“Any chance I could speak to him a minute?” Dwight asked.
“Sure. I’ll send him right out and if you’d like to have lunch with him, we go to the cafeteria at eleven-forty-five.”
At eight, Cal was still young enough to lack self-consciousness about showing affection, and Dwight felt a primal surge of love as his son launched himself straight up into his arms for an off-the-floor hug.
With his arms laced around Dwight’s neck, he leaned back and grinned happily. “That was so cool, Dad! Did you see Jeremy’s eyes when he saw your gun? All he has is that same dumb snake he brought for show-and-tell last year.”
Dwight set him back on the floor and squatted down beside him. Every time he saw Cal, the boy seemed to have grown another inch and to have matured more in his speech and comprehension. He decided not to ask about the discrepancy between what Cal had said last night and what Miss Jackson had just told him, but damned if he wasn’t going to ask Jonna to let him have Cal for the whole summer. If she balked this year, he was ready to take her back to court and get the custody agreement amended. No way was he going to let himself be sidelined from his son’s childhood.
“You’re not going back right now, are you?” Cal asked.
“Miss Jackson said I could have lunch with you,”
Dwight said reassuringly. “So you’d better get in there and see if that snake’s learned any new tricks since last year.”
Cal giggled. “Snakes don’t do tricks,” he said, but he gave Dwight another hug and scampered back to his classroom.
To kill the next hour, Dwight drove over to the local police station. The Shaysville chief was an old Army buddy from D.C. and Dwight liked to touch base whenever he was in town.
“Hey, bo! Long time, no see,” said Paul Radcliff when Dwight appeared in the doorway of his office. Like Dwight, he was dressed in casual civvies. He was almost as tall as Dwight, but his hair was completely white and his belly strained against his gray wool shirt.
“How’s it going?” Dwight said.
“Slow as molasses. The only arrests we’ve made all week were two D-and-Ds and a woman who got in a fight with her sister over a lottery ticket. How ’bout you?
Jimmy says you gave Cal a new stepmother for Christmas.”
Radcliff’s youngest was on the same Pop Warner team as Cal.
“A judge was what I heard. That right?”
Dwight admitted that it was.
“Got a picture?”
He obligingly pulled out a snapshot Deborah’s niece had taken of them at the wedding.
“Another looker,” Paul said with an admiring shake of his head. “And this one even sounds smart. I don’t know how you keep fooling them.”
They talked trash for a while, then Radcliff said,
“Sandy’s making her cold-weather chili for lunch. Why don’t you come home with me? She’d love to see you.”
“Thanks, Paul, but Cal’s teacher said I could eat lunch with them.” He glanced at his watch. “Speaking of which, I’d better get back over to the school. See you at Easter.”
Weird, thought Dwight, the way all school cafeterias smell the same. Like the ones of his boyhood, this one smelled of overcooked broccoli with a substratum of sweet rolls or fruit cobbler even though today’s vegetables were a choice of lima beans or carrots and the dessert was chocolate pudding. He sat at a table with Cal and his classmates and answered the questions the children posed. But his son seemed a little subdued and only picked at his food.
When Miss Jackson stood, signaling the end of their lunch period, Cal hung back and Dwight said, “Okay then, buddy. I’ll try to get up again as soon as I can and we’ll—”
“Can I go back with you?” Cal blurted. “Today? For the weekend?”
“Today? But your mother—”
“She won’t care. Please, Dad.”
“What’s going on here, Cal?”
The boy shook his head. “Nothing. I just want to go home with you. See Grandma and Miss Deborah.”
“You know she did say you could drop the Miss and just call her Deborah now,” Dwight said, stalling for time to consider what lay behind Cal’s urgency.
“I know. I keep forgetting. I’m sorry.”
“Son, it’s nothing to be sorry about. Tell you what. I’ll go talk to your mother. If she says it’s okay, then sure.”
The boy’s relief was so evident that it only increased Dwight’s concern, but he let Cal rejoin his class and glanced down at his watch. Deborah should be on her own lunch break about now and he touched her speed dial number.
She answered on the first ring. “So tell me. What was so urgent that Cal wanted you there this morning?”
“Show-and-tell,” he said dryly.
“Show-and-tell what?”
“Me.”
He waited till she quit laughing and said, “He wants to come home with me for the weekend. That okay with you?”
“You know it is. I’ll call Kate and see if Mary Pat and Jake want to do a sleepover tomorrow night.”
“He’d like that,” said Dwight.
A few years earlier, his brother Rob had married Kate Honeycutt, a widow with a newborn son and the guardianship of a young cousin who was only six months older than Cal. They were expecting their first child together any day now. Although Deborah and Cal were slowly reforging the comfortable relationship that had existed before the engagement, having the other children around helped ease the residual stiffness between them.
“Maybe you should wait till I can get up with Jonna 3 and clear it with her first. I’ll call you back as soon as I see her, okay?”
“Whatever. This is going to put you home awfully late, though, isn’t it?”
“I promise I’ll keep it three miles over the speed limit the whole way.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Wow! That means you’ll be pulling in the driveway any minute now.”
He laughed and her voice was warm in his ear.
“Love you,” she said softly.
“Hold that thought,” he said. “I may even set the cruise control for four miles over the limit.”
Although Jonna had never worked for money until after the divorce, she now held a part-time job at a historic house that had been built by one of her ancestors, but her schedule was too erratic for Dwight to keep up with.
He called her home phone and got the answering machine. No luck with her cell phone number either. According to her server, “The customer you have called is not available at this time. Please try your call later,” which probably meant she had switched it off.
He frowned at that. Why would she turn it off when Cal might need to call her?
Next he tried the number at the Morrow House. A recording informed him that winter hours were only on the weekend or by appointment. “Please call between the hours of ten and four on Saturday or one to five on Sunday. Thank you.”
Rather than keep punching in numbers on the keypad, Dwight drove the short distance to the house. No sign of Jonna’s car, and she did not answer the door when he rang.
Her mother’s house was but a few blocks closer to the center of town, so he tried there next.
There were footprints through the snow that still covered the front walk and the steps were so icy as he walked up on the front porch that he grabbed for the railing to keep his balance. He had to ring several times before Mrs.
Shay answered the door. She seemed sightly disoriented and frowned as she looked up at him as if he were a complete stranger, which, considering how seldom they had seen each other, was not that far from the truth.
“Yes?”
“I’m Dwight, Mrs. Shay. Cal’s dad. Is Jonna here?”
“Here?” Mrs. Shay looked around in bewilderment. “I don’t think so.” Then her face cleared. “Dwight? Oh my goodness, come in out of this cold. What are you doing up here? Nothing’s wrong with Cal, is there?”
“No, ma’am, he’s fine. I just had lunch
with him at the school, but I’m trying to find Jonna and she doesn’t seem to be answering her phone.”
“I know, dear. That’s been worrying me, too. She hasn’t called since yesterday morning and that’s just not like her. She always calls me every morning, but not today. And the young man who usually shovels my snow hasn’t come either. I’ve had a terrible time getting in and out.”
“Was everything all right when she got home last night?”
“Was she out last night?”
“Of course she was. You sat with Cal.”
His former mother-in-law was shaking her head. “No, I played bridge with my Thursday night group last night.”
“But Cal said you were there. He called me. He said you had fallen asleep.”
Mrs. Shay frowned. “Now why on earth would he tell you a story like that?”
C H A P T E R
4
At one time through love all things come together into one,at another time through strife’s hatred they are borne eachof them apart.
—Empedocles
Friday afternoon, 21 January
Angry that Jonna would have left Cal alone even for a couple of hours, Dwight drove back to her house. This was an older established neighborhood of tidy, single-family homes sheltered by tall oaks and maples. More trees lined the strip of grass between sidewalk and pavement. Their branches were bare now, but in the summer they met overhead to provide a welcome shade. It was like driving through a green tunnel.
Today, the street had been plowed and low banks of snow pushed up against the tree trunks. The sidewalks themselves were clear and cars were parked along the sunny side, but not one of them was Jonna’s. Her drive was unshoveled except where it crossed the sidewalk to the street, and he could see that her Honda had stood there during Wednesday night’s snowfall because of the car-shaped bare spot on the concrete. Her front walk and 4 step were clear of snow, though. Again, he went up on the porch to ring and then pound on the door.
This time, from far inside, he heard the bark of Cal’s dog Bandit, so named for the comical patch of brown fur over his eyes. The smooth-haired terrier was kept caged during the day whenever they were out.
Dwight walked around to the side entrance and saw that a narrow footpath had been shoveled out to the car.
He opened the gate and stepped inside. Paw prints tracked across the snowy yard to where Bandit had gone to do his business among the bushes at the rear of the yard. More paw prints mingled with those of Cal’s boots around the base of a half-finished snowman.
Dwight peered through the door window, and Bandit danced up and down in the big wire crate, whining hopefully.
“Sorry, guy,” Dwight muttered and turned to see a suspicious face looking at him from a side window in the house next door.
He and Jonna mostly limited their infrequent conversations to Cal, and if she had ever mentioned her neighbor’s name, he could not recall it; but he went up to the hedge that divided the two driveways and gestured for the older man to open his window, which he grudgingly did, if only for a narrow crack.
“Yeah?”
“I’m looking for Jonna Bryant. I’m Cal’s dad.”
“Yeah?”
“Could you tell me when she left?”
The man pursed his lips and glared at Dwight. “I don’t make it my business to keep tabs on my neighbors.”
“I appreciate that sir, but—”
“And I don’t stand around with my windows wide open in the middle of January either.”
“But—”
“Sorry. I can’t help you.”
And with that, the old man pulled the window firmly shut and pushed down the latch for good measure.
It took a couple of false starts, but Shaysville was not that big, and eventually Dwight fumbled his way over to the Morrow House. Indeed, as he zeroed in on it, he recognized earlier landmarks and realized that it was only a block or two from Mrs. Shay’s house. That must be convenient for Cal and Jonna both, he thought. He felt optimistic when he saw that the walks had been freshly shoveled and that the nearest slot in the half-empty parking lot held a black four-door sedan.
The main entrance of the old stone mansion was locked, but after much determined pounding, an elderly man in a shirt, tie, and gray tweed jacket emerged from somewhere behind the central staircase of the grand foyer. He was tall and thin, with white hair, and he shook his finger reprovingly at Dwight as he approached to speak through the door. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed on weekdays.”
“I know,” said Dwight. “I’m looking for Jonna Bryant.”
“She’s not here today.”
“Do you have any idea where she could be? I’m Cal’s dad and I really need to talk to her.”
The man hesitated, then opened the door.
Dwight started to unzip his jacket before realizing that 4 the entrance hall was only marginally warmer than outside. At least he was out of the wind, though.
“Oh, my,” said the man, who had caught a glimpse of Dwight’s gun beneath his jacket. “You’re a police officer, aren’t you? Isn’t that what Jonna said?” His Ben Franklin glasses had slipped down on his narrow nose and he pushed them up with his index finger.
Dwight nodded. “Have you talked with her today?”
The man shook his head and his glasses slowly began to edge back down his nose. Dwight realized that those nerdy glasses, stooped build, and head of silver-blond hair had caused him to overestimate the man’s age by at least twenty years. He was probably not much over forty.
“I’m Frederick Mayhew,” he said, offering a hand that felt boneless when Dwight shook it. “I’m the director of the Morrow House here.”
“Dwight Bryant. From down near Raleigh.”
“Yes, Jonna’s mentioned you.”
“She didn’t happen to mention where she’d be today, did she?”
Mayhew adjusted his glasses and shook his head. “Actually, she was supposed to be here today. At least I think she was. No, I’m pretty sure that’s right. I called her around ten to see if I’d misunderstood this week’s schedule—we’re quite informal here during the winter and only work three days a week. Saturday and Sunday, of course, and then either Friday or Monday so we can turn the heat down the rest of the time and save money. Isn’t it absolutely wicked how much heating oil costs these days? Anyhow, I thought we’d agreed on Friday this week, but occasionally I get it muddled and I’ll come in on a Friday only to find that we’d agreed on Monday.”
“Was she there when you called?” Dwight asked, trying to get Mayhew back on track.
“No, just her answering machine.”
“Does she usually call if she’s not coming in when she’s supposed to?”
“Oh, absolutely. She’s thoroughly reliable and conscientious. We—the board and I—we feel very lucky to have her. And of course she’s a Shay, so she knows the Morrow House intimately.”
He picked up on Dwight’s blank look and frowned.
“Her mother was a Morrow. Didn’t you know?”
“I guess it never really registered.” For a moment, Dwight felt as if he ought to apologize for his lapse.
“Oh, well, you’re not from here, are you? So it wouldn’t mean as much to you, would it?”
Mayhew’s tone was one of gentle commiseration for Dwight’s misfortune at being born elsewhere.
“The Morrows arrived here shortly after the first Shays founded the town in 1820,” he said, sliding into what must be a familiar lecture. “They had been merchants and traders in Philadelphia, but down here they were mainly lawyers, judges, and politicians. Judge Peter Morrow, who built this house, was a United States representative at the time of the Civil War. Afterwards, he became even more important as a judge during Reconstruction. It’s his youngest daughter that haunts the Rose Bedroom.”
“You have a ghost?” Dwight asked, momentarily di-verted.
“Oh, yes,” Mayhew said proudly. “She died of a broken heart when her lover was killed at S
hiloh. Now, Peter’s grandson lost the family fortune during the great 4 stock market crash. Took a lot of Shay money with him, I’m afraid, which precipitated his death in 1931.”
“That’s very interesting,” Dwight said, “but Jonna—”
“Yes, of course,” said Mayhew. “I do ramble on, don’t I? Now what was it you wanted to know about Jonna?”
“When you last spoke to her?” Dwight said patiently.
“Let me see . . . Sunday? Yes, I’m almost positive it was Sunday.”
“If you speak to her again, would you tell her to call me?”
Dwight scribbled his cell number on a slip of paper and Mayhew placed it in his wallet with solemn care.
By now, it was almost two, so Dwight drove back to the school and stuck his head inside Cal’s classroom.
Miss Jackson looked up from the storybook she was reading aloud to the class and gave a smiling nod to Cal, who immediately shrugged his backpack on over his heavy jacket and joined Dwight in the hall.
“Don’t you have a hat?” Dwight asked. “Or gloves?”
“I forgot them this morning,” Cal said. The bitter January wind whipped their faces red when they walked outside and over to the bike racks.
Dwight waited for him to unlock the chain on his bike, then hoisted it on his shoulder.
“Cold as it is, I’m surprised Mother let you ride off without them.”
Normally, Dwight never spoke critically of Jonna to Cal, not wanting to try the child’s loyalties, but there was that bombshell from Mrs. Shay. As they walked over to visitor parking, he said, “Nana told me that she didn’t sit with you while your mother was out last night.”
Cal’s stricken look was all he needed. Dwight put the bike in the back of his truck and stooped to sit on his haunches at eye level with his son.
“This is serious, buddy. Why did you tell me Nana was with you last night?”
Cal’s eyes dropped. “Because I knew you’d be mad if I said I was home by myself.”
The final bell must have rung, because children began to stream from the building, some fighting against the strong gusts as they hurried for the buses, others pushed along toward the bicycle racks.
Dwight unlocked the truck, helped Cal take off his backpack and fasten the seat belt, then went around and got in the driver’s side. He put the key in the ignition and started the engine so as to warm up the frigid cab. The wind had turned Cal’s ears as red as his cheeks, and he held his small hands over the vent to let them thaw as he looked apprehensively at his father’s stony face.
Winter's Child Page 4