“You want Daniel to get used to living in a normal
home,” I said.
“Best for him to get used to a real home again,” Shelly
said, nodding.
A man entered the room. He looked weary but happy.
He was a slightly paunchy man with a receding hairline
and deep bags under his eyes.
“You must be Henry,” he said, offering his hand.
“Randall Linwood.”
“Mr. Linwood,” I said. “Thanks so much for having me.
I’m grateful for you letting me into your home.”
“Thank you, Mr. Parker. With so many vultures circling
us since Daniel’s return, it’s good to have someone we feel
we can trust handling the story. Shelly and I have done our
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homework on you and your newspaper. I think we’re all
in good hands.”
“You are, sir. I ask for nothing but the truth, and I give
nothing but my word.” Shelly smiled at this, flicked at her
eye as though wiping away a nonexistent tear.
“Anyway, I have to get back to the office. I wanted to
be here to meet the senator, but if I miss any more time,
Daniel’ll have to eat Spaghetti O’s for the next few weeks.
Pleasure to meet you, Henry.”
“Likewise, sir.”
When Randy Linwood left, I heard a brief scuffle come
from another room. Looking through the doorway, I saw
two pairs of eyes peering at me from between the slats on
a staircase. Just as quickly as they appeared, the legs they
were attached to ran back up the stairs, whispers following.
“James and Tasha,” Shelly said, brushing a strand of
hair from her face, the red still there. “They’re not really
sure how to deal with all of this. We’re so happy, but all
this…attention, it’s not what they’re used to. They deal
with it in their own way.”
“I can’t imagine going through what you’ve been through.
But I have to say, Mrs. Linwood, you’re handling it well.”
“I’d say thank you, but it’s not on purpose.”
“Have the police been helpful?”
“Oh, my, incredibly so. I actually thought it’d be much
worse, but they’ve barely spent more than half an hour here
since Danny came back. In fact, when the senator came,
that’s the first time I saw more than two of them at the
same time.” I found that strange, but allowed Shelly to
continue. She paused for a moment, said softly, “We’re just
so glad to have Daniel back. It’s like, a wave crashing over
you when you’re ready to burst into flame. I can’t explain
it. All I know is I love him now more than I ever did.”
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Jason Pinter
Without thinking, my hand went to my briefcase and I
started to unlatch it. My eyes snapped back to Shelly, a
sheepish grin on my face.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’d kind of like to keep the tape
recorder running, if you don’t mind. Things like that, what
you just said, they’d add a lot to the story. I don’t want the
piece to be just about Daniel and how his return has
affected him, but what it’s meant to your family. How it
affects you, your husband, your other children.” Shelly
smiled, nodded once. I took out the recorder, raised my
eyebrows, clicked it on.
“Are you recording now?” she asked.
“I am.”
“So this will go in your interview?”
I laughed. “Not everything. Not what you just said,
only if it relates to Daniel and your family.”
“Can you print swear words?” she asked.
“Uh…no.”
“Okay, I curse sometimes and I don’t want Daniel to
get embarrassed by his potty-mouthed mother.”
I smiled at her.
Behind Shelly, I noticed a row of photographs lining a
gray shelf. Inside the frames were pictures of the Linwood
family. Most of the photos had just four people in them.
Shelly, Randy, James and Tasha. Two pictures had been
placed in front of the others. One was of all five Linwoods:
Randy, Shelly, Tasha, James and Daniel. It looked like a
photo from a Christmas card, all five bundled in warm
sweaters, posed on a couch with smiles as big as they could
muster.
“The last photo we took as a family,” Shelly said.
“Tasha was only a year old.”
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“It’s beautiful,” I said. Then I looked at the photo next
to it.
The picture was of their daughter, Tasha, when she was
just a child, maybe one or two years old. Tasha wasn’t facing
the camera. Her head and body were turned away, short
blond hair caught in the wind. There was nothing particularly
photogenic about the pic, nothing that seemed extraordinary.
“Tasha’s birthday,” Shelly was quick to point out.
“There was a leak in the basement. We lost so many photo
albums. This is the only one we could save. Not the best
shot, but it’s what’s in it that matters. She’s just so carefree.”
I smiled back at her. “Should we get Daniel?”
Shelly bit her lip, then relaxed. “Have a seat. I’ll be right
back.”
I sat down on the couch. An oak coffee table separated
me from a chair where I assumed Daniel would sit. The
couch was dark brown, microfiber, half a dozen stains of
varying color and size spattered about. A silver robot
peeked out from beside the television set, and a few stray
doll hairs were tucked between the cushions. The
Linwoods’ living room was well worn, well used. The
photos on the mantel didn’t look like they were placed
there for Senator Talbot. I could tell from the dust patterns
and slightly faded wood surrounding them that they were
barely ever moved. That photo of Tasha, though, captivated my interest. It just seemed so out of place.
I placed the tape recorder on the coffee table; better to
keep it in plain sight than unnerve Daniel by taking it out
after he’d settled down. I breathed easy. Waited.
I heard Shelly say, “Come on, sweetheart,” and into the
room stepped a young boy. He was a little over five feet
tall, with dark, tousled hair and hazel eyes. Those eyes
appeared less curious than slightly fearful, as though he
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Jason Pinter
was being led through a curtain into somewhere unknown.
His cheeks bore a few freckles that surely got him teased
as a kid, but in ten years would make him look cute, even
handsome. His limbs were gangly, face thin. I remembered my growth spurt at about the same age, thinking I’d
end up being eight feet tall and starting at center for the
Lakers. Of course neither happened. For a moment I
believed Daniel’s tentativeness was directed toward me,
but then I realized that there was a gap of nearly five years
in this boy’s memory. He wasn’t just feeling me out, but
his whole life.
Shelly kept her hands on his shoulders, gentle but
muscles tensed, as though he could topple over
at any
moment and shatter. Daniel’s only hesitation was in his
gait, otherwise he looked like a regular boy, ready to lose
himself in too much homework, too many video games,
and the dreams of years he had yet to know.
“Hey, Daniel,” I said, standing up slightly, trying to
make him relax. “I’m Henry. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Danny,” he said. “Just Danny.” No hesitation there. I
saw a frown glimmer across Shelly’s face, but she said
nothing.
“Danny,” I said. “Well, Danny, thanks for letting me talk
to you.” His nod said he wasn’t quite as happy as me.
He smiled tentatively, sat down in a wicker-backed
chair across the table from me. “Could I have a soda?” he
said to Shelly. She was up and heading to the kitchen
before the question was finished. When she’d disappeared,
he looked at the tape recorder. “Is that thing on?”
“Yeah, it is. See that red light?” He nodded. “That
means it’s on.”
“So it’s recording what I’m saying right now?”
“That’s right.”
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“Okay. Shit.” I looked up at him. Danny had a mischievous grin on his face, slightly red with embarrassment.
“Sorry, just wanted to, you know…”
“Yeah, I know.”
“That won’t be in your story, will it?”
“Nah. I’ll keep the uncensored version for my
personal files.”
Shelly came back in carrying a tray with a glass of soda,
another glass of water and a plate of assorted vegetables.
Danny and I shared a smirk. Then I noticed what else was
on the tray: a gauze pad, a bottle of what appeared to be
rubbing alcohol, a cylindrical tube the size of a pen and a vial.
Shelly noticed me looking at this and said, “Daniel,
sorry, Danny has diabetes. I thought it’d be good to give
him his insulin before you got started.”
“Fine with me,” I said. “Danny?”
He nodded. Shelly said, “We did your arm this morning,
right? Let’s go with your leg.”
Danny rolled up his right pant leg, exposing his calf.
Shelly inserted the vial into the pen until it clicked. Then
she unscrewed the cap from the rubbing alcohol, tipping
just enough onto the gauze pad to wet it. She rubbed the
pad on Danny’s calf until it shone. Then she took the pen,
pressed it against his skin and depressed the plunge. Danny
winced slightly.
Shelly removed the pen, wiped down Danny’s leg with
a towel, then took the materials back into the kitchen.
Danny rolled down his pant leg as Shelly returned.
“Sucks,” he said. “Dr. Petrovsky says I have to take it
three times a day.”
“Petrovsky?” I said.
“Dmitri Petrovsky. He’s Daniel’s pediatrician,” Shelly
answered.
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Jason Pinter
I nodded. “You should listen to your doctor. This
medicine helps to keep you healthy,” I told Danny.
“Still sucks.”
“Do you mind if I stay during the, the interview?” she
asked.
“Not at all. If it makes Danny more comfortable, I’d
prefer it.”
“Honey,” she said, “do you mind if Mommy stays?”
“No, I don’t mind if Mommy stays.” “Mommy” came
out with a slightly sarcastic bent. I smiled. I kind of liked
Danny Linwood.
Shelly, satisfied, nestled into a love seat, holding a lace
throw pillow on her lap.
“So, Danny,” I said, “how are things going here? Are
you having a hard time adjusting?” He shrugged. “I need
a little more than that, buddy.”
“It’s okay, I guess. I’m supposed to start school in two
weeks, but I don’t really want to.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know anybody. They’re all going to think I’m
some sort of freak.”
“They do know you, Daniel,” Shelly interrupted. “You
started out in grade school with most of them. Like Cliffy
Willis, remember Cliffy? Or Ashley Whitney?”
I listened.
“No, Mommy, I don’t remember Cliffy. Or Ashley. I
don’t remember anyone.”
“Mrs. Linwood?” I said. She looked at me. Nodded.
Got it. She held the pillow tighter.
“Danny, tell me about the day you came home. You
came to this house, knocked on the door.” Danny nodded.
“Can you tell me what happened right before that?”
Danny shifted in his chair. “I remember lying down,
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then suddenly waking up. I was on the ground, like I’d
fallen asleep or something. I recognized where I was.”
“And where was that?”
“Doubleday Field,” Danny said. “I played peewee
baseball there.”
“What position?”
“Third base.”
“Like A-Rod,” I said.
“No, he’s a shortstop for the Rangers.”
I was about to disagree, when I remembered that in
Danny’s mind, he was correct. The year Danny disappeared, Rodriguez hadn’t yet become a Yankee, hadn’t
yet changed positions. I wondered how much else of
Danny Linwood’s world had changed unbeknownst to
him.
“What happened then?”
“I remember hearing a siren. Like a police car or an ambulance. And then I just started walking home.”
“You knew how to get home?”
“Yeah, I used to walk home every day with…” Danny
searched for the rest of his sentence.
“Cliffy Willis and his mother,” Shelly offered quietly.
Danny looked at her angrily, then the reaction slipped
away.
“Where did you walk?” I asked.
“Home,” he said. “Past the corner store and that brick
wall with the graffiti of the boy that got shot a long time
ago. I got scared for a second when I saw the police car
pull up at the field I just left, but I didn’t think I did
anything wrong so I just went home.”
“Were you hurt?”
“No. Maybe a little tired, s’all. The doctors said they
found something in my system, dia-something.”
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Jason Pinter
“Diazepam,” I said. “It’s a drug used to sedate. The police
report said it was administered a few hours before you woke
up. When you woke up, that’s when it wore off.” I said this
as much to Shelly as Daniel. “I’m sorry, keep going.”
“So, anyway, I walked home, knocked on the door. James
opened it. I knew it was James, but he was, like, three feet
taller than I remembered. And all of a sudden everyone is
squishing the life out of me. Mom, Dad, Tasha, my brothers.”
I saw Shelly smile, the pillow gripped tight in her arms.
“Brothers?” I said.
“James,” he said, “my brother.”
“Right,” I continued. “Do you know how long you
were gone?”
“Mom says almost five years.”
“Does it feel like you’ve been gone a long time?”
“Not really
,” Danny said. “I mean, it’s hard when I, like,
go to do something and can’t do it. Like there used to be
a radiator in my room where I could turn up the heat, but
now we have these electronic-control things. And I don’t
recognize anything on TV, which sucks. All of a sudden
my brothers and sister are, like, old.” I felt a strange mental
tugging sensation. Something Danny had said triggered it,
but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
“Danny, I know the police have probably asked you
these questions already, but did you have any enemies at
school? On the team? Someone you were scared of?” He
shook his head vehemently.
“I remember breaking up with my girlfriend once and
she got mad and cried, that’s it.”
“You had a girlfriend?” Shelly said. “When was this?”
“Mom, come on,” he said.
“What, you can tell the whole world but you can’t
tell me?”
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Danny looked at me, his eyes pleading. I smiled at him.
Six-year-old Danny Linwood with a girlfriend. I wondered
if she’d missed him, or even understood what had happened.
“Mrs. Linwood. Shelly,” I said, looking at Danny from
the corner of my eye. “I need to be able to talk to your son
with his full concentration. I know this is hard and you have
a lot to catch up on with Danny, but I need this to do my job.”
“Your job.” She sneered. “My job is my son.”
“I know that. All I want to do is tell the truth about your
boy. Trust me, I don’t want to upset your family at all.”
“Mom…” Danny said softly. This was likely the first
chance Danny had had to talk about what happened, and
it seemed to even be a bit cathartic for him.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Henry, please.”
“Thank you,” I said politely. “Danny, what was the last
thing you remember before you woke up on that field?”
“I remember being at baseball practice,” he said. “I
don’t know if that’s the last thing that happened. But I
remember Mike Bursaw got hit in the knee by a line drive
and was crying, and Coach was going to send him to the
nurse but Mike wouldn’t let him. And I remember
watching the Yankees on TV and my dad saying Jason
Giambi couldn’t get a hit to save his life, which is weird
because he used to be so good. I mean, I had his poster on
my wall, and every night I’d tell it to go three-for-four with
a home run. I noticed the poster wasn’t on my wall
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