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A vacant lot next to the school seemed like an obvious place to search, and Sam wondered why the police hadn’t done so back when Mr. Williams was first reported missing. Maybe it was understandable, since there’d been no indication of foul play, and all evidence had pointed to an unfortunate accident or misadventure.
Sam thought back to all the praise and encouragement Jackson Williams had given him when he’d worked on the school paper, inspiring Sam to go into journalism in college. Mr. Williams had also been a supportive soccer coach and good friend, and when he’d disappeared, it had devastated Sam. But he’d also had other things on his mind at the time. Things that he’d rather not have dragged up and be forced to relive now. The same reasons why, a couple months after his teacher disappeared and Sam had graduated, he’d left home. He’d hoped for good.
The shrill ring of his cell phone on the passenger seat next to him interrupted his thoughts. He picked up the phone. It was Josh.
“Hey, Dad. Got your message. What’s up? Already calling for an emergency care package with those Trader Joe’s chips you like and some real beer?”
“Actually, wise guy, Salt Lake does have a Trader Joe’s, and I already have three bags stashed back at my room,” Sam said and smiled. “Plus, you’re only thirteen. Any care package you send better only have contraband coffee beans.” That earned a laugh, and some of the tension in Sam’s neck eased. Which was why he’d wanted to talk to his son. He needed the grounding. And the sound of his voice. “So, how are things going with you at your mom’s?”
There was a sigh. “The baby cries all night, so mom usually sleeps a lot during the day. But it’s all right. Steve took me to a basketball game last night to get me out of the house.”
Sam grunted at his son’s references to his new half-brother and stepfather. Sam’s ex-wife really had changed a lot since they were together—definitely for the better. After a few more minutes of listening to Josh’s bemoaned account of the baby’s schedule and how he couldn’t wait for Sam to get back so he could sleep in his own room—a baby-free zone—they said warm goodbyes and ended the call.
Sam glanced up at his own parents’ imposing two-story brick home and knew that now was the time to get this over with—while he was still heartened from talking with Josh.
At the front door, he wrestled with whether to ring the doorbell and wait or go ahead and walk in. He didn’t know if he still had the right to just enter when he wanted like when he was a kid. The last thing he wanted was to frighten his mom. But before he could make up his mind, the door swung open.
“Sam! I’m so glad you’re here.” His mother’s dark, black hair hung straight around her shoulders as usual—which comforted him more than he expected—but what was unusual was how pale and thin she looked. Even more so than when she’d been out to his place for Christmas.
“Hi, Mom.” He stepped in and hugged her. She felt so frail and light, he worried she might crack like an eggshell under his embrace. Damn. Why hadn’t she told him about the cancer before now? He would have been here sooner.
Almost reluctantly, she pulled back and tried to smile. “I can’t tell you how much it means to have you here. Come in.”
He entered the foyer, bright and cold. The old discomfort lodged in his chest.
She closed the door behind him. “Patty prepared us a small dinner, nothing fancy. It’s in the kitchen. I’m not one for formalities of late.” This statement shook him even more than her appearance. For as long as he could remember, dinner had been eaten in the formal dining room. No exceptions. Even it if was just him and a grilled cheese sandwich.
Sam nodded and followed her through the house and back to the kitchen. The room had seen a serious update since he was last here, with stainless-steel appliances, dark, cherry-wood cabinets, and new countertops. Something he recalled his mother had mentioned doing four years ago. Just after Dad had died.
A commercial was playing low on a small television mounted under the kitchen cabinet. A pair of muddy shoes and gardening gloves sat on the mat in front of the French doors. The backyard was swathed in darkness now, but he was sure it was blooming—or would be soon—under her special touch. He was relieved to know that, despite everything, she was still able to do the things she loved.
He turned his attention back to his mom. “Are you in any pain?”
“Nothing I can’t handle, dear.” She smiled and grabbed the tea kettle and filled it up. “Having you here already makes me feel much better.”
“I’m at the Residence Inn. It’s not far. You can call me anytime.”
“I wish you’d reconsider and stay here with me. You could sleep in the pool house if it’s privacy you’re concerned with.”
Other than what she’d relayed to him two weeks ago—odd and unexpected for her to reach out to him—he’d been out of touch with his mother and the state of her health. When he’d initially considered staying here, in this cold tomb where he’d grown up, the idea had been repellant. But now, seeing how things really were, it might make sense. And if the pool house was an option, even better. “I may take you up on that. Let me get settled at the school, and I’ll let you know. Has Aunt Kathy been over much?” he asked, referring to his mother’s sister.
“Almost every day. Whatever our differences over the years, she’s really been there for me.”
He couldn’t ignore the pang of guilt at hearing that. “I’m here now, too. I can take you anywhere you need to go—your treatments, doctor’s visits, the grocery store…anything.”
“You don’t have to do all of that. Really. Kathy and I have… Well, it’s been nice to have her in my life again. And of course, there’s Patty,” she said. Patty had been their maid forever.
His mom grabbed an oven mitt and pulled a pan from the oven. She unwrapped foil from a loaf of French bread and picked up a serrated bread knife, waving his hand away when he offered to slice it. The crisp crust released a yeasty aroma as she cut into it, and Sam realized how hungry he was.
The intro for the six o’clock news sounded from the television behind her. Not surprisingly, the headline story was the discovery of the body of former teacher, Jackson Williams, at the school.
They both stood transfixed, staring at the screen, his mother still holding the knife in her hand, although her knuckles had turned white as she gripped the handle. This time, she let him pry the knife from her fingers, and he set it on the counter.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded and turned away, her eyes downcast as she busied herself with turning off the oven. “I just feel terrible for that nice man. And his family. All these years not having a proper burial like that. He deserved better. I remember how much he helped you.”
When she raised her eyes, they were a more brilliant blue. He couldn’t be sure if they were tears or not because within a moment, they were back to normal, and she was smiling again.
