“We’re taking a picnic and stuff. Summer’s brother is bringing his yucky friend, so she needs me.”
“Of course you can go. Maybe I’ll take Brett fishing.”
Her nose scrunched. “If you catch something, I don’t have to eat it, do I?”
Craig laughed. “No, you don’t. Your loss.”
“Uh-huh.”
Still laughing, he kissed her good-night and turned out the light.
He didn’t suggest bedtime for Brett for another couple of hours. Then he wandered in to say good-night and stopped in his tracks.
“Hey! Your bedroom’s clean.”
“Grandad made me.”
Hmm. Maybe his father wasn’t quite the pushover Craig had feared.
“Good. Did he also make you wash a few loads, or is it all piled up in the laundry room waiting for me?”
“Uh… I started a load. Tuesday night.” Then Brett grinned, for a second looking like the cheerful kid he’d once been. “Just kidding. I washed three loads. And folded them.”
Which meant Craig’s dress shirts were probably wadded in a stack on his bureau rather than hanging in the closet, but Craig wasn’t about to quibble.
“Thank you,” he said, and meant it.
“Did you know that Grandad doesn’t throw his socks away when they get holes in them? He says he doesn’t mind a little ventilation.”
“He grew up without much money. Even though he’s got enough now, he thinks before he buys anything.”
Brett puzzled over that. “Oh. But…socks?”
“Maybe we should buy him some for his birthday.”
The boy’s expression made plain what he thought of socks as a birthday present.
Casually, Craig said, “Your teacher called tonight.”
A flare of something very like fear was dampened in a heartbeat. Brett’s face went blank. “Ms. McKinnon?”
“Uh-huh.”
His son tried to hold out, but couldn’t. “What did she want?”
“A conference.” Craig waited for a deliberate moment. “Do you know what it’s about?”
Brett shrugged. Craig’s least favorite response.
“We’ll see,” he said.
Brett turned his face away on the pillow.
“Do you want to go fishing tomorrow?” Craig asked.
He looked back at his father. “Really?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“Does Abby have to come?”
“Nope. She’s going somewhere with Summer.”
“Cool! Yeah!”
THEY HAD A GOOD DAY, taking their poles to a small lake where they rented a rowboat and trolled. With Labor Day weekend past, the lake was uncrowded, a few powerboats crisscrossing, one water skier making half a dozen laps before taking a spectacular fall.
The sun was warm, the blue surface of the lake dazzling, the occasional excitement of hauling in a trout of legal length all they needed to save them from boredom. Trees grew down to the shores of the lake, interrupted by summer cabins and docks.
Craig made no effort to direct the desultory conversation, just let it drift along with the boat.
Only once did the subject of Brett’s mom come up.
After one of the many long, contented pauses, the eleven-year-old said, “That policeman is dead, right?”
Craig nodded. “His funeral was last week.”
“What will they do now?”
“I don’t know.” Craig flexed his pole and cranked the reel a few times. “It may not make any difference that he’s gone.”
His son gave him a look older than his years. “He thought you killed Mom.”
Craig considered denying it, but dismissed the notion. He wasn’t a believer in telling his kids 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
