Lover's Lane

by Jill Marie Landis

  “Oh, God, Jake.”

  Wanting to absorb her fear and pain, he slipped his arm around her shoulders. She was so shaken she didn’t even notice.

  “We should split up,” he said, planning out loud. “You drive up the highway in both directions and see if you can spot them. I’ll follow the main nature trail at a jog. If they are on the way to Matt’s, you’ll spot them on the road.”

  Gently, he withdrew his arm and then pulled his car keys out of his pocket and started to hand them over. “Do you feel all right to drive?”

  “I can do anything I have to.”

  “Take my car. I don’t trust Betty.” He tried to smile, failed miserably.

  She grabbed the keys without argument, turned to leave. He grabbed her elbow and she looked back at him again.

  “Carly, we’ll find them.” The desperation in her eyes was killing him. He let go and watched her run back down the beach path alone.

  An hour later Carly parked in front of her own place again and found Jake pacing the narrow porch, talking on his cell phone. She climbed out of his SUV, hurried up the walk, and handed him his keys with a silent shake of her head.

  Tears were streaming down her face, warm and wet. She could feel them, but was barely aware of anything. For the past hour she felt as if she’d been looking at the world through the distorted glass of a fish bowl, submerged, unable to breathe.

  Jake snapped his phone off. “You didn’t find them.”

  She wiped her cheek with the hem of her sleeve. “No.”

  “I got a hold of the Potters. I called Glenn’s office and got his cell number off the machine. They’re on the way back.” Jake glanced at his watch. “I told them I called the police.”

  Carly bit her lips and closed her eyes, afraid the nightmare was only beginning. On the run at fifteen, she’d been terrified, but she’d been old enough to know what dangers she faced. Chris and Matthew had no idea what could be waiting for them. They were so young, so innocent and defenseless.

  If anyone wanted to grab them, force them into a van or a car . . .

  She wanted to scream, to tear her hair, and to rail at God to give her baby back, but she was helpless, stuck in a damn fishbowl, fighting for every breath.

  Jake was on the phone again briefly. Then he turned to her, took her by the shoulder, and led her inside. Once she was seated in her old rocking chair, he went into the kitchen. She heard water running, heard the kettle hit the burner.

  Familiar sounds. Everyday sounds that were suddenly foreign. Nothing seemed normal anymore.

  He walked back into the living room and stood beside her, hands in his back pockets. She hated the undisguised worry in his eyes.

  “I put the kettle on.” He paced over to the open front door and looked through the screen. “It’s getting dark. I’m betting they’ll be home in a few minutes. They’ll get hungry and come out from wherever it is they’re hiding. Chris eats like he has a hollow leg.”

  A tear plopped on the front of Carly’s sweatshirt. Mesmerized, she watched the dampness spread, as if that were all she had to concentrate on.

  She heard a car and looked through the screen door as a black-and-white police cruiser pulled into a parking stall out front.

  A young, heavyset officer stepped out, adjusted the thick gun belt around his even thicker waist, and then picked up a clipboard. The sun flashed on the bright gold badge pinned to his crisp, navy shirtfront. He looked like a boy. Too young to be a cop.

  He didn’t even know Christopher.

  He had no idea how much her son meant to her, how very special Chris was. The young officer couldn’t know that her heart was breaking or how hard it was for her to breathe or even think straight.

  She watched as he took his time walking up the steps clutching a little spiral notebook in his hand.

  Her first reaction to the sight of the official car in Wilt’s driveway that day was one of panic, until she remembered that she was nineteen, and no one could make her go back to New Mexico now, not if she didn’t want to.

  It had been close to five years since that horrible morning Caroline had died. She had no idea if anyone had ever looked for Caroline or even identified her friend’s body.

  Haunted by the image of Caroline lying cold and alone in that gully off the highway, Carly had made one call to New Mexico the morning after she reached California. She phoned the Highway Patrol, made up a story about how she was looking for her brother, and inquired about accidents along Highway 40.

  They confirmed three teenagers had been involved in a crash two days before and that one of the men in the car, Raul Herrera, had been admitted to emergency in Winslow, where he remained in critical condition. Lucky Marvin had been D.O.A. along with an unidentified female.

  A Jane Doe. No one would mourn Caroline. No one would identify her, claim her body, see her buried. Hundreds of miles away, Carly had closed her eyes and hung up, conscious of the silence in Wilt’s empty house.

  Forgive me, Caroline. Forgive me for leaving you there all alone.

  She never called back with a tip to identify the Jane Doe. Of all the people in the world, Caroline would understand her decision and would have done exactly the same thing in her place. Caroline would have been proud that she’d had the guts to walk away in the first place. It had been her only way out.

  For the next few years, she had tried to put Caroline’s death, the accident, her own duplicity behind her, but on that hot, sunny afternoon, the sight of a Borrego Springs patrol car outside Wilt’s door had brought it all back.

  She walked to the door with Christopher in her arms and recognized Jerry Holmes. She served Sergeant Holmes a cinnamon roll and coffee almost every morning at the Crosswinds.

  “Hi, Caroline.” Like everyone in Borrego, he knew her as Caroline Graham.

  Jerry usually smiled, but that afternoon as he rested his hands on his gun belt and looked everywhere but at her, she realized he hadn’t stopped by to say hello.

  “Wilt’s not here,” she told him.

  “I came to see you, actually. You were dating Rick Saunders last year . . .”

  Like everyone else who knew her from the Crosswinds, he’d seen them around town together and asked her about Rick.

  “Yeah?”

  He looked at Christopher in her arms. Frowned.

  “There’s no easy way to say this, Caroline. There’s been an accident up on the grade. Rick’s car went off the road. I got the call over the radio and wanted to tell you before you heard it someplace else.”

  “Is he . . . is he hurt bad?” Flashes of the accident in New Mexico came back to her. Caroline on the ground. Lucky twisted over the steering wheel.

  Jerry scratched his neck with a beefy hand. His gun belt creaked whenever he shifted his weight. Fear heightened her senses so that she became aware of everything at once, of the smell of bacon Wilt had fried for a BLT at lunch, the way Jerry towered over her. She was usually standing over him while he ate.

  “He’s dead, Caroline. Rick didn’t make it.”

  Jake let the young officer into Carly’s mobile home. When the uniformed policeman halted just inside the door, his gaze fanned the room like a minesweeper and stopped on Carly.

  “We got your call about some runaways. How long have the boys been gone, ma’am?”

  Her eyes found Jake’s. “I . . . I’m not sure. I don’t know.”

  “Just over an hour,” Jake said. “We’ve looked everywhere.”

  “Ages?”

  “Six.” Carly found the strength to push out of the rocker. “They’re both six. We’ve looked up and down the highway, checked the beach.” She turned to Jake. “And the nature hikes along the bluff to the south.” Jake nodded.

  “You’re sure they’re not still in the house? Kids hide right under your nose sometimes and then get too scared to come out.”

  Carly stepped up to the spit-shined young man, tempted to grab and shake him. “They aren’t here. If they were, I’d have found them.
”

  Jake walked to the dinette set, picked up the note, and handed it to the officer.

  “Christopher left this.”

  The young cop read it, folded it, jotted something on the tablet, and asked Jake, “The boy’s your son?”

  You’d be a real good dad.

  “No, I’m . . .” Jake looked to Carly. Her arms were wrapped around her midriff, her intense pain physical now. Beauty lay on the floor pressed up against her ankles.

  “No. I’m . . . just a friend.”

  38

  “YOU THIRSTY?” CHRIS HANDED MATT HIS BOTTLE OF WATER. “Don’t take it all. Just sip it. We gotta make it last.”

  He’d heard that line in a movie once, a jungle movie about a plane crash. Right now he wished they were lost in a jungle. At least it would be warm.

  They’d been walking forever, and it was getting darker. Chris was sure Matt was gonna wuss out and start crying about how much he wanted to go home. Chris wanted to go home too, but not until Mom changed her mind about moving.

  If she didn’t, he figured that he was old enough to take care of himself. Heck, he’d been taking care of Matt since they left the house. He’d given him the parka instead of the sweatshirt and never even made Matt carry the backpack.

  They’d raced out of Seaside Village and ran down the beach. The tide was out and all the big black rocks were showing at the point. He’d led the way as they climbed and jumped from rock to rock until they rounded the end and were at Twilight Cove. The waves weren’t very big, so they easily made it across the rocks all the way to the beach.

  They sneaked up the long stairs to the park, then stopped to watch some older kids play soccer. Leading the way, Chris walked Matt through the alleys instead of the streets until they got to the side of the highway.

  They waited behind some high bushes that were covered with stickers until the coast was clear, then they darted over to the other side and started up a dry creek bed.

  “I’m hungry,” Matt whined.

  “I’m hungry, too, but I’m not crying about it.”

  Chris wished they’d left earlier. Being out alone in the dark was scarier than he thought it would be, even with Matt along.

  “You’re just not crying ’cause this was your idea.”

  “So?”

  “So you’re only acting like you’re not hungry. You know this was a dumb idea, but you won’t go back.”

  “It’s not a dumb idea.”

  Matt suddenly sat down on a rock in the middle of the creek bed and pressed his eyes against his knees. He’d slipped, ripped his jeans, and skinned his knee when they climbed around the point.

  “Come on, Matt. We gotta keep going. Look up. There’s the first star. Make a wish.”

  Matt’s head jerked up and he looked around. “I don’t wanna be out here in the dark. What about coyotes? What about rattlers? I wanna go home!”

  Chris tugged on Matt’s sleeve until he got him to his feet. “We can’t go home. Everybody’s probably really mad at us by now.”

  “When are we gonna eat the crackers and cheese?”

  “You gotta be patient. Keep walking. We’re almost there.”

  “Where?”

  Chris stared up the creek bed, but it was getting harder to see. He didn’t tell Matt where they were going because he wasn’t real sure he knew the way.

  The Potters pulled into Seaside Village while another officer was still questioning Carly and Jake. Tracy was far cooler and calmer than Glenn as they answered every question the policeman put to them. She could remember in detail what both Matt and Christopher had been wearing when Carly picked Matt up. She calmed Glenn and reassured Carly that they didn’t hold her responsible.

  “What I don’t understand is why they ran off. You say Chris talked about not wanting to move? You’re not moving, are you?” Tracy’s already large eyes were huge as she looked to Carly for answers.

  Carly glanced at Jake and then away. “I . . . I’d thought about it, you know, maybe someday. I talked about going on vacation, but . . .” she couldn’t seem to control the infinite amount of tears that came suddenly and out of nowhere, “. . . Wednesday’s hot dog day.”

  She knew she wasn’t making any sense, knew that she was the only reason her son had run away. If she and Jake hadn’t been arguing, if Jake had never come to Twilight in the first place, Christopher and Matt would still be right here where they belonged, eating Etta’s warmed-over spaghetti and meatballs.

  Etta had changed into a platinum wig and pink stretch pants, and along with a contingent of neighbors, spent the last twenty minutes milling around out front. Eventually she separated from the group, marched up to the door, and insisted on coming in to sit with Carly until they heard something.

  Tracy made and served tea, puttering like a Stepford wife, assuring everyone that Matt and Chris would be just fine— until she accidentally let go of a mug, and it crashed to the floor. She dissolved into an hysterical heap on the kitchen floor.

  Selma and Joe arrived in time to take over. Selma guided Tracy to the bathroom to rinse her face while Joe mopped up the floor and started heating a huge pot of chili that he’d lugged over from the diner. They had closed down as soon as they heard about the search.

  Glenn spent most of his time on his cell phone organizing a door-to-door search and then decided to take Tracy home so that he could coordinate the volunteers.

  Carly couldn’t do anything but sit balled up in the corner of the couch and quietly go insane.

  Jake knew that the longer the boys were missing, the more danger they were in. He checked in with the officer in charge of the search, discovered that someone had seen the kids in the park, but apparently no one paid much attention to them with so many other kids around.

  The local search-and-rescue volunteers had been called out. The Laura Recovery Center Foundation sent in a local volunteer assistant with their hundred-page guide to mobilizing large groups of volunteers.

  Even with all the help, the more time passed, the more helpless Jake felt. He wanted to join them, but every time he looked at Carly, he couldn’t leave her.

  He turned on another lamp in the living room, watched as she struggled to her feet and left the room. He hoped she’d gone to lie down, but she was back in five minutes wearing a heavier sweatshirt.

  She had washed her face though, and her hairline around her temples was still damp. Her skin was so pale it was nearly translucent.

  “Are you hungry?” Jake had forgotten about dinner. He didn’t have a conscious desire to eat, but his stomach was rumbling.

  Selma and Joe were in the kitchen arguing over whether or not people liked chili better over rice or without. Etta, her wig askew, was sound asleep in Carly’s rocking chair emitting window-rattling snores.

  As soon as Jake mentioned food, Joe dished up a huge bowl of chili and rice.

  “How about something lighter for Carly?” Jake suggested and Joe whipped up half a peanut butter and honey sandwich.

  Jake carried it over to her, but she took one look, shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself again.

  Suddenly there was a knock at the door, and everyone was on their feet at once. Jake opened it with Carly and Beauty flanking him. A searing light hit them both in the eyes.

  A woman’s voice came from behind the intense glare, insistent and professionally insensitive.

  “I’m Abbigail Klasa from the local network affiliate, KBCH 7, Eyewitness News. How are you holding up with your son missing, Ms. Nolan?” The reporter shoved the microphone closer to Carly’s face.

  Carly blinked into the light. “What?”

  “What went through your mind when you realized your only child was missing? Do you suspect foul play?”

  Jake pulled Carly out of the blazing light and slammed the door.

  She was trembling so violently that he was afraid she was going to collapse. Blindly, she reached for his hand and he took it without hesitation. She’d needed to hold onto somethi
ng warm, something real in the midst of chaos.

  He led her back to the sofa. She sank into it, rested her hands on her knees. He reached for her hands, found them cold as ice, even though the room was warm. He chafed them, held on tight. Finally she looked into his eyes, but no words came.

  “I feel like hell. I’d give anything to make this all go away,” he said.

  She shook her head, bit her lips to keep them from trembling.

  When she could finally form the words, she said, “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who set this all in motion years ago. I never thought about how the older Christopher got, the harder it would be to move. I wasn’t thinking of his feelings, just that I couldn’t let them take him from me.”

  He tightened his hand on hers. She swallowed a sob.

  “I couldn’t bear to let anyone take my baby away, but right now, if it would save his life, I’d give him up, Jake. If that’s what it takes to keep him safe, I’d give him to Anna in a heartbeat.”

  He held her tight, let her cry herself out on his shoulder. When she finally pulled out of his arms, he brushed her hair back off her damp face. Waiting was torture for them both, but the police had asked her to stay put, to wait for word.

  “Would you mind if I left you long enough to see how the search is going? Selma and Joe will stay, and I’ll call you from the command post.”

  Carly nodded. “Yes, go. I wish I could go with you. Anything would be better than sitting here in limbo.”

  He knew that in a while the shock would wear off, and she would no longer be content to sit and do nothing, as sure as he knew she would never give up looking for Chris. She would wait a lifetime if she had to for her boy to walk through the door again, whole and unharmed, just the way he’d left.

  39

  ANNA WALKED INTO THE PENTHOUSE, CLOSED AND DOUBLE-LOCKED the door behind her, set the security alarm.

  The click of her beige pumps echoed as she crossed the marble floor. Without quite stopping, she slowed down to glance at her reflection in the oversized gilt-framed mirror above the table in the foyer. Tonight every one of her sixty-two years was showing. She walked into the master suite, anxious to get out of her knit suit and panty hose and into bed.