An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler

by Jennier Chiaverini

  “No, I dropped him off at school this morning.” Megan’s throat was dry; she tried to swallow. “Did Dad talk to his teacher?”

  “She said he left with the other kids as always. Your dad didn’t want to worry her, so he told her he’d check the playground.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “It’s probably nothing,” her mother hastened to say. “He probably went home with a friend. There’s probably a message waiting on the answering machine.”

  Megan nodded numbly, as if her mother could see her. “I’m going home.”

  “We’ll meet you there,” her mother said, and hung up.

  Megan snatched up her bag and left the building, pausing only to tell a coworker that she had to rush home for an emergency. Twenty minutes later she pulled into her driveway beside her father’s truck, not remembering a single mile of the drive. Her parents were waiting in the kitchen. She knew from their expressions that no message waited for her, and that Robby wasn’t anywhere in the house.

  Her mother embraced her, her face drawn with concern. “Are you certain he didn’t tell you he was going anywhere after school?”

  “I know he didn’t,” Megan said. Her legs felt too weak to support her, so she sank into a chair. “He hardly spoke to me at all this morning. We had a fight last night—well, not exactly a fight. He was angry, and he shouted.”

  “Angry about what?” her father asked.

  Wordlessly, Megan gestured toward the birth announcement, which she had left beside the phone after calling Keith. Her father read it and scowled, then passed it to his wife. She sighed and shook her head. “No wonder he’s upset,” she said.

  “He probably just ran off to be by himself for a while,” her father said. “It’s his way of punishing all the grown-ups who have let him down.”

  As hard as that would be to accept, Megan prayed it was true. Considering the alternatives, the horrible, nightmare alternatives …

  In an instant her mother was at her side. “Megan, honey.” She held her daughter tightly. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Megan nodded and gulped air, squeezing her eyes shut and clutching desperately at her mother. She couldn’t fall apart. It was too soon to fall apart. She had to stay in control to find Robby. He would be found; he would be home within the hour.

  She reached for the phone. “Are you calling the police?” her father asked.

  “Not yet,” Megan said, hoping that wasn’t a mistake. “I thought I’d call some of his classmates first.”

  Her father slipped on the jacket he had draped over the counter. “I’ll walk around the neighborhood and look for him.”

  “I’ll drive up to the school,” her mother said, picking up her purse and glancing at Megan. “Unless you want me here?”

  Megan preferred for them to be out searching, so her parents left. Megan tried to calm herself as she dialed Jason’s number. His mother answered cheerfully enough, but her voice grew troubled when Megan asked if Robby was there.

  “No, he isn’t,” she said.

  “Would you mind asking your son if he saw Robby leave school?”

  The other woman’s voice telegraphed alarm. “Is Robby missing?”

  “He isn’t home,” Megan managed to say, unable to get her mind around the darker possibilities. “Would you ask Jason, please?”

  “Of course.” There was a scramble on the other end of the line, and muffled voices. “Jason says he saw Robby on the soccer field after school playing football with some other kids.”

  “Does he know who these other kids were?”

  There was another pause while she inquired, then she returned with a list of five names. Megan thanked her and hung up, already paging through the phone book for the first number. Her brief stirring of hope wavered and then flickered out when one by one, each of the children’s parents told her that their children had come home long ago, and Robby had not accompanied them.

  “I have the phone tree for the PTA,” one mother said. “I’ll call around and ask if anyone has seen him.”

  “You should call the police,” the last father said. Megan decided to take his advice.

  The officer who took her call tried to reassure her, saying that Robby hadn’t been missing very long, and he would probably come home before the squad car arrived. Megan was not comforted. She paced around the kitchen looking out the windows and praying she would see her son walking down the sidewalk. Her mother returned just as the police arrived. Megan watched as the two officers spoke to her briefly in the driveway, then all three came into the house.

  The two men introduced themselves as Officers Hasselbach and DiMarco. They began with a series of what Megan assumed were routine questions—Robby’s age, height, weight, hair and eye color. Megan’s mother hurried into the living room for a photograph, which Hasselbach studied and passed to DiMarco. “May we keep this?” Hasselbach asked.

  Megan nodded.

  “Is Mr. Donohue home?”

  “Robby’s father and I are divorced.”

  The two officers exchanged a look. “Have you tried to reach him?”

  “No,” Megan said, surprised by the question, surprised that calling Keith had not occurred to her. “But he’s in Oregon. I don’t think he’ll be much help, and I’d hate to alarm him.”

  DiMarco picked up the receiver and handed it to her. “Let’s just make sure he’s still in Oregon.”

  Suddenly Megan understood. “It’s not like that,” she said, but she dialed the number. “Keith wouldn’t take Robby. Not even for a visit.”

  The officers exchanged another significant look. “So the divorce was unfriendly?” Hasselbach asked.

  “What divorce isn’t?” Megan replied, then broke off as the phone was answered. It was Gina, and when she said Keith wasn’t home yet, Megan remembered the time difference. “Could I have his number at work, please?”

  “I really don’t think you should be calling him at work.”

  “Please, Gina, it’s an emergency.”

  “Like yesterday was an emergency?”

  Megan closed her eyes and willed the churning in her stomach to subside. “Not like yesterday. Robby’s missing.”

  There was a pause, and then Gina said, “I’ll call him and have him call you back. You should keep your line open in case Robby tries to reach you.”

  Megan stammered her thanks and hung up the phone. “Keith’s wife is going to call him at work.”

  DiMarco was watching her quizzically. “What did you mean when you said, ‘Not like yesterday?’”

  Megan sat down at the kitchen table and buried her head in her hands. “I phoned them yesterday to discuss another matter.”

  “Child support?”

  “No. It’s complicated.” Suddenly Megan grew exasperated. “Why are you wasting time asking me about my ex-husband on the other side of the country when my son is missing?”

  “We’re just trying to cover everything, ma’am,” Hasselbach said.

  DiMarco said, “I’d like to look around the house, if you wouldn’t mind showing me around.”

  “I’ll take you,” Megan’s mother said crisply. She brought Megan a glass of water and hugged her before leading the officer out of the room.

  Hasselbach eyed her thoughtfully before saying, “The call yesterday—was Robby angry at his father?”

  “Yes.” Megan forced herself to say the rest. “And at me.”

  “Why?” When Megan showed him the birth announcement and pointed out the baby’s name, Hasselbach nodded and said, “Is it possible Robby might try to go see his father?”

  “In Oregon?” Megan said, incredulous. “Robby’s only nine, but he knows how far it is to Oregon.”

  “If he has an allowance, he might have raided his piggy bank for a bus ticket. I’ve seen it before.”

  “Not Robby.”

  “You said he was angry at you, too?”

  Megan nodded, gulping the water and glancing out the window in time to see her father walk
ing up the drive, alone. “He blamed me for sending away his father and for not letting him see Adam.”

  “Who’s Adam, a classmate?”

  “No.” She glanced at the clock. It was approaching six; Robby had been missing for nearly three hours. “He’s a friend of mine. Robby’s fond of him.”

  “A boyfriend?”

  Megan heard the front door open and shut. “Yes. He was. Not anymore.” She rose as her father entered the room. Megan quickly made introductions, then asked, “Anything?”

  Her father looked grim. “Not a sign of him. I talked to a few kids and some neighbors who were outside. No one saw him walk home.”

  Hasselbach asked Megan, “Any chance your former boyfriend might know where Robby is?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Hasselbach nodded thoughtfully, then asked for Adam’s name and phone number, as well as Keith’s. After Megan provided them, he indicated the phone. “Mind if I call the precinct?”

  Megan nodded just as her mother returned with DiMarco. “Nothing,” he told Hasselbach. Hasselbach nodded and dialed the phone.

  “Nothing what?” Megan’s father asked.

  “No signs of a struggle, no signs of forced entry.” DiMarco nodded to Megan’s mother. “Mrs. Levine found Robby’s suitcase in his closet and said none of his clothes seem to be missing.”

  “I couldn’t be certain, though,” she said, giving Megan an apologetic look.

  Megan nodded slowly, feeling panic rising in her chest. “You think he ran away?” The thought should have comforted her. If he had run away, he might come back on his own, but if he had been kidnapped …

  “That seems the most plausible explanation,” Hasselbach said. “He was angry at you and his father. He might be trying to get back at you. We’ll have officers checking the bus stations just in case.”

  The phone rang. Megan jumped, heart pounding, and glanced at Hasselbach. He nodded, so she picked up. “Hello?”

  “Megan?” It was Gina. “I’m so sorry. I called Keith at work, but they said he left early for a dentist’s appointment. I didn’t know he had one, so I called the dentist, but they said he wasn’t scheduled for any work. So I called the doctor, thinking maybe I had heard wrong, but he wasn’t there either. I’m sorry, Megan, but I don’t know where he is.”

  “I understand.” More than anyone else in the world, Megan understood. “Will you have him call me when you hear from him?”

  “Of course. The police have phoned here already asking to speak to him. Megan …” Gina sounded as if she were crying. “Robby sounds like such a sweet boy. I hope … I mean, I’m sure—”

  “Thank you,” Megan said quietly, and hung up the phone. The officers were watching her. “That was Gina. My ex-husband’s wife.”

  “Still no sign of him?” DiMarco asked.

  Megan shook her head, and nearly gasped aloud as the phone shrilled again. Without waiting for Hasselbach’s signal, she answered. “Hello?”

  “Megan?”

  It was a man’s voice, so altered by emotion that it took her a moment to recognize it. “Adam?”

  “Megan, what’s going on? The police just called, asking if I’ve seen Robby.”

  The warmth and concern in his voice dissolved her shaky courage into tears. “He’s missing.”

  “Missing? What do you mean?”

  “He wasn’t waiting when his grandfather went to pick him up after school.” She struggled in vain to regain her composure. “I don’t know where he could be. He’s angry at me. I think he ran away, but where would he go? Where would he go? He’s only nine.”

  “Where was he last seen?”

  “On the soccer field, at school. Another boy saw him playing football with some classmates.”

  “Are you alone? Is anyone with you?”

  “My parents are here. And the police.”

  A pause. “I’m coming over.”

  “Adam—”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Before she could protest, he hung up the phone. He was coming. The control she had fought so hard to maintain crumbled, and she began to sob, shaking, until her mother came and wrapped her arms around her.

  Another hour crept past. Around her, the officers talked quietly, making arrangements, checking in with other officers. Hasselbach agreed that Megan’s father could help by going door to door in the neighborhood, asking if anyone had seen Robby. Megan’s mother remained with her, saying little, but comforting Megan with her presence.

  A neighbor called; she had been contacted by the PTA phone tree and wanted to know if there was anything she could do to help. Another woman Megan didn’t know, but whose name she recognized from the phone list, phoned to pepper Megan with questions until she began to feel dizzy and nauseated. After that, DiMarco began taking the calls. Still no one had heard from Keith.

  As darkness fell, Megan felt herself becoming still and numb. Robby was out there somewhere, lost or hiding, hungry and cold. The police had searched everything within a child’s walking distance of Robby’s school, to no avail. She could not believe Keith had taken him, and yet if Robby had run away, surely he would have been found by now, unless something far more malevolent had befallen him.

  Then, suddenly, headlights shone through the kitchen window as a car pulled into the driveway. As Megan watched, a figure exited the driver’s side and came around to open the front passenger door to let out a much smaller figure.

  “Robby,” she breathed, and bolted to the door. In a heartbeat she was outside embracing him, tears running down her face. “Robby. Thank God.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

  She loosened her desperate grip to get a better look at him. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  Behind her Hasselbach asked, “Was he with you?”

  “No,” came the answer, and only then did Megan look up to see who had brought Robby home. Adam gave her a reassuring look before returning his attention to the officer. “I found him at the middle school, practicing his kicking.”

  “And you are?”

  “Adam Wagner. A friend of the family.”

  Megan rose, clutching one of Robby’s hands. She placed her other hand on his shoulder and steered him inside. Robby was home, home and safe, and nothing else mattered.

  The rest of the evening passed in a blur. The officers remained while she fixed Robby some supper and phoned in their report to the station as she took him upstairs to get him ready for bed. She lingered in Robby’s room for a while, stroking his hair as he drifted off to sleep. When she returned to the kitchen, she thanked the officers for everything they had done, and saw them, along with her parents, to the door.

  In the sudden quiet, Megan realized that she had not said a word to Adam the entire evening. “Thank you for finding him,” she said, and felt her emotions welling up until it was almost impossible to say any more. “I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t come home tonight.”

  “He’s safe. That’s all that matters,” Adam said, his voice an echo of her own thoughts.

  “How did you know where to look?”

  “When I was driving here, I remembered that you said he was last seen playing football. We had a lot of fun that day we practiced kicking at the middle school. He talked a little about his dad while we were there, and about you. Somehow it seemed right to check.”

  “I’m very grateful,” Megan said, and she meant it with all her heart.

  Adam shrugged and gave her a smile that was encouraging and yet sad. They stood for a moment in awkward silence. Megan didn’t know what to do or say, but Adam told her good-bye and left.

  Julia was sorry when shooting ended and Donna and Lindsay went home. Except for her maid, Julia had lived alone since her second divorce, and she had forgotten how pleasant it was to have company around the house. She consoled herself by thinking of Elm Creek Quilt Camp, where she would be reunited with her friends. By then Prairie Vengeance would b
e out of post-production, and Ares might even have a new project lined up for her.

  To reward herself for surviving Deneford, she spent a week at Aurora Borealis. When she returned home, pampered and refreshed, she found two new scripts Ares had sent for her review—and a note from Deneford summoning her to a meeting.

  She met Ares outside the studio, and together they entered Deneford’s conference room just as they had so many months ago for the first script meeting. Deneford wasted no time in small talk. “I have bad news,” he said when the principal actors, their agents, and the assorted assistants were seated. “We played some scenes for a test audience, and it didn’t go well.”

  A collective mutter of frustration went up from the table. “You have a first cut already?” Julia asked, surprised.

  “Not a complete cut. Like I said, just a few scenes.”

  Julia sensed the people around her relaxing. “What’s a few scenes?” Rowen’s agent asked. “That doesn’t sound like any cause for concern.”

  Deneford fixed him with a piercing look. “You of all people should be concerned, for your client’s sake. Our test audience was our target demographic.”

  “Men eighteen to thirty-five?”

  “Exactly. They hated it.”

  Rowen paled. “Even the cattle-rustling scene?”

  Deneford hesitated. “No. Actually, they liked that.”

  Rowen smiled and sank back into his chair, relieved.

  “Hold on,” Ellen said. “Since when is our intended audience eighteen to thirty-five-year-old men?”

  Deneford ignored her. “The numbers are low, but I have hopes that the project is still salvageable. Sorry, people, but that means we reshoot.”

  Above the groans, Samantha’s agent said, “What’s your timetable? Samantha is the guest VJ on MTV all next month.”

  “We’ll work around her. We might need that much time for the rewrites anyway.” Deneford looked at Ellen, slouching unhappily in her chair at the far end of the table. “Is your calendar clear?”

  “Clear enough,” she said. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what sort of changes did you have in mind?”

  “I’ve decided to ax all the quilting stuff.”