2 Crushed (8 page)

“Calm down. He said he would bring
him home. That’s good.”

Handel’s calm and collected
attitude grated on her already prickly nerves. “That’s good? The man kidnaps my
son and you say its good?”

“Hold on. Call the school and find
out if Davy’s still there. If he’s not—call the police and report him
missing. I want this on that bastard’s record. He can’t come here and act like
he has rights. The court system won’t acknowledge him as the father since his name
is not on the birth certificate. So, until he rectifies that by going to court
with a paternity suit, he’s just a kidnapper.”

“Why would Davy go with him?” she
asked, not expecting an answer but unable to stop the questions, the finger
pointing back at her. If only she’d talked to her son about his father. Maybe
none of this would be happening.

“Margaret,” Handel repeated
sternly. “Call the school and the police. I’ll be home as soon I can. I’m
leaving now.”

*****

The officer listened to the message
on the machine and wrote something in his notebook. He looked up, his eyes
taking in Margaret’s purse dumped out on the table where she’d searched for her
phone, the tear tracks in her makeup, and the bottle of wine and empty glass on
the kitchen cupboard. She’d needed a drink while she waited. It probably looked
bad—drinking when her son was missing—but she had been shaking so
hard and she didn’t know what to do.

“Doesn’t sound like a kidnapping,
ma’am,” he said. He flipped his notebook shut and slid it in his front shirt
pocket. His expression was bland, but his tone conveyed skepticism. “This
man—what is his relationship to your son?”

“There is no relationship. Davy has
never seen him before. He’s a complete stranger to my son!”

“Then why would he take him to play
soccer?” He hooked his thumbs in his belt and cocked his head to the side, like
a bird alert for signs of emerging worms.

She threw up her hands. “I don’t
know! I haven’t seen him for over ten years. Suddenly he’s back in town and
wants to see Davy.”

“So he is the boy’s father,” he
said, his lips thinned into a straight line. “Does he have visitation rights?”

“No! He has absolutely no rights.
He left the country when I was pregnant. He’s never seen my son, or spoken to
him. Is that clear enough for you? The man is not Davy’s father. He’s a
deadbeat sperm donor.” She crossed her arms and bit back the rest of the
diatribe that wanted to flood out of her mouth. The officer looked like he’d
enjoy arresting her for a smart mouth.

She heard Handel come through the
garage door, his shoes clicking on the ceramic tile. He put his arm around her
as he calmly took in the situation. He held out his hand to the officer. “I’m
Handel Parker, Davy’s uncle. Have you issued an Amber alert? I didn’t hear one
on the radio. Time is of the essence. Agosto Salvatore is Italian. He could
possibly be planning to take Davy out of the country.”

The officer’s gaze narrowed. “I
don’t think it will come to that. Mr. Salvatore left a message on your sister’s
machine that stated exactly what time he would bring his son home. Perhaps your
sister has forgotten that they had a date,” he said.

“What are you implying?” she
demanded. “Do you really think that I would forget something like that?”

He inclined his head toward the
bottle on the cabinet. “You have been drinking, Ms. Parker.”

Handel stopped her arm when she
would have taken a swing at the officer. “Margaret, please find a photo of Davy
for the officer,” he said firmly. He didn’t let go until she nodded, her
muscles going slack.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,”
said the officer. “I’m sure…”

“I don’t think you understand the
situation. A man took my nephew without permission. This man’s name is not on
the birth certificate. He has absolutely no legal standing to go near my
nephew. As an officer it is your sworn duty to uphold the law. My nephew has
been taken. He is nine years old. He has blonde hair and blue eyes. His name is
Davy Handel Parker. If you want to keep your job working for the citizens of
this county I strongly urge you to issue an Amber alert.” He handed the officer
his business card and calmly waited for a response.

Margaret never left the room but
only moved to the bulletin board beside the refrigerator and took down the
photo of Davy she’d pinned to the cork board just the week before. It was taken
in the vineyard, in the heat of the afternoon, his bare chest tan from running
around outside without a shirt, his blonde hair even whiter than normal,
bleached in the summer sun.

She moved back to Handel’s side and
extended the photo to the officer.

He nodded curtly, and stepped out
to his car to radio it in.

“Are they going to look for him?”
she asked, glancing up at the clock on the wall. It was 4:58 already. If Agosto
had been telling the truth, Davy would be home in thirty-two minutes. If he
wasn’t…

“I’m sure Agosto will bring him
home before Officer Starchy-pants condescends to uphold the law.” He stepped to
the window and watched the policeman sitting in his car talking on the radio.
“I’d bet money that man is going through a custody battle of his own right now.
But I don’t care if his ex-wife took the kids, the dog, and his last can of
beer, if his negligence is the cause of Agosto taking Davy out of this country,
I will put this county through such a mudslide of law suits, they won’t be able
to crawl out for a hundred years.”

She couldn’t help smiling at his
vendetta lawyer talk. Handel, the one who taught Davy, when a bigger kid was
picking on him at school, that revenge made a man weak, while forgiveness took
a man’s power back from the bully. She knew he was just being protective and
feeling inadequate—as she was. The court system was fine revenge after
the fact, but right now they needed real action.

The officer returned, his face a
mask of official business. “Do either of you know what type of vehicle Mr.
Salvatore was driving?” he asked.

“Yes.” Relief slipped through her
veins at the thought that authorities would soon be looking for her son. “He
came here a couple days ago in a blue convertible sports car. It was expensive.
I think it might have been a Ferrari. I didn’t see it up close.”

His eyes widened at the
description. He nodded. “All right. We already have patrols doing drive-bys of
the parks in the area.” He handed her his card. “Call me if he shows up.”

“Thank you, Officer Tate. I’m sorry
I lost my temper. He’s the only son I have.”

The corners of his mouth relented
and curved up slightly. “I understand.”

*****

Handel was first out the door when
the convertible pulled up to the house. He didn’t wait for Agosto to get out of
the car, but leaned over the door and pulled him up by the collar of his shirt.
The man hung there, choking against the tightened fabric until Handel released
him and slammed him back down into the seat. “You dirty…”

“Handel!” Margaret caught up to him
and grabbed his arm before he could do worse. “Not like this,” she warned, even
though every instinct screamed to hit the man herself. But Davy was sitting in
the passenger seat, his eyes as round as quarters, and she didn’t want to scare
him more than he already was.

“Davy, get out of the car,” Handel
ordered.

Davy opened the door timidly as
though he expected the same treatment himself. She didn’t wait for him to come
to her but flew around the front of the car and wrapped her arms around his
small frame. “You scared me to death,” she breathed into his hair. He smelled
of sweat and riding in the open wind and she hugged him hard, relief swelling
her heart.

“Mom,” he said, pulling back,
“you’re choking me.”

He was home safe and she was suddenly
furious. She straightened, hands on her hips. “I’ll do worse than that if you
ever get into a stranger’s car again. Now get in the house and take a shower.
I’ll be there in a minute.”

“He said you’d be mad at me,” Davy
said, in a persecuted tone. “But he’s not a stranger and you know it.”

The words sent a chill down her
spine. Agosto had already taken a bit of the respect and trust her son had in
her and destroyed it with his version of the truth. She pointed at the house
and Davy reluctantly obeyed.

As soon as he went inside, Handel
yanked open the car door and pulled Agosto from the seat. “I warned you ten
years ago that if you ever came back, your life wouldn’t be worth a bullet to
take it.”

Agosto jerked away, his handsome
face twisted with rage. “How dare you touch me. I will have you arrested for
assault. You may be a lawyer but you are not above the law.”

“You first. The police have already
issued a warrant for your arrest, for kidnapping my nephew. Did you account for
that scenario in your plan?”

Agosto turned to Margaret, a look
of astonishment drawing his brows together. “Why would you do that? You knew I
just took him to play soccer. I would never hurt my own son. Do you hate me
that much?” he asked, wounded regret creeping into his voice.

“Don’t even start with me,” she
said, moving around the car to stand beside Handel. “Against my brother’s
advice, I considered allowing you some sort of relationship with my son, and
you’ve thrown that tiny bit of trust that had begun to sprout, back in my face,
by taking him without permission and without my knowledge.” She pointed her
finger at him, her hand shaking with pent-up fury and overwhelming relief. “You
will never have anything to do with Davy again as long as I live!”

Agosto stared back at her, then
calmly moved around them both and climbed into the car, slamming the door. He
twisted the key in the ignition before looking up, dark glasses now hiding his
emotions. “I actually thought that perhaps you and I could start over. Learn to
care for one another once again. Raise our son together as a family. But you’ve
destroyed that dream.” He slipped the car into reverse. “You will be hearing
from my lawyers,” he said, leaving them with a dismissive wave of his manicured
hand.

Margaret grabbed Handel’s arm and
held on. To keep him from going after the man or to keep herself from
screaming, she didn’t know. Gravel dust hung in the air in the wake of Agosto’s
departure like poison fumes from a chemical spill.

“I think you made him angry,”
Handel noted, a satisfied lilt to his words.

She breathed out a laugh based
purely on frayed nerves. “Me? You’re the one who wrinkled his two hundred
dollar polo shirt. He’s probably talking to his lawyers about it right now.”
The fact that Davy was home, safe and sound, made her giddy with relief. She
knew she shouldn’t be relieved quite yet. Agosto was obviously serious about
pursuing his paternity rights in court, but right now all she could think about
was what to make Davy for dinner. There would be time for admonitions and
courtroom strategy later. Right now she wanted to lavish her son with love and
pizza.

CHAPTER NINE

“Just as I thought. He didn’t spend
five minutes in jail. Apparently, his father’s wealth and influence extends to
our little neck of the woods. His lawyers have been busy. They’ve already filed
a paternity case to get the blood work flowing. With Salvatore’s ego, he’ll be
filing for sole custody next.”

Margaret sighed. She switched the
phone to her left ear as she listened. “I hope you’re not saying that’s even
possible.”

“He can ask all he wants, but ten
years without support or acknowledgment of any kind, in the eyes of the law,
looks rather poor for his case.”

“Handel,” she began hesitantly,
“I’ve spoken with Billie about handling this. She is a family lawyer and knows
what to expect. And I think you are too close to be objective.”

“I’m perfectly capable of…”

“You verbally threatened Agosto and
physically assaulted him. In front of Davy, no less. I know you want to help,
but I think you need to keep your distance on this one. It’s for the best. For
all of us.”

He was silent a moment. “You’re
right,” he said finally, his voice heavy with wounds deeper than time could
heal. “Davy hasn’t looked at me the same since. It’s like he’s afraid of me. I
turned into a monster right in front of him and he doesn’t know when that
monster will resurface again. The way I felt when dad…”

“Handel, don’t! You are not
anything like him. You have done nothing but love and care for us since he
left. I’m only asking you to step back because I don’t want to see your
reputation and career ruined. This is my chance to do something for you. I need
you to understand.”

“All right. I’ll hand everything
over to Billie this afternoon.”

“Thank you.”

“Margaret?” he said, before she
could disconnect. “I want you to know that I will do anything it takes to keep
that man away from you and Davy. Anything.”

She set the phone on the counter
and stared unblinkingly out the window, seeing only the murderous look on
Handel’s face when he pulled Agosto from the car.

Anything. That’s what she was
afraid of.

*****

“But why can’t I see my dad?” Davy
asked again, watching her for signs of weakness like when she said “no ice
cream before dinner” and he begged until she gave in.

Ruining his dinner once in a while
was a small concession to day-to-day rules. Ruining his life was another matter
altogether. Agosto’s idea of fatherhood did not include love and nurture. She
doubted he even knew the definition for them. The stories he had told her about
the senior Mr. Salvatore made her wonder if the man cared more about his fine
stable and gave more thought to raising expensive race horses than raising his
son. Agosto at twenty was skewed by his father’s inattention. Ten years later
she doubted he had changed for the better.

“Davy,” she said, trying once again
to make him understand. “He is your biological father—not your dad. A dad
is there when you’re born. He helps raise you, gives hugs and high fives,
teaches kindness and forgiveness. How to work hard. To be responsible.” She
smiled. “He even cleans up after you when you have the flu. A dad sticks around
for all of those things. Agosto Salvatore is not your dad.”

Davy bit at the inside of his jaw
while he digested her latest explanation. “A dad is a lot like Uncle Handel,”
he said finally.

She pushed his hair back out of his
face. “Yes. Uncle Handel did all the things a real dad would do. You might say
he was a pinch-hitter dad.”

He grinned at that analogy. “Uncle
Handel hates baseball.”

“I know, but he always went to your
t-ball games and cheered, didn’t he?”

“But my bilogic father said he
wants to take me to Italy to visit my other grandfather. And he has a horse for
me. I’d like to have a horse. Wouldn’t that be cool?” He picked up a banana.
“Can I have this? I’m hungry.”

She nodded and watched him peel the
top down and take a bite. Hunger always trumped angst. “I’m sure a horse would
be cool, but Italy is very, very far away. Across the ocean. Too far away for a
boy to travel without his mother. I’d be awfully lonely without you.”

“Are you afraid my other
grandfather is bad like Grandpa Sean?” he asked, calmly chewing banana as
though every kid had a grandpa in prison.
 

“No,” she said, her throat
tightening, “I don’t think he’s like Grandpa Sean. I just want to spend all the
time I can with you before you grow up and leave for college.”

“That’s silly. I’m only nine,” he
said, grinning.

“Yeah, but you’re really smart. One
of those colleges might want to take you early.”

He shook his head and threw the
banana peel in the garbage. “Nope. I’m going to be a wine vintner and master
wine maker. I don’t need to go to college for that. You didn’t.”

“You might change your mind.
Remember last week you wanted to be a professional soccer player, and about a
month ago you wanted to be an astronaut.”

“I guess. I’ll think about it.”

“Glad to hear it. You’ve got eight
years to mull it over. Now go outside and play till I call you for dinner.”

He picked up his ball and opened
the door.

“Stay close to the house though,
okay?” she added. “No running off to Billie’s tonight.”

He grunted and pulled the door
closed behind him.

She went to the window and watched
him kick the ball up and down the driveway, his tongue protruding between his
lips whenever he tried to balance it on his knee or bounce it off his head. He
was wearing that blasted cap again—the one from the racetrack that Agosto
gave him on their little outing—probably why he was having such a hard
time directing the ball with his head. She smiled when she realized he was
wearing two different colors of socks. His jeans were getting too short. He
must have grown an inch since school started. They would need to go shopping
again soon. Otherwise everyone would think her son was colorblind.

She wished she didn’t feel paranoid
every time he played outside alone. Last year when her father ran loose in the
neighborhood, terrorizing Billie and avoiding the authorities, she refused to
let Davy play outside for weeks. After he was returned to prison, she’d felt
immense relief and her sense of safety gradually returned. Now with Agosto
threatening to take her son, she wanted to lock Davy in his room. But she knew
he needed continuity. She didn’t want him living a life of fear.

She moved away from the window. She
couldn’t stand and watch him every minute. This was crazy. Agosto was going
through the court system. She had no reason to think he would break the law by
coming on her property again. Billie had filed a restraining order against him
to keep him at bay. When the court system ruled against him…that’s when she
would need to worry.

In the family room, she picked up a
magazine and stretched out on the couch to read. But all she saw was her
father’s weathered, craggy face, the last time she saw him. She still couldn’t
wrap her mind around the facts. She was shocked to learn her father was not
just a drunk who had deserted his family, but a cold, calculated, child
molester. It made her feel tainted as though his actions somehow corrupted her
soul as well. She imagined some people saw her that way. She’d seen the looks,
heard whispered remarks behind her back. They thought she was another one of
her father’s victims. Thank God she had been spared. She’d only been four years
old when he disappeared all those years ago, and before that, Handel protected
her, a flesh and bone shield. She realized now that even as a boy he took
beatings meant for their mother, tried to direct Sean Parker’s anger toward
himself until the man was spent and passed out drunk. She owed her brother a
lot.

She threw the magazine down and sat
up. She couldn’t concentrate. She had to stay busy. Keep her mind occupied with
something other than the past.

Adam’s guitar was still propped
against the table. She leaned over and picked it up, held it in her lap and ran
her fingers over the strings. How would it feel to play with that much passion?
He had a gift. She set it gently on the couch beside her and reached out for
the phone on the coffee table. She dialed the number and listened to it ring
five times before he picked up.

He was breathing hard like he’d run
in from outside. “Hello?”

“Hello,” she said, and then
couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“Meg?”

She smiled against the receiver.
“Who said you could give me a nickname?” she asked.

“You didn’t mind the other night.
Just seeing if it stuck.”

“Handel’s not even allowed to
shorten my name.”

“I’m not Handel,” he said, his
voice deep and confident.

“Well, I called to remind you that
your guitar’s still here.” She smoothed a hand over the worn fabric of the
couch, cringing inwardly at her feeble excuse.

He laughed. “It better still be
there. Cause I haven’t come to fetch it home yet.”

“Sounds like a pet.”

“Meg. I love my guitar. I don’t
leave it behind at just anybodies house.”

Margaret couldn’t believe she was
having this conversation. She hadn’t flirted with a guy for the sake of
flirting since she was a teenager. It made her feel young and carefree again.
She heard the kitchen door slam shut and a ball bounce against the tile floor.
Davy was back. She jumped up. Not as carefree as imagined.

“I have to go. Come by this evening
and I might let you have it back.” She didn’t wait for a response but pushed
the end button and set the phone on the table.

“Mom!” Davy yelled from the kitchen
when she didn’t materialize immediately.

“In here.”

He followed the sound of her voice,
gently kicking the ball down the hall and into the room. He tapped it with his
toe and caught it in his arms, grinning. “Cool, huh?”

“I thought I told you not to play
with the ball in the house.”

“I was careful.”

“That’s not the point,” she said,
taking it from him and holding it over her head. “Now it’s mine, soccer boy,”
she teased.

He tried to jump and knock it from
her hand, but she managed to keep it just out of his reach. “Oh no you don’t!”

“Hey, that’s not fair. You’re
taller than me.” He slumped into an overstuffed chair and crossed his arms, his
pout reminding her of Agosto.

“Tell you what. You can have it
back after you clean your room.”

“Ahh, Mom. Do I got to? I like it
just the way it is.”

She laughed and pulled him up. “The
funny thing about that is, your room never stays just the way it is. It
continues to get worse and worse. So, let’s nip that in the bud, shall we?”

“All right, ” he said, but his tone
implied it was totally against everything he stood for. Mostly—freedom to
have a messy room. He trudged off, making it look like he was headed for the
guillotine. He stopped and looked back, a puzzled frown on his face. “When did
Grandpa Sean get out of jail?” he asked.

She dropped the ball. It rolled
under the coffee table and over to the piano. “What do you mean?” she asked,
trepidation pulling at her like a rip current.

“I saw him out in the vineyard,”
Davy stated matter-of-factly. “I think he came out of your storage shed.”

“Storage shed?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. He was
over by it.”

“Did you speak to him?” she asked,
hoping it was only boyhood imagination.

He shook his head. “You told me not
to.”

Margaret gestured for him to get a
move on. “Good. Now get your room clean.”

When he was out of sight, she sat
down on the edge of the couch and dropped her head in her hands. Was it
possible that he’d been released from prison without any notification for the
family? Handel would have called. He certainly would have let Billie know. What
was going on?

She hurried to the kitchen and
checked that the garage door was down and the inside door locked. Then did the
same for the front door. Her father was not supposed to get out of prison for
years. They had all hoped parole would be denied him, many times over. He was a
dangerous man and she didn’t want Davy anywhere near him.

She peered out the kitchen window
toward the vineyard, squinting against the afternoon sun. What was he doing
here? Was he looking for something, or just returning to the scene of his many
crimes?

*****

Handel called back later that
afternoon. He was in San Francisco, going through jury selection for an
upcoming trial. He expected to drive home in the morning after rush hour
traffic. He couldn’t get back any sooner, but he’d made some calls in advance.

“The parole board actually stated
that they believe he’s on his way to complete rehabilitation and should be
given a chance to prove his worth to society.” He blew out a frustrated breath.
“Apparently, he’s been an exemplary prisoner, and it didn’t hurt his case that
the prison is full to overflowing. But most surprisingly, he had two upstanding
citizens speak out on his behalf. I don’t know who they were, but I’m going to
find out.”

Her brother was naturally concerned
for Billie. He would be calling her after he got off the phone. He urged her to
be careful and keep Davy inside after dark. As if she had any intention of
letting him out of her sight. “Don’t worry about us. Tell Billie to be careful.
She’s the one he threatened.”

The phone rang right after she hung
up. She picked up immediately, assuming he’d forgotten to tell her something.
“Handel?”

“No,” a gruff voice answered, “This
is your father.” He coughed and it sounded like he was going to hack up a lung.
“Don’t hang up. I need to talk to you.”