“What does it mean if a man took him? Does that mean he’s… he’s…?” But she couldn’t get the words out. She buried her face in her hands. “Nicholas has been my reason for living. Without him.” She shook her head. “What’s the point? What’s the point of living if my son is gone?”
Max drew in a breath, struggling for the wise words he should have been able to conjure. Instead, he slipped a hand across the table and clasped hers. Her hands were small, the bones felt tiny and fragile beneath her cool skin.
She didn’t look at him.
“You keep going, Joan. You’re the only advocate he has, the only person who will keep the pressure on the police, who will pass out fliers, and who will fight for him.”
Joan’s eyes looked troubled.
“They wouldn’t listen to me, Max. They never took me seriously. I should have been screaming from the rooftops. Instead I went right back to life as it had been, working, serving Denny his beer and getting slapped for my efforts.”
“You can’t go back to yesterday because you were a different person then,” he said. “It’s from Alice in Wonderland, one of those quotes that’s stuck with me since I was a boy. You’re not the same woman, Joan.”
She blinked at him, her expression so hopeful and scared it made his heart ache.
“I’m afraid that it’s too late, that I’ve failed him,” she whispered.
Max shook his head. “No,” he surprised both of them with the passion in his voice. “You didn’t fail him, Joan. You know what you did? The bravest thing of all. You got out. You left, so when Nicholas returns, he’ll have a new life too.”
“A new life,” she said, looking toward the window where a group of women walked by, arms linked, laughing.
“My maiden name is Joan Kimberly Phillips. My mother wanted to name me Kimberly, but my father insisted on Joan, his mother’s name. My grandmother had a temper, and she never touched us kindly, only to whip my brother and I as children. I used to imagine how my life might have turned out differently if I’d been named Kim.”
Max smiled. He’d had similar thoughts as a boy, especially when his teachers had insisted on calling him Maximilian rather than Max. He’d once begged his mother to change his name to Mike. She’d faced him across the table and told him Maximilian meant great, and emperors and leaders had shared his name. After that he’d puffed up a bit each time someone at school called him Maximilian.
“Kimberly’s a beautiful name,” he said.
“Kimberly Phillips,” Joan said, reaching out her hand.
He shook it and grinned. “Wonderful to meet you, Kim,” he told her.
28
It took almost three hours to nail boards over every window and door at The Crawford House. They left only two openings, the front door and a window in the back of the house. Ashley would reach the window by running down the main hallway and through the kitchen.
They nailed boards to both the front door and back window as well, but left one side free. When Ashley got the monster into the house, Shane would nail the window shut after Ashley jumped through into a pile of pre-arranged blankets. Sid would nail the door shut on the opposite side of the house.
Together, they’d ride to the payphone at the end of Turner Street, the closest phone to the house. They estimated they could be there in four minutes.
“Are you guys going to the Summer Shindig tomorrow?” Shane asked as they traipsed back through the woods. They were hot and sweaty and dirty, but both Ashley and Shane wore smiles of satisfaction. Sid looked dour, tiny creases between his eyebrows that seemed to deepen with each passing hour.
“Heck yeah,” Ashley said. “Mrs. Hagerty, the principal's wife, makes popcorn balls every year. They’re so good. I’d go just for those.”
“Mr. Pinot’s meatballs are pretty good too,” Sid added. “My dad always tries to replicate them after the Shindig, but his end up tasting like hamburgers covered in spaghetti sauce.”
“I’ve never gone,” Shane admitted. “My dad says it’s a waste of taxpayers’ money and gets all pissy about it every year, but he’s out of town so my mom’s going to drop me off.”
“Why don’t you ride your bike?” Ashley asked.
Shane shrugged. “My mom’s freaked about Warren. She doesn’t want me riding in the dark.”
Ashley nodded. “If she knew what was really out there, she wouldn’t let you leave the house.”
* * *
Max spotted Joan, now Kim, across the grassy expanse where the town had set-up the Summer Shindig. In years past, he’d volunteered, usually grilling burgers or helping build the bonfire, but he’d opted out this year.
When the volunteer sign-ups had circulated months earlier, Max had left his name off the sheet, imagining instead a long motorcycle ride out west. Maybe he’d spend an entire month traveling, even driving down to Mexico. Instead, when he’d learned of the missing kids, the trip left his brain as if it had never been there at all. He’d only remembered it that afternoon when he recalled his reason for not volunteering.
“Kim,” he called.
She looked up from the table where she carefully filled Dixie cups with strawberry lemonade.
Martha, director of Ellie’s House, stood beside her. When she saw Max, she offered him a wave and nodded at Joan, who slipped from behind the table and walked over to Max.
He wanted to hug her, but instead took both her hands in his and squeezed. “You look beautiful,” he told her.
She blushed and reached self-consciously to the hem of her green t-shirt, which read Safe Haven Vet Clinic. When she glanced at the shirt, her eyes lit up, and she pointed at the words.
“I got a job today!” she announced, grinning.
“At Safe Haven? That’s great. I took Frankie there to sacrifice his manhood. He still hasn’t forgiven me.”
She laughed. “Is Frankie your dog?”
“My cat’s full name is Frankenstein Wolfenstein, and now that I say it out loud, I realize I’m one of those dreadful cat parents who ruined his life by giving him a name destined to be the focus of bullies everywhere.”
“Frankenstein Wolfenstein,” she repeated, still laughing. “It has a nice ring to it.”
“Especially if you’re an emperor during the renaissance period. These days, I’m not sure it makes the cut. But enough about Frankenstein Wolfenstein. How do you like the Summer Shindig?” he asked.
He gestured at the park emblazoned with twinkle lights, though the sun had not yet set. Picnic tables held potted daisies. Kids played tag while parents stood around drinking lemonade and chatting.
“I love it. We never had anything like this in Mesick. It’s as if I’ve stepped into another world.”
“New life, new world,” he told her.
“Yeah.” She touched her face where the bruise had nearly disappeared.
“Can I grab you a drink? I have it on good authority that the table over there,” he pointed to a table manned by his friend Randy from the martial arts studio, “has spiked cider.”
“Okay, sure,” she said, running nervous fingers through her long auburn hair.
“Here,” he said, grabbing two lawn chairs. “Hold our seats.”
She sat down, crossing and then uncrossing her legs.
“Randy Bo-Bandy, I need some of the good stuff.”
“Max!” Randy high-fived him across the table. “Do tell,” he said, winking and nodding his head at Kim.
Max smiled and shook his head. “That’s Kim Phillips. She’s new in town. And we’re just friends.”
Randy arched an eyebrow and shook his head disbelievingly.
“Sure you are.” Randy handed him two cups of cider with large black x-marks on the side. “The parents insisted I mark the cups this year. Apparently last year a few pre-teens were acting rather giggly after their cider.”
Max took a sip. “Where are your wife and kiddos?”
Randy gestured with his ladle toward the bonfire where his wife, Greta, helped their twin boys put marshm
allows on sticks. “They’re middle schoolers next year, Max. Better watch out.”
Max laughed and walked away. “Thanks, Randy,” he called over his shoulder.
When he returned to Kim, he saw her brush at her face where a sparkle of fresh tears faded from her eyes.
“Are you all right?” he asked, looking beyond her to where a group of kids held sparklers.
One of their fathers walked amongst them with a lighter, lighting the tips. The sparklers erupted, shooting sparks into the dusky evening sky. They chased each other around the fire, their sparklers held out like magic wands.
“My son should be there,” she said. “He should be playing with sparklers and eating too many roasted marshmallows. His biggest worry should be whether he’ll make the soccer team next year.”
“I’m sorry, Kim. I’m sorry I haven’t found out more.”
“Max,” she turned to face him. Her eyes reflected the flames in the growing bonfire. “You’ve changed my life. I don’t expect you to find Nicholas. I don’t even know if we can find him. Please,” she put her hand on his forearm. “Please know how grateful I am for everything you’ve done.”
A tall slender woman with short golden hair that framed her face walked into the park. She wore a figure-hugging black dress and black sandals. It was an outfit completely unsuitable for a park bonfire and cookout, but it made heads turned. Within minutes she had a group of men around her, laughing too loudly at her jokes.
Kim glanced at the woman and back to Max. “Is it just me or does that woman keep staring at you?”
Max didn’t have to turn around to know who Kim was referring to. He sighed and looked skyward. “Sheila Hopkins. I dated her for about six months last year.”
“She’s very pretty,” Kim said, tugging her t-shirt lower. She wore jean shorts and faded tennis shoes.
Kim looked beautiful. She was an entirely different kind of beautiful than Sheila, with her made-up face and tanned, aerobicized body.
“She is pretty,” Max agreed. “Not so much on the inside, though.”
Kim frowned and tilted her head to the side. “She must be very funny,” she added, as the man beside her let out a bellow of laughter and slapped his leg.
Max tried not to roll his eyes. He’d witnessed Sheila’s effect on men. Funny was not how he would describe her. Disarming, maybe. She said things to shock people, to knock them off kilter.
“Why did you break up? Is that too personal?” Kim asked, taking a drink of her cider. She balanced the cup on her knee.
“It’s no great story. After dating a few months, I realized we weren’t compatible. Sheila’s the type of woman who needs undivided attention. She can’t share. If I stayed after school to grade papers or went for a solo motorcycle ride, I’d get the silent treatment for days. I had the feeling she wanted a man she could put on a shelf and take down when it suited her. The rest of the time he needed to sit on the shelf and admire her from across the room.”
Kim smiled.
“Sounds like a sad life for the man on the shelf.”
“Exactly,” Max agreed. “And my mom didn’t like her. A bad review from Maria Wolfenstein is the kiss of death in our family.”
Kim chuckled. “Why didn’t your mom like her?”
Max glanced back at the group, and Sheila caught his eye, trying to hold it, but he swiveled back around to Kim.
“She sensed that she was… fake. I never probed much into it. By the time my mom told me her feelings, I’d already started to distance myself. She said Sheila needed a good tragedy, some heartache to add depth to her character. It’s a strange thing to say, but it made sense to me. I wanted to meet the person beneath the pretty exterior.
“In a way, the mystery is what drew me to her. I kept waiting for the big reveal. Everyone has a secret, right? But nope, no skeletons ever leapt out of the closet, unless you count the jealousy and pettiness.”
Kim rubbed her arms. “Your mom must love me then; tragedy is my life’s motto.”
“Was. Tragedy was Joan’s life motto. Kim’s is triumph.”
“Triumph,” Kim said. “That sounds like a powerful word. I feel like I should do something more to complete the transition from Joan to Kim.”
Max bent down and picked up her purse. “Do you mind?” he asked.
She shook her head and watched, perplexed as he rifled through her bag.
He pulled out a paper grocery discount card with Joan Watts printed on the front.
“Walk with me,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the bonfire.
He felt the softness of her skin, the warm wetness of her palm against his.
They stopped at the fire and he handed her the card.
“I hereby release Joan Watts from her life of tragedy. With the destruction of this card, Kim Phillips is born.”
Kim grinned and crumpled the card up before throwing it high. It disappeared into the flames.
29
Max watched Kim’s profile, the curve of her pale cheek, the narrow slope of her nose, the small mound of pink lips that stretched into a smile. The flames brought out the red in her hair, and as the fire echoed in her blue eyes, he saw a flash of glee, as if she truly had liberated herself from tragic Joan’s life.
“How do you feel, Kim?”
She turned and gazed at him, her eyes searching his. “Hungry,” she replied, laughing.
Max gestured to a table of food. “As you should be on the day of your birth. Plus, Annie Kohl brought her famous stuffed mushrooms. They’re unmatched.”
They filled their plates and walked to a picnic table. Max watched Ashley and Sid arrive at the Shindig, their heads dipped close together as they talked. He tried to catch their eyes and wave, but they pushed on toward the bonfire, oblivious to him.
“Do you know them? Kim asked, following his gaze.
Max nodded. “Both were in my seventh grade English class this year. They’re as thick as thieves, those two.”
“Nicholas has two friends like that. Fred and Marty. They called me every day for two weeks after he went missing. Fred’s dad drives a semi-truck and he passed out fliers in more than thirty states.”
“That’s good,” Max said. “It just takes one person who knows something.”
“Yeah. I pray every night that tomorrow’s the day someone picks up the flier and recognizes Nicholas. That I’ll wake up to Martha knocking on my door with the news someone found him. He fell and hit his head and got amnesia, but someone saw the flier and took him to the police.”
She tried to smile, but it slipped off her face. “I’ve resorted to fairytales.” She shook her head. “Worse, soap operas. That’s something that happens in soap operas, not real life.”
“Don’t question anything that gives you hope,” he told her. “Keep believing for Nicholas’s sake and your own.”
He heard his advice and considered his own tendency to question extraordinary events. The book for instance, the Fruit Loops, the reflection in the boutique’s window. He was a fine one to give advice about believing.
Kim dropped her eyes to her plate and picked up a mushroom, slipping it into her mouth. “Yum,” she said, eating another.
“What did I tell ya?” he asked.
Kim’s eyes flitted back to the bonfire, where a kid drew a stick topped with a flaming marshmallow from the fire. He laughed and hopped up and down as his dad tried to steady the stick so he could blow it out.
Her chewing slowed, and Max watched the joy from eating the mushroom drain from her face.
He tried to imagine her feelings, but knew he’d never understand. Every pleasant experience was strangled by the unknown. Every thought was followed by where is my son.
They could erase everything that defined Joan Watts, but it wouldn’t change that a part of her, the most critical part perhaps, had been stolen. She lived and breathed, but with only half a heart.
“Max. Hi, how are you?”
He stiffened at the sound of Sheila’s voic
e behind him.
When he turned, she stood, scanning Kim distastefully.
“Oh, hey, Sheila. How’s it going?”
“Grand. I was promoted to Head of Marketing last month, so life is good.”
“Congratulations,” Max told her, withholding his comment that she couldn’t have chosen a more suitable career.
“Still teaching middle school?” she asked, wrinkling her nose as if she’d smelled something rotten. She shifted her attention to Kim. “I told him a thousand times he should teach at a big university. I mean middle school? What a waste of those gorgeous brains.”
She reached forward and wiped a manicured finger across Max’s cheek.
He recoiled, and she laughed.
“You had a bit of mushroom there,” she said and then looked pointedly at Kim.
“My son’s in middle school,” Kim said. “I’d give my right arm for him to have a teacher as wonderful as Max.”
Sheila wrinkled her brow. “Well, that’s fine and good for your son, but that’s not looking out for Max’s best interest is it?”
“Looking out for my best interests is no one’s jobs but my own. Well Maria Wolfenstein gets a say now and then.” He winked at Kim.
Sheila feigned a smile and adjusted a single diamond earring in that coy way she’d done many times during their courtship. Swivel earrings, examine nylons, drop her head so her hair fell over her face.
He’d seen it all and, unfortunately, had taken the bait more times than not in those first weeks. Now he recognized the clever ruse and wanted no part in it.
“Sheila, this is my friend, Kim,” he said, reaching out and resting a hand on Kim’s lower back, a gesture far more intimate than he’d intended. Her warmth seeped through the t-shirt and into his fingertips.
“A pleasure,” Sheila said, though she offered Kim a dismissive glance. “I thought I’d see you here.” Sheila directed her gaze back to Max. “I hoped we could talk.”
He stood quickly, his paper plate catching on his shirt and plummeting to the grass.
Kim leaned down to pick it up, but he touched her shoulder.
Rag Doll Bones: A Northern Michigan Asylum Novel Page 17
