Cracks in the Sidewalk (38 page)

F
rank Walsh’s report remained inside the desk drawer for nearly three weeks. Each day Charlie took it out, reread every word, studied the photographs, and tried to decide the best thing to do. Obviously, Jeffrey did not want to be found or he would not be using another name. But there was always the chance he’d done that simply to avoid creditors, to hide from people trying to take the little he had from him.

Charlie reasoned he and Claire were not looking to take but to give, to help with the financial problems, maybe assist Jeffrey in finding a better job, and help him with the children. Each time Charlie thought he’d found the right answer, another thought came to him. Was Jeffrey too bitter to be reasonable? What about the woman living with him? What about the fourth child? Each time he remembered such things, he’d force himself to think through things again.

~ ~ ~

T
wo days before Saint Patrick’s Day, Charlie finally reached a decision. While Claire taught Chloe how to make leprechaun-shaped ginger cookies, he took the report from his desk and turned to the last page with Jeffrey’s address and telephone number. The picture of Jeffrey, Kelsey, and all four children slid from the envelope. Charlie looked at it one last time, then shoved it back into the envelope and began to dial.

After the Winter

T
he moment he said hello, Charlie recognized Jeffrey’s voice. “This is Charlie McDermott,” he began.

“McDermott!” Jeffrey screamed. “What the—”

“Please, just give me one minute. I’m not calling to make trouble, I only want to—”

“I don’t give a crap what you want!” Jeffrey cut in. “What I want is to get as far away from you as possible, to never again set eyes on you or—”

“Claire and I would like to patch things up. We only want to help. You and the kids, you’re family—”

“No, we’re not!” he thundered. “To us, you’re nothing! You’re less than nothing! You’re dog shit we’re looking to scrape off our shoes!”

“I know you’re angry, but maybe there’s a way—”

“There’s no way! I don’t want you around me or my kids. Ever. You got that?”

“Look, all I’m asking for is a few minutes of your time. If we could talk—”

“You’ve got nothing I want to hear. Stay away from me and my kids!”

“Please, Jeffrey,” Charlie begged, “Liz would want—”

“Liz’s dead!” Jeffrey yelled before slamming down the receiver.

~ ~ ~

C
harlie buried his face in his hands.
What now?
he asked himself. Sooner or later he had to tell Claire that Frank Walsh had found the kids, but what then? Would he kill the shred of hope she had by repeating what Jeffrey said? Was it better to lie and say Frank couldn’t find the children? Was knowing better than not knowing? Or could he do something else?

These questions plagued Charlie in the days that followed. One week folded into the next, and still he felt uncertain about what he should do. At one point he nearly told Claire the truth.  Then he overheard her explaining to Chloe about the Cabbage Patch doll in the closet.

“Kimberly is my granddaughter,” Claire said, “and that doll is for her.”

“Then why is it in the closet?” Chloe asked.

“Because Kimberly and her brothers are with their daddy, and he lives far away, so I haven’t been able to give it to her yet.” Claire turned back to stacking the dishes. “Hopefully I’ll see them one day soon, and then I’ll give her the doll.”

Hopefully, she’d said. There had to be some other way, Charlie decided, some way that didn’t dash her last bit of hope.

~ ~ ~

I
n April when buds began to appear on bare branches and crocuses sprouted along the walkway, Charlie announced he’d planned a business trip and would be gone for a few days. Such trips were not at all unusual, so Claire packed his bag, tucked in a package of freshly-baked cookies, and waved a cheerful goodbye.

When the plane landed in Minneapolis, Charlie rented a car and asked for a map of the area. Once in the car, he unfolded the map and traced his fingers along a series of highways until he located Plymouth. The town was northwest of Minneapolis, almost an hour drive. He slid the car into gear and began the journey.

As he pressed his foot down on the gas pedal Charlie tried to imagine what he would say once he stood face to face with Jeffrey. First off, he’d push himself through the doorway the moment it was open; then Jeffrey would have to listen. Although in his heart Charlie knew he’d done no wrong, he’d apologize as if he had. “I’m sorry,” he planned to say, “sorry for any harm I’ve caused you and your family.” He’d explain that Claire felt the same way, and then he’d offer financial help so Jeffrey could get back on his feet.

Charlie knew he had to make it perfectly clear that he was here to give, not take. He would ask for nothing, no favors, no concessions. He wouldn’t even mention the possibility of moving back to New Jersey until they’d established a reasonably friendly dialogue.

But what if Jeffrey refused to listen? The possibility ripped through Charlie’s thoughts, and his fingers tightened their grip on the steering wheel. There could be no “what if” he decided; he
had
to make Jeffrey listen. If he was thrown out of the house today, he’d come back tomorrow, and he’d keep coming back until he said what he’d come to say. Sooner or later Jeffrey had to realize that pulling the family back together was good for everyone, himself included.

Eventually Charlie left the highway and threaded his way through the streets of Plymouth until he came to Breezeway Gardens, a winding maze of single-family houses that looked much the same, except each house was painted a different color. 12571 Easy Way was the address he was looking for. After several wrong turns he found Easy Way; then he spotted the house. It was fourth from the corner, dark gray with burgundy trim.

He drove by once, then circled the block and passed by again. He had hoped to see some toys in the yard or a minivan in the driveway, but he found nothing. He circled the block again. This time he noticed that the blinds were closed, probably because Jeffrey was still hiding from his creditors. Charlie parked the car two doors down, walked back to the house, and rang the doorbell.

No one answered, but Charlie expected as much. Jeffrey seldom opened the door when he figured it might be trouble. Charlie continued to ring the bell for nearly fifteen minutes; then he began knocking with a heavy-fisted hand. After a good bit of that he took to calling out Jeffrey’s name and pleading for him to open the door.

“I’m not leaving here until I speak with you!” Charlie said loudly over and over.

Around five o’clock a car pulled into the next driveway. A woman emerged with two small children and a bag of groceries. Charlie called out, “Excuse me” and asked if he was at the right house for the Thomas family.

“It’s the right house,” she answered, “but they moved last week.”

“Jeffrey Thomas? He’s got three—no, make that four kids?”

“Unh-huh,” she nodded, shuffling the bag of groceries from one hip to the other. “His boy, David, went to school with my Chad.”

“Oh.” Charlie’s shoulders slumped. “Got any idea where they went?”

“Afraid not. David’s not in Chad’s class anymore, so I’m assuming it’s somewhere outside of this school district.”

“Do you know of anybody else I might ask? Did they have friends in the neighborhood?”

“Friends?” she replied, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think they had any.”

“Oh. Didn’t socialize much?”

“Not at all. Probably because of the wife; she was always screaming about something. Even with the windows closed you could hear her. Most people in this neighborhood have kids and don’t get involved in situations such as that.”

Hearing his grandchildren belonged to a family of outcasts made Charlie’s heart heavy. He wanted to say it wasn’t always like that. When Liz was alive they were a family filled with love, a family people wanted as friends. Charlie could have said so much, but he didn’t. What good would it do?

“Thanks anyway,” he said, then walked away.

Charlie knocked on several doors asking the same question, but the answer was always the same—the noisy family in the gray house had moved, but no one knew where they had gone. One man claimed he didn’t realize they’d moved.

“But,” he said, “I have enjoyed the peace and quiet of the past week.”

~ ~ ~

A
fter he left Breezeway Gardens, Charlie went to Max and Martha’s Waterfront Café. No, they said, Jeffrey wasn’t there and he wasn’t expected to come back. He had collected his pay and quit two weeks ago. One of the waiters seemed to think he might be moving to Wisconsin, but he wasn’t sure.

“Thanks anyway,” Charlie replied; then he paid for his dinner and left.

It was almost ten o’clock when he checked in at the airport motel. He felt defeated and wished he’d surprised Jeffrey with his visit instead of calling first. Now he knew his options had run out. The next morning he boarded a plane back to New Jersey.

L
ater that evening, after the dinner dishes had been cleared away and after he’d planned what to say, Charlie joined Claire on the sofa. He sat down and moved close enough to drape his arm across her shoulder so that it hampered her movements as she crocheted a sweater for Christian. 

“Charlie,” she said, laughing, “you can see I’m—”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”    

Sensing the weight of the words he spoke, Claire set the sweater aside and turned to him. “Is it about the children?”

He gave an almost imperceptible nod, but Claire got her real answer from the sorrow in his eyes, in the lines etched across his forehead.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, a tear already glistening in the corner of his right eye. “I tried, I swear to God I tried.”

Claire listened as he told about Frank Walsh’s report, about his telephone call to Jeffrey, and finally about his trip to Minnesota.

“I was prepared to go along with whatever Jeffrey wanted,” he said in a trembling voice, “but they were gone when I got there.”

Her heartbeat quickened into furious movements that thundered against her chest like the wings of a trapped bird. “But surely you can find them again. You found them once—”

“I’d hire an army of investigators if I thought that was the answer, but it’s not. Even if we find them, Jeffrey is not going to allow us into his life. He’s not going to let us see the children. He’s made that perfectly clear.”

“But how can he do such a thing?” Claire moaned. “They’re our
grandchildren
. They’re all we have left of Elizabeth.”

“They’re not all we have,” Charlie replied solemnly. “We have our memories.”

“Memories.” Her tone held a mocking bitterness. “Can you take a memory to the park? Can you watch it laugh? Or play? Can a memory call you grandma and tell you it loves you?” A torrent of sorrowful sobs drowned her words, and she hid her face in her hands.

“We’re not going to give up.” Charlie eased Claire’s hands from her face and pulled her into a protective embrace. “We’ll just wait a while, give Jeffrey some time to cool down, lose some of the anger he’s got, then perhaps—”

“If we wait Jeffrey will disappear completely, and we’ll never find them.”

“No,” Charlie said softly. “I’ll have Frank Walsh keep tabs on him. I promise you, we’ll know every time Jeffrey makes a move. He won’t realize it, but we’ll always know where Liz’s children are. Maybe in time we’ll see them again.”

After that they said little, but for a long time they remained on the sofa, their bodies fitted together like the two halves of a broken urn. The clock struck twelve when they rose to go to bed.  

The next morning Charlie noticed that a lopsided ball of yarn had replaced the sweater Claire had worked on for Christian.

“Please, Lord,” Charlie prayed. “Don’t let her give up hope.”

Over Time

A
s days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years Claire continued teaching the Sunday school class. She also continued as Chloe’s “temporary” babysitter. Halfway through the second year, Chloe was joined by Jack, a toddler whose mother had been incarcerated for stealing. Jack’s father came to Claire pleading for help.

“I’ve got to work,” he said with desperation, “and I’ve got no one to care for Jack.”

“I suppose I could do it,” she answered. “On a temporary basis.”

Jack stayed for five years, and Chloe continued to spend her afternoons at the McDermott house long after she’d outgrown the need for a babysitter. But they were not the only ones. After Jack came a frail little girl afflicted with severe asthma, then an autistic boy prone to fits of screaming, and twins who clung to each other as a drowning man clings to a scrap of wood. Eventually Claire lost count of the number who came her way, but she never lost sight of their needs.

Many of the sad, broken children carried the burden of life on their tiny shoulders. Every one of them needed love. And thus it happened that Claire became a replacement for other people—a missing mother, a dead father, a sick grandma. The children who came into her life became whole and then moved on, leaving her to wait for the next knock on the door, the next child who would stand there wearing a mask of fear and sorrow.