The Newman Resident (18 page)

After about a half hour, Al touched Richard on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go take a look,” he whispered, then left the stand.

The next time Richard glanced at his watch an hour had passed. His son rocked back and forth in his lap a little bit as though he were trying to calm down his bear. The door started to rattle and Christopher grabbed his father around the neck.

“I’ve looked all over,” Al said, “but they’re gone. The van’s gone, too.”

“I just want to go home, Daddy. Can’t we just go home?”

“Okay, son,” Richard whispered. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

They found a police officer near the information booth and reported what had happened. The officer called for others to
come and search the station while he talked with Richard. Richard responded to a list of questions, but nothing seemed to be leading to any answers. The officer did his best to interview Christopher, but all the boy could remember was the man grabbing him and holding onto him while they made their way through the terminal. He never looked up to see their faces because he was so afraid.

“Is there anyone, Mr. Carson,” the officer said, “anyone who’d want to kidnap your son?”

Richard thought of Harold Solomon. He knew what Harold would think, that it had to be the school. But he also knew that Harold wouldn’t say anything—it was too dangerous. But Harold was paranoid. Besides, what would be the point of their trying to kidnap Christopher? Why would they take such a big risk?

CHAPTER FORTY

A
fter the cab took off from the station, Richard let out a sigh and started to relax a little.

“Is everything going to be okay, Daddy?”

“Yes, son, everything’s going to be just fine. Everything’s better when the sun comes up.”

Christopher snuggled up to his father, still holding on tight to his bear, and closed his eyes. Richard found himself looking in the mirror and off to the sides, seeing if the van was anywhere near. He wondered if he would always be like this, checking people’s faces, searching for suspicious cars.

When they got to their apartment building, Christopher was asleep. Richard paid the driver and, with his son in one hand and the bear in the other, made his way up to their apartment. While he fumbled for his keys, the apartment door opened.

“What took you so long?” Carol asked as he came in through the door. “You were supposed to be back a long time ago. I called your cell.”

Richard put the bag down and headed down the hall, carrying Christopher.

“He’s had a rough day,” he whispered. “I’ll tell you about it in a minute.”

Richard laid Christopher on his bed. He took the little boy’s shoes off and covered him with a blanket. When he returned to the living room, Carol was waiting by the couch.

“So, what happened?” she asked.

Richard kept walking through the living room and into their bedroom. Without turning on the light, he sat on the edge of their bed, rubbing his neck.

“You’re gone for days and then you come home late,” she said. “I’m worried sick, some mysterious thing happened, and you don’t have anything to say?”

“When we were at Grand Central today, someone tried to take Christopher.”

“Take? What do you mean, ‘take’?”

“I don’t know. Kidnap, I guess.”

She backed up against the wall and covered her mouth with her hand. “Kidnap? Who?”

“I don’t know who, why, I don’t know anything.”

“Is he all right?”

“A little shaken up, but he’s okay.”

Carol left their bedroom and walked back toward Christopher’s room. When she came back, she looked like she was in the courtroom with a hostile witness.

“Do you still think he’s better off outside of Newman?” she said, keeping her voice down.

“What? Carol, what happened to the—”

“Richard, start thinking of him.” Her voice was low, but he’d never seen her so furious before. “If he were back in Newman—where he belongs—none of this would have happened. You need to start thinking of him.”

“I am thinking of him. We need to be with him all the time, to protect him, to—”

“You were with him today, Richard, and that didn’t seem to help much.”

CHAPTER
FORTY-ONE

L
ight from the living room window shone on Richard as he lay on the couch. He hadn’t bothered to get a blanket, or to even take off his shoes. Three times during the night he’d heard noises and had run down the hall, ready to defend his son again. Each time, once he realized there was nothing to fight, he would check on Christopher, then lie back down on the couch, waiting at least an hour for sleep to come back.

“Daddy.”

Richard sat up like an alarm had gone off.

“Are you okay?” Richard asked, grabbing his son.

“Sure. I just wanted to let you know the sun came up.”

“Oh.” Richard hugged his son, trying to calm down. He could feel his heart beating, stumbling over itself.

“You were right,” Christopher said, “everything is better.”

Richard smiled, remembering what he’d told him the night before.

“I think Carol is already gone. Your door is open and no one’s in there. Why did you sleep out here?”

“Habit, I guess.” Richard pulled Christopher close to him. “Listen, son, I want to chop wood with you today, but let’s do it indoors. I don’t feel like leaving the apartment today, okay?”

Christopher smiled. “Writing in the morning, Scrabble and videos in the afternoon. Sounds like a great day to me, Daddy.”

When he heard the front door open, Richard looked at his watch. Nine o’clock. They hadn’t talked since the night before. He thought of getting up, but he didn’t know what to say. Carol had been so angry with him, like it was his fault someone had tried to kidnap their son. He knew he was supposed to get up, but he couldn’t let himself. He kept listening for her footsteps to pass down the hall. They never did. She must be just standing near the front door, not far from the office. There was a knock on the office door.

“Come in,” he said.

The door opened and Carol walked in, carrying a couple of bags that filled the small study with the smell of Chinese food. She was smiling. And she’d left her briefcase in the hall.

“Hungry?” she asked.

“Sure, I guess.”

He got up from the desk, ready to go into the kitchen, but she closed the door and pulled out two sets of chopsticks from one of the bags. She sat on the floor and leaned against the wall.

“It’s been a long time since we ate Chinese take-out on the floor,” he said.

“That’s the whole point, it’s been too long. For a lot of things we used to do.”

Richard began eating his dinner, watching Carol as she talked. She told him some of the details of the big Matsushita case she’d been working on, about how it looked like one of the associates would be fired because he wasn’t billing enough hours to justify keeping him until it was time to not make him partner, about how one of the senior partners might be retiring, which meant she might get an even nicer office.

At one point she asked about his writing. He talked a little about it, careful not to reveal too much, but she appeared genuinely interested. The more he talked, the more she encouraged him to share, until he ended up telling her all about the porch and its significance.

“That sounds like a powerful metaphor. Are you going to carry it throughout the novel?”

When he said he wasn’t sure yet, that he was more or less just getting the first thoughts on paper, she surprised him by suggesting that might be the best way to go.

“Have you been writing all day?” she asked before taking a bite from her egg roll.

“We wrote in the morning, but spent the rest of the day doing whatever came to Christopher’s mind—so long as it was here. I just wanted to stay home. Keep him safe.” He knew he could’ve said it better, made it sound more productive and less dramatic, but the words just came out.

“Sounds like a good idea. I wish I could’ve stayed with you.”

Richard shook his head and put down the almost empty carton.

“What?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, Carol, this has been great, but you’ve got to tell me what’s going on.”

“What do you mean? We’re eating dinner.”

“I feel like I’m in a play or something, and nobody’s shown me the script of the next scene.”

“I just wanted to be with you.”

“But this isn’t like you.” Carol frowned when he said that. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“It used to be like me.”

“I guess so.”

“Let’s go off for a couple of days.” She held his hand. “We need to get away from the city.”

“Where?”

“The Bahamas? Maine? You name the climate.”

“I thought you wanted us to watch our budget, with just one income.”

“It was just an idea.” She pulled her hand away and started picking up.

“Wait a minute, maybe this is a good idea,” he said. “Christopher loved being in Vermont. It would do him some good to get away again.”

“I was really thinking of just the two of us going.”

Richard stared at her. “Are you serious? Leave him after what happened last night?”

“Richard, we need to work on the two of us if we want to help him.”

“No way,” he said, shaking his head. “I need to know he’s safe.”

“There’s this place I’ve heard about, called TempCare. It’s amazing. Parents can leave their children there for up to two weeks. Highly recommended and completely certified by all the state and national boards. Great teachers. Lots of learning activities. Better than being at home.”

“There’s no way—”

“Very safe, Richard. Probably the safest place he could be.”

Richard picked up the tablet and said “TempCare.” He took a minute to read the website, then looked up at Carol.

“Carol, this place looks like a mini-version of Newman. Why would we want to put him there?”

“He’d have other children to play with,” she said. “What are you planning on doing, Richard, keep him cooped up here for the rest of the summer? What kind of life is that for him?”

“I don’t like keeping him in all day anymore than you do,” Richard said. “But we’re together, and that’s a good life. For both of us.”

CHAPTER
FORTY-TWO

T
hey argued for a few minutes, then Carol went to bed about midnight. Richard felt confused about his wife’s suggestion they leave Christopher so they could have a weekend together. Right after he was almost kidnapped? She said TempCare was highly recommended. By whom? Who had she been talking to?

His cell phone rang. Harold.

“I’m sorry about what happened to Christopher yesterday,” Harold said. “We’re all grateful he’s okay.”

“How did you know? Never mind, you always know things.”

“We’ve got to meet.”

“No we don’t,” Richard said. “Just let me be with my son. I don’t really want to get involved—”

“Richard, this is an emergency. If we don’t meet, you may not have much time left with your son.”

Harold told him where to meet, but nothing else. Richard ran down the stairs, two at a time, to the lobby. When he got outside, he ran to Park Avenue and flagged down a cab. Richard told him the address, and the driver headed for Washington Heights.
Richard sat in the back, sweating. It was hot, and the air coming in from the window didn’t seem to do any real good.

They drove past Columbia and Barnard. A couple stumbled along the sidewalk and into the street past stores, tightly closed and barred against attack. Four cops ran down into a subway entrance, guns drawn. This was a different world from his parents’ town in Vermont, and it bothered him that he accepted it all without question or surprise. Then he reminded himself where he was going, to meet with a group of good people who cared about each other. That was New York just as much as the dirty streets and the dangerous shadows.

He paid the driver when they pulled to the curb and jumped out, running up to a squatty brick apartment building of only five or six floors. Richard found the Solomon name, then buzzed the apartment. The door unlocked, and he ran up the stairs. When he got to the third floor, he found Harold standing in a doorway, waiting.

“It’s Sandra’s daughter,” Harold whispered.

“What happened?” Richard asked.

“She’s dead.”

CHAPTER
FORTY-THREE

R
ichard followed Harold into the living room. Sandra’s husband had his arm around her on the couch. Rebecca sat right next to her, trying to offer what comfort she could, and Joan and Lauren, from the discussion group, were nearby as well. No one spoke or made any sound whatsoever.

Richard still didn’t really know anyone in the group, and he suspected it was expected of him, now that he was here, to remain off to the side, quiet. But he found himself walking over to where Sandra and her husband sat and kneeling next to them. He reached out and touched Sandra’s hand.

“I don’t know what to say,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Sandra nodded.

Richard stepped back and Harold motioned for him to follow. They left the living room and found Paul, alone, leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking a cup of coffee. Harold poured himself and Richard some coffee and the three men stood there, breathing a little easier away from the living room.

After a moment, Paul spoke up. “I’m glad you came, Richard.”

“Thanks. Paul, right? The Columbia student.”

“Right.” Paul took a sip of his coffee. “I wasn’t sure you’d come. I told Harold not to bother calling you.”

“Why?”

“You didn’t seem all that into it when you met with us. Like you thought we were crazy.”

“No, I never thought—”

“Maybe not crazy, but like we’d carried this thing too far. Like the school wasn’t as bad as we thought it was.”

“I won’t argue with that,” Richard said. He turned to Harold. “What happened to her?”

“The school said Tanya was having a nervous breakdown, remember?” Richard nodded. “Claimed she couldn’t handle the thought of leaving Newman and going home. Tonight, Sandra gets a call from the hospital telling her that her little daughter had died.”