The Moon Pool

by Sophie Littlefield

  Shay was flooded with worry and remorse, but Colleen would have to wait. She picked up the kit and snapped a picture of herself holding it in the mirror, letting her hair obscure her face but making sure her unbuttoned blouse showed, as well as the monogram STC.

  When she came out of the bathroom, Scott had moved to the bedroom. He was sitting on top of the bed, as naked as the day he was born, with one hand behind his head and the other at his crotch. Shay made sure she got close enough for some fine detail before she took the second picture.

  Then she put her phone in the purse and started buttoning her blouse.

  “What the hell?” Scott said, grabbing the sheet and pulling it up over his pale, flabby gut.

  “Settle down,” Shay said calmly. “We just need to have a conversation. I’m not here to make trouble for you. I don’t want anything from you other than your room.”

  “My... what?”

  “This room. I need it. I need you to call down to the desk and prepay it through the end of the week and let them know that your employee will be staying here. And don’t say they won’t let you, because I’ve done it before.”

  She hadn’t, actually, but Mack had done it once when she went up to Sacramento to see him while he was at a conference. He’d had to leave early when his daughter fell off her bike and broke her leg, but he made sure she was set up for the rest of the week in case he could come back.

  “Where the fuck am I supposed to stay?”

  Shay shrugged. “Not really my problem, is it? You told me you had a whole team here, you made sure I knew that all those guys reported to you. So send one of them home and take his room. Look, it’s already almost one. You can probably crash in the lobby until morning. Or call one of your guys and bunk with him, whatever, I don’t really give a shit.”

  “You’re out of your mind. Who the hell are you, anyway?”

  “Start getting dressed and I’ll tell you. Oh, and don’t forget your things from the bathroom. I got a picture of myself and your little bag in there. You know, the one with your initials on it. Gift from your wife?”

  All the color had drained from Scott’s face. He got out of the bed, dragging the sheet with him. As he struggled to get his underwear on without letting the sheet drop, Shay edged toward the door. Scott, with his soft hands and embossed business cards, hardly looked like the violent type, but safe was way better than sorry.

  “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and tell you the truth now. Maybe it will make you less upset with me. I’m the mom of one of the missing boys.”

  Scott had been tugging his pants on. At her words, he stopped, and stood up slowly to stare at her. “The Hunter-Cole boys?”

  “Yes. I’m trying to find my son. I found out there’s been some safety issues that a few of the boys wanted to report. One of my son’s friends said he’d been threatened. I want to find out if my boy got into trouble with Hunter-Cole.”

  Scott swallowed, then resumed dressing. He didn’t say anything until he’d got his shirt on and was fastening his belt.

  “If your son is half as crazy as you, if he was making trouble around the rig... Look, there’s no way I believe they’d hurt anyone, even over at Hunter-Cole. But a payoff? Money to get them to leave town, lie low until they can cover their tracks? Maybe. I’m not saying it happened, or that I’ve ever seen anything like it happen, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”

  He went into the bathroom, emerging a moment later with his toiletries, which he flung into his suitcase. He pulled his shirts and suit coat from the closet and threw them in, not bothering to fold anything. He picked up his phone and stuffed it in his pocket, and got his coat from where he’d thrown it.

  “Look,” he said, as Shay backed away from him, giving him access to the door. “Christ. Why didn’t you just ask me about this? Why all the...” He gestured at the wine, the half-empty glasses, the sofa cushion that had fallen to the floor.

  “Right. Like you would have told me?” Shay shook her head. “This is my son who’s missing. He’s been gone thirteen days. His odds are shit. Don’t you think I know that? I’m balls to the wall here. And if I hurt your feelings, well, I guess I’d be sorry if I had the time. But I don’t. So why don’t you run along now? I’m going to call down in fifteen minutes for room service, so I’ll know if you took care of things like a good boy. If you did, you won’t hear from me again. If you didn’t, well, let’s just say I’m good with a computer and I’ll be able to get these pictures to your home address by tomorrow afternoon.

  “The name to put the room under is Capparelli,” she added. Then she spelled it for him, twice, slowly. “And, just in case you’re wondering, my son’s name is Taylor. Now if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to be alone.”

  KRISTINE ARRIVED IN fifteen minutes. She was unwinding the scarf from her neck and unzipping her coat when she came into the restaurant. Her gaze found Colleen immediately.

  Colleen jumped up from her stool. “I’m Colleen Mitchell.” She put out her hands, and when the girl hesitantly gave her one of her own, she squeezed her cold fingers. “Please, come sit down.”

  Emily came over to the booth, bringing two cups of coffee without being asked. “Hey, Kristine,” she said.

  “Emily, thanks.”

  “I don’t even know where to start,” Colleen said when Emily walked away. “I mean, I guess, maybe... I’m not really myself right now.” She touched her face self-consciously. “I’ve been sleeping in a motor home, though it’s been hard to sleep, and I’ve been worried sick and—oh, God, let me just get right to it, you were with Paul?”

  “Yes,” the girl said carefully. She seemed frightened. “He and I... since last Halloween.”

  Colleen wanted to touch her, just to feel her skin, the hands that had once touched her son. “I’m—his dad and I—well, I can’t even begin to tell you. We just... anything you can tell me. Anything.”

  “It’s just that I didn’t see him that day. Honestly, Mrs. Mitchell, I wish I could tell you something about where he went. I’d give anything...” The look of anguish on her face.

  Colleen couldn’t help the feeling of disappointment that settled into her. God, she was just so tired. Her hopes had been raised and the exhaustion felt bone-deep as they receded. What had she expected—that the girl would be able to explain it all away? Lead her directly to Paul?

  “Kristine...” she said carefully. The last thing she could afford to do was to scare the girl off. “I’d love to know a little more about you. Are you from here?”

  “Yes, ma’am, my family lived here while I was growing up, then they moved away when I was a senior in high school, but I wanted to finish with my class, so I stayed with relatives. I went to Mayville State for a year, but it, you know, it wasn’t for me. So I came back here last year, been working. The money’s good. I might go back to school, I’m not sure.”

  Go back to college... while carrying her grandchild? Colleen felt a flush of anxiety. But the girl probably had no idea that Colleen knew about the baby. “Can you tell me how you and Paul met? If you don’t mind?”

  Kristine flashed a brief, tense smile. “Well, there was a party last Halloween. I went with Chastity, my roommate. She dated Taylor for a while, you know, the other one...” She didn’t finish her sentence. Colleen knew she probably didn’t want to say missing. “Anyway, Paul was there. He was more... polite than the rest of them. You know? I mean they’re all good guys, don’t get me wrong, but Paul was kind of shy and, like, he went and got chairs for all us girls, and he went to get the drinks. He—” She shook her head, her voice going thick. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “No, really, please.” Colleen reached automatically for her tissues, then remembered that she had lost them when they fell out of her purse. “If you knew how much crying I’ve done in the last week...”

  Kristine grabbed a few napkins from the dispenser on the table and dabbed at her eyes. “I was just going to say, I don’t know if this will even m
ake any sense. But we have this one friend? A girl from where I work? And she’s kind of, she’s not the best socially. I think she has some kind of Asperger’s or something? And sometimes people don’t understand and they... I don’t know. Also she’s, like, big? But when people started dancing, Paul asked her first. You should have seen her. She was so happy.”

  A memory of cotillion flashed through Colleen’s mind. Paul had hated it; they’d had a huge fight over it. Andy wanted to let him quit, but Colleen was desperate for him to learn the social skills he’d need in college. Now she saw how ridiculous that was... she’d had some crazy idea that Paul would get into one of the Ivies, that he’d meet girls from old families and get invited to the sort of places... God, she was disgusted with herself, especially because she and Andy weren’t those people, they never had been. It was just some leftover fantasy from her own youth, from her mother. Because he’d looked so nice in his navy jacket, tailored for his fast-growing frame the summer of eighth grade...

  ...and Andy had taken him aside before the first dance and taught him to tie his tie, and then told him that he’d better never find out that his son refused a girl’s request to dance. And then he went one step further and told him that the mark of a gentleman is making sure that every girl gets to dance. Colleen, listening from the kitchen, had pressed the dish towel to her cheek and felt something for her husband that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

  Tears coursed down her face now. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Oh, Mrs. Mitchell, I just feel so bad about all of this.” The girl looked genuinely distressed.

  “Kristine, I hate to ask this now, when we’ve just met, and it’s a terrible violation of your privacy and, and I just hope you’ll forgive me because of what... has happened. But...” She drew a breath, not knowing how to ask, her heart thudding unevenly. “It’s just that I understand that you and Paul might be expecting a baby.”

  Kristine froze. Her eyes went wide with surprise. She slowly lowered her hand to the table. Then she picked up her purse and pressed it to her chest. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper as she slid out of the booth. “I’m so sorry, but I have to go.”

  “No, please,” Colleen said, wanting to chase after her. “Please don’t go, I shouldn’t have brought it up, I—”

  “I’m sorry,” Kristine said again, and then she was sprinting for the door. Emily called after her, but she didn’t turn around.

  Colleen got out of the booth, staring after her, unable to breathe.

  “Mrs. Mitchell, are you okay?” Emily was ringing up a customer at the register, but she left off in the middle of the transaction and came around the counter. “Can I help?”

  “No... no, I’m fine.” Colleen stood up straighter and reached for her purse. “You’ve been so very kind, and I know you have your hands full.” She avoided Emily’s gaze, digging in her purse for her phone.

  Reluctantly, Emily went back to the register. Colleen checked her messages. A text from Shay: Call me ASAP

  Before Colleen dialed, she sent a text to Kristine, taking care with the wording, trying to strike a tone that wouldn’t put her off. Please forgive me for bringing up a subject you may not wish to discuss. Could we please talk again?

  Then she called Shay.

  Once again, Shay was all Colleen had.

  SHAY GOT TO the truck stop in less than ten minutes. She drove up on the sidewalk in front, leaned across, and opened the door. “Look,” she said before Colleen could say anything, “it’s too late and I’m too tired to get into it again right now. So just get in and let’s both keep our mouths shut until after we get some sleep.”

  “Did Brenda change her mind?” Colleen slid gratefully into the seat. Suddenly she felt like she was about to pass out from exhaustion. The clock on Shay’s dashboard read two forty-two.

  “Not exactly. Look, I’ll tell you the whole story in the morning. I got us a hotel room. We have it through Thursday.”

  “You... how did you do that?”

  “Aren’t you listening? Shit, I’m sorry. Look, it’s kind of a long story.”

  They rode the rest of the way in silence. Shay’s irritability weighed on Colleen, but it was tempered by the secret she was holding. She would have to tell Shay in the morning, but for now it was hers alone, a precious bit of hope in the desperate landscape of her mind.

  Colleen had seen the Hyatt from the plane when they landed, the biggest and newest hotel in the area. It was brightly lit, the parking lot full. Shay drove right up to the circular drive, where a sleepy-looking bellman hurried to open her door.

  She handed him the keys. “Hey, Col, do you have a few bucks for a tip?”

  COLLEEN WOKE AT nine thirty to the vibration of her phone alarm, which she’d set last night and left on the nightstand. Sun streamed through the hotel room’s windows. They’d been too tired to close the drapes last night, too tired to pull out the sleeper sofa, too tired to do anything but fall asleep in their clothes.

  Across the expanse of the king-size bed, Shay slept in the same compact, motionless little ball in which she’d slept at the motor home. She snored faintly on the exhale, but Colleen envied her peaceful sleep. She’d woken a couple of times from nightmares that immediately vanished, leaving only unease and dread in their wake.

  Colleen closed her eyes and said the prayer she said every morning now: Please, God. Please. She knew there should be more, faulted herself for being unable to come up with the words, but it was the best she could do. This time, though, after focusing on Paul’s face, she allowed herself to think—very briefly—of the girl, of the baby she carried.

  The word slipped into her mind, past the hasty, inadequate defenses she’d built. Grandmother. She was a grandmother, at least in this moment. And from there it was an irresistible leap to the baby itself, probably no larger than a pea, a bean so far. Kristine had the fair complexion that was heartbreakingly lovely on young girls but didn’t age well: her straw-yellow hair was thin, her milky skin already creased at the eyes. But she had dimples when she smiled, and a sweet Cupid’s-bow mouth: an old-fashioned, innocent kind of pretty.

  Combined with Paul’s olive skin and his good proportions, the baby couldn’t help but be beautiful, could he? Or she? Paul’s hair had come in curly; Colleen couldn’t bear to cut it until his first birthday. How many thousands of times had she twisted the curl at the nape of his neck around her finger, just for the joy of watching it spring free? To do so again—a girl, perhaps it would be a girl, with her mother’s blue eyes?

  “Stop it, stop it,” Colleen whispered to herself. Imagining had left her breathless: it was a dangerous exercise, the return from even a fleeting fantasy far too painful. If Kristine wasn’t going to keep the baby, Colleen needed to know now, so she could take the temptation out of the equation as she searched for Paul.

  She checked her phone. Nothing. Before she could think better of it, she messaged Kristine again: PLEASE. I only want to help.

  KRISTINE FINALLY TEXTED back when they were having breakfast in the Hyatt’s dining room. Colleen had showered and dressed before waking Shay, and it was nearly ten thirty now.

  Can you come to my apartment at 12:20? It has to be right at 12:20, sorry. Will explain.

  “Anything important?” Shay asked.

  “I... I’m not sure.” She wasn’t ready to tell her about the baby yet. Maybe Kristine wanted to tell her she had decided not to keep it. Colleen didn’t think she could bear the pain of having to talk about another loss; she wouldn’t tell Shay unless it turned out that Kristine was planning to keep the baby. Maybe Kristine had class in the morning and only a brief break before her shift; that would explain the timing.

  As Colleen texted back, asking for the address and promising to do her best to get there, a young man in a wool overcoat dragged a roll-aboard to the hostess stand. “Could I get a cup of coffee to go?”

  “Certainly, sir,” the young woman said. “Getting ready to fly out?�
�

  “Yes, got the last seat on the noon to Minneapolis.”

  “That was lucky.”

  “You’re telling me. I thought I was here all week and then this morning I got called back. No offense, but I don’t know how you people stand it here.”

  “I’ll just go get your coffee,” the woman said, ignoring the jab.

  “That’s him,” Shay said in an amused voice. “The guy Scott sent home so he could have his room. His job was probably wiping Scott’s ass or something, and now Scott is going to have to do it himself.”

  Shay had told her the whole story as they got ready. Colleen had been both impressed and vaguely sickened. She’d been certain she couldn’t have pulled off what Shay had—and then she realized that if it meant getting information out of him that could help her find Paul, she probably would have done whatever he asked. The difference was that she wouldn’t have been sharp enough to get the upper hand at the end the way Shay had.

  “Thank you,” she said stiffly. “For coming to get me, for getting us the room.”

  Shay didn’t say anything for a moment. She set down her fork and stared out the window, across the parking lot to the airport. Banks of plowed snow glittered in the blinding morning sun, and a small plane like the one Colleen had arrived on waited outside the terminal.

  “That room you said Andy got?” Shay finally said.

  “Yes.”

  “You owe me now. That room’s half mine. As long as we’re here, as long as it takes.” Her face had darkened slightly.

  “Of course.”

  “And it’s not charity. This isn’t you doing me a favor. We need to get that straight.”

  “I never said—”

  “Let me finish. I just want it understood between us, I did my part last night. You probably think it’s easy for me, with him, letting him put his hands on me, just because you look at me and think I give it away every chance I get.”

  Colleen wanted to object, but she kept her mouth shut, her hands clenching in her lap.