A Change in Altitude

by Cindy Myers

  “I know.” Alina plopped onto the sofa and hugged a pillow to her stomach. “Lots of kids don’t live with both parents,” she said. “Lucas’s parents are divorced. He hasn’t even seen his father since he was really little.”

  Sharon sat beside her daughter. She wanted to gather Alina to her and hold her close, but resisted the impulse. Either Alina would pull away or they’d both burst into tears, and neither outcome she wanted right now. “I’m glad you’ve made friends,” she said instead. “I know moving to a new place can be hard.”

  “I like Eureka,” Alina said. “I like going to school again, and the kids are mostly okay. Some of them are really nice. And Uncle Jameso is nice.”

  “Yes, he is.” She hadn’t known what to expect from her brother. They’d been apart so long, separated by physical distance and their own problems, and a past neither wanted to remember. At first, she was sure she’d made a mistake coming here; that Jameso didn’t want them in his life. She hadn’t pushed him, and her patience had been rewarded.

  Or maybe she should say Alina’s impatience had been rewarded. She’d sought him out and he’d responded. “Last night was fun,” Sharon said. At dinner, Jameso had been warm and funny, gently teasing Alina and making them all laugh. She’d felt such a surge of warmth and love, confirmation that she’d made the right decision, coming here.

  “Uncle Jameso had a friend who sounds a lot like Dad.” Alina pushed the pillow aside. “He was Maggie’s dad, but he died. He lived by himself in a cabin in the mountains with no electricity or running water. Uncle Jameso took me up there. It’s a really neat place, perched on the side of a mountain. And there’s a tame bighorn sheep that likes to eat cookies.”

  “So Maggie’s dad was a kind of hermit?”

  “I guess.” She shrugged, and cast a sideways, questioning look at her mother. “Is Dad crazy?”

  The question startled Sharon, and she fumbled for the right answer. “I don’t think your father is mentally ill, no,” she said slowly. “He just has different ideas.”

  “But they’re not normal ideas. Normal people don’t refuse to talk on the phone or let their kids go to school or think the government controls the weather and is putting stuff in our food to make us sick on purpose.”

  Sharon realized how naïve she’d been, believing she’d done a good job of shielding her children from the worst of Joe’s paranoia and conspiracy theories. Maybe Joe was crazy. “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t know why your father does the things he does.”

  And without her there to serve as a buffer, Adan was getting a steady diet of Joe’s slanted worldview. Would he turn out to be as bad as his father? In trying to protect her daughter, had she failed her son? The guilt almost made her double over in pain. She clutched her phone. “Maybe I should try to call your brother again.”

  “You could call Mrs. Phillips and ask her if she’s seen him,” Alina said. “Maybe she knows what happened to his phone.”

  Eden Phillips was their closest neighbor; she’d sometimes bought eggs from Sharon, and she’d delivered soup when she’d learned the kids both had the flu. Joe thought she was a nosy busybody, but Sharon had appreciated the woman’s efforts at friendship. “That’s a great idea,” she said.

  She had to call directory assistance for the Phillips’ number, then she punched it in with shaking hands. She thought her heart would leap out of her chest when Eden finally answered the phone. “Hello!” she said, too loudly. Then, more calmly, “This is Sharon Franklin. Is this Eden?”

  “Sharon?” Eden sounded startled. “Are you all right? How are the children?”

  Was she alarmed? Relieved? “I’m fine,” Sharon said. “I guess you know Joe and I split up.”

  “I knew you weren’t around anymore. I thought maybe you’d decided to leave—at least I hoped it was voluntary.”

  Maybe Joe had been telling people the divorce was his idea, that he’d kicked Sharon out. That would be just like him, to save face. “It was for the best,” she said. “Alina is here with me and Adan stayed with Joe. He wanted to stay and since he’s fifteen . . .” She let the sentence trail away. She’d tried to persuade Adan to come with her, she really had. But his refusal, coupled with Joe’s insistence on keeping the boy with him, had tied her hands. If she wanted to get Alina away, she had to leave Adan.

  “Oh, that’s too bad.”

  Sharon wasn’t sure whether the sympathy was over Sharon having to leave her son behind, the end of her marriage, or the situation as a whole. “Adan’s the reason I’m calling really,” she said. “I’ve been trying to reach him on the phone, but he’s not answering. Have you seen him recently?”

  “Not in a couple of weeks, since they all moved out.”

  Sharon wasn’t sure she’d heard Eden right. “Moved out of where?”

  “Their place. They’re not living there anymore. Didn’t you know?”

  “I talked to Adan last week and he didn’t say anything about moving.”

  “Probably his father told him not to say. You know how Joe is about people knowing his business.”

  Yes, she knew. “Where did they go?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. If you don’t either, then I doubt anyone knows.”

  “They’re all gone?” Her brain refused to accept this. “Everyone?”

  “I went down there two days ago to make sure they hadn’t left any animals behind, but they took it all—chickens and dogs and goats and the pigs that Russian couple was raising. All they left was a lot of trash, and the buildings are a mess. Whoever buys it will probably have to tear down the house and start over.”

  “Oh, God.” Sharon clutched her stomach and sank into a chair, her legs too weak to support her. “I didn’t know. And he has Adan.”

  “I’m sorry,” Eden said. She sounded as if she meant it. “If I find out anything, I’ll call you. Is this a good number?”

  “Yes. Yes, call me if you find out anything.”

  “I will. And I’ll pray for you, dear. And for all Joe’s odd ideas, he does think a lot of the boy.”

  “I know. Thank you, Eden. For everything.”

  Alina had been watching Sharon and as soon as she hung up the phone, she launched herself at her mother. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “What’s happened to Dad and Adan?”

  “Eden said they moved away. They moved and didn’t tell us.”

  “Where did they go?”

  Sharon shook her head. “She doesn’t know.”

  “That must be why you can’t reach Adan—his phone doesn’t work wherever they are.”

  “Joe should have told me. I have a right to know.” Anger was edging out panic and fear, making her feel stronger.

  “Maybe he wrote you a letter and you haven’t gotten it yet.”

  She didn’t believe that, but for Alina’s sake, she nodded. “Yes, maybe that’s it. Would you bring me my purse, hon? It’s on the dresser in the bedroom.”

  While Alina fetched her purse, Sharon tried to think. Surely Joe was breaking some law, not notifying a mother of her son’s address. Even if Sharon didn’t have custody of Adan, she still had rights, didn’t she? Had he done this to spite her—as revenge for the divorce? Is that why he’d waited until the papers were signed and everything was final, so she’d know that she’d brought this on herself?

  Or had something else driven them away—a new paranoia or real trouble with the law?

  Alina returned and handed Sharon the bag. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I’m going to call Deputy Miller.” She found the business card in her wallet and punched in the number.

  “The sheriff?” Alina wrinkled her nose. “Dad isn’t in trouble with the police, is he?”

  “I don’t think so, but maybe Deputy Miller knows someone I should contact.”

  He answered on the second ring, his voice pleasant and calm. “Deputy Miller.”

  “This is Sharon Franklin. I . . . I have a problem and I’m hoping you can help m
e.”

  “Of course, Sharon. What can I do?”

  “My son . . . he’s fifteen and he lives with his father. In Vermont. I’ve been trying to reach him for a few days and he doesn’t answer his phone. I just spoke to a neighbor and she tells me Joe—my ex—moved a couple of weeks ago. He didn’t tell me and I don’t have an address or . . . or a way to contact my son.” Her voice broke and she struggled to maintain control. “I’m worried.”

  “I’ll be right over. Just hang on.”

  “Oh, thank you.” She hung up and leaned back against the sofa. Only Alina’s tense presence beside her kept her from bursting into tears. “He’s coming over,” she said.

  “Does he think he can help us?”

  “I’m sure he will.” She patted her daughter’s leg. “Of course he will.” She couldn’t afford to think otherwise. Her son couldn’t be lost to her.

  Lucille had always liked living alone. After a day of dealing with customers at her store and the demands of running a small town, her little house on Fourth Street offered a quiet retreat. The Victorian cottage had three small bedrooms, a cranky furnace, and scarred wood floors, but she’d fixed it up to suit her, and it was neat and peaceful.

  Or it had been, before the arrival of her daughter, Olivia, and teenage grandson, Lucas. These days a bicycle, soccer ball, and the remains of a firewood fort littered the front yard, and the house was strewn with discarded shoes and clothes, half-eaten sandwiches, magazines, school books, and the other detritus of the messy, busy occupants. Soon, she’d have her house back, she thought as she collected dirty socks and two T-shirts on her way through the living room. In a few weeks, when Olivia and Lucas moved in with her fiancé, D. J., things would be neat and peaceful again.

  And Lucille was going to hate it. She dropped the dirty clothes in the hamper in the laundry room behind the kitchen, then returned to boil water for tea. After so many years by herself, she’d cherished the time with her family. She didn’t know if she knew how to be alone anymore. The thought of evenings of silence and solitude depressed her. How had she gotten to be fifty-five with no one in her life? Not that she believed a woman needed a man to be happy, but did life have to be so lonely?

  Right. Next thing she knew she’d be spending her evenings watching old movies and crying into her popcorn. Get a grip, she told herself. Your life could be a lot worse.

  She was measuring honey into her tea when a knock sounded on the front door. The heavy, hollow sound echoed through the old house and, tea cup in hand, she hurried to answer the summons. But when she saw who was on the other side of the door, she debated retreating to the kitchen and pretending she wasn’t home.

  “I know you’re in there,” Gerald Pershing called. “I can see your shadow on the other side of that curtain.”

  Sighing, she opened the door. “What do you want, Gerald?”

  “I need to talk to you about an urgent matter at the Lucky Lady.”

  “Come to my office tomorrow.” She tried to close the door, but he wedged his foot in the gap.

  “I really must speak to you now,” he said.

  She looked down at the ostrich cowboy boot blocking the door and at the cup of hot tea in her hand. Would throwing the tea in his face qualify as assault if he was trying to force his way into her house? A local jury certainly wouldn’t convict her.

  “I just want to talk,” he said in the smooth drawl that still sent tingles up her spine. “You can’t begrudge me that.”

  She could, and should, begrudge him anything she liked, considering what he’d done to her. But she was the mayor, and had a responsibility to take care of any problems at what was, at the moment anyway, Eureka’s largest investment and potential source of income. “We can talk out here,” she said, and stepped onto the porch, shutting the door firmly behind her.

  If he was disappointed, he didn’t show it. He followed her to the old-fashioned wooden porch swing at one end of the columned veranda. “You’re looking lovely this evening, Lucille.” His standard opening line.

  “I don’t have time for idle chitchat,” she said. “What’s this problem that can’t wait until tomorrow?”

  “No need to rush on a beautiful evening like this.” He settled onto the swing next to her, hands on his knees, and looked around, as if he’d never seen her house before. Purple clematis climbed the trellis at the end of the porch, dark green leaves just beginning to unfold. Later in the summer the star-shaped blooms would fill the air with their perfume. “After the tensions of a busy day, it’s good to relax and recenter yourself,” Gerald said.

  She restrained a snort. “This isn’t a yoga class. What’s going on at the mine?”

  He turned to her, his lined but still-handsome face grave. “I have some concerns about Bob.”

  “What has he done this time?” Bob was mean, stubborn, unpredictable, and contrary, but he shared her disdain for the man beside her, which made him her ally.

  “I caught him moving a number of large boxes into one of the abandoned mine tunnels,” Gerald said. “When I confronted him about this, he threatened me.”

  “What did he threaten to do?”

  “He offered to skin me alive and make a blanket out of my hide if I didn’t mind my own business.”

  Lucille bit back a laugh. “Bob’s bark is much worse than his bite. He might throw a punch if he’s really riled, but he wouldn’t skin you.”

  “I reminded him that the mine is my business. It’s your business, too, so you should take this seriously.”

  She sobered. Yes, the mine was her business. “Do you know what was in the boxes?”

  “He said it was supplies.”

  “He’s been ordering dried food from some survivalist outfit,” she said. “It was probably that. If the world ends tomorrow, he probably plans to retreat to the mine.”

  “We are an operating mine, not a storage facility.”

  “I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow.” She stood. “Good night.”

  She started to move past him, but he grabbed her hand and held it. “That’s not the only reason I stopped by tonight, Lucille,” he said.

  She stiffened. “What else?”

  “You and I have unfinished business between us.”

  “You’re wrong. We’re definitely finished.”

  “Please. Sit down. Hear me out. You at least owe me that.”

  She didn’t owe him anything, but she sat. She wanted to cross her arms over her chest, but it was such a defensive posture. She was immune to his blandishments and she wanted him to know it, so she kept her hands at her sides and waited, unspeaking.

  “I’ve already apologized for leaving you so abruptly after our wonderful night together,” he said. “But I’ll say it again—I’m sorry I ran out that way. I know how it must have looked, but when I received the call from Texas, I seized the opportunity to flee.”

  She didn’t believe there had been a call; the cad had seduced her, then left before she woke, after scamming the town out of most of its money. Greed was the only thing that had brought him back to Eureka, not any affection for her.

  “I left because I was afraid.” His eyes filled with such sadness, mouth drooping. Really, he deserved an Oscar for such a performance. If she didn’t know better, she’d almost believe he was sincere. “What I felt for you—what I still feel for you—is so intense it frightens me.”

  “It’s a nice line, but you should sell it to someone else. I’m not buying.”

  He scooted closer to her. “You can’t deny that we had something special,” he said. “When we made love I felt more whole than I’ve felt in years . . . as if I finally found something precious I’d been searching for for years.”

  That night had been pretty incredible. But then, considering it was the first time she’d had sex in more than a decade, a night with almost any living, breathing man would have been memorable. And the fact that she was still attracted—physically—to this despicable snake of a man didn’t mean anything. “You’re
going to have to keep looking,” she said. “I’m not interested.”

  “Lucille, don’t you understand? I’m admitting I made a mistake. I want to try again. I’ll do anything to make things right with you.”

  She stood, almost dumping him out the swing with the force of her movement. “You can’t make it right for me,” she said. “How much clearer do I have to be? I don’t want you.”

  Liar, whispered a voice in the back of her head, but she told the voice to shut up. She was too smart to give in to a con like Gerald.

  She moved past him, and this time he let her go. He sat in the swing, hands hanging loose between his splayed knees, looking old and tired—the way she felt. She walked quickly into the house and shut the door behind her. For good measure, she turned the deadbolt, then rested her forehead against the cool, smooth wood. Oh, she was smart all right. Smart and alone. Which was really the better choice?

  Chapter 11

  Josh was at Sharon’s door in less than ten minutes. Seeing him dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, instead of the uniform she’d expected, caught her off guard. “I didn’t realize you weren’t on duty or I wouldn’t have called,” she said.

  “You were right to call me,” he said. “I came as a friend.”

  That this man she scarcely knew considered her a friend further unsettled her, but she stepped back to let him in. “I didn’t even think to give you the address,” she said. “But you got here so quickly.”

  “I saw Jameso in the Dirty Sally the other evening and he told me you were staying here. And I live in the apartments over the hardware store, so it’s close by.”

  “There are apartments over the hardware store?”

  “Yes, they’re new. Very nice, with a good view of the mountains.”

  She filed this information away in the tiny corner of her brain that wasn’t filled with worry for her son. “Can you help me find Adan?” she asked.

  “I can try.” He turned to Alina, who had retreated to the couch, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. “Hello, Alina. How are you?”

  “I’m mad at Adan for going away without telling us,” she said.