by Dan Walsh
“Our dad isn’t here.” Colt couldn’t stand there yakking, so he ran back to the diner.
He looked at their booth again, half expecting to find Timmy there. He still couldn’t believe he was gone. Where could he be? It bothered him that nobody cared. No one even paid attention to him.
“Let’s go surfin’ now . . .” the Beach Boys sang on the radio. He decided it was time to make a scene.
“Excuse me, everyone!” Colt yelled. Not loud enough. “Excuse me!”
“What’s the matter, kid?” someone replied.
A few others looked his way, but still, most of them kept staring out the window. He walked behind the counter, right up to the radio, and turned it off. “Excuse me, I said.”
“Hey, kid, we were listening to that!” said a blond-haired guy in his twenties.
“Has anyone seen my little brother?” Colt screamed at the top of his lungs. They heard that. Everyone turned. “My little brother, Timmy, has anyone seen him? He was just here with me a few minutes ago. I went into the bathroom, and when I came out, he was gone. Did anyone see where he went?”
Almost everyone shook their heads no. A few just stared at him, confused looks on their faces. “You check the store next door?” someone said.
“He’s not there.”
“How about the bathroom?”
“I just came from there.”
“Maybe he went outside,” someone else said, “to see everything up close.”
“I checked. He’s not outside.”
“You check by the street, or just up here near the building?”
He hadn’t, but he didn’t need to. You could see the whole sidewalk area from the front door. “I looked everywhere,” he said. “Somebody had to see him.”
“We didn’t,” the blond guy at the counter said. “Now turn the radio back on.”
Just then, a waitress came out from the kitchen. “What’s going on? What’s all this yelling about?”
“My little brother’s missing,” Colt said, tears now in his eyes. “And no one knows where he is.”
“I saw him,” she said. “About five or six? Brown hair, so tall?” She set her hand about waist high.
“That’s him. You know where he is?”
“He ain’t missing. He just left with your dad. They must be waiting for you on the bus.”
Colt looked out the window toward the buses. What was she talking about? “That’s impossible. Our dad isn’t here. He’s back in Daytona, where we live.”
“Mustn’t be the same guy then,” she said. “Guess that wasn’t your little brother, either. Did you just come out of the men’s room?”
Colt nodded.
“Were there any other boys your age in there?”
“No, no one else was in there.”
A confused look came over her face. “Then I don’t know what’s going on. I saw a man walk toward the front door with a little boy, headed toward the buses.”
“What did he look like?”
“He was pretty tall, about six feet, I’d say. Wore a gray felt hat, looked like he needed a shave. Not fat but a little thick around the middle.”
“That’s definitely not my dad,” Colt said. Usually when women described him, they’d start off with how handsome he was, maybe compare him to a movie star. He never wore a hat anymore (said if President Kennedy wasn’t gonna wear one, neither was he). And he certainly wasn’t “thick around the middle.”
“Maybe not,” she said, “but that’s what this guy looked like. He and that little boy went right out the door, headed for one of those buses. He was carrying a stack of comic books.”
“Comic books?”
She nodded. “Must’ve had four or five of them.” She looked up. “You better get going. That bus is pulling out.”
Colt turned to look. It was the bus heading south, back into Florida. “That’s not our bus. Ours is that one.” He pointed.
“I don’t know,” the waitress said. “That’s the bus the man and little boy were walking toward.”
Panic filled his heart. He ran outside just as the bus pulled onto US-1, heading south. He ran after it, fast as he could. It kept shifting gears. He screamed out, “Wait, stop!” His voice was drowned out by the noise of the bus and loud trucks driving by in the left lane. For a moment, he started gaining on it, closing the gap. When he was just about to reach out and bang the side, it shifted gears again and pulled away.
He screamed again, “Wait, wait! You’ve gotta stop!” It just kept going; the gap grew wider every second. He moved farther out toward the right and looked up at the windows.
That’s when he saw him.
Timmy, a few rows up from the back of the bus, sitting by the window next to a man wearing a gray hat. Colt yelled out his name as he ran, over and over again. But Timmy didn’t hear him. He was looking down at something in his hands.
Colt kept running until the bus reached full speed and went through a traffic light up ahead. He stopped in a patch of grass just off the sidewalk, fell to the ground, and cried.
9
After making the thirty-minute drive from DeLand, Scott drove slowly past their house on Seaview Avenue, using the route the boys would normally have taken if they had walked home from school. No sign of them. He pulled into the driveway behind the house, then rushed in through the back door, calling out their names.
There was no reply. He didn’t really expect one.
He’d fought off feelings of dread and panic on the way here, tried to remain calm and remind himself what he’d said to Gina. They had lived in this town for years and had never heard of any crimes against children. The boys were somewhere safe; they had to be, doing something stupid and disobedient. Boys just being boys.
But wherever they were doing it, they weren’t doing it here at the house.
He hurried back to his car. After backing out, he drove slowly around the neighborhood, three or four streets in both directions. Still nothing. Where could they be?
A few of their friends lived nearby, but Scott had never known which ones. Gina did. It was time to head to the school. As he drove south and turned on Grandview Avenue, he saw a little boy who looked familiar, about Timmy’s age, walking on the sidewalk and pushing a bicycle. When Scott pulled up beside him, he was certain this little boy had played with Timmy in their house. He leaned over, rolled down his window, and said, “Hi, can I ask you a question?”
The boy glanced at him then picked up his pace. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”
“That’s a good boy. Your parents teach you that?” The boy nodded and kept walking. Scott moved the car forward to keep up. “But I’m not really a stranger. I’m Mr. Harrison, Timmy’s father. Aren’t you Timmy’s friend?”
The boy stopped and squinted as he looked through the window. “I played with him a few times. We’re in the same grade at school, but we have different teachers.”
“You’ve been at our house though, right?”
“I think so. Isn’t it on Seaview Avenue?”
“That’s right. What’s your name again?”
“Scotty. Scotty O’Brien. I live on Nautilus.”
“Scotty, that’s my name too. How come you’re not riding your bike?”
“Can’t, got a flat.” He pointed to it. “See?”
Scott thought about offering him a ride but quickly changed his mind. “Say, have you seen Timmy today? Or his older brother Colt?”
The boy thought a moment. “I don’t think so. I usually see Timmy at recess or at lunch, but I didn’t see him today. I hardly ever see Colt. Even when I do, he doesn’t talk to me.”
“Can you think of any place around here they may have gone to play?”
“No, not really.”
“Well, if you do see either one of them, tell them to go right home, okay? Tell them we’re looking for them, their mother and I.”
“Are they in trouble?”
They certainly were, he thought. But he didn’t want to say
that. “I hope not. Well, bye.” Scotty waved as Scott rolled the window back up.
By the time he arrived at the school, the parking lot was almost empty, hardly any kids in sight. The school wasn’t far from where they lived. He glanced at the flagpole by the front steps, where the boys were supposed to have been a little while ago. He sighed as he headed toward the office.
When he walked through the door, he saw Gina across the room at a desk, using the telephone and writing things down on a pad of paper. He could tell she had been crying. She hadn’t noticed him yet. He smiled at two women sitting at nearby desks who did. “My name’s Scott Harrison. That’s my wife over there making the calls.”
“Hello, Mr. Harrison,” one of them said, her face full of sympathy. “Please, go right over. Your wife is calling a list of the boys’ friends right now.”
He was about to ask the woman if Gina had any luck but decided to ask her himself. “Thanks.” When he got closer, she looked up then shook her head no. Guess that was his answer. Gina looked back at the phone, crossed through a name on the list. Several other names had been crossed through already.
“Well, thank you, Mrs. Bruckner,” Gina said into the phone. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. If you see or hear anything about my boys, can you call me at this number? Yes, it’s the school number. Or maybe try our home number if we’re not here. What? No, we haven’t called the police yet. We wanted to try all their friends first. See if we just miscommunicated with them. When your son Andrew gets home, will you ask him about this? See if he knows anything? Thanks so much. Good-bye.” She set the receiver back in place.
He wanted to put his hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but instead he sat on the seat beside her. “No luck, huh?”
“Oh Scott, no one has seen them. None of their friends in school, and so far none of the friends around the neighborhood. I’ve only got two more names left on my list.”
“It’s okay. Let’s don’t jump to conclusions. Go ahead and make the calls. I’ll be right here.” There was no confidence behind what he’d said; he hoped it didn’t show. Being here, so close to her when she was clearly struggling and afraid . . . it was all he could do not to reach for her hand. During the last ten months they had only been to a handful of school events. And, of course, they pretended to still be together for the boys’ sake. They’d feign a measure of closeness; he’d open doors for her, put a light hand on her back and the occasional hand on the shoulder. But no real intimacy, and the closeness would always end abruptly the moment they left school property. He’d hated it, and in a way, he was glad they had decided to end this charade.
He watched and waited for the next five or six minutes as Gina made the calls. Both were dead ends.
The principal, Mrs. Johnson, walked out of her office just then. “Hear anything?”
“I’m afraid not,” Scott said, trying to sound calm.
“Can you think of any other place they might have gone?” she asked.
Scott shook his head.
“Me neither,” Gina said.
Scott could tell Gina was about to fall apart at any moment. But he had to do it. It was time. He reached for the phone, slid closer to her, and picked up the receiver. Slowly, he put his finger in the little round opening and dialed the zero. “Yes, operator, I’d like the police.”
Gina began to cry.
10
Scott and Gina sat quietly in their smallish living room on Seaview Avenue. Scott looked around. It wasn’t just the living room; the entire house was small. The whole thing could fit in the dining and living rooms of the house he’d grown up in on Clara Avenue in DeLand. But so what? This was their place, paid for without Harrison family money.
Well, it used to be their place.
A police officer was supposed to arrive any moment. Scott had called from the school, but the police suggested that since the boys weren’t there, it would be better to conduct the interview at the house. After calling the police, he’d called his boss to let him know what was happening.
“I was so hoping the boys would be here when we got home,” Gina said. “And this nightmare would be over.”
“Me too,” Scott said. He repeated the phrase “we got home” in his mind, liking the sound of it. For a moment, it was as if they were still together. Initially, Gina had moved out of the house because Scott refused to. He hadn’t done what she was accusing him of; why should he have to leave because she had jumped to the wrong conclusion? But after a few days, when it became obvious she was serious about splitting up, he’d changed his mind and told her to come back. For her sake and the boys’, he’d get the apartment. Of course, it was stretching their budget to the breaking point.
Gina stood up, walked over to the window, and pulled back the sheers. “Here he is. A police car just pulled up. What should we tell him?”
“We just tell him what happened.”
“I mean about us. Our situation.”
“I don’t know.” He walked toward the door to let him in. “Let’s just see what he says and answer his questions honestly. They can’t help us if we’re hiding things.” She gave him a look, and he realized that last remark was kind of an insult, as if she wanted to hide information. Not enough time for an apology. He opened the door. “Hello, Officer.”
A short heavyset man in uniform pulled out a pad and pen as he walked up the sidewalk. “Mr. and Mrs. Harrison? Officer Franklin. Can I come in?”
“Sure,” Scott said and stepped aside.
Gina walked back to the sofa and sat on the edge. Officer Franklin followed Scott into the living room and removed his hat. Scott sat, but the officer remained standing.
“You called to report your children are missing? Two boys?”
“Yes,” Scott said. “Ages eleven and six.”
“The eleven-year-old is named Colt, the six-year-old is Timmy,” Gina added.
He wrote both things down. “It says you last saw them at school this morning?”
“Yes, I dropped them off. Right where I always do. They kissed me and waved good-bye, like they always do, and I watched them walk toward the front door as I drove off to work.”
Scott could tell, she was trying hard to keep her emotions under control.
“But you didn’t see them go in.”
“No, I didn’t. I was running a little late.” As she said that, a pained expression came over her face.
Scott said, “I’ve done the same thing before, Officer, when I’ve been late.”
He didn’t write this down. “Did y’all have any arguments or conflicts this morning? Not you two, I mean with the boys.”
“Not really,” Gina said. “We had a little tension for a few seconds, but nothing major. And the two of them were getting along fine.”
He looked at Scott. “How about you, sir? Did you and the boys have any problems this morning, or last night?”
What should Scott say? He hadn’t even seen the boys since Saturday. “No, no problems.” Gina gave him a look. If he read it right, she was wondering if his answer meant they were keeping their separation a secret. He half-shrugged, not sure if she got the interpretation. Not even sure what message he was trying to convey.
“Can you tell me what kind of things you’ve done in your search so far?”
Both of them began to answer. “You go ahead, Gina.” Scott listened as Gina recounted her efforts on the phone. He described his drive around the neighborhood.
“Do either of you think there’s a chance the boys just ran away? Because if not, we’re talking about the possibility of a kidnapping.”
“Kidnapping,” Gina repeated. “I hope not. Please, Lord, don’t let it be that.” She dropped her face into her hands.
“I’m not saying they were kidnapped, ma’am.”
“I’m thinking they’re just off doing something stupid,” Scott said. “Like boys do sometimes.”
“You’re probably right,” Officer Franklin said. He looked at Gina. “I don’t mean to upset you,
Mrs. Harrison. Just trying to cover all the bases. You have any recent pictures of the boys? We’ll need those. And I’d like a detailed description of both of them, including what they were wearing when you last saw them.”
“I’ll get the photographs, Gina,” Scott said. “Why don’t you give him the description?”
Without thinking, Scott walked back to his dresser to get a framed picture of the boys. Then he remembered, he’d brought it with him to the apartment. He looked around the room, noticed a similar picture taken the same day on Gina’s nightstand. Grabbing it, he walked back toward the living room. He glanced down at his sons smiling back at him as they sat balancing on a large coquina rock. The picture had been taken almost exactly one year ago at Cypress Gardens, on one of the few days he’d actually taken a Saturday off for the family.
If he had only known then what he knew now, he’d have taken off every Saturday and been home every night for dinner at five-thirty. And he’d have turned down that big promotion he’d gotten at GE a month after this picture had been taken, which required even more time away from his family. But would it have been enough? Would it have kept Gina from believing that he had been having an affair with Marla, that redhead who had kissed him at the office Christmas party last year?
Then he realized that if he hadn’t taken that promotion, he’d never have met Marla. They had worked in two totally separate buildings in two different parts of town. But none of this matters now, he thought as he stepped into the living room. You can’t go back in time and fix your mistakes. The best you can hope for is to learn from them and not make the same ones ever again.
But would he get that chance . . . with Gina? Or with his boys?
“Is that a picture of your sons?” Officer Franklin asked.
Scott looked down at it again. Lord, he prayed, please let them be all right.
11
Gina watched Scott’s face as he handed the picture of Colt and Timmy to Officer Franklin. She could see the strained expression he tried to hide, but it was clear. He was deeply worried.
