Mommy Said Goodbye

by Janice Kay Johnson

  She had some qualms about the schools, which didn’t offer the choices the Klickitat District could with its larger enrollment. Classes were overcrowded, too. Because she was an employee, Malcolm could switch to Klickitat. But so far, he was happy and she was leaving well enough alone. High school would be soon enough for them to make a change.

  Luigi’s had been on the main street as long as Robin had lived in Salmon Creek. Walking into the restaurant was like entering a cave. Apparently, Luigi—if there was such a person—thought darkness lent atmosphere. Candles flickered in red glass jars on each table. The pasta here was only okay. The pizza, though, was fabulous, with a thick, chewy crust and a mixture of cheeses that was a little different than usual.

  “There’ll be five of us,” Robin told the hostess, who led the way to a corner booth with a red padded seat that curved in an arc.

  Robin and Mal scooted in and looked at the menu while they waited. This was a treat for both. Her budget didn’t allow for much eating out.

  Craig and his kids weren’t five minutes behind them. Brett sat next to Malcolm and Craig slid in beside Robin, a subdued Abby next to him.

  Robin glanced at her and raised her brows. Craig shook his head in silent warning.

  “Well, do we order a pizza together?” he asked.

  They wrangled contentedly, even Abby finally joining in. They ended up ordering two pizzas, pepperoni for the kids, artichoke hearts and chicken for the adults.

  When the waitress departed with their order, Robin groped for an innocuous subject of conversation. But Craig surprised her.

  “Pretty crummy day, huh, kids?”

  “Yeah!” his son agreed.

  “Were you scared?” Malcolm asked.

  “Um…” Brett fidgeted. “Kind of. Probably not as scared as Abby, but…yeah.”

  “I wasn’t scared!” she flared. “The policeman was nice to me!”

  “’Cause you’re a little kid.”

  “I’m not!” she declared fiercely. Then, “You are, too!”

  “I am not!”

  “Are, too!”

  Craig jumped in before the argument could descend further. “Brett, you and your sister are only two grades apart. And, actually, Detective Diaz did seem like an okay guy.”

  Robin might have been the only one who could tell how much even that admission stuck in his craw, but she admired him for making it.

  “He said he had kids,” Abby agreed.

  “I don’t like the lady cop,” Brett chimed in. “She’s the one who is that other guy’s daughter, right, Dad?”

  “Right.”

  “Do you like her?” his son asked.

  Craig sat silent for a moment. At last he said, “In all honesty…no. I don’t. But maybe I expected not to. Because of her father.”

  “And maybe,” Robin suggested, “she expected not to like you, either. Because of her father.”

  His smile twisted, too. “The thought had occurred to me.”

  “Are you going to hire a private eye again, Dad?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it.” Craig’s gaze touched Robin’s, his expression unreadable. “I’ll give Detective Diaz and Officer Caldwell a few weeks. See if they’re really hunting for your mom. If not…yeah. We have to find out.” He reached out and gripped Abby’s hand even as he looked at Brett. “All of us need to know what happened to her.”

  Abby looked down and didn’t say anything. His face solemn, Brett nodded.

  For a moment, it was as if Robin and Malcolm weren’t there. Craig and his children were a closed family circle, isolated by Julie’s disappearance. They must know that nobody else would ever completely understand what they’d gone through. Robin doubted they even talked about Julie or the investigation or what they felt in front of most people. Perhaps she and Mal should be flattered.

  The next moment, Craig forced a smile. “Looks like our pizza is coming. I forgot to have lunch today. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m starving.”

  Conversation ranged widely while they ate. Strained at first, it came more easily with each slice of pizza. Maybe it was eating with their hands. How could talk be stilted when your hands were greasy?

  Robin talked about a workshop she’d attended on how to recognize bullies and how to deal with the perennial problem for schools.

  Craig told a funny story about a flight attendant whose air-filled bra sprang a leak at high altitude. “She was hissing when she brought us our dinners.”

  By the time they walked out to their cars, they were relaxed, the kids intermingled. Robin had almost—but not quite—forgotten her awareness of how acutely the Lofgrens had become isolated from the rest of the world.

  Craig had parked right next to Robin, so he unlocked and let Abby in while saying good-night.

  Just as Robin opened her door, he touched her arm.

  “Thank you,” he said, voice pitched low so that the kids wouldn’t hear him. “I’m sorry to have involved you in our mess, but I’m glad you were there today.”

  “I didn’t do anything. Except annoy that policewoman.”

  He flashed a grin that was only a little wry. “Oh, I do that every time I see her.”

  The kids had all gotten in, leaving the two adults talking. “I asked her if anyone had ever really looked for Julie.”

  His face sobered. “What did she say?”

  “Nothing. She just drove away.”

  “At least she didn’t lie.”

  Robin didn’t know what came over her, but words crowded out. “She told me I was being foolish.”

  He went still. “Stepping foot in my house?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Did she scare you?” His voice was low, gravelly.

  With his back to the streetlight, his face was shadowed. He seemed…mysterious. Robin thought, Yes. Yes, she scared me. Yes, you scare me.

  Or maybe, she scared herself, because she had the horrible feeling she was falling in love with a man who was married—if his missing wife was still alive.

  “I haven’t yet kept a tryst with you in a dark alley,” she said, making light of the suggestion.

  “Only in a deserted park on a gray day.”

  “We weren’t alone,” she protested. No—whispered.

  “Weren’t we?”

  Despite herself, she saw the two of them, sitting on the picnic table side by side, thighs occasionally bumping, gazing out at the river. His car had been the only one in the small parking lot at the picnic area. The passing joggers had been the only other people they had seen. The soccer fields weren’t far away, but a stand of trees put them out of sight.

  With a taut, even angry voice, he said, “Maybe she’s right. Maybe you are being foolish. There’s a reason, Ms. McKinnon, that most people won’t even let their kids come to our house.”

  She hated the way he said her name, with disappointment and anger and even contempt.

  It was the contempt that made her bristle. “You’re being an idiot,” she snapped, and got into her car, leaving him standing in the parking lot looking down at her. “Good night.” She half hoped he’d stop her from closing her car door, say he was sorry, thank her again.

  He did none of the above. She couldn’t see his expression as she nodded, started the car and backed out. When she drove away, he was still standing there, shoulders hunched, unbearably alone.

  If not for Malcolm, she might have turned around and gone back.

  If not for Malcolm and the sneering words that she heard over and over.

  Either you’re being very foolish, Ms. McKinnon, or you’re getting your kicks from flirting with a killer.

  Multiple choice. A or B.

  Unless there was a C. Unless her deepest instincts were right, and she wasn’t foolish at all.

  Because he wasn’t a killer.

  A, B or C?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THAT NIGHT, Craig slumped in an easy chair in the family room, ostensibly watching the evening news. In
reality, the flickering images before him were just that—background. The flashing lights of a never-ending carnival.

  He grunted at the imagery. Yeah, a carnival. That was life. Dirty and tawdry behind the glitter and hope. And he was stuck on a ride. Probably one of those damn things that twirled you upside down until you puked.

  He took a swallow of the soda he’d been nursing—no booze for him, he had a flight tomorrow afternoon.

  What a jackass he’d been tonight, reacting with anger because Robin had hinted that the cop’s warning had made her a little nervous.

  The miracle was that she’d been friendly to start with, willing to reach out to Brett, to treat Craig as if he were any other father. He and she weren’t dating. He had no right to feel hurt.

  Of course she felt doubt. She should, damn it. She had no reason to believe in him when no one else but his father did.

  But he wished she did. She wasn’t the fool. He was. Despite his vows, he’d let himself feel things he shouldn’t.

  Staring bleakly at the television screen, Craig made himself butt up against reality. Again.

  He couldn’t have Robin McKinnon, couldn’t touch her, had no business even asking whether she might feel the same attraction, until he knew what had happened to Julie.

  Which might be never. Divorcing Julie wouldn’t free him. Neither would declaring her dead after the seven years Washington state required him to wait.

  Conclusion? Stay away from Robin.

  ROBIN CAUGHT UP with him when he tried to drop Brett at soccer practice on Friday and make a getaway. He’d succeeded for a week, a victory of sorts. Today, she must have laid in wait, she appeared so immediately.

  She smiled and greeted his son, then marched right up to Craig’s side of the car, leaving him with no choice but to roll down the window.

  She shouldn’t have been beautiful in an outfit as ordinary as a red turtleneck, jeans and a navy blue polartec vest, but she was. Just the sight of her, slim, energetic and shining with ideals, made his gut tighten.

  She skipped the pretense. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

  “I was away.”

  “You’ve brought Brett to practice three days in a row.”

  He thought about asking coolly if they’d had an appointment. But, damn it, she deserved better.

  “Staying away from you seemed like the best thing to do. For both our sakes.” The minute the last few words left his mouth, Craig knew he should have kept his mouth shut.

  Robin’s eyes widened. “Both our sakes? Am I bad for your reputation?”

  He scowled at her. “You know it isn’t that.”

  She was as stubborn as a bomber pilot who had his eyes only on the target. “Then what is it?”

  She had no idea. He’d be sure it stayed that way.

  “I’d like to be friends with you, Robin.” Friends. That so tepid, he doubted she’d buy it. But, if he was lucky, she hadn’t noticed that he was having trouble keeping his hands off her. “But I’d be putting you in one awkward position after another. It’s not fair.”

  She rocked on her heels and considered him, her eyes narrowed now. “Isn’t that my decision?”

  Increasing desperation made his voice hoarse. “I can’t let it be.”

  “So you’re just going to be noble and friendless, even while you push your kids to get back to normal lives.”

  “Whatever choices Julie made doesn’t have anything to do with them. They’re kids. They have a right.”

  Robin nodded as if understanding. “And you don’t.” She let the silence grow before frowning thoughtfully. “No, we’d better back up a step here. You don’t have a right. Instead, you have to live in some kind of…uh…”

  He supplied the word from between gritted teeth. “Purgatory.”

  She blinked, then recovered. “Purgatory. You have to exist forever in purgatory because…”

  His knuckles were white where he gripped the steering wheel. “Because I’m married. Because I’m under suspicion of having murdered my wife.”

  “Even men in prison for having murdered their wives have friends.”

  The first frost might not come tonight, but it would soon. Her nose and cheeks were pink from the bite in the air. Her lips would be cold, too, her breath warm between them.

  “Robin, don’t push.” He sounded harsh.

  “I thought…” She bit her lip, nodded and stepped back. “I’m sorry. It’s one of my failings.”

  His chest burned. “No,” Craig said roughly. “It’s one of your strengths.”

  Her gaze flew to his then. “Then?”

  She wouldn’t give up. He was either going to have to be a son of a bitch or he was going to have to bare himself.

  Of course, he didn’t really have a choice. He couldn’t let her walk away feeling…unwanted.

  Unwanted. What a joke.

  “You…tempt me.”

  She didn’t move, but her pupils contracted. Because he’d startled her? Or because… No. Damn it, he wouldn’t even let himself dream.

  Raggedly, he continued, “You make me want things to be different. But they can’t be. Not until I know what happened to Julie.”

  “What if…” Her voice was small, husky. “What if you never do?”

  With raw honesty, he said, “I don’t know. If it weren’t for the kids…” Even drawing a breath hurt. He looked away from her. “I try not to think about that possibility.”

  Robin didn’t speak for a long time. When she did, her few quiet words made him feel like he’d just driven into a telephone pole.

  “You…make me want things to be different, too.” She gave a small painful smile. “I hope they find her, Craig.” She hesitated, nodded and walked away, toward the field where their sons practiced.

  Watching her go, her back straight, her hair shimmering with every color from wheat to amber in the late afternoon light, he half wished he had just gone head-on into a telephone pole. What was the splintering agony of a few broken bones compared to knowing he couldn’t go after her? Not now. Not ever.

  HE MISSED Saturday’s game. Robin feared that was her fault, until she saw Brett’s grandfather apparently returning from the concession stand with a steaming cup of espresso after the teams had already lined up.

  Robin waved at him and he came over to her. Pretending to puff, he said, “I cut that short. At least I didn’t miss the save of the game.”

  She laughed. “No, that hasn’t happened yet.”

  His grandson was the goalie. Gradually, he’d taken over the starting position while Josh most often played forward.

  Oh so casually, she asked, “Craig off somewhere exotic?”

  “Montreal again. He claims airport hotels look the same the world around.”

  “They probably do.” She made a face. “Isn’t that sad? Surely he does some sightseeing!”

  “Oh, I’m sure.” He clapped when the other team kicked off and called out encouragement to Brett, then continued, “He brings little things home to the kids. They don’t look like duty-free gifts. I’m sure he ventures out. You know, on his international flights, he has at least a day layover. You have to do something to fill the time.”

  “Mmm,” she agreed, then gasped as a blue-shirted player booted the ball toward the corner of Brett’s goal.

  He made the save and kicked the ball back over the heads of the cluster of boys around the goal, but the game was as fast and aggressive as any they’d played. Within minutes of the second period beginning, Brett allowed a goal. The only goal, as it turned out. His teammates couldn’t match it and he walked off the field with his head down.

  The other boys slapped him on the back and each said a few words, but after they lined up to congratulate the opposing team, he went off by himself and yanked off his goalie gear, throwing each piece to the ground with violent bursts of frustration.

  Malcolm talked to him, then shrugged and came over to his mother. “I’m ready.”

  “Brett’s not coming home with us
?”

  Her son shrugged. “He says he’s too bummed.”

  Worried, she saw the sulky-faced boy who had first walked into her classroom. The young James Dean, simmering with repressed anger.

  Was it just the game that had gotten to him? Or was the renewed investigation and suspicion of his father more than he could handle?

  She smiled her sympathy at Mr. Lofgren, who muttered, “Thanks,” before going to his grandson and saying, “Ready?”

  Robin thought about e-mailing Craig that evening. Online, she typed a few beginnings but erased each and finally closed Microsoft Explorer. Brett was competitive and he felt as if he’d let down his teammates. That was all. She was looking for an excuse, and she should be ashamed of herself for even thinking about using Brett.

  Sunday she worked on lesson plans and graded papers. She was a human being and she’d come to terms with the fact that she sometimes had favorite students—so long as she was sure in her heart that she never showed that favoritism. Brett was the student she wanted most to see thrive. She agonized when she had to give him a bad grade and was thrilled when he did well.

  Even in his journal, Robin hadn’t seen any more violent fantasies—only anger and frustration that seemed more age-appropriate. If he still seethed with rage, he was hiding it well. But she didn’t really believe it was there.

  On Friday they had peer-graded a vocabulary test, and he had been the only student in the class to get 100%. Today, she was equally pleased to read a short story that was a funny takeoff on Harry Potter. He used fanciful imagery remarkably well, especially for a boy determined to display a tough facade to the world.

  Ryan, on the other hand, had written about a teenager accused of murdering a teacher, whose body was never found. He got off, but in the last paragraph slyly admitted he’d done it. Robin was not amused. She was also very glad this assignment hadn’t been peer-reviewed, and that she hadn’t asked students to read their stories aloud without having seen them first herself.

  On Monday she asked Ryan to stay in during recesses and start work on a new story. “One that makes use of your creativity, not your desire to humiliate another student.”