Reveling in these fuzzy thoughts, Shana noticed a little girl clutching a red parasol skip past her. Wait! She called out, her voice grating like a cheese slicer.
The little girl in the red coat stopped to gaze at her.
Shana held up her roped arms. Untie me, please!
The little girl in the red hat looked at her sadly.
Go get your mommy or daddy to come help me!
The little girl in the red dress shoes unclenched her fist.
The red parasol disappeared into the cloudless sky.
The little girl skipped away.
“No!” Shana cried into the void.
Chapter 43
Deborah
December 1984
Deborah’s family would be ringing the bell anytime now. What a relief that Chanukah and Christmas Eve both fell on the same night this year! Her niece and nephew wouldn’t be sulking about how unfair it was that they couldn’t have a tree.
She worked alongside Alan, placing the potato latkes he’d fried onto a festive serving platter. “This second batch is too oily. We need another paper towel to pat them down.”
Her husband thrust the roll of paper towels into her arms. “There you go!”
“Very funny.” She pulled a single towel off the roll to absorb the excess olive oil.
Alan wiped his sweaty forehead with his apron. “You think I should put more grated onions in the next batch?”
“It’s cool the way you did it.” Unlike her, he couldn’t savor the smell of sautéed potato and onion pancakes.
Deborah opened the oven to check on the chicken. Um. The smell of paprika was tantalizing. She turned the temperature to simmer.
This year, Leah was bringing the matzo ball soup, and her mother, a homemade honey cake. Deborah was filled with gratitude. With her new position as director of the synagogue’s preschool program, Deborah would never have had the time or energy to put it all together. But this year, everybody was helping. Even Alan’s brother Jerry, who believed Chanukah was just for kids, had deemed tonight’s dinner worthy of attending.
Alan turned off the stove. “All done.” Deborah followed him in the utility room and watched as he rolled his dirty apron into a ball and tossed it into the hamper. “Hole in one!”
She grabbed him around the waist. “My hero.”
Alan moved her hands away. “Now you got my shirt oily!”
“No big deal,” she said, reaching for a spray bottle on the shelf. Normally, she was the one who demanded cleanliness, but tonight she was too revved to care.
They dressed for dinner. “You’ve been more affectionate lately. What’s up?”
“I’ve been feeling happier since I went back to work.”
“So that’s it?”
“You’ve been a lot more helpful with cooking and cleaning, too.”
He looked up from the mirror after straightening his tie. “If I was a less discerning man, I’d accept your words, end of story. But something tells me my Deb isn’t telling me everything. Come on, what gives?”
She gave him a little smile as she curled her hair. “Now’s not the time. They’re going to be here any minute.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “They can wait. Really, what’s going on with you?”
“Our name finally came up on the adoption list!” she blurted.
Alan sank to the bed mattress. “What?”
“A five year old boy, born right here in Chicago!”
She pulled a Kodak picture from beneath their bed. “Check it out! Brown hair, brown eyes, just like you!”
“He’s a handsome kid. Why would somebody give him up?”
“Evidently, he was adopted at birth by an interfaith couple, but four years in, the wife died of cancer and the dad couldn’t cope. The boy’s been in a foster home for the last year. He was brought back to DCFS.”
“Temper tantrums are par for the course for that age,” said Alan. “Jerry and I acted out a lot when we were young. There’s more to this story, trust me.”
Deborah fidgeted with the pillow sham. “There was evidence of physical abuse. Burns that went unexplained. Neglect. Food anxiety.”
“I don’t know, Deb. Sounds like this kid has hard core behavior problems.”
She put her arms around his neck. “I deal with behavioral issues of our preschoolers; some issues are more serious than others. I’m fully equipped to handle his challenges and get him the help he needs.”
Bing, bing.
Alan stood. “They’re here.”
Together, they headed toward the front door. “Can we at least meet him?”
“I guess,” he said.
Deborah did a happy dance.
“What’s that all about?”
“We’ve got an appointment with the boy and his social worker tomorrow.”
Chapter 44
Shana
Shana awoke to something bumping against her. “What the fuck!” she croaked, straining to come to a sitting position.
“Are you a frog?” asked the straggly haired women in the garbage bag cape.
“Why did you kick me?”
“I’m a frog, too.” The woman pointed deeper into the forest. “Me and my little ones live down there, next to the pond. Thought you were dead, lying on your back like that. Looks like you’ve been out of the water too long. Lucky for you, your body’s still moist! Didn’t want you to get run over by a bike, so I bumped you. Once I got my neck stuck in a plastic circular thing people throw away. Thought I was a goner. But all the frogs came to help me, even some tadpoles, and you know that never happens. A couple of them died because they got tangled up, too, but they were very brave.”
First the little girl with the red parasol, then a talking frog. Heat stroke will soon have all of her mind. In desperation, Shana reached for frog woman’s arm.
The woman hopped backward. “Nobody touches my legs!”
“Sorry,” Shana said. “Thanks for bumping me away from danger.”
“Toads can endure brief touch,” frog woman continued, her eyes bulging, “You crave touch, so you must be a toad.”
Shana felt herself drifting in and out of consciousness. She struggled to get her words out. “Cell phone? Call kids, tell where am.”
Ribbit, ribbit. “Only humans have cell phones, silly.”
“Find phone human throw away?” Shana asked desperately.
“Where’s the pond you and your polliwogs are staying at?”
Was she really conversing with a frog, wondered Shana. Had she turned into a frog, too? Shana attempted to verbalize these questions, but her words refused to leave the womb.
“Didn’t mean to get into your business by asking a personal question,” said frog woman.
Shana grimaced as she recalled the personal questions she’d asked in the two-and-a-half decades she’d been a reporter.
“Okay, then. Let you get back to your polliwogs. Good hopping!”
“No go!” Only the woods heard Shana’s hoarse screech.
Alone again.
Skin hot.
Raw.
She closed her eyes
and
waited
for
death.
Chapter 45
Detective Hernandez
“This is me,” the suspect responded pleasantly.
Detective Hernandez placed the first of three camera surveillance pictures on the table before him. “And this?”
Aamer leaned forward in the conference room chair and glanced at the three pictures, one by one. “All me.”
“Did Shana know you were following her?” the detective asked.
Aamer straightened his red tie. “I do not believe.”
“Your wife told Becc
a you left the restaurant early to make a flower delivery.”
“True.”
“So you delivered flowers to a customer. What is this customer’s name?”
“I not remember. You talk to boss. She will tell you.”
“What time did you deliver the flowers?”
Aamer checked his cell phone calendar. “I arrive Sunday, twelve-forty.”
“And what time did you leave the restaurant brunch?”
He leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. “Twelve-ten p.m. I pick flowers up from store, then bring flowers to people’s houses.”
“Where did you go after you delivered the flowers?” asked the detective.
“No more deliveries, so I return to restaurant. Shana ran outside. She look very unhappy. I worry for her, so I follow.”
“Did you catch up with Shana?”
He looked perplexed. “She didn’t need ketchup.”
Smiling in spite of herself, she rephrased her question. “Did you speak to Shana?”
He shook his head. “She far ahead.”
“Did she see you?”
“I not want to embarrass her.”
“What was your plan?”
He looked at her quizzically.
“You say you were following her, correct?”
“I stay far behind for long time.”
“So you didn’t want to talk to her, and you didn’t stand near her.”
Aamer nodded.
“Then what was your purpose? Why did you follow her?”
“She not have purse or phone. I not want her to get lost, and nobody there to help. So I try to help.”
“You were being a good Samaritan.”
Aamer shrugged. “I not know this word.”
The detective tapped her shoes impatiently. “You were being a good guy.”
He smiled widely. “Yes, a good guy.”
“When did you first meet Shana?”
“Sunday a.m. This was first time I see Zander, my step-son, in many years. He invite me to be with family at restaurant. While we wait, Shana, daughter Becca, and I talk.”
“How did Shana act toward you?”
“Sorry?”
“Was she friendly? Mean?”
“She hug me, very happy to meet me.”
“Then what happened?”
He opened his arms wide. “She ask me many questions.”
“What did she ask you?”
“Where I grow up? How life was when I was little boy? When I come to United States?”
“How did you like those questions?”
“It make me happy to talk about long ago. Many good memories.”
“Did Shana ask you any questions you didn’t like?”
Aamer nodded, his smile slightly dimmed. “She ask why ISIS fight and Koran love. I smile at her, but this question make me cry inside. Becca sad, too. She fall, but I pick her up.”
“Then what happened?”
“Red light buzz. We all go in restaurant.” Aamer stood. “I very tired, need to go home now.”
The detective stood, wide stance. “I will tell you when and if you’re going home tonight.”
Aamer gave her a puzzled look.
“Just a few more questions.”
Aamer smiled. “I answer good, then I go home.”
“When it began to rain and thunder at the Park, did you help Shana?”
Aamer shook his head. “I have no umbrella. But tall young man have umbrella. His shoes look like alligator. Shana step under umbrella. I leave.”
“Did she seem happy to go with the young man?”
“She quick go under umbrella, no problem.”
“Last question.”
Aamer put his hands in prayer position.
“You have a cell phone. Why didn’t you contact your step-son when you saw Shana was in distress?”
Aamer looked down at the table. “Zander not give me his phone number.”
“Did you phone your wife?”
Aamer brought his palms to his eyes. “I not want worry my wife, so I follow Shana. Now she is dead.”
“We don’t know that yet. The police artist will sketch your description of the young man with the umbrella. Then I will release you.”
“Thank Allah!” Aamer reached across the desk to hug her, but the detective pulled her gun on him.
Aamer eyed the gun and raised his hands, terror in his eyes. “You not kill me, please!”
She returned the gun to its holster. Then she moved toward him slowly, handcuffs in hand. “No one’s going to hurt you, Sir. Clasp your hands behind your back.”
“What mean…?”
“Do it!” she shouted.
Aamer froze. “I am U.S. citizen. Wallet in pants pocket. You see!”
“Hands behind you, Sir!”
Aamer moved his hands behind his back. As she cuffed him, sweat poured from his forehead.
The detective used her phone to photograph the suspect; then she punched in the number to the global security database. Stepping away from Aamer, she turned and spoke into the phone. After a few minutes, she returned her phone to her pocket. “You might want to call your wife. Looks like you’ll be spending the night here, after all.”
Chapter 46
Shana
Shana’s eyes opened woozily as she felt herself being lifted, then flung over someone’s shoulder. Her unroped legs bopped in the humid breeze, and her chin banged against a scratchy chest, as he hauled her down through the gravel road.
“Son?” she mumbled through parched lips. Faint with hunger, thirst, and sun stroke, she wondered if he was rescuing her or taking her deeper into the forest.
He grunted with her weight. “Evidently, no one figured you were worth rescuing.”
Rescue. He was going to rescue her, she dizzily rejoiced.
He looked both ways, then roughly unloaded her body onto a park bench. He pulled a water bottle from his backpack, squeezed open her lips, and poured the liquid down her throat. Not slow, not fast, but in a steady stream.
Still, she choked as she guzzled the water. “F-food?”
He broke off chunks of a trail mix bar and fed them to her slowly.
A guttural sound escaped her lips, asking him to untie the wrists.
“After the day I’ve had, you really don’t want to piss me off.” His gaze fell to the sunburn molts covering her body. “You need medical attention.”
He was taking her to the hospital! “I no tell,” she attempted to eke out.
He sat back on his haunches. “There is no one to tell!”
Her eyes widened.
“You thought I was taking you to the hospital? That’s not going to happen. See, I’m still trying to decide if I should let you live or die. Playing God, if you will. Actually, it’s kind of an exhilarating experience. That said, I’m no monster. I’ll do what I can to relieve your discomfort.” He dug in his bag for a cold pack, then crushed it to activate. “Here you go,” he said, placing the cold pack on her forehead.
Shana’s eyes shone with gratitude.
“Bet you’re wondering whether I visited Daddy Dearest without you.”
She blinked once.
He placed two pills on her tongue and gave her a sip of water.
She looked at him warily. “Wha…?”
“Antihistamines to reduce itching and swelling. I staked out his house, just like they do in the movies. He pulled into the driveway at 3:15 p.m. He lifted a set of golf clubs from his car trunk—he drives a Mercedes—and started into his garage.
“It was then I confronted him. He asked my name and purpose. I came right out and told him I was his son. He dismissed my claim. ‘I’ve been a bachelor my whole life. Never fathered a kid. Family slows a man down. My
job kept me traveling all over the world. More than enough excitement for me.’ He gave me his best wishes and turned to go into the house.
“I said ‘wait,’ fished out my cellphone, and showed him your yearbook picture. ‘Am I supposed to know this person?’ he asked.
“This is a picture of the woman you raped in college. I am your son from that union.
“Despite my reminding him of the frat party he attended at the end of senior year, the booze, the dancing, the barbiturates he put in your drink, Daddy continued to deny responsibility. You know how strongly I feel about accepting responsibility for one’s actions, don’t you?”
Shana felt herself fading off again.
He opened a popsicle box and stuck a lime pop between her lips. Then he placed her roped hands on the popsicle stick. “There you go. In case you’re wondering, these ice pops are organic. No sugar added. Shall I go on with my story?”
Her throat threatened to shut down at the propelled object, but the lime taste began to massage her taste buds.
She blinked once.
“Daddy told me how sorry he was, but that I had the wrong man. He shook my hand and turned back to the door. I reached over his shoulder and stuck him in the heart with a knife. You remember the pocketknife I slashed across your cheek when you first came to visit?”
Shana moaned.
“Yep, it was one and the same. Did you know a pocketknife can inflict an immense amount of damage if you use it effectively?”
Shana spit out the popsicle. It fell to the gravel below.
Daniel’s eyes blazed. “I give you water and food. I nurse you back to health, and you have the audacity to fling it back in my face?”
Just then, a bicyclist stopped abruptly. “Heard screaming. Are you guys all right?”
Before they could answer, the cyclist’s eyes fell to Shana’s roped wrists. He jumped off his bike. “Holy shit. What happened?”
“I was jogging by when I came upon this woman. Her wrists were roped, her whole body sunburned. Thought she had sunstroke. I’m a medic so I’ve been administering first aid and giving her food and drink.”
“Did you call an ambulance?”
Up Close And Gone Page 13
