Mary shifted the bag of groceries to her other arm and smiled when she thought of the bag of chocolates she’d managed to sneak into the grocery bag as a surprise for Jack. But her smile faded when she saw two cars parked in front of Agnes’s house. Who is that? We didn’t have any appointments. . . . As they drew closer, she could see the first car was a nondescript blue sedan, but the car parked in front of it—It can’t be!—was a black squad car. She picked up her pace as she snagged Jack’s hand with her free hand.
“Something’s happened . . . something bad!” she said, nearly running. A ball of fear had formed inside, and she ran up the steps, pulling Jack along with her. They went through the storm door at the side of the house and ran through the mudroom with Mary calling out, “Agnes! Agnes—is everything okay?”
Hurrying into the living room, she saw right away that everything was not okay. Agnes was sitting on the couch, face pale and strained looking, and two uniformed police officers and another man stood near the fireplace. But the sight that made her heart leap in her chest was her husband standing only four feet away. Her worst nightmare had come true.
Jerry has found us. . . . Help me God, help me God, help me God. . . .
The officers moved toward her, and she pulled Jack against her. Somewhere in the periphery of her awareness she heard the voices of Agnes and Jerry.
“I’m sorry, Mary, I had to let them in. . . .”
“There he is! That’s my son!”
“Mary Sinclair, we have a warrant here for your arrest—”
“What—what do you mean?” She didn’t recognize the voice as her own.
“—for violating Statute 565–153: parental kidnapping, which is a class D felony offense,” the officer said, holding out a piece of paper as the other officer pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt.
“You don’t understand . . . I can explain—”
“You can tell it to a judge, lady,” the same officer said. “Put your hands behind your back.”
Mary felt the world tilting underneath her feet. The man by the fireplace looked familiar, but who he was didn’t matter. They’re going to take me away from Jack! Agnes was saying something, but the ringing fear in Mary’s ears made her unaware of anything but Jerry’s hard eyes and the sneer she knew was meant only for her.
“I hope you get a good lawyer,” Jerry was saying. “You’ll sure need one.”
“Wait! You can’t just arrest me on something Jerry said! You can’t—”
“You took my son and you took our life savings, Mary. Those are facts I didn’t make up,” Jerry shot back.
Mary grabbed at one of the police officer’s shirts. “I only took the money and Jack away because I found out he was leaving us. He had plans with another woman! He was going to divorce me and leave us homeless—”
“Which, of course, is a lie,” Jerry said, sounding smooth and reasonable.
“And if you’d caught us—you might have beaten us!” she choked out.
“Now, Mary, there’s another lie. You know I’ve never lifted a hand toward you. This comes down to you and your lying, thieving ways.” He was obviously picking up steam, and his voice now had an angry edge that chilled Mary to the bone. “You’re the one living hundreds of miles from home with a stranger. You’re the one who took my son without so much as a good-bye, leaving me to worry myself sick about him for all these months!”
“No, really, officers, that’s not how it was,” Mary said, trying to keep her shaky voice even. “He hates Jack. He’s always hated Jack!”
“Let’s have your hands, ma’am,” the cop said.
Mary stepped back again, dragging Jack with her, shaking her head, pleading for her freedom. “Please don’t do this. Please—I’m begging you—don’t do this. My son needs me!”
“His father is perfectly capable of caring for him until we get this sorted out,” the man near the fireplace said.
“Who—who are you? What do you know about me—about my son?”
“Charles Westerly,” he said confidently, staring directly into her face.
Mary did not pause to figure it out. She cried, “You can’t let Jerry take my son. Please! Leave him here with Agnes—”
“I’ll keep him, Mary,” Agnes put in quickly. “He’ll stay with me until they see this is all a big mistake.”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am,” the cop said.
“He’s coming with me.” Jerry waved Agnes off.
“Your hands, Mrs. Sinclair,” the officer said impatiently.
Oblivious to the tears sliding down her face, Mary gulped for air. “Please. Don’t do this. . . .”
The officer dropped his voice. “You’re making this harder on your son. Put your hands behind your back, and we’ll get this over with.”
Jerry stepped forward, put a hand on Jack’s shoulder, and drew him away from Mary. She watched as Jack rapidly tapped the fingers of his right hand against the palm of his left in a nervous tic. Sobs tore from her throat and everything in her world fell apart as the officer forced her hands behind her back. She felt her knees buckle and her legs betray her as she crumpled to the floor. Both officers flanked her, lifting her firmly under the arms as they started toward the door.
“I’ll find you a lawyer, Mary! I’ll do whatever I can to fix this!” Agnes shouted as the officers pulled Mary out the door.
Charles watched the door close behind Mary and the officers. Jerry kept his hand on Jack’s shoulder, and the boy’s fingers continued to tap against his other palm. Agnes looked stunned as she started to move toward Jack—but Jerry stopped her with merely a look.
“Maybe you’ll be good enough to get some of the kid’s things together.” His tone brooked no argument. “Just what he needs for a couple a’ nights. I’ll be back for the rest in a few days.”
Agnes glared. “You don’t fool me. I know what kind of man you are.”
“Just get his things,” Jerry snapped.
Resigned, she left the room.
Jerry turned to Charles. “Thank you for giving me back my son.”
Charles gave a brief nod. “You have temporary custody until the trial,” he explained, “which I’ll push to occur as quickly as possible so you can get back to your life.”
“Got it, thanks.” Jerry gave Jack’s shoulder another firm squeeze. “She cleaned me out when she left—any chance I could get any of that back?”
“You’re still married—so technically you’re entitled to half,” Charles said.
“Great. Just hope she didn’t burn through it all.”
Agnes came back with the battered suitcase. “Here are some of his things,” she said stiffly. “I put his pajamas, underwear, a toothbrush, some socks and—”
“Yeah. Fine.” Jerry grabbed it. “C’mon, kid.”
“Wait!” Agnes said. She hurried to the closet and pulled out Jack’s green scarf and knelt in front of him to wrap it around his neck.
When she put her arms around the boy, now standing as still as a statue, Jerry abruptly said, “Let’s go, son.” He again placed his large hand on Jack’s shoulder and pushed him toward the door.
Agnes looked at Charles as he started after them. “You’ve made a terrible mistake, Mr. Westerly.”
“It wouldn’t be the first one.” Charles nodded. “Good afternoon.”
Charles stepped outside and walked through the falling snow to the car, where Jerry and Jack were already waiting.
Chapter Twenty-five
IT WAS LATE EVENING by the time Jerry’s growling stomach reminded him that he and Jack hadn’t had dinner. They went into Lou’s Steak Den, a modest restaurant next door to the cheap hotel Westerly had booked for them until Mary’s case went to trial.
The hostess standing behind the cash register looked up wearily as the bell over the door signaled their entrance. Her gray hair was a close-knit cap of curls, and her pink cardigan stayed in place around her shoulders with a chain of faux pearls between the opening. She grabbed a couple of men
us from the counter and held them out toward Jerry.
“Here ya go. Pick out a booth, an’ Marianne’ll be right with you to take your order,” she told him with a sigh.
Jerry took the menus and cupped his hand around Jack’s neck to get him to move toward a booth next to a row of windows. Two other tables in the place were occupied. Jack moved across the room slowly, but Jerry exerted just enough pressure behind him to keep him going.
The kid had already proven to be a pain in the neck—just like he remembered. Jerry had never understood why Mary hadn’t just parked him in one of those state places the minute they’d found out he was deaf and dumb. But she wouldn’t hear of it, and had given him the impression she thought he was a monster for even suggesting it.
Jerry, fingers laced on the scarred wood-grain table, looked at the boy staring back at him. He cracked his knuckles, then dropping his hands flat on the surface, leaned toward Jack.
“So—guess you must be pretty ticked about now, huh? Yeah, well join the club.” He shook his head and propped his chin in his hand while he studied Jack. “I had plans for us, kid. Playing ball, fishing together . . . I was gonna teach you the fine art of sales. Figured you’d grow up, and we’d have our own agency—Sinclair and Son. Has a nice ring to it.” The slight melancholy tone to his voice faded and he narrowed his eyes at Jack. “And then I had a new plan—which you and your mom ruined again when you disappeared into thin air with my dough. I spend months getting a classy dame like Alice Jean to take an interest in me—and then, wham! She dumps me when she finds out I got nothing but lint in my pockets! Lost my job when I was out looking for you for two stinkin’ months, lost my new Caddy, and nearly ended up on the street. You know what it’s like doin’ maintenance like a janitor, Jack? Your old man is sittin’ at the bottom of the barrel all because of you and your idiot mom!”
Jerry sat back against the booth and cocked his head to the side. “Got anything to say about that, kiddo? Any kinda defense? Just one word that makes sense, and I’ll forget about the whole thing. Forgive and forget.”
Jack didn’t move a muscle, didn’t even blink.
“That’s what I thought. Stubborn till the end,” Jerry growled. “And since you didn’t ask me to forgive you—I’m not. We all have 202 to pay the price when we do somethin’ wrong, kid—even you. Once they throw your mom in the can, we’ll see about someplace for you. Maybe a room with a window and three squares a day. But there’s no way I’m taking you home with me. You can be the state’s problem like you shoulda been eight years ago.”
Jerry smiled and once more splayed his hands flat on the table, leaning even further toward Jack. “Life’s about to change for you, bud— and this time, there’s not a thing your mamma can do about it.”
Jerry blew out a breath and looked around the room. A young woman in a white blouse and black skirt was heading their way with two glasses of water.
“Hi, sorry about the wait,” she chirped. “Welcome to Lou’s. I’m Marianne, your waitress.” She put the glasses in front of each of them. “We have two specials tonight: chipped beef on toast or chopped steak on a bun with cottage fries,” she offered, pad and pencil at the ready.
“Which one would you recommend, Marianne?” Jerry offered her his best smile—the one he knew produced a small dimple in his left cheek. She smiled right back.
“Probably the chopped steak. It’s a nickel more than the chipped beef, but you get more food,” she said, smiling again.
“So I’ll splurge tonight,” he said. “Make it the chopped steak.”
“Anything else?”
“Nope. That’ll do it.”
She looked at Jack, his face reflected in the dark window. “Nothing for your son?”
“Oh . . . yeah.”
“What about it, sweetie? What can I bring you?”
“Bring him a toasted cheese,” Jerry said.
“Is that what you want, cutie?” Marianne asked Jack.
Jerry hated the way Jack just sat there like a lump, hated that his own son was so flawed. He lifted himself up, leaned across the booth, and tapped Jack’s arm. “Yeah, he’s not being rude—he’s deaf.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Marianne said as Jack turned big brown eyes to her. “Do—you—read—lips?”
“No, he doesn’t,” Jerry said curtly, forgetting all about flirting. Now she was just irritating him. “Like I told you—a cheese sandwich.”
“Okay,” she said, still studying Jack. “You know—he looks real familiar to me. Have you been in here with him before?”
“Nope.”
“Hmm. Maybe somewhere else, then . . .”
“They say everybody’s got a twin,” Jerry said. “And I’m fading away from hunger here.”
Marianne pulled her eyes away from Jack and flashed a quick smile at Jerry. “Gotcha.” She scribbled on her order pad. “Chopped steak, cheese sandwich comin’ right up.”
“Waitress! Miss!” An older man at a nearby table had his hand in the air, and she hurried away.
Jerry gulped down his glass of water and reached for Jack’s. “Revenge is thirsty business, kid,” he said. He had the second glass midway to his mouth when he noticed the waitress and the older couple casting quick glances in Jack’s direction as they talked.
He downed the glass of water and slid it back toward Jack. Dropping an elbow to the table, he propped his chin against his hand and let his eyes meander back to the threesome, still gabbing. Incompetent broad, he thought as he watched them continue to cast furtive looks at him and Jack. She’ ll sure be surprised at her tip tonight.
He swore under his breath and muttered, “It’s like being an exhibit at the zoo—come and feed a peanut to the deaf an’ dumb kid.”
Suddenly all three of them were on their way over, the waitress and the older couple. Jerry shook his head. “About my order,” he said loudly as Marianne got closer.
“I know, and I’m so sorry . . . but we have a question,” she said.
“What?”
The older woman motioned toward Jack. “That’s Jack—am I right? The Jack?”
Jerry frowned. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “That’s his name.”
The couple beamed at each other and then at Marianne. “I knew it—I knew it was him! We’re the Kowalskis,” the woman said, talking rapidly. “We recognized him the second you walked in. When we went to the house for our chapter and verse, the room was kinda dark, but we’d know that sweet face and those beautiful eyes anywhere!”
“I told you I’d seen him somewheres!” Marianne inserted triumphantly. “As soon as Patsy and Jim here asked if that was him, I figured it out.” She grinned at Jerry as if they were sharing some wonderful secret, and took a playful swipe at his shoulder. “But you must get this all the time.”
Jerry shook his head. “I don’t know—”
“I mean, when you’ve got a son like Jack, who’s practically a celebrity, you must have people saying they recognize him all the time!” Marianne squatted down next to the Jack. “You look just like that picture in the newspaper—only more handsome in person.”
“Where’s his mother—Mary, if I remember correctly?” Jim asked. “She’s not with you tonight?”
“No . . . she’s not,” Jerry said.
“She’s a wonderful woman,” Patsy said. “You’re both so generous to allow your son to share his gift with people.”
Jerry frowned now, trying to remember what Charles Westerly had mentioned. Something about Mary and Jack making a few bucks.
“The Scripture Jack gave us helped so much,” Jim was saying. “I only wish we could have given a bigger donation. Six dollars seems so little for the peace of mind we got.”
Jerry’s brows shot up.
“I got three-ninety in tips so far tonight,” Marianne put in. “Would you be willing to let Jack give me a chapter and verse right here?”
Jerry shook his head. “No, we couldn’t do that right now.” He scrambled through his vague memory of the c
onversation with Westerly. What is this all about?
“Sorry,” he said, wishing he knew how the scam worked—it could pay for their supper. “His mother and I have a . . . policy . . . about not letting him, uh, do it, in public.”
“The other woman told us they only see clients at the house.”
That must mean that Agnes woman knows. . . . “Uh, yes, that’s right,” Jerry said. “Now—if you don’t mind, do you think you might put in our order? Jack is awfully hungry.”
Jerry sat back against the booth and looked at Jack with new eyes as the three smiled and made their departures.
“Just exactly how many six-dollar ‘donations’ have you collected, son? A better question—where’s all that money?”
Jerry tented his fingers together over the table and looked out the window. “Mary, Mary, Mary—you are just full of surprises. . . .”
Chapter Twenty-six
MARY HAD NOT SLEPT ALL NIGHT—her twitching, nervous muscles would not let her be still. She’d been pacing back and forth in the small holding cell since the sun had come up. Her bare hands were knotted into fists at her side, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was naked somehow. They had taken her gloves along with everything else when they booked her.
“Nothing extra in the cell, ma’am. No belts, jewelry, heeled shoes—gloves. Sorry.” This officer had indeed looked sorry, especially when she pulled her gloves off, weeping as she stood under the glaring light in the small office where she’d been “processed.” At the sight of her scarred hands, he had hesitated, almost as if he were going to give her gloves back to her. But then he tucked them into a box with the rest of her things.
The Silent Gift Page 17