked at each other, clearly uneasy about something.
“You can trust me,” Richard whispered. “Don’t you know that by now?”
“To be honest,” Rebecca said, “we haven’t always known that.”
“At first, we wondered,” Harold said. “You accomplished something no one else has ever been able to: you got your son out on the sabbatical. Why were they so willing to let you? But we’ve talked with you, we’ve listened to you, we’ve watched you. We trust you now.”
“It’s a risk,” Rebecca said, “but in desperate times, we must learn to trust.”
Harold took a card out of his pocket and handed it to Richard. “Put this number in your cell phone, Richard. If you’re ever in any trouble related to Christopher and the school, call it. The person answering will ask you for your account number. If you give the right password, you’ll be connected to someone who can help.”
“Password?”
“Yes. This week it’s ‘Jacob.’ We’ll let you know the new one each week. Keep it to yourself. Maybe this would’ve been a nice number to have when they tried to kidnap Christopher the other day.”
“How did you know about that?”
“We are just a small part of a strong network of concerned parents,” Rebecca said. “Not just parents with children at Newman, but parents who worry about what’s happening in our schools, who don’t like the idea of Newman being the future. We know enough to be scared, but we’ll wait until the right time. We don’t want to endanger anyone’s child.”
“Did Joseph call this number when his son was missing?”
Harold shook his head. “Unfortunately, we didn’t have it set up then. The only person who’s used it so far is Sandra, when she found out about the death of her daughter.”
“What did your network do?”
“Tanya had already died,” Harold said. “What could we do? We notified the other parents to beware of their child being taken to the hospital.”
“One more thing,” Richard said.
“Yes?”
“What did you mean when you said ‘they’ tried to kidnap Christopher? Do you have evidence that the school tried to do it?”
“No evidence. That’s always the problem, we have no evidence.”
“Then, for all you know,” Richard said, “it could have been someone else?”
“And with all you know,” Harold said, “could it have been someone else?”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Richard closed his notebook and put it away while Christopher placed the new car he’d built into the Legos bucket to play with later. They’d decided to watch a video together when Carol called. She was downstairs, she said, waiting in one of her firm’s cars. She wanted them to come down for a surprise. All she would tell Richard was they were going somewhere perfectly safe.
Richard and Christopher got into the back of the black sedan with Carol. One of her firm’s drivers was behind the wheel.
“What’s going on?” Richard asked.
“You’ll see,” Carol said. “Trust me.”
After about ten minutes, the car stopped in front of a large office building that looked vaguely familiar to Richard. They entered a colorful lobby where there were four chairs and a table in the middle of a room full of beanbag chairs and stuffed animals. Next to a set of double-doors was a large sign: TempCare.
“No,” Richard said. “I told you this was out of the question.”
“This is the safest place in the country for children, Mr. Carson,” a man said as he entered through the doors. “There’s nothing to worry about here.”
“This is Dr. Hawki
ns,” Carol said. “He doesn’t usually gives tours, but I pulled a few strings. Said we needed the best.”
“Let’s go, Christopher,” Richard said, turning to the front door.
Carol stopped him. “Please, just a tour. If you don’t like it, then it’s out of the question.”
Richard took a deep breath and looked down at Christopher. “And if you don’t like it, son, it’s really out of the question.”
“Thank you for taking the time,” Dr. Hawkins said, shaking hands. He wore khaki slacks, a blue denim shirt, a tie with tigers on it. Like he was trying not to look like a doctor. He even had stubble on his face. They walked down a short hall to the stairwell and started up the stairs, Christopher holding his father’s hand.
“We’ve been in business about three years, Mr. Carson,” Dr. Hawkins said. “Though it may not sound very modest, we’ve had nothing but success. We’re proud of the contribution we’ve made to the general welfare of children and hope to establish other TempCares in the near future.”
“What contribution is that, Doctor?” Richard said.
They turned at the top of the stairs and proceeded down a long, white hall. “Adults were finding it increasingly difficult to accomplish their life-goals and be parents as well. You know the struggle.”
Richard didn’t say anything.
“Because of our services,” Dr. Hawkins said, “parents can now go on business trips, vacations, or simply enjoy a peaceful week or two at home, knowing their children are well cared for.” The doctor stopped and turned to Richard, winking. “To be frank, in most cases, better cared for.”
“You make it sound like this is an altruistic enterprise. I’m assuming you charge a good amount for your contribution to society.” Richard noticed the disapproval on his wife’s face, but he didn’t mind.
“Nothing worthwhile is cheap. How much is your son worth, Mr. Carson?”
“He’s not for sale.”
They stopped at a one-way mirror. On the other side were two adults and about twenty-five children, ranging in age from three to thirteen, each wearing a charcoal gray uniform. They were divided into four groups, apparently based on age. The youngest children were circling pictures in their workbooks while the others were writing words.
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