by Modean Moon
Ginnie’s hand sought Neil’s where it rested at her waist. His tension communicated to her as clearly as she knew hers must to him.
“Hi, Dad.” Todd’s voice sounded curiously childlike. “You’re not mad at me, are you? I told Ginnie I might be a little late.”
She felt the pressure of Neil’s fingers against hers before he released her hand and stepped between her and his son.
“No, Todd. We’re not angry. We’ve been worried,” he said as he reached for the screen door.
Don’t let him in! Ginnie caught her hand to her mouth to hold back her scream. They couldn’t possibly protect themselves from this stranger who stood on her porch. Didn’t Neil see that? She touched her hand to his arm, and he turned just slightly, so that she saw the pain in his eyes, and the plea. Trust me, he said without speaking. Could she. Did she dare?
“But I called,” Todd complained.
Twelve years old, coming home for Christmas. Ginnie remembered Neil telling her that was possible. Oh, Lord. Was it? She forced herself not to shrink away from Todd as he shuffled into the kitchen.
“Hi, Ginnie.” He looked around the cheerful room. “Wow, this is neat.” Then he frowned. “Well, where’s the turkey?”
She didn’t know how Neil did it. From all appearances, he acted just as he would had he actually been talking to a twelve-year-old.
Was he? Or was this another of the malicious little acts Todd had perfected so early in his troubled life?
“It’s in the refrigerator, Todd. Ginnie will have it on the table for us after a while.”
“Great. Where’s the tree?”
“It’s in here, son. Come on.”
She followed them to the living room, choking back a sob. How could Neil stand it? This boy should have been a carbon copy of him. How could he stand it?
Neil bent down and plugged in the tree lights.
“Oh, wow. Neat,” Todd said, standing back to look up at the tree. “Oh, wow. That’s the best one ever.”
He dropped to his knees and fumbled beneath the tree for the one package that remained. He shook it. “For me?” he asked. And then he saw the basket, and the puppy in it, and crawled over to it.
The puppy whimpered as Todd picked him up, then snuggled him into his arms. Todd cradled the dog against his chest. “Oh, Charlie, oh, Charlie, oh, Charlie. I’ve missed you.”
No. This was no act, malicious or otherwise. Ginnie turned away, fighting the sobs that threatened to tear from her, but not before she saw her own pain reflected and magnified in Neil’s face.
“I tell you what, Todd,” Neil said lightly. “Let me get my boots on and we’ll take that dog outside and play with him for a while. Then we’ll come back in and get you cleaned up. By that time, maybe Ginnie will have dinner on the table. Right, Ginnie?”
She forced herself to smile, forced herself to sound almost normal. “I’ll bet I can do it by then. And afterward —” She calculated quickly. Todd was taller than Frank, but not as heavy. The sweater ought to fit him. “Afterward, you can open your package, Todd. Would you like that?”
“Oh, wow, yeah.”
Neil brought his boots into the living room to put them on, not leaving her alone with his son, and she sent him her silent thanks for that. Then, reminding Todd of what they were going to do, Neil walked with him to the kitchen. Ginnie followed. Neil let Todd go out the door first and then looked back at her. And at the telephone.
Ginnie nodded her understanding. She waited until they had stepped off the porch to dial the number.
“Sheriff’s office,” she heard over the crackling in the line.
“This is Virginia Kendrick,” she said quickly. “Todd is here.”
“Are you all right, Mrs. Kendrick?”
“Yes. Yes, we’re all... all right.”
“We’ll have a car right there.”
“No! No, please.” She knew instinctively that Neil would not deliberately lie to his son. “He’s calm. I think we can handle him. We just wanted you to call off the search.”
“Mrs. Kendrick, we’ve been looking for that boy for four nights. We can’t just quit now.”
“No.” Her word sounded surprisingly like a whimper. Lord, what should she do? And how long would Todd remain calm?
“Please,” she asked. “Can’t you just—just give us some time with him? Just a little while? I promise, I’ll call you back if... if there’s any indication—” She broke off. Any indication of what? And waited, listening only to static as the deputy seemed to consider her request.
“A little while, ma’am. At least until I can clear it with someone else.”
“Thank you,” she said brokenly.
She replaced the receiver and leaned against the wall, running her fingers through her hair. She had lived in terror of Todd for years, and yet she had just begged the sheriff not to come for him? And what did she do now?
Christmas. Was that what Neil wanted to give his son? A Christmas Day. A Christmas dinner at—she glanced at the clock—at nine o’clock in the morning, for a boy who might be twelve for a lifetime or for an hour.
“Food,” she said, for only by saying it aloud could she think of preparing it. She blessed Cassie for the leftovers as she snatched them from the freezer and began throwing them in containers, lighting the oven and the range-top burners.
She heard their footsteps on the porch and Todd’s laughter—short, harsh, and yet somehow immature. He carried the puppy and only paused briefly as Neil brushed moisture from his hair.
“Why don’t you put him back in his basket, Todd? Then I’ll show you where the shower is and get you some dry clothes.” He waited a moment after Todd left the room.
“They’ve given us a little time,” Ginnie whispered.
He reached as though to touch her, then balled his fist and dropped it to his side. “Thank you.”
Ginnie stared out the window after Neil left the kitchen. The drizzle had finally turned to rain, a cold, bleak, gray rain. How fitting, she thought, and then she once again snapped herself into action.
By the time Neil and Todd returned to the kitchen, Ginnie had managed to dress in jeans and a sweater, add logs to the fire, start the Christmas carols on the stereo and set the dining-room table. All that remained to be done was to transfer the waiting food into serving bowls.
Todd looked even more ungainly than ever dressed in a shirt of Neil’s which was too large for him, and a pair of Neil’s jeans which were too short, and Neil’s black dress shoes. Neil carried Todd’s clothes. She could tell by glancing at them that they were not fit to wash, but she motioned toward the laundry room, giving Todd even that pretense.
She began carrying dishes into the dining room. Todd seemed to notice her again. He reached for the bowl.
“Here. Let me help you.”
She hesitated before handing it to him, but she did, and he took it.
“Where’s your wedding ring?” Todd asked, and she thought this time she would scream. Or whimper. “Did you leave it on the sink again? Here. Let me find it for you.”
“No, Todd, it’s—” She glanced helplessly at Neil and saw his own sense of helplessness. Must they give him this lie, too? But she knew. Yes. This, too. “I think I must have left it in my bathroom. I’ll go get it.”
She closed her bedroom door and leaned against it. What fluke in Todd’s poor, twisted brain had made him bring up the ring? Was he really remembering the times that she had left it on the sink? Or was he remembering the time he had taken it?
The box lay on her dresser where Neil had placed it two days before. With trembling hands, Ginnie opened it and snatched out the ring box. Dear God, how could she get through this?
She took the ring from its velvet bed, gave in to one long quivering breath and slid it on her finger, holding it in place as she looked at her hand, palm up, with the gold gleaming softly on her finger. She clasped her hands together, steeled herself and returned to the dining room.
Ginnie would ne
ver know how she got through that meal. She was acutely aware of Todd’s monosyllabic response to any questions Neil or she asked. Finally, they pushed back their chairs and walked into the living room. It was time to open presents. But there was only one present. Dear God, she couldn’t cry. She knew what Neil’s cheerfulness cost him as he handed Todd the gaily wrapped package.
“Oh, wow, neat,” Todd said when he lifted the sweater from the box.
Ginnie thought that if she heard oh, wow, neat one more time, she really would scream.
Todd shrugged into the sweater, as proud of it as if there had been six packages under the tree. With a sigh, he stretched out and hugged the puppy. “This has been the best Christmas ever,” he said.
It had been a mistake to play Christmas carols. Ginnie knew that now as she listened to the words of “Silent Night.” No. All was not calm. She crossed to the stereo and silenced it.
“What did you do that for?” Todd asked, sitting up.
“I thought—I thought I’d put on something a little livelier,” she said, glancing toward the windows so she wouldn’t have to look at him. Then her heart lurched painfully. There was a police car on the street below, and a uniformed officer approaching the house from each corner of her lot. “But if you like it, I’ll play it again,” she said quickly, resetting the tone arm on the vintage album.
Maybe she could stop the police at the door. What were they doing here?
Then the wind howled, and the branch she had never cut off scraped against the house.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, Todd. Just a branch,” Ginnie told him, too fast.
Neil had bent to put another log on the fire. He threw it in place and turned to her, forming a silent question with his lips, but Todd had already scrambled to his feet, to the window.
She backed away from him, throwing a frightened, silent plea to Neil with her eyes. Of course there was no way he could stop Todd from seeing the police car, from seeing the officers.
Todd clenched the sheer curtain in his fist. “You did it again,” he said, and Ginnie knew before he turned to her that he was no longer twelve.
“Todd.” She heard Neil’s voice, distant, because she was trapped in Todd’s eyes, trapped with all the rage she could ever have imagined. She took one more step backward before he lunged at her, throwing up her hands to protect her face.
The blow never reached her. Neil caught it instead, stumbling to one side as it connected with his chest, before he wrapped his arms around his son, trying to restrain him.
Todd was unrestrainable.
He hit at his father and kicked at him, all the while yelling unintelligible words at the top of his voice. They tripped and went down, and Ginnie knew she screamed. She knew it because she heard it reverberating through the room just before she heard the splinter of wood and the crash of the front door being thrown against the wall behind it.
The two policemen pushed past her to the struggling bodies on the floor. She saw an arm raised, heard one sickening thunk, and the struggle ceased.
She ignored the officer’s restraining arm and stepped forward. Neil, still on the floor, cradled an unconscious Todd to him.
“Are you all right, Mr. Kendrick?” one policeman asked.
Neil nodded, still holding Todd.
The officer reached for him, and Neil reluctantly released him. “Don’t worry, Mr. Kendrick. When they get that bad, you can’t hurt them.”
“He’s not a them.” Neil’s words grated harsh and raw in his throat. “He’s my son.”
The two men lifted Todd.
“I’m going with you,” Neil told them, getting to his feet.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Kendrick, but I can’t let you ride behind the screen with him, and we don’t have any space in the front. You can follow us if you want.”
“Will you be the ones taking him back to—back?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. We’ve already got the transportation orders cleared.”
“Why?” Ginnie spoke for the first time. “Why did you come when you did? The deputy on the telephone said he’d give us some time.”
“We did, ma’am. But when you folks didn’t answer your telephone—”
“The rain,” Ginnie murmured. “The line must be wet again. Oh, Lord, I didn’t even think about that.”
“And we couldn’t raise you on the mobile phone,” the deputy continued.
Ginnie glanced at Neil. He’d disconnected the horn because he’d depended on her telephone.
“The sheriff decided we’d better come up and check on you.”
Neil walked with the deputies to their waiting patrol car and saw Todd, still unconscious, settled into the back seat, behind the metal grate meant to protect the driver, and locked inside.
Ginnie followed him but waited at a distance, watching him. He stood at the edge of the driveway until long after the police car had disappeared.
When she could stand watching his isolation no longer, she walked to his side and held out her hand for him. He stared down at it, silently, until she, too, glanced down. The gold of her wedding ring gleamed softly, a symbol of all that had happened—too much, she knew—too much—and of all that could never be. She turned from him and walked back into the house.
Now she was the one who watched Neil packing. There wasn’t much. He laid out his things on the crumpled bed where only hours before they had lost themselves in an illusion. He worked calmly, methodically, until he had zipped up his shaving kit and zipped up his garment bag.
“Are you going to be all right?” he asked.
“Yes.” She nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he told her. “You did your best.”
Had she? she wondered. And if so, why hadn’t it been enough? Why hadn’t it ever been enough?
“What will you do now?” she asked.
“What can I do? I’ll follow them to the sanitarium, although I don’t know what good I’ll be able to do there. I’ll go back to Little Rock. And on the second of January, I’ll start a new job.”
“Neil, I—”
He swore and threw the garment bag across the bed. “Ginnie–we could use your talent. We could use your understanding. We could use your knowledge of kids.”
“You can’t go through with that, Neil. Not after what happened today. Don’t put yourself through this. Let other people take care of their own problems!”
“Like we did?”
She whirled from him and started from the room.
“Ginnie, I’m sorry!”
She paused for only a second. “So am I, Neil. Oh, God, so am I.” Then she fled from the room.
Her kitchen. Her haven. Neil found her there, later.
“My things are in the car,” he told her.
She nodded silently.
“How long are you going to hide in Pleasant Gap, Ginnie?”
She shot a startled glance at him. “I’m not hiding, Neil. I’m building a life for myself.”
“Are you?” he asked. “Is that what you’re really doing?”
“I have work here, Neil. I have friends. I have a—a family of sorts. I have a home.”
“And you have a talent that’s going to waste in this town. And while you have kids crawling all over you, there’s not a single one you have to feel responsible for, is there?”
“That’s not fair!” she said. “What do you want me to do? Do you want me to run back to Little Rock and tell everybody what a failure I’ve been? Well, I won’t! If you want to go on a guilt trip, go ahead and do it, but don’t try to take me on it with you. Don’t drag me into it.”
Neil beat his clenched fist on the table. “That’s the second time you’ve said the words guilt trip to me. Well, let me tell you something, Ginnie. Yes, I feel guilty. Guilty as hell! But that’s not why I’m doing this. I’m not going to wear sackcloth and ashes all my life because of it. If I didn’t think I could do some good, I would not put myself in the position of feeling this kind o
f pain ever again.”
He sighed and forced his fists to open. “I don’t like pain, Ginnie. I don’t like the old wounds. I’d like to let them scar over so I can get on with living: But I’m not going to hide away and lick at them. I’m not going to suspend my life because of them. I, by God, am going to do something, and you have to do something, too. For your own sake!
“Ginnie—” He reached out to touch her, but she shrugged away from him.
“I’m doing what I have to do, Neil.” She turned and walked to the kitchen window and watched the slow drip of rain through the bare branches of the trees in her backyard.
“I’m doing the only thing I know how to do... Now, would you please—” Her voice broke and her shoulders shook with sobs she still fought but could no longer contain. “Would you please let me try to get on with living?”
She stood staring out the window until long after she heard the front door close. She reached up to brush away tears and felt metal against her cheek. His ring. She still wore his ring.
She wrapped her left hand in her right one and held it until the ring bore into her fingers.
Then she sat at the kitchen table and no longer tried to stop the sobs that racked her body.
Chapter 14
Ginnie cut off the branch—broke it off, actually, with her bare hands. It was such a little thing, no thicker than one of her fingers, to have played such a major role in the events of the past few days.
She had the lock replaced and the front door repaired.
She threw away the remainder of the leftovers that Cassie had sent home with her. She thought she’d probably never want to see another turkey.
Though it was a ritual usually reserved for New Year’s afternoon, she took the decorations off the Christmas tree and hauled the dying fir down to the curb where it would be picked up for the Twelfth Night bonfire.
And when she had done that, she placed the tattered remnants of Todd’s clothing in their own separate garbage bag and buried them in the trash can beneath other packed bags of Christmas paper and litter.
