The Soldier's Valentine. Pamela Tracy
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to think of a few what-ifs. “No,” he finally said. “My mom tried to find him, waited and...”
The expression on Bianca’s face said differently. “Aunt Bianca, I know that my dad’s leaving was bad, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t care or notice him gone. And, I’m sure the police—”
Aunt Bianca interrupted with “could have done more.”
Where was this coming from? Why now? Taking a deep breath, he walked toward his aunt and put an arm around her shoulder. “Aunt Bianca, your family helped settle Sarasota Falls. No way would an effort not be made to find him. As for me and my siblings, we missed him every single day. But, we got by. Sometimes that’s the best you can do.” Gary bent down, picked up one of Wilma’s toys and threw it as far as he could. Wilma took off running.
“No.” Bianca’s voice was now matter-of-fact. “It’s not the best. It’s the easiest.”
Gary hated this, hated that she was taking him to a dark place he’d not revisited in a long, long time.
“Your mother too easily believed that he’d left her. I questioned his leaving, and at first she listened. But as more time went by, she stopped believing in him. But why? Something kept him from coming back.”
“Maybe because he had a girlfriend,” Gary ground out. It’s what he’d always thought, feared, but never mentioned to his mother. Instead, he’d internalized it. Maybe that’s why he’d never wanted to marry and made darn sure to never get close to someone who wanted to marry him.
Aunt Bianca shook her head. “No, not a girlfriend.”
“Maybe it was because he was tired of having all us kids. Oscar remembers the last fight our parents had.”
“He’d never walk out on you children.”
“He did,” Gary insisted. “My mother was beyond hurt and she didn’t declare him dead for years.”
Aunt Bianca raised her hand. “The family needs closure. Think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”
Wilma whined a bit and this time when Gary took the toy and threw it, it sailed over the back fence, no chance for Wilma to retrieve.
“Look,” Aunt Bianca said, relaxing a little, “Goober’s owner said it best. You have time. So, I’m now asking for a favor. Figure out what really happened.”
“Almost twenty years later?”
“Yes, if anyone can do it, you can. You can ask Leann to help. She’s trying to make a name for herself. Solving a cold case might be the very thing.”
Working a cold case alongside a pretty detective was not a good idea. Of that, Gary was sure.
WEDNESDAY WAS LEANN’S day off.
In truth, as she turned into the elementary school’s parking lot, she mused how this day probably wouldn’t be too relaxing. Number one on her schedule was to switch her cop persona for her mom persona.
If she were lucky, she’d do a decent job.
The problem with being a cop, Leann thought while standing at the back of her son’s sixth-grade classroom, was she’d grown used to issuing orders and having them immediately obeyed.
That didn’t work in a sixth-grade classroom, especially when she was dressed in tennis shoes, old jeans and a bright red button-down.
“Mom,” Tim whispered, “don’t embarrass me.”
She shot him a look that had just last week sent a computer hacker to his knees in fear. Tim, however, was made of sterner stuff and huffed away. Honestly, working a ten-hour shift yesterday bringing down bad guys—Gary, dog owner extraordinaire; the outdated tag guy; and two speeders—was easier than helping in her older son’s class. And, to add insult to injury, she was helping with a Valentine’s Day art project. First problem—Leann wasn’t artistic. Second problem—she’d not been anyone’s Valentine in—she quickly counted in her head—five years.
No, six.
“Mom,” came a groan.
For the next hour, Leann worked her station. Every fifteen minutes she got a new group of eleven-and twelve-year-olds. She provided paint, clean paintbrushes and wipes to clean their hands with. Pinecones went from brittle brown to bright pink or red. Some pinecones were saturated; others were spotty. Most of the girls didn’t get any paint on their hands but cleaned them anyway. Most of the boys got paint on their hands, shirts and pants. Tim—she was no longer allowed to call him Bug, her pet name for him—managed to get paint on his ear. She quickly whipped out her cell phone and took a photo, which earned yet another roll of the eyes and an exasperated, “Moooom!”
Finally, the kids trudged off to PE and she and Patsy, the mother who’d thought up this punishment, helped the teacher clean up. In two days—once the paint dried—the students would glue on fake eyes and kissy lips and add pipe cleaners for arms and legs. Then they’d add a heart to the Valentine people. Leann figured it would have been easier to hand them a piece of paper and some colored pencils.
Patsy Newcastle, mom and Pinterest fan extraordinaire, never lacked for ideas. She’d found the Valentine’s people art project on Pinterest and had fallen in love. No surprise. Last year, Leann had helped the sixth-graders—then fifth-graders—make flowerpot people for Christmas, pinto bean turkeys for Thanksgiving and giant, hanging black licorice spiders for Halloween.
Leann felt sorry for Aaron in fourth grade. Anything art related was really limited, so Leanne usually took home extra unused material from Tim’s class so she and Aaron could make the projects. He liked making the giant licorice spider the best and probably would still have it hanging from his ceiling if he hadn’t eaten it.
She wasn’t so sure she still liked Patsy, who was saying, “I’ve already got an idea for Easter.”
“Are we even allowed to celebrate Easter in school?” Leann cautioned.
Patsy narrowed her eyes. “I’ll take responsibility.”
And, Leann would back her up. Patsy had been her best friend since their own sixth-grade year. The only private school in town had closed down, and, gasp, the Crabtree children had been forced into attending public school.
Leann loved it. The first day, she’d sat across from Patsy, who secretly passed her a stick of gum, and their friendship had been cemented. They’d become even closer when they gave birth to their first babies on the same day. Ryan hadn’t made it back to town and to the hospital until it was time to drive Leann and little Ryan—her ex insisted on naming the baby after himself—home. Patsy’s husband, however, had bounced between rooms, handing out chocolate cigars to visitors—Patsy had dozens; Leann had two: Patsy’s husband and Gail—and making sure both women had plenty of chocolate. Later, Patsy confided that half the time when he handed out a cigar, he’d said, “We have a boy! And so does Leann.”
The day Leann’s divorce finalized she stopped calling Ryan by his first name and switched to his middle name of Timothy, now Tim. So far, he hadn’t questioned it.
Exiting the classroom, they made their way past the playground—earning Leann a “Hi, Mom!” from Aaron, who was swinging and not embarrassed of her at all—and through the school office to their cars. Patsy wasn’t going back to work. She’d married a doctor and now acted as his receptionist, meaning she could make her own hours.
“I’ve got your boys after school,” Patsy reminded her. “Don’t worry. I’m thinking pizza and Star Wars.”
“I’m thinking pizza and homework,” Leann countered.
“I’m thinking a free babysitter is worth the price.” Patsy’s laugh choked off almost before it started. “I’m sorry.