Cracks in the Sidewalk (37 page)

Louise smiled and said, “You might not need Adam, but he certainly needs you.”

“Well, as I said, I’ll stay on as your helper, but eventually Pastor Branford is going to have to find someone who can take over.”

Louise chuckled. “He doesn’t need to worry about finding a teacher right now. The way things are going, it could be years before that house sells and I’m gonna stay put until it’s sold.”

“Ah, yes, the house.”

Claire began by asking if there was adequate insurance, and when Louise answered yes she moved into explaining about the fire.

As Claire described how the fire department arrived too late to save the house and how they’d said she might have died had she been at home, Louise sat there wide-eyed. After Claire told her everything, Louise leaned back into her pillow and gave a deep sigh.

“Well, if that don’t beat all,” she said. “The Lord sure works in mysterious ways.” She asked Claire to telephone her sister, Clovis, in Minnesota and tell her she ought to start packing. 

After Louise left the hospital she spent three weeks living with Claire and Charlie. During that time she arranged her affairs, collected her insurance settlement check, and purchased enough new clothing to last for a month, perhaps two. Bypassing row after row of mufflers and wooly sweaters she said, “Why buy a bunch of winter things when I’ll be living in Florida?”

Louise already had her plane ticket. First she would travel to Minneapolis where she’d spend a week or two helping Clovis pack up her possessions. Once that was done, they’d leave for Florida.

“Since you’ll be in Minnesota for a while,” Claire said, “I thought you could keep an eye out for our grandchildren.”

“Well, sure,” Louise said. Then she warned Claire not to get her hopes up since the Minnesota stay would be short. “Don’t forget, it’s winter,” she added. “Cold as it is there, I doubt we’ll do much running about town.”

~ ~ ~

O
n the morning of February seventeenth, Louise Farley packed her belongings into one medium-sized suitcase and waved goodbye to New Jersey and the twenty-seven children of her Sunday school class. Before she left Claire promised to teach the class until Pastor Branford could find a replacement.

Two Days Later

A
lmost six weeks had passed since Charles McDermott had sent Frank Walsh in search of Jeffrey Caruthers and his children. Charlie received three telephone calls from Frank during that time. The first came to inquire about the make and model of Jeffrey’s last known car. The second call came from Minnesota, a lakeside community called Orono.

“Looks like I’ve got a lead on him,” Frank said.

The third call came the Wednesday after Louise left town.

“I’ve found him,” Frank said.

He explained that Jeffrey had rented a house in Plymouth, a suburb of Minneapolis, and he worked as a waiter in Max and Martha’s Waterside Café.

“Are the children with him?” Charlie asked anxiously.

“Yep. Only there’re four of them. One belongs to a young woman he’s passing off as his wife, but I can’t find any record of them being married.”  

“Are the children okay? Healthy? Well fed?”

“I can’t find anything to indicate otherwise. Jeffrey works nights, and the woman takes care of the kids while he’s working.”

Charlie asked a number of other questions, mostly relating to the area and whether David had been enrolled in school. Frank gave a brief overview of the situation, then said he’d come by Friday morning to pick up a check for the rest of his fee and provide a detailed report.

“How much?”

Frank answered, “Just shy of seven grand, but that includes expenses.”

~ ~ ~

T
hat same afternoon Charles McDermott transferred another ten thousand dollars from his savings account to his checking account, figuring that he’d need extra cash to cover the cost of their plane tickets to Minnesota.

~ ~ ~

F
rank Walsh’s report included five photographs. The first two showed Jeffrey loading the children into an unfamiliar minivan, and while the faces of David and Kimberly were easily distinguishable Christian’s snowsuit left little more than a nose visible. In the third, David was playing with classmates in the schoolyard. The fourth was of Jeffrey leaving the restaurant where he worked. The final photo was a street shot of Jeffrey and the woman identified as Kelsey Grigsby with all four children.

In page after page, Frank Walsh recounted Jeffrey’s new life. He no longer went by the name Caruthers, but now used his middle name, Thomas, as a surname, which had made him considerably more difficult to locate. He had little or no traceable assets other than the minivan purchased with proceeds from the sale of his house. His checking account had a minimal amount, and he always made cash deposits. He had rented a First Federal Bank safe deposit box, which Frank believed contained the cash from the sale of his house. And while he had not officially declared bankruptcy, he had left town owing substantial amounts to a number of creditors.

The woman living with Jeffrey called herself Kelsey Thomas but was Kelsey Grigsby. Her only known relative was her sister, Cyndi Grigsby, who lived in New Jersey and worked at Saint Barnabas Hospital.

The fourth child, a boy by the name of Robert, also used the Thomas surname, but on his birth certificate the father was listed as unknown.

David attended the Plymouth elementary school and was registered using the name Caruthers. All four children appeared in good health and adequately cared for.

At the end of the report Frank had included Jeffrey’s address and telephone number, and he had attached an invoice for $6,848.

“I take it this is satisfactory,” Walsh said.

Charlie assured him it was, then pulled out his checkbook.

~ ~ ~

W
hen he was alone Charlie read through every word of the report, then he reread it again and again. Had he missed something? Passed over some small detail that might be important? He studied the pictures and the faces of his grandchildren looking for some telltale sign. Were they happy? Unhappy? Did they want to be found?

Charlie couldn’t decide whether the right way to approach the situation would be a phone call first to explain his intentions, or whether he should just appear on their doorstep. Approach it the wrong way, he knew, and things could get out of control, possibly turn ugly. With a mix of emotions swirling through his head Charlie folded the report, placed it back in its original envelope, and slid it beneath the stack of file folders in the second drawer of his desk. Before telling Claire he needed time to think.

O
nce Louise was gone, the McDermott household settled back into a regular routine. That was fine with Charlie, who kissed his wife goodbye then trotted off to the bank. But for Claire it meant a return to long days of loneliness, to thinking again about the things she’d lost, and searching for answers that didn’t come. Each morning she’d rise, dress, and think about how she might stretch a handful of errands into a full day’s work. The pantry was already overstocked with canned goods and paper products, the closets were filled with freshly dry-cleaned garments, and she’d purchased enough birthday cards to last a decade.

Too edgy to sit and read a book, too discontented to watch soap operas about people with fabricated problems, Claire eventually turned to baking. On Monday she made four dozen cinnamon rolls then delivered them to a number of the neighbors. On Tuesday she made cupcakes and filled the freezer with them so she’d have a supply on hand when her grandchildren returned. On Wednesday she took out the ingredients for sugar cookies when the doorbell interrupted her.

“Thank God you’re home!” A young woman charged through the door with a little girl sucking her thumb. “Chloe’s lame-brained babysitter didn’t show up again. It’s the third time this month!”

Claire stood there dumfounded as she tried to recall where and when they’d met.

Noticing the bewilderment, the woman stuck out her hand and said, “Rita, Rita Matthews. Liz and I were friends. I live over on Bethany, the yellow house two in from the corner.”

“Goodness yes,” Claire said. “At first I didn’t remember—”

“It’s been a while.”

“Yes, it has.”

“I know this is last minute, Missus McDermott, but I’m desperate. Please, please, please tell me you can watch Chloe today.”

“Well, I was planning on doing some baking.”

“Chloe’s an angel and I promise she won’t be a bit of trouble, but if I miss work again I’m sure to be fired.”

“Just for today?”

Rita nodded. “Please?”

“I suppose I could—”

Rita thanked her profusely and darted out the door. The sad-eyed little girl with her carrot-colored curls had the look of a Raggedy Ann doll. Still sucking her thumb, she watched her mother disappear down the walkway.

Claire looked at the child. “Would you like a glass of milk?”

Chloe shook her head.

“Would you like milk if I put chocolate in it?”

Chloe shook her head again.

“Do you like cookies?”

Chloe shrugged.

“Well, I was about to make some cookies. Do you want to watch?”

Chloe smiled and pulled the thumb from her mouth. “Can I help?”

“I don’t know,” Claire teased. “Do you have any experience?”

“Yes,” she said with childlike earnestness. “I used to help my grandma.”

Once she got started Chloe turned into quite the chatterbox, talking about things probably considered family secrets. As Claire tied an apron around her waist, the child told how her grandma had moved to Cincinnati because she’d married Grandpa Sam.

“He’s not a real grandpa,” she said, “but he’s like a real grandpa.”

~ ~ ~

B
y the time Rita returned Claire knew a fair bit about Chloe’s life, including the fact that her daddy, although he was dead, had hair the same color as her. They had also baked six dozen cookies and frosted them with swirls of pink icing.

“I hope she hasn’t talked your ear off,” Rita said jokingly.

“Not at all,” Claire answered. “She was a pleasure to have around.”

Surprised at her own words, Claire meant what she said. Chloe had turned out to be a delight.

Rita began fishing in her handbag. “How much do I—”

“Not a cent.”

Rita reached out and wrapped her arms around Claire. “Thank you so much. I just didn’t know where else to turn, and you were truly a godsend.” Rita said she would fire the unreliable babysitter just as soon as she could find a person more dependable.

Claire blurted out, “Chloe can stay here with me until you settle on someone permanent. After all, choosing someone to care for your child, that’s not something to rush into.”

Chloe’s face brightened. “Say yes, Mommy, please, please!”

And so Chloe began to spend every day with Claire. Rita insisted she pay for babysitting, and after a bit of bantering they agreed on thirty dollars a week. On the day she received the first thirty dollars, Claire took Chloe into Union where the two of them had lunch at The Chinese Garden then went shopping. Chloe came home with a brown-haired Cabbage Patch doll and a new pair of patent leather shoes.

~ ~ ~

W
eeks went by, and any number of times Claire asked Charlie if he’d heard anything about their missing grandchildren. Perhaps he should have told her the truth and allowed her to take part in deciding the best course of action, but he didn’t. After the long months of watching her stumble through life like a dead woman, he enjoyed the newly-restored sound of her laughter. Finding Jeffrey was one thing, but convincing him to allow them to become part of the children’s lives would be quite another. Charlie feared the ugliness of a possible reunion, a reunion likely to open old wounds and render them even more painful. As long as they had a tomorrow to look forward to, Claire could enjoy the small measure of happiness she’d found. Charlie felt reluctant to take that from her.

~ ~ ~

A
nd Claire did enjoy her days with Chloe, even though she continually reminded herself that the child was a temporary part of her life, someone simply passing through, much the same as Adam and the other children in her Sunday school class. In time, all of these children would move on to relationships with permanent people—blood relatives.

That was how life was supposed to be. Claire would also move on, once the detective located Elizabeth’s children. David, Kimberly, Christian—they were blood relatives, the permanent people destined to be part of her life forever. It was only a matter of time.