Mummy Said Goodbye. Janice Johnson Kay
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lies.
“Yeah, that’s the impression he gave.”
“Maybe the other cops don’t.” Hope was scrabbling here. “Maybe they’ll find Mom.”
“You know, even if they did, I don’t think she’ll be coming home.”
Brett nodded. “Unless she’s, like, being held captive somewhere. I read about this guy who kidnapped women and kept them for, like, six months at a time. Or she could have amnesia or something.”
“Almost anything’s possible.” Craig made his voice gentle. “But the chances are she’s either dead or she left because she wanted to.”
“Yeah,” his son said despondently. “I know. But…hey!” His pole bowed. “Wow, this feels like a big one!”
That was it. Excited about his catch, Brett didn’t seem interested in talking about his mother anymore.
Sunday was catch-up day: clean the house, mow the lawn, buy groceries for the week. Brett was even quieter than usual but helpful, Abby as chatty as always.
Monday Craig did errands: the bank, the dry cleaners, the post office. He usually drove to Tacoma to do them, just so he didn’t have to endure the stares.
Coward, he accused himself. Or maybe he was paranoid; maybe some of the stares were imagined. Could be that he and Brett both were being egotistical in believing the whole world gave a flying leap about their personal drama.
He still went to Tacoma.
Abby and Brett both took the bus home from school. They’d be okay without him for an hour. Craig parked in front of the elementary school administration building and waited until the buses pulled out and the majority of the parents picking up children had left the parking lot.
While he waited, he tried to remember a woman he’d met a few times but probably hadn’t exchanged ten words with. She was pretty, he seemed to recall, but not in Julie’s class. He remembered her as too thin, tense. Always nice, but looking wired, as if she didn’t sleep. Brett had hung out with her kid and seemed to like her. For some reason, Julie and Robin McKinnon had clicked, which was the part that worried Craig.
Finally he made himself get out of the car and walk in. This was the kind of place he hated most to go, where he was especially unwelcome. A sign on the door read Visitors MUST Check In At Office. The secretary looked up with a smile that froze when she saw him.
“May I help you?”
“Just checking in to see my son’s teacher. Ms. McKinnon is expecting me.”
He signed in and she handed him a pass that he was supposed to clip to his shirt pocket.
“I’ll let her know you’re on your way.” The secretary turned away.
Striding down the hall, careful not to turn his head to look into classrooms or to make eye contact with passing adults or kids, Craig imagined that she was summoning reinforcements to be sure that Robin McKinnon didn’t risk life and limb by being alone with him.
More paranoia.
Turned out that Brett’s classroom was in a portable just outside the double doors at the far end of the wing. If he’d known, he would have parked in the back and gone straight to her classroom without walking the gauntlet. The hell with their rules.
Not a good attitude for the parent of two young kids.
He went up a ramp, knocked and went in.
As Robin McKinnon turned from the blackboard, an eraser in her hand, his first thought was that she was prettier than he’d remembered.
She’d put on weight, but in a good way. It made him realize that what he’d seen back then was worry. Something wrong in her life. He remembered something about a divorce, but that had been a while back, hadn’t it? But divorce did bring consequences: money problems, or her boy had reacted badly to his dad moving out.
Now she had a round, gentle face, big brown eyes and light brown hair pulled loosely into a ponytail on the crown of her head. It was beautiful hair: thick, straight, shiny. Heavy silk.
She wore a batik-print skirt in brown and cream and a cream-colored T-shirt. Quite a bit taller than his petite wife, Robin McKinnon was five-seven or -eight, slim but curvy in the right places.
“Mr. Lofgren. Thank you for coming.”
She didn’t smile. Blocking his awareness of her as a woman, he nodded curtly.
“Please. Come and sit down.” She led the way to her desk. When she sat behind it, he followed suit in a creaky old armchair of that yellowed oak being retired from all public institutions.
She looked nervous, but her eyes met his. “We’ve met before.”
“I remember.”
“I was very sorry to hear about Julie’s disappearance.” She said it carefully. Had rehearsed it, he guessed. “I liked her.”
He nodded again, keeping his face expressionless.
“This must have been a very difficult year and a half for you.”
Craig had lost patience with pretence. “Is there a point to this?”
Her expression told him he’d been rude. “I was going to add that it must have been a difficult time for Brett as well.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry. Yes. Of course it has been. As you said, he’s angry.”
“And sad,” she prompted, as if he’d forgotten something important.
Craig grimaced. “That goes without saying. Does he miss his mom? Of course he does. But that’s not at the root of his problems. It’s the whispers, the friends who turned their backs, the cops coming over and over again to interview his father.” He heard how harsh his voice had become. “It’s the fact that we might as well live in a zoo, with people peering into our cage with morbid interest and fear.” He made himself stop. “Does that give you some insight into Brett, Ms. McKinnon?”
She gaped, and Craig realized that he had been leaning toward her, trying with body language to strengthen his description of a life he hoped would horrify her. Would truly let her understand his son.
Letting out a long breath, he leaned back. The chair groaned. Silence swelled.
Her tongue touched her lips. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I didn’t realize…”
“Why should you? Unless you hurried your son to the other side of the street because you saw Brett coming.”
There was a fearlessness in her eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. And something else—shame.
“No,” she said, still in that low, husky voice. “I wouldn’t have done that. But I should have encouraged Malcolm to stay in touch with Brett. I let Brett slip from my radar. For that…I really am sorry.”
To his astonishment, he believed her. All he could do was nod. His throat seemed to have closed. He met kindness so damn rarely.
Clearing his throat, he nodded at the folder and spiral binder she had squared on the desk blotter in front of her. “Maybe you’d better tell me what’s going on.”
Blinking, she looked down, then gave her head a small shake. “Yes. Of course.” She bit her lip, then lifted her head to meet his eyes again. “From the first day, Brett’s been…sullen. He stays to himself. He has no friends that I can see.”
“He never did make friends as easily as my younger, Abby. But he had a couple of good friends. One moved away right before…” His jaws tightened. “The other kid pretty much turned his back on Brett. I don’t know if it was by choice, or on his parents’ orders. Or if Brett’s turmoil drove him away.”
“Oh, no,” she murmured. When he said nothing more, Ms. McKinnon seemed to gather herself.