by Dorien Grey
Shortly after dinner, Samuel and Sheryl called to tell Jonathan they were catching an early morning flight back to the mainland and would be on the road the minute they could get their car. Jonathan handed the phone to Joshua, who was overjoyed to hear his folks, and set off on a detailed account of what he’d been doing, that we had gone swimming, what all he was learning at “school,” etc., and he probably would still be talking to them had Samuel not asked him to have Jonathan back on the line, too. Both Sheryl and Samuel took turns reassuring Joshua how much they loved him and what a good boy he was, and how eager they were to see him.
I called Jared while Jonathan was giving Joshua his bath and told him we were tentatively planning on taking a drive to Carrington on Sunday, if he’d be home. He said that Jake was coming up for the weekend, and they’d be delighted to see us. We made rough plans to have a barbecue early Sunday evening.
Bath over, jammies on, and the promise of story time luring him to bed, it still took Joshua forever to settle down, and it took two stories before he finally went to sleep.
*
I called Happy Day during “nap time” on Wednesday to talk with Estelle Bronson and let her know what was going on—that there still was no definite indication that Carlene’s death had been other than an accident, but that I planned to talk with Carlene’s ex over the weekend, and that I’d be talking with Kelly’s father when he came back to town in two weeks. I also promised that I would keep following up with the police to see if they had learned anything new. I told her that if, after I’d talked with Jan and Roy D’Angelo again, I found nothing to indicate their involvement, we should discuss whether I should discontinue further investigation.
Wednesday being school night for Jonathan meant that I would be fully responsible for looking after Joshua, including putting him to bed—a prospect I viewed with some minor trepidation. My experience with four-year-old boys had until recently been limited to when I was four myself, two or three infinities ago. But I guessed I’d do what most adults do in dealing with children…wing it.
I called Jonathan’s work and, on being told he was out on a job, left a message to have him call me. I figured we could save some time by going out to eat before he had to leave for school, and then I could take Joshua down to The Central to find him another children’s book—maybe another one illustrated by Catherine Tunderew, since he got such a kick out of her pictures. Then by the time we got home it would be almost time for him to go to bed.
Good plan, Hardesty, one of my mind-voices said approvingly, and I modestly had to agree.
*
All went according to plan…more or less. We went to Cap’n Rooney’s Fish Shack for dinner, which Joshua loved because he could eat everything with his hands, and except for knocking over a bottle of the malt vinegar used for the chips (it had a squirt cap, which reduced the spillage to a minimum), he was very well behaved. Much of his good behavior was due, I’m sure, to his fascination with the huge fish tank in the center of the room. (He reported, after a careful count, that there were “seventy-twelve” fish in the tank.)
We’d brought both cars to the restaurant, since it was on the way to Jonathan’s class. Joshua had ridden with Jonathan but, after switching Bunny from Jonathan’s car to mine, Jonathan left, and Joshua and I were on our own. He insisted on sitting in the front seat with me, with Bunny on his lap, and carried on a running monologue largely having to do with his folks coming back and everything they were going to do when they got home…including, apparently, buying Joshua a tractor for him to drive to school, and….
We parked about a block from Bennington Books and, after a slightly heated debate on whether or not Bunny should come with us, we walked to the store—Joshua taking great pains to hop over every crack in the sidewalk. I suspect it had something to do with the fact that I had a four-year-old boy in tow, but I swear I’ve never been cruised so much in the space of one block in my life. My crotch was equal parts delighted and frustrated.
And I soon realized, on entering the children’s section of the store, the naiveté of my assessment of the task of buying a small boy a children’s book. He wanted them all. Every one—but only after taking each one down from the shelf and looking through it. And upon being instructed to put the book back, it inevitably went back to the wrong place.
I was specifically looking for covers in Catherine Tunderew’s style. I’d pick a book off the shelf to look at it, and Joshua would run across the aisle to grab another one and bring it over.
“This is a good one!” he’d say, handing it to me. I’d put back the one I’d just picked up to look at Joshua’s offering, and he’d be off to grab another.
A very attractive young clerk came over and asked if we needed help.
“Yours?” he asked with a very…uh…friendly…smile, indicating Joshua.
I returned the smile. “Just on loan. We’re looking for something illustrated by Catherine Tunderew—we got The Popsicle Tree last time we were in, and he loved it.” I didn’t add that Jonathan and I did too.
“Sure. We’ve got one right over here.”
I interrupted Joshua in mid grab for another book and ushered him in front of me as we followed the clerk.
We ended in a compromise. Rather than the one I’d intended to buy and the 30 or so Joshua picked out, we got three, Lemon Pizza, The Littlest Tractor, and Bunny Tales.
*
By the time we got home, it was time to get Joshua ready for bed. With three new books to read, he was surprisingly cooperative. After we got him washed up and his teeth brushed—he did a pretty good job at each—I let him put on his pj’s by himself. The bottoms were no problem, but he got a little tangled in the top and ended up with it being on backwards, but the situation was soon remedied and he ran into the living room to pick up the bag with the books with one hand and grab Bunny with the other, took them into his room and hopped onto the bed.
“Where’s uncle Jonathan?”
“He’s at school,” I explained for probably the fourth time in the course of the evening. “But we can start without him, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Which one shall we read?” I asked, taking the books out of the bag.
“All of them!”
I very much doubted he’d last through more than one, if that (considering the time devoted to looking at the pictures and discussing the various elements and the characters, and any train-of-thought associations he made with them).
“Okay, but which one shall we start with?”
He reached over and grabbed the top book, The Littlest Tractor. “This one.”
While Bunny remained attentive throughout, Joshua started “resting his eyes” just about the point where the littlest tractor had to brave a storm to go get a needed part to repair Grandpa Thresher.
I carefully got out of bed, slowly slid one of the pillows out from behind his head so he could lie more normally, collected the books, and left the room.
I was watching TV when Jonathan came in, and we sat on the couch awhile talking about our day. As much as Jonathan enjoyed his college classes, he resented missing out on one of our few remaining nights with Joshua. He got a kick out of my relating our bookstore adventures—especially the part about my being conned into buying not one but three books.
“He’s not dumb, that’s for sure,” Jonathan said, grinning. “He knows a patsy when he sees one.”
“Thanks.”
We watched part of the ten o’clock news, and then went to bed.
At ten thirty the phone rang.
“Damn!” I said. “I’ll get it!”
I hoped out of bed, threw my robe on, and raced for the phone, hoping it hadn’t awakened Joshua.
“Hello?” I said as softly as I could, carrying the phone into the living room.
“Is Jonathan there?” a male voice I didn’t recognize asked.
Puzzled and mildly irked, I said, “Yeah. He’s in bed.”
“This is his dad,” the voice
said, and I detected something in his voice that I did not like.
“I’ll get him for you,” I said, laying the phone on the coffee table.
I hurried into the bedroom and told Jonathan, who looked startled and quickly got out of bed to go to the phone. Something told me to follow him.
Jonathan picked up the phone. “Hi, Dad. What’s up?”
His face went totally ashen and he pressed his lips tightly together to stifle the sound people sometimes make when they’re punched full-force in the stomach.
He stood there, then began to tremble, and the tremble became a Richter Scale 7.0 shaking. He unconsciously lowered the phone, and I moved forward to take it from his hand with one hand and circle his shoulders with my free arm.
Jonathan was making no sound…just shaking uncontrollably.
“Mr. Quinlan,” I said, putting the phone to my ear. “This is Dick. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
But I knew.
Samuel and Sheryl’s car had been hit head-on by an out-of-control semitrailer, which had swerved across the median and into their lane of traffic somewhere near the Nevada state line. They’d died instantly.
CHAPTER 8
If I could leave several pages blank here, I would. What can I possibly say? Time was compressed as violently as the front end of a car hit by a semitrailer. What should have been easily identifiable and describable parts and pieces of time became an inseparable, unrecognizable, melded mass of events, thoughts, emotions, and memories.
I do remember a few things clearly, and I’ll try to make some sense of the rest of it: Jonathan’s father had been notified of the accident by the Nevada State Police. Arrangements would be made for the return of the bodies to Wisconsin pending the family’s instructions.
Neither Jonathan nor I slept one moment. I’d taken Jonathan back to bed after hanging up from his father with the promise that Jonathan would call him in the morning. Jonathan still had not made a sound since that first muffled grunt. Without a sound he took off his robe and got under the covers, as did I. I’d said nothing, either, of course.
Jonathan just lay there on his back, his arms at his side, his eyes looking at the ceiling. When I moved closer to him and reached an arm around his shoulder, he pushed it away. I waited a moment, then tried again. After a moment, he began making soft gasping sounds which, just as his trembling had become shaking, increased in volume and intensity until he threw himself against me, buried his face in my shoulder, and gave a long, terrifying wail which, if not muffled by my shoulder, would undoubtedly have awakened the entire building. I’d heard a wail like it only once before in my entire life, and I had hoped I would never hear another.
*
I got up in the morning, got dressed without showering, and somehow got Joshua up, dressed, fed, and ready for school. Don’t ask me how. I knew he could sense something was wrong, but had no idea what, and didn’t know what or how to ask. He played with his cereal and kept looking at me out of the corner of his eye, but said very little. I did my best to act normal, and explained that Uncle Jonathan was really tired this morning and didn’t feel well, and that I would be taking him to school. I had to leave my own thoughts and feelings totally out of the equation.
When I took him into Happy Day, I spoke to Bonnie and explained to her what had happened. Her reaction mirrored her vocalized expression of sincere regret, and I explained that at the moment everything was up in the air, but that I hoped to have more to tell her when I picked up Joshua that afternoon.
*
Jonathan was on the phone when I returned to the apartment. His eyes were puffy and he looked as though something had been drained out of him—which, of course, it had. His voice was calm. I went quickly over to him and kissed him on the forehead. He looked up and gave me a very weak smile, then went back to his conversation. I gathered he was talking with one of his sisters. I went into the kitchen to make coffee.
Of course I didn’t even think of going to work. I didn’t give one single thought to the case or to anything else except Jonathan and Joshua.
By the time I left the apartment to pick up Joshua from day care, Jonathan had been on the phone much of the day. He’d called his work and explained the situation, and his boss told him to take all the time he needed.
The double funeral was set for Monday in their hometown, Cranston. Sheryl had been an only child, and her parents were both dead, so all the arrangements fell on the Quinlans, mainly Jonathan’s dad and the one sister who lived in the area. Jonathan’s two out-of-state sisters would be returning home for the funeral, and he spoke with both of them during the day.
The biggest decision of the day was made by Jonathan—he would not be taking Joshua with him when he returned to Wisconsin for the funeral. He was adamant about not putting a four-year-old boy through the trauma of seeing both his parents buried, and while one of his sisters felt strongly that Joshua should be there, Jonathan remained firm. He told her that when it was determined who might become Joshua’s guardian, he would bring the boy back at that time.
We didn’t really even talk much about my looking after Joshua while Jonathan was gone. Jonathan asked me, as a matter of courtesy, if I minded, and of course I couldn’t object. I think we both simply took it for granted. He would fly to Milwaukee Saturday to catch a connecting flight to Rhinelander, where his father would pick him up. He would return Tuesday.
Between phone calls, we talked a bit about what to tell Joshua, and how to explain to him that his mom and dad would not be coming to take him home.
I was amazed by Jonathan’s control. Every time either of us would mention Joshua, the tears would well up in his eyes—and we both tried very hard not to mention Samuel or Sheryl at all. Jonathan would grieve for his brother and sister-in-law in his own time and in his own way, but right now Joshua was the only thing either of us could afford to think about.
*
I arrived a few minutes early at Happy Day to update the sisters. I asked if Joshua could keep going there until we knew what was going to happen, and they said “of course.” Though I spoke to each of the sisters separately, neither Bonnie nor Estelle mentioned Carlene or Kelly or my investigation, and I very much appreciated their discretion.
I gave Joshua a piggyback ride from the porch to the car, and let him ride in the front seat with me, reaching into the back seat for Bunny.
Joshua was not his usual chatterbox self on the way back home. Instead he sat with Bunny in his lap and talked quietly to him about whatever it is that four-year-old boys talk about to their favorite toy.
Realizing I was being much too quiet myself, I asked him about what he had done at school.
“We played games and painted and read stories. But everybody’s sad.”
Oh-oh.
“Really? Do you know why?” I was certainly hoping neither of the sisters had said anything to give him a clue.
“Because my mommy and daddy are coming to take me home.”
Oh, shit!
I found myself swallowing hard and blinking my eyes to clear the mist I felt forming there, and not a single one of my mind-voices had a comment.
“You like it there at Happy Day, don’t you?”
“Yeah. It’s fun.”
He went back to conversing with Bunny, and I kept my eyes on the road.
I’d told Jonathan I’d stopped at the store to pick up a few things for dinner and to give him a little more time for himself. I really dreaded what I knew was coming when Jonathan told Joshua, and I hoped he would be able to pull it off.
“How about you and me making dinner tonight, Joshua?” I asked, letting him carry the shopping basket—I’d managed to have him agree to let Bunny stay in the car to protect it. “What shall we make?”
I already knew the answer, but he reaffirmed it without hesitation, “Hot dogs and macaroni and cheese!”
“Good choice.”
*
When we got to the apartment, Jonathan was sitting on the couch in the li
ving room. My Manhattan, his Coke, and a jelly-jar glass of soda for Joshua were on the coffee table in front of him. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked haggard, but he got up to come over and scoop Joshua up for our evening hug.
“Hi, Joshua,” he said with a smile that tried very hard to make it and may have fooled Joshua, but not me. “How’s my big boy?”
“We got hot dogs and macaroni and cheese for dinner! I’m going to help Uncle Dick make supper!”
“That’s great!” Jonathan said, setting Joshua down and giving me another very tight hug.
We made it through dinner somehow, Joshua telling us about a fire engine that had gone down the alley behind Happy Day and how he had waved at the firemen and they had waved back, and that after his dad bought him a tractor, he was going to ask for a fire truck, and….
With every mention of Samuel and Sheryl, Jonathan would almost visibly wince, and he had to wipe his eyes several times. I’m not sure what my own reactions were; I was focused on Jonathan.
When we had finished dinner—neither Jonathan nor I ate very much—Jonathan said, “Let’s go into the living room, Joshua. I’ve got something to tell you.”
My stomach was in knots as Joshua slid off his chair and ran into the living room to join Bunny, whom he’d left reading a magazine. As Jonathan got up I said, “Do you want to talk to him alone?”
He shook his head. “No. I need you.”
I got up and followed him into the living room.
“Let’s sit here on the couch. You can bring Bunny.”
Joshua scooted up between us and looked up at Jonathan expectantly. “Is it a surprise? Are mommy and daddy here?”
Jonathan took a deep, slow breath and put one arm around the boy’s shoulder.
