The Woman Next Door (30 page)

Amanda looked at him and raised her brows.

He shook his head. His mouth was tight.

“Do you have any idea where he is?” Karen asked into the phone. She listened, sighed, sounded cross. “Well, if he does show up, would you please tell him to give me a call?” Seconds later, she hung up the phone and turned to Amanda. “He wasn’t at baseball practice, but that figures. The rule says you can’t play ball on a day when you haven’t been in class.” She leaned back against the wall, pressing her fingertips to her mouth.

“No clues?” Amanda asked Lee.

“Nah,” he said and pushed off from the counter, snatching up his keys along the way. “I’m going driving.”

“Where?” Karen asked in alarm.

“Anywhere my friggin’ son might be,” he said and slammed out the door.

In the silence left behind, Karen dropped her hand. She looked furious. “This is his fault. Kids can see through their parents. Jordie’s old enough to know what his father’s doing. He may not be screwing Gretchen, but he’s sure doing it to someone else.” She returned her fingertips to her mouth. Her eyes held Amanda’s.

“Does Jordie know names?”

Karen shrugged.

“Would he run away because of it?”

“He hasn’t run away,” Karen said through her fingers, though they were trembling now. Amanda could see that.

Coming close, she put a hand on Karen’s arm. “Call the police.”

“No.”

“They can be on the lookout.”

“We don’t need the police. This isn’t a police matter. Get the police involved, and it won’t end here.”

“Why not?” Amanda asked, suddenly wondering whether there was something she didn’t know.

“No reason,” Karen said quickly. “I just think calling the police is overkill.”

“If we figure that he left school at ten, he’s been gone for almost eight hours.”

“He’ll be hungry soon. He’ll show up. I’m making shepherd’s pie. That’s his favorite.”

“Mom?” came a call from outside and, seconds later, Jared’s nose was pressed to the screen. “Jon ran into me. He did it on purpose.”

“Tell him I said to apologize.”

Jared turned and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Mom says you have to apologize.” Through the screen again, this time in a normal voice, he said, “We’re hungry. When’s supper?”

“When I make it,” Karen said. “I’ll do it soon.”

Amanda said, “If Lee’s out driving, I’m going walking.”

“Walking where?”

“The woods.”

“Jordie wouldn’t be there.”

Amanda disagreed, but she wasn’t about to argue. “It won’t hurt to look there just in case. I’ll keep my cell phone in my pocket. Will you call if he shows up here?”

Karen swallowed, suddenly teary and unsure. “You don’t think he’d harm himself, Amanda, do you?”

“No. But I think he’s hurting.”

“Have any of the other kids done this?”

“Disappeared? They may have. The thing is that I really want to find Jordie.”

“Are you more worried about him than about the other kids?”

Amanda considered that for a minute, then nodded. “He has a lot to handle. You said it yourself, Karen. He has to be aware of what’s going on between Lee and you. He’s old enough to feel conflicted.”

“Conflicted?”

“Wanting to take sides. Not wanting to take sides. Praying that things are fine between you and Lee, but not buying it. Feeling frustrated and helpless.”

Karen clasped her arms around herself. “Do you think he’s suicidal?”

“No. But I think I’d like to check out the woods before dark. That gives us about two hours. Do you want to come?”

Karen shook her head. “If he finds out that I was worried enough to think he’s in there and then go in after him, he’ll hit the roof. No.

I’ll stay here and make more calls.” Turning her back on Amanda, she reached for the phone.

***

Amanda returned home for a quick change into jeans and a jacket. No matter how warm the days were in May the evenings got cool. Plus it looked like there would be rain before long.

Tucking her cell phone into a pocket, she left the house just as Graham drove up. He was out of the truck in an instant, joining her without a word. Seeming to know exactly where she was headed, he fell into step. Crossing through the yards between Karen’s house and Gretchen’s, they entered the woods.

They walked for several minutes without talking, Amanda behind Graham. The path was narrow but defined. Whatever might have grown there had long since been trampled, leaving little but the needles and leaves that had fallen the autumn before. The ground was damp after winter’s snow and spring’s rain, muting the sound underfoot.

The forest was eerily quiet, what with the heaviness of the air absorbing extraneous sounds. The cloud cover seemed more dense as they passed under evergreen fronds and hardwood branches, full with fresh, new leaves. Amanda almost imagined that the forest was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen, and the feeling heightened her own apprehension.

Even the red squirrels that lived there were quiet, with none of their usual hissing and chattering. If they were chasing each other over patches of moss and up one tree to the next, they did so with only the merest patter. Birds flitted higher up. The rustle of branches attested to that, along with the occasional whistle or trill, but those, too, were muted—not silent, simply muted in the thick air. It was mating season, after all.

Amanda thought about that as she followed Graham, with his sure step, his neat logger’s beard, his firm body encased in a polo shirt and a pair of jeans. She loved seeing him this way. He was in his element in the great outdoors, and this qualified as the great outdoors. Though only ninety minutes from Manhattan and a mere ten from downtown Woodley the town forest was a world in and of
itself. The fear that she felt for Jordie couldn’t dull the sense of place. Even under thickening clouds in torpid air, the forest was alive. Amanda wanted to think that was a good omen for the boy.

“Jordie,”
Graham called out into the woods. More quietly, he said over his shoulder to Amanda, “He always talks about the tower.”

She was on the same wavelength. “If he’s here, that’s where we’ll find him. The fact that it’s been declared off-limits wouldn’t keep him away.”

Graham grunted. “If anything, it would heighten the attraction. Same with the lore. And he knows it all.” Abruptly he stopped walking. Coming up against him, Amanda held on to the back waistband of his jeans. He cupped his mouth.
“Jordie?”
They both listened for something other than an echo. Graham called out again, directing his voice left, then right, but there was no response. “Even if he’s here, he won’t answer,” he murmured.

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be found,” Amanda said.

Graham shot an understanding glance over his shoulder at her. Along with the understanding was concern—and warmth. Reaching back, he took her hand in his and set off again. The path began to climb, a gentle but noticeable incline.

Amanda had to walk quickly, even trot to keep up with the pace he set. Her stride was shorter than his, but she was used to it. “This reminds me of Mount Jefferson,” she said, welcoming the diversion from worrying about Jordie. “Remember? It started to snow, and we had to race back to the hut.”

“You skidded most of the way. Fell a whole lot. You were black and blue for days.”

“But we made it.” She let the memory soothe her. “I’ve missed you, Gray.”

In a single fluid motion, he turned, caught her up, pulling her against him, kissed her soundly on the mouth, set her down, and,
still holding her hand, went on. Amanda was totally turned on. In the next instant, though, she remembered why they were hurrying through the woods with the light fading fast.

“Jordie,”
Graham called out again.
“Jordie.”

“What if he’s hurt himself?” Amanda asked.

“Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“We talked, he and I.”

Graham gave her hand a squeeze. “I figured that. When was the last time?”

“A week ago yesterday.”

“Before Quinn.”

“Yes.”

He held her hand more tightly, giving her a silent boost. They were five minutes into the forest, another ten yet to the tower. They continued on, sharing the sense of urgency, ever vigilant for a sound that might tip them off.

Amanda trotted to come alongside Graham when the path widened enough to allow it. “We haven’t hiked in ages. Why, Gray?”

“Too busy. Too preoccupied.” He shot her a look. “Doin’ okay?”

“Doin’ okay.” It was their stock exchange when they hiked.

“I mean, physically,” he said with an intimate glance, and she knew just what he had in mind. She was done with her period, and for the first time in months, she wasn’t taking medication to increase the production of eggs.

She liked his concern. She also liked the absence of anger in his voice. “Better,” she said, though she was growing breathless from the pace. “It’s like I’m reclaiming my body.” She felt a raindrop on her arm, then one on her nose. “Oh dear.”

“Yeah,” Graham breathed. “It’s starting.
Jordie,
” he called, then muttered a frustrated, “Where the fuck is he?”

“There’s the tower,” Amanda said, spotting the palette of multitoned
gray fieldstone that stretched obelisklike through the softer, more giving boughs. Though sketched in local lore as timeless and strong, it had grown ragged with age. Stones had cracked and fallen out, many during the earthquake the year before. The tower continued to stand forty feet high. Now, though, its slanted sides, narrowing as they rose, were pockmarked with bulges and dents.

Amanda stumbled on a tree root that lay over the path. Had she not been holding Graham’s hand, she would have fallen.

“Easy,” Graham said, tightening his hold without slowing.

“Do you see him there?”

Graham’s voice pulsed with the pace he kept. “We’re coming in from the wrong side. If he’s there, he’s on the other side.”

Amanda said again, “What if he’s hurt himself?” She had visions . . . visions ... of rounding the tower and finding a rope . . .

“Don’t think it,” Graham murmured, setting her behind him when the path narrowed again.

The rain picked up, creating a patter overhead. Releasing her hand, Graham began to trot. She did the same. She didn’t try to look ahead, didn’t try to see anything but Graham’s back. This, too, she was used to—and if a die-hard feminist were to take her to task for enjoying following after her husband this way, she would argue that said die-hard feminist didn’t know the joy of following Graham. He was coordinated. For a man who stood six-foot-three and weighed a solid one-ninety he was graceful and deft. He moved with a confidence that she found to be reassuring—whether they were trying to outrun the weather, trying to beat the clock, or trying to overcome unsettling mental images of Jordie on the other side of the tower.

The path veered to the right and curved around. Amanda didn’t have to look beyond Graham to know that the tower loomed
higher. She felt the enormity of it, heard the difference the rain made hitting fieldstone high above. Her shirt had grown damp. Tendrils of hair were escaping from the scrunchy in back and curling wildly in the drizzle.

They emerged into a clearing. The tower stood twenty feet from them. A dozen feet wide at its base, it narrowed to less than half that at the top. A makeshift fence of weak plywood slats circled it, but as deterrents went, it was lame. It had been bent in spots and broken through in others. If Jordie had climbed it, he wasn’t the first.

“Jordie?”
Graham called as they continued around to the far side. He stopped short, looked up, then started walking, more slowly now.

Amanda was right beside him, her head tipped back. She had seen him too. Any relief she felt that the boy was alive was tempered by the precariousness of the situation. He sat on an incline at the very top of the tower, dressed in a dirty T-shirt and jeans, barely visible against the deepening gray of the day. His legs hung over the side, giving more of an illusion of comfort than his hands indicated, as they grasped the rock on either side of his hips. He could as easily fall backward into the hollow tower and down those forty feet as fall forward. With the rocks growing wet, accidental slippage was a real fear.

“Jesus, Jordie,” Graham called, breathing more heavily now that they had stopped. “You scared the living daylights out of us! Your parents are looking all over. They’re terrified.” Under his breath, he said to Amanda, “Give ’em a call.”

Pulling the cell phone from her pocket, she punched in the number with shaky fingers. When nothing happened, she looked closer. “No service. I don’t believe it.”

Graham expressed frustration with a guttural sound. “Our fault,” he said without taking his eyes from the boy. “We voted against letting them put an antenna up here.” He raised his voice. “The weather’s not gettin’ better, Jordie. Think you can come down?”

It wouldn’t be that easy. Amanda knew it, but she wanted Graham to take the man-to-man approach first. If Jordie were of a mind to come down, he might find it more palatable to do so at the bidding of a man than a woman.

Of course, wanting to come down was one thing. Being able to do it was something else. Climbers didn’t come down from the tower on their own. They always needed help. That was part of the lore.

Jordie didn’t move. In Amanda’s eyes, he was starting to fade into the rocks. “Is he alive up there?” she whispered in horror.

“Oh yeah,” Graham said. “He blinked.” He raised his voice. “How’d you get up there? Did you climb up the back side? Maybe we could talk you down.”

Amanda made out the tiniest headshake.

“Why not?” Graham called. “You could be the first to do it. There’s nothing to be accomplished by staying up there.”

Jordie gave the smallest nod.

Amanda and Graham caught in simultaneous breaths when the boy let go of the stone with one hand and reached underneath his T-shirt. They stood perfectly still when the hand emerged with a small pistol.

“Where in the hell did you get
that?”
Graham yelled.

Jordie didn’t answer. Nor, though, did he point the gun in any particular direction. He just let it rest in his lap as a message that he possessed an element of power over them after all.