by James Andrus
He definitely used his position as a police officer not only to elicit sympathy but also to emphasize the brotherhood that existed between most cops. He knew it was wrong to use his position, but as a father he could justify anything he had to do just to know what happened to Jeanie. He had even flirted with the JSO forensic artist so she would create a series of images that aged Jeanie with different hair styles. He used the images with his e-mails. He’d never done more than take the artist out to lunch, even though she had dropped strong hints she was interested in a more intimate relationship.
He tried to do a good chunk of this work on Saturdays so no one would ever accuse him of using county time for his personal crusade. Sure, there were times when he couldn’t avoid making a phone call or checking e-mail while he was at work, but no one would really fault him for that. If anyone ever asked, he knew he could look them in the eye and say that he did most of his work looking for his lost daughter sitting in his own house. It didn’t matter if that was the house he once shared with his wife and kids or this lonely little rental a few miles away.
Thursday nights he always checked certain websites like the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children and other resources designed to help parents who were looking for their children. It gave him a focus and stability in his week when he knew what he was doing one night and one day, week in and week out. Sometimes he wondered if that was what kept him going, and it definitely helped him understand Maria’s obsession with helping other parents of missing children.
The events of the week had receded in his mind, and he’d slept well the night before. Physically, he felt better than he had in a long time.
Emotionally he’d come to realize he and Maria would not be getting back together. It was a hard thing to accept when his heart rate still raced every time he saw her. But they’d come to a consensus on Lauren’s interest in nightlife, and that was what was important: the kids. His youngest daughter had bridled under the new control her parents had put on her, but she was adapting. The fact that she was here at his house with Charlie on a Saturday night was all the evidence he needed things were changing.
He had avoided the TV news for two days after he heard the term “repeat heroes” used to describe Patty and him. He didn’t feel like a hero. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, all he saw was Larry Kinard tumbling into the back of a garbage truck and the sound of the compactor crushing him in with the rest of the trash. Not only had the pressure killed him, but a broken seven iron had been shoved through his midsection, and a busted bottle had slit his neck in the compactor.
Now he plopped down next to Charlie on the couch that was in the house when he rented it and watched a soccer match being broadcast in some Eastern European language.
Lauren had assumed the role as caretaker at the new house and had carefully arranged the dining room table even though the main course was a bucket of extra-crispy fried chicken from KFC. But she had shown her excitement and Charlie had shown his by vacuuming the living room and dining room without being asked. The four chairs at the table were all pulled back exactly five inches, and now Lauren circled the table, making sure no invisible force had changed that formula.
The doorbell chimed with the middle tone missing, giving it an Addams Family quality. Charlie turned excitedly on the couch. “Is that him? Is that him?”
Stallings laughed, patting the boy on the shoulder. “One of you open the door and see.” As Charlie and Stallings crossed the room, Lauren fell in behind them, just as excited as her little brother.
Stallings took a moment, then opened the door. He looked out at the clean, neatly dressed man, smiled, and said, “Hello, Dad. I’m glad you could join us for dinner.”