A Son's Tale

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Pulling her panties back up, she grabbed the thing before it could vibrate off the counter.

  “Hello?”

  “Were you asleep?”

  He always asked. Kind of silly. But she liked that he did. “Of course not.”

  “You busy?”

  She stared at herself in the mirror. “No.”

  “Good. Do you mind if we talk a minute?” There was a new note in his voice. Something more personal than she’d heard before.

  Her nipples were hard again. And she hadn’t touched them this time.

  She turned her back to the mirror and grabbed her robe with her free hand, holding it up to her chest. “No, I don’t mind. What’s up?”

  “How was your day?”

  “Fine.” Minus the bit with her father. But he hadn’t called to hear about that. He hadn’t known she was meeting with her dad. “How about you? Your father said you were on a business call.”

  “I had some calls to make. Mostly I just wanted to give Dad some time alone with Sammie. It seems to have paid off.”

  “The way Sammie ran his mouth tonight, I’d agree,” she said. “Every word out of his mouth was either basketball or Frank. He said your dad told him to call him Frank.”

  “It’s his name.”

  “I would have preferred Mr. Whittier.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m guessing Dad was going for something a kid would feel more comfortable with. I can tell him to cut the Frank and go back to Mr. Whittier if you’d like.”

  Morgan smiled. “No, Frank’s fine. I’m just glad it’s working out so well. The man time with Sammie.”

  Not that it was going to help her with her case. Which she needed to tell Cal before his father got too attached to Sammie. “Maybe too well,” Cal said.

  Sliding down to the fluffy bath mat, Morgan leaned back against the tub, watching the shadows from the candle she’d lit flicker on the ceiling. “What’s up?” she asked.

  It hadn’t occurred to her until that second that Cal had called to bail out on their plan. But that would save her from having to tell him that their plan wasn’t going to have a chance. She’d just hoped that Sammie would have at least one more day like today before she was forced to pull the rug out from underneath him again.

  “I have something to discuss with you, but I’m going to ask you not to discuss our conversation with Sammie.”

  “Okay.” What else could she say? She had to know what was going on. “If, after hearing what you have to say, I change my mind about that, I’ll let you know before I talk to him.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “So what’s up?” Her tea was growing cold. Her bathwater was growing cold. She was getting cold, too.

  Morgan listened, without saying a word, while Cal told her about the honor her son had shared with his father. An honor he hadn’t told her about because he knew she didn’t have the means to help him.

  Her father was going to use all of his power to win his fight. And if she didn’t have Sammie on her side, because she couldn’t give him what he wanted and needed, she didn’t have a hope in hell of keeping her son.

  “…so here’s what I propose,” Cal was saying. “After just two visits, it’s safe to say that my father needs Sammie as much or more than Sammie needs Dad. My father would very much like to pay for any fees and expenses involved if Sammie makes the team. And he’d like to be able to pick Sammie up after school and take him to practice. Dad doesn’t drive, but they could take the bus. Dad’s already checked and there’s a route between the nursing home and Sammie’s school and, with one transfer, they could be at the junior high in time for practice. After practice, either you or I could pick the two of them up and drop them off at home. That’s saying Sammie makes the team at all. First he’d have to make it through tryouts, which start next week.”

  For the second time that day Morgan was choked up. This time the tears didn’t fall. She could hardly believe that life could be so horrible and so wonderful all in the same day.

  “So what do you say?”

  What could she say? She had to think of Sammie. Of what was best for her son. Sammie knew that her father wanted him to live at the mansion. He didn’t know that George was taking them to court to win custody away from Morgan.

  “What if my father wins the court case?”

  “What if a tornado hits one of our houses tonight?”

  Her father intimidated the hell out of her. He scared her until she couldn’t think straight.

  But she didn’t waver in her belief that Sammie was better off with her.

  There was still a chance that Leslie would be fair.

  And that Frank’s offer would help keep Sammie home.

  “With your permission, my father would like to make his offer to Sammie on Thursday, telling him that he has to discuss the offer with you before accepting.”

  “You have my permission under one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’d like to hear your father speak for himself.”

  Several minutes later, all was quiet in Morgan’s house as she lay in her newly warmed bath, with a newly heated cup of tea, smiling at the shadows that danced on her ceiling.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ON THURSDAY, FIVE DAYS before their custody hearing, Leslie Dinsmore followed Sammie from her office after their meeting.

  “Can I speak with you?” The words were no less threatening to Morgan in spite of the woman’s kind smile. “Sammie can wait with Molly.” She motioned to the receptionist inside the security screening area of the court offices building. Leslie had been to their house the day before, as had a man from child services, in two separate visits.

  Just as Julie’s attorney friend had predicted, she was on trial as surely as if she’d committed a crime. Had they found something wrong with her home? Something that made her an unfit parent?

  Leslie’s office, a room she shared with other attorneys and volunteers, was completely decorated in bright colors, from the tile on the floor to the artwork on the walls. It reminded Morgan of the day care.

  “Is there a problem?” she asked, acutely aware of the big cherry stain on the sleeve of her shirt. There’d been an accident during snack time at work and the tray of drinks Morgan had been delivering to the three-year-olds had ended up on the floor by way of her arm.

  “No, I just have some questions.” The woman’s flat sandals made soft sounds as she headed to the couch. Leslie Dinsmore always looked professional and today’s light cotton navy slacks and clean white blouse were no exception. She was perfectly coiffed and clean, and wearing clothes that fit her slender body as though they’d been tailored just for her.

  Morgan resisted the urge to ask if anyone had noticed the tailored clothes in her closet when they’d inspected her home—all gifts from her mother.

  She resisted the urge to blurt out how much she loved her son. And that expensive clothes and shoes were not as important as quality time spent together.

  Keeping her mouth quiet, Morgan took a seat in an orange-colored armchair across from the blue couch.

  “Every other word out of Sammie’s mouth today was Frank,” the woman said, easily enough. Her pen and papers sat on the table beside her as she turned her full attention on Morgan.

  “Frank Whittier,” Morgan said. “He’s the father of Dr. Caleb Whittier, head of the English department at Wallace,” Morgan explained, the words she’d already worked out in her mind for cou
rt on Tuesday coming to her aid. “I’ve known Dr. Whittier for four years. He’s my undergrad adviser and I’ve had several classes with him. I was in his class the day that Sammie went missing, and he was kind enough to stay with my parents and Detective Warner and me that night. He kept the coffee coming, made sure we all ate and generally maintained a level of calm in the midst of all the panic.”

  “So that’s the Cal that Sammie mentioned.”

  “Right.” She quickly added, “Dr. Whittier and I aren’t dating or anything. My focus is fully on Sammie. But I mentioned to Dr. Whittier that you’d said that Sammie was lacking male attention and he knew about Sammie’s obsession with basketball. His father, who is retired and lives with him, used to be a basketball coach. They offered to have Sammie come over to shoot hoops on the afternoons when he used to hang out at the day care and wait for me to finish work.”

  Leslie nodded, her short brown hair bobbing. And she smiled. “Sammie’s obviously thrilled with the arrangement.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “He tells me that Frank is training him for tryouts for the junior high basketball team.”

  “That’s right. He was invited to try out even though he’s only going into fifth grade in the fall. The coach is a college friend of the secretary at Sammie’s school. Julie talked to him about Sammie after the…campout…and he said he’d take a look at him.”

  The campout. She couldn’t say Sammie ran away. It sounded so awful. And her son hadn’t really run away. He’d just gone camping overnight without permission. He’d planned all along to come home.

  “Julie said that the coach has made it a practice to look at the upcoming fifth graders and that he occasionally invites boys to try out for the team a year early. They don’t play much, but they get to be a part of the team and to participate fully in all practices. He’s a firm believer in engaging kids in healthy activities at a young age so they will hopefully keep them up as they get older.”

  Morgan had spoken with Coach Safford personally after she’d received a phone call from Frank, assuring her that he was committed to helping Sammie should he make the team.

  “I’m glad to hear this,” Leslie said. “Sammie’s so excited and I wanted to make sure that he wasn’t reading more into something than was there.”

  Morgan nodded. “It’s for real,” she said. Please, please tell the courts I’m a good mother and that my son belongs with me.

  Leslie smiled. “This sounds good, then.”

  “So that’s it? That’s what you wanted to speak with me about?” No bad news from her father’s side of the fence?

  “That’s it.” Leslie stood. “Unless there’s anything else you’d like to discuss with me.”

  Morgan stood. “Nope. All is well.”

  “I gather Sammie has enjoyed his visits with your parents, as well,” Leslie said as they slowly crossed the room together.

  “Yeah, he usually does. My mom spoils him.” Did Leslie know that Sammie’s visits to her parents’ home were not a new occurrence? That the only change was her father’s participation?

  She dismissed the idea of telling the woman herself. Leslie was Sammie’s “friend,” a supposedly impartial third party, and Morgan didn’t want to be accused of trying to sway the woman.

  “I see that you’re representing yourself in court on Tuesday,” the woman said, stopping just before they reached the door.

  “Yeah,” Morgan said, stopping, too. Leslie Dinsmore seemed sincere. As if she really just had Sammie’s best interests at stake and wasn’t being influenced in any way by her father.

  “I spoke with an attorney.” She took a chance with the truth. “She told me that in this case, in her opinion, I’d be more effective speaking for myself. This isn’t a matter of law, it’s a matter of Sammie’s well-being and happiness. She said that my father is basically putting me on trial and all she’d do as my attorney is call me to the stand to refute or reframe his claims. She said I’d be better off saving the fifteen-hundred-dollar retainer fee for Sammie’s school clothes.”

  Which was good because she’d have had to borrow the money to cover the legal costs.

  “Your attorney might be right,” Leslie said. “And one other thing, just so you know, it wouldn’t be a negative if you were dating your Dr. Whittier. Aside from any complications that might present for you two at school, that is. A man in your life could be good for your son. Having a bit of your focus and attention on someone other than him might actually be a good thing for Sammie.”

  Morgan’s chest tightened. Had Leslie read her mind? Was she trained enough to see that Morgan had a thing for her college professor?

  Either way, there was no way she could ask Cal out… .

  “I’m not saying you need to go and purposely find a man to date,” Leslie added. “Quite the opposite. I’m just saying that if someone comes along that interests you, don’t feel you have to deny yourself a normal life to be a good mom.”

  On that note, Morgan made her escape.

  * * *

  MORGAN DIDN’T STICK around after class on Monday. Cal stopped her on her way out the door to wish her luck in court the next day. And to confirm that he was still supposed to collect Sammie from school Tuesday afternoon.

  “If you don’t mind,” she said. “The judge said Sammie doesn’t have to be in court. He just wants to hear from my father and me and Leslie Dinsmore this time. It’s a preliminary hearing, I guess. No witnesses.”

  “So he won’t be making his determination?” Cal asked, standing with her just inside the doorway of the classroom, his soft-sided briefcase tucked under his arm.

  “I don’t know.”

  She wasn’t meeting his gaze and seemed in a hurry to leave.

  So Cal let her go.

  * * *

  HE HAD TWO CALLS waiting for him when he got back to his office. He returned Kelsey’s first and accepted her invitation to grill steaks at her place that evening.

  “We can swim in my pool after, if you’d like,” she’d said.

  “I’d have to swing by my place for my suit,” he told her, thinking a night by the pool with a beautiful and engaging woman was just what he needed.

  “Or…you could swim without one.”

  Thinking that sounded even better, Cal told Kelsey he’d pick up a bottle of wine and then called his father to let him know he’d be on his own for dinner.

  Frank thanked him for calling, and that was it. His father rarely asked where Cal went, or with whom. Never expressed pleasure or disapproval, or even curiosity. And somewhere along the way, Cal had ceased sharing the details of his life with his father.

  Except for Morgan Lowen. They both talked about her.

  With thoughts of an evening with Kelsey to shore him up, Cal returned his second call. Ramsey Miller picked up on the first ring.

  “You’re right, there are some interesting similarities among the abductions in your files,” the detective said without any pleasantries. “You had some things I didn’t, a couple of reported abductions that I didn’t know about, and I spend my days going through cold case abductions. But after spending two full days cross-checking, I’m still nowhere. There’s not enough solid evidence to tie any of it to Claire Sanderson’s disappearance.”

  Cal could have told him that. If he’d have found something, he’d have done something about it.

  “I have to wonder if you were wasting my time, Professor. Sending me in one direction so I don’t go in another. I nee
d that missing evidence.”

  “I want Claire Sanderson found just as badly as you do.” Probably more so, but it wasn’t a point worth arguing.

  “You want me to leave your father alone.”

  Cal tapped a pencil against the edge of his desk as he heard the thinly veiled threat. “What do you want from me?”

  “Your book.”

  “It’s not really a book. More of a journal, with some prose mixed in. It’s not finished.” And it wasn’t for anyone’s eyes but his.

  “You got something written there that would implicate your father in the disappearance of Claire Sanderson?”

  “No.”

  “Prove it.”

  “You got a warrant?”

  “No, but I can get one.”

  Cal wasn’t so sure about that. He also didn’t want the man anywhere near his father.

  “If I cooperate, do I have your word you’ll stay away from my father?”

  “That is not a promise I can make. Let’s be clear, Professor. I believe your father knows something about what happened to that little girl. If I find any new evidence to support that theory, I will follow up on it. And let’s be equally clear on this. You need to send me the manuscript willingly and in its original form—since we have the software to track any changes or deletions. If you don’t, I will be forced to come to Tennessee to collect it. At that time I will also make the best use of the state of Massachusetts’ money and stop in for a visit with your father.”

  Cal broke the pencil with one hand. “I assume you have email?”

  * * *

  NO ONE AT THE DAY care knew that Morgan might lose her son. No one in her life, besides Cal, knew about her pending court date. Except for Julie.

  If it got to the point where she could call witnesses on her behalf, she’d let her boss know what was going on. And ask Cal and Frank Whittier to testify on her behalf, too. But for now, she had to rely on herself.

  Monday evening, Julie phoned Morgan.

  “How are you doing?”