The Edge of Sleep

by Wiltse, David

  Chapter 17

  JACK RODE IN THE BACKSEAT of the car along with a rolled-up sleeping bag, a security blanket, and a shopping bag full of books. The books had all been read before, which was why they were selected to come along to camp, they were proven favorites. A steamer trunk of clothing was in the trunk of the car, enough to sustain him without laundry for two weeks. Becker suspected that, in fact, the boy would probably make do with the same pair of jeans and perhaps two of the twelve T-shirts provided. Becker had helped prepare Jack for the adventure, using a laundry pen to inscribe the boy’s name in the collars of his shirts, the elastic of his shorts.

  “In case your shorts run off by themselves and get lost, the police will know where they belong,” Becker had said to the boy at the time. Jack had laughed at the notion of his shorts wandering off on their own.

  Karen was less amused. “No one’s going to get lost,” she said sharply. “Everything’s going to be fine. This is a very safe camp with excellent counselors.”

  “Counselors have to sleep sometime,” Becker said. “Who knows what Jack’s shorts will get up to then?”

  “They might go running off all by themselves,” Jack said, liking the idea. “They might go swimming ...” Karen silenced them both with a glare.

  “Your shorts are not going anywhere without you, and you are not going anywhere without a counselor, is that clear?”

  “I was just joking. Mom.”

  “I am aware of that.”

  “She’s laughing on the inside,” Becker said.

  “I’m trying to impress certain notions of safe behavior on Jack. You’re not much help.”

  Becker hung his head, chastened. He looked at Jack under his brows and winked. Jack rolled his eyes in playful conspiracy against his mother.

  Karen saw it all. “I think you’re both a pair of baboons,” she declared.

  It was a cue too obvious to overlook. Becker made a monkey face at Jack, who responded in kind. They were quickly walking like apes, scratching themselves, making hooting sounds. In the middle of their display Karen walked out of the room and slammed herself shut in the bedroom.

  “She’s mad,” said Jack.

  “She’s sad,” said Becker. “But she doesn’t want you to know it because she doesn’t want you to be sad, too. She wants you to have a wonderful time at camp.”

  “Okay,” Jack said, uncertainly.

  “Okay what?”

  “I’ll have a wonderful time at camp.”

  “Good idea,” said Becker. ‘That will make her very happy. The better time you have, the better she will feel.”

  “She doesn’t act that way.”

  “That’s because she’s conflicted.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Conflicted? Screwed up. It’s a grown-up thing, don’t worry about it.”

  In the bedroom Becker, tried to comfort Karen, who was holding herself just on the teetering edge of crying without actually falling over into sobs and weeping. Her face would periodically turn bright red and puffy as if surely tears must flow, but then, with a physiological control Becker didn’t understand but admired, she would step back from the precipice, her face would clear, and the only residue would be a brighter, moister sheen to her eyes. It was as if she was reabsorbing the tears and having a really good cry inside.

  “He’s going to be fine,” Becker said.

  “How do you know?”

  “He’ll be perfectly safe.”

  “I know that.”

  “It will be a good experience for him.”

  “I know that.”

  “It was your idea that he should go to camp.”

  “Christ, I know that, Becker.”

  She had been calling him Becker rather than John more frequently following the incident with the gun in Jack’s bedroom. They continued to make love with passion and tenderness, but outside of the bed they circled each other warily.

  “You want me to tell you something you don’t know?” Becker asked.

  “Only if it’s something good.”

  “I don’t know anything about this that you don’t already know yourself.”

  “I know that,” she said.

  “Are you crying because you don’t want him to go ... ”

  “I’m not crying.”

  “Or are you crying because you do want him to go?”

  “I’m crying because I’m a mother,” she said.

  She allowed him to hold her, but she held herself more tightly. His embrace offered comfort to neither of them.

  Now, as they rode north on 1-91 into Massachusetts, Karen seesawed back and forth between a steely efficiency that concerned itself with time and distance and other details of the trip, and a moist sentimentality. If she had been in the backseat rather than behind the steering wheel, Becker felt certain she would have had Jack on her lap. It was probably why she had steadfastly refused Becker’s offers to drive.

  The car telephone emitted its muted ring.

  “I should have turned it off,” Karen said, reaching for it. “I’m on my way to Jack’s camp, Malva,” she said, annoyed. She listened for a moment, then said wearily to Becker. “There’s another man in a motel with a boy.”

  Since Karen had enlisted the aid of the state and local police, the Bureau had been alerted to possible suspects at the rate of six per day. At her request. Karen had been informed of all of them, and after they were investigated she had been immediately informed of the results. On several occasions she had gone to the motels herself. They had discovered fathers and sons, fathers and daughters who were mistaken for boys, men and men, high-school students up to mischief, lovers up to privacy, even a mannish-looking woman and her small dog. The effort had come to seem like an embarrassing waste of man-hours.

  “Where is it?” Becker asked.

  “Spencer.”

  Becker glanced at the map, which had their route to camp highlighted in red ink.

  “It’s on the way, about fifteen minutes from here,” he said.

  Karen sighed. “I’m on my way to camp,” she said.

  “We’re forty-five minutes ahead of schedule,” Becker said indifferently. “We can spend the time at a motel talking to a man and a midget ...”

  “Or a ventriloquist and his dummy, or a woman with a small pony ...”

  “Who has a pony?” Jack asked from the backseat, lifting his head from his book.

  “I was just joking, sweetheart,” Karen said.

  “Or we can spend the time waiting at camp for permission to leave,” Becker said.

  “Hang on,” Karen said into the telephone. She looked at Becker with raised eyebrows.

  “Whatever you want,” Becker said. “It’s your trip.”

  “My job, too,” she said, then, into the phone, “Malva, give me directions to the motel. I’ll take this one myself.”

  “Guess what,” Becker said, turning to look at Jack in the backseat.

  “What?”

  “Not only do you get to go to camp today. You also get to watch a pair of supersleuths in action.”

  “Hey!”

  “It’s actually very boring.” Karen warned.

  “It’s usually very boring,” Becker said. “But then, you never know.”

  “Is there a pony involved?”

  “No,” said Karen. “Just a jackass.” She thought a moment. “Or two,” she added.

  Another car followed them off the highway into the Restawhile driveway, going rather too fast for the situation. As Karen came to a stop in front of the office, the other car moved quickly past and skidded to a halt in front of the farthest cabin. An elderly couple stepped out of the office, looking past Becker and Karen to the car in the distance. Becker saw a woman hurry from the car to the cabin door. She tried a key, but the door would not open. She put her head to the crack of the door, said something, then stepped inside quickly as the door opened all the way.

  Karen was trying to get the attention of the elderly couple but having no lu
ck. They seemed as engrossed in the distant scene as if it were the stuff of high drama. It was not until Karen produced her identification and announced that she was with the FBI that the woman seemed to notice her.

  “You see,” Reggie said to George triumphantly. “The FBI. I told you it was important.”

  “You really the FBI?” George asked.

  Karen held her identification toward him but spoke to the woman. She could tell already that the woman was in charge.

  “I understand that you responded to a state police request for information.”

  “Right there,” Reggie said, pointing toward cabin six. “In six. Just what you’re looking for.”

  “What did you understand we were looking for?” Karen asked.

  “A man and a boy,” Reggie said. “A big man, the trooper said. Isn’t that right, George?”

  George was studying the attractive young woman who claimed to be an FBI agent, trying not to stare while still getting an eyeful. He seemed surprised to have been consulted.

  “Ah, yeah. That’s what the trooper said. A big man with a boy.”

  “Well, he’s in there,” Reggie said, pointing.

  “In the bungalow where the woman just went?” Karen asked.

  “She claims he’s her husband, but don’t you believe it,” Reggie said. “He believes it, but don’t pay any attention to him.” She nodded her head contemptuously at George, who was drifting toward the car in an effort to disassociate himself from his wife. He had hoped he could study the woman agent from that perspective without being noticed. Jack had rolled down the rear window to hear the conversation and George winked at the boy, pretending not to hear the reference to himself.

  “Did the state trooper mention that we were looking for a man and a boy alone?”

  “That’s your man in there, believe me. Take a look for yourself, he’s as weird as they come.”

  Karen looked at Becker. Becker suppressed a grin.

  “We think it’s unlikely that the man we’re looking for would be traveling with his wife,” Becker said, his voice polite and formal.

  “She’s certainly not his wife,” Reggie said. “I already told you that. Go look. Just go see for yourself. Something is going on in there.”

  “What sort of thing?”

  “I’m happy to say I don’t know. My mind doesn’t work that way.”

  Becker glanced at George, who was studying Karen’s legs. He sensed Becker’s eyes on him, looked up, grinned sheepishly.

  “But it’s something the police should look into,” Reggie continued. She looked back and forth at Becker and Karen, who were obviously reluctant to take any action. “Well, for heaven’s sake, what did you come here for?”

  “That’s an excellent question,” Karen said grimly. “Is the man there right now?”

  “Unless he dug a tunnel he is. I’ve had an eye on that cabin ever since.”

  “Ever since what?”

  “Ever since I saw him in it. You would too, if you’d seen him, believe me.”

  “Is the boy there now?”

  For the first time, Reggie acted less than certain. “I’m pretty sure he might be,” she said.

  “But you’re not completely sure?”

  “Why don’t we take a look and find out? He could be in the bathroom.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand, ma’am. Did you see the boy in there earlier?”

  “Not in so many words,” said Reggie.

  “You didn’t see him in so many words?”

  “I saw his toothbrush. I saw the way the man acted, he was hiding something, I saw him carrying something at night ...” She trailed off, losing steam as she was forced to voice her circumstantial case aloud.

  “You mean you’ve never actually seen the boy in person?” Karen struggled to keep the annoyance from her tone.

  “Not exactly ... but I don’t have to see something to know it’s there.”

  “Have you seen his clothing? ... His playthings? ... His books?”

  “His toothbrush.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “I’ve seen the man! That’s enough.”

  Becker turned to George and asked him if he had seen the boy. George put both hands in the air, palms open, disavowing any connection with the whole business.

  “I haven’t even seen the man.” he said, not looking toward his wife.

  “Why don’t you just go see him.” Reggie demanded, “instead of standing around, calling me a liar.”

  “Nobody’s calling you a liar, ma’am.” Karen said soothingly.

  “Then why don’t you go see the man for yourself and ask him? Don’t rely on him.” She indicated George with a gesture that was at once both designatory and dismissive. George grinned at Becker, inclining his head ever so slightly back at Reggie, trying to involve Becker in man’s universal understanding of women.

  “We’ll just have a word with him, then.” Karen said, turning toward the cabin.

  “Ask him about the bedspread, let’s hear him explain that,” Reggie said, falling in step with Karen.

  “I think it’s best if we conduct the interview ourselves,” Karen said.

  “I know how to deal with him.” Reggie said.

  “I’m sure you do, but it’s normal procedure for us to conduct an interview in private. I’m sure you would want the same consideration.”

  “If I’m not there, how will you know if he’s lying?”

  “We usually do this alone.” Karen repeated. “If we need further confirmation, naturally we’ll ask you.”

  “I can tell you everything you want to know,” Reggie said, but she fell back, letting Karen and Becker proceed alone.

  Karen leaned into the open rear window of the car to speak to her son. “Just stay here.” she said. “This shouldn’t take very long.”

  “But ... ”

  “If there’s a pony in that room. I promise I’ll let you know,” Becker said.

  “This might be easier to take if I didn’t get the impression it amuses the hell out of you.” Karen said to Becker as they started toward the cabin. “You have a very strange sense of humor.”

  The woman came bustling out of the cabin before Karen and Becker were halfway there. She wore a starched white nurse’s uniform, white stockings, white orthopedic oxford shoes. Contrasted to this snowy field, her eyes seemed to be blazing an unnatural blue. The blonde hair on her head had been piled into a bun to fit within a cap, which she was not wearing at the moment, and strands had fallen loose around her head, giving her a scattered look, even in repose.

  But she was not in repose. She came at Karen and Becker with the zest of someone greeting old friends, eyes flashing happily, her toothy smile another element in white.

  “Is she crazy, or what?” Dee asked merrily. “A nice old woman at heart. I’m sure, but alone too much, you know? You should talk to her husband about her, he’ll give you an earful.”

  “I am special agent Crist with the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” Karen said, pulling out her identification.

  “Is that right? Good for you.” She paused long enough to size up Becker from head to foot “I’ll bet you’re special, too, aren’t you?” And then to Karen, “Don’t want to make him feel bad. He’s trying his best.”

  Dee grinned at Becker to let him know she was teasing. There was a quality to everything she said that was so familiar in tone that Karen wondered fleetingly if they already knew each other.

  Then Dee was past them, walking briskly toward the office, speaking over her shoulder and forcing them to follow.

  “My husband has eye problems. You know what that’s like. I didn’t ask for much, just for him to be left alone during the day? Is that so much to ask for? I don’t think so. Now the old lady has gone in there, scared the poor dear half to death, apparently scared herself to boot—well, you’ll straighten this out, won’t you. That’s what makes you both special, isn’t it? ... Oh, look! Oh!”

  Dee veered toward Karen’s
car, gushing and exclaiming as if she had stumbled upon treasure.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jack Hollis,” Jack said.

  “You can call me Dee. And whose little boy are you?”

  Jack pulled away slightly from the face coming at him through the rear window and pointed at his mother.

  “Oh, he’s beautiful, he’s just such a beautiful boy!” Dee said to Karen. “You are a very lucky momma.”

  “Yes, I know. Thank you.”

  “And you ...” Dee leaned into the car even farther. “You are so precious. I could just eat you up.”

  Jack tried to smile at the strange woman, at the same time edging away until he was stopped by the sleeping bag on the seat beside him.

  “How would you like to come live with me?” Dee asked. “Would you like that, would you like to live with me for a while?”

  Dee turned again to Karen. “Just for a little while? Can I have him?”

  “Not right now. I’m afraid. He’s going to camp today.”

  “Are you? Are you going to camp? Where are you going?”

  “Camp Wasaknee.” Jack said.

  “You must be so excited ... You’re not scared, are you? Don’t be scared, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “I’m not scared.”

  “Good boy ... Oh, you’re so beautiful.”

  Dee turned to Becker and Karen again. Her eyes had become teary, dimming the brilliant blue.

  “You are so lucky,” Dee said, touching Karen’s arm. “You have no idea. Oh, I wish he were mine.”

  “He’s a wonderful boy,” Karen said.

  “I hope you appreciate him,” Dee said. “You shouldn’t leave him locked in the backseat with the windows closed, by the way.”

  “I do know that, actually,” Karen said quickly, offended. “And he’s not locked in. And the window’s open.”

  “It’s hard to think of everything,” Dee said, patronizingly. “Especially if you’re a working mother and have to take him to work with you.”