Tribe (16 page)

“But?”

“Well, when he was here the first time he told me that his parents were divorced—apparently when he was ten or eleven his mother took him and ran away from his father. Something about his dad being in some religious cult. Then when he was here the first time, he told me he was going back to live with his dad for a while.”

“So maybe he stayed for a few years and then he had to run away too.”

“That's what I've been thinking,” added Janice. “Maybe there was no way to get away from them but to run. And he took his daughter just like his mom took him, and now they're after him. It's either that or drugs, because I know he got into some trouble in high school for smoking pot.”

Todd gently asked, “Did he say anything about what he was going to do? Where he was going?”

“No, not really.”

“You don't have any way of getting in touch with him?”

“No. He didn't say a thing about his plans.” She stopped, tripped on something in her memory. “Wait a minute. He said something about a job interview, that he'd just had one.”

“Here, in town?” interjected Todd.

“I think so.”

“Good. Then it sounds as if he wasn't planning on going far. He probably wanted to be close to the kid.”

“Did he say where he interviewed?” asked Rawlins.

“Uh. Oh, crap, what did he say?”

“At a factory, a business downtown, an insurance agency, anything like that?” suggested Todd.

She looked at him. “A hospital, that's what he said.” Her eyes opened wide. “A hospital in Edina.”

Todd smiled slightly. “There's only one hospital out there, right?”

“As far as I know.” Rawlins started to get up. “Let's just hope he was offered the job and that he in fact took it.”

“What, you're not going to go out there, are you?” demanded Janice.

“Of course,” replied Rawlins.

Todd said, “How else are we going to find him?”

“But the note, the letter. We're not supposed to—”

“Don't worry,” interjected Todd, looking squarely at her. “I'm going to make sure nothing happens to that baby.”

“We're not going to do anything stupid,” added Rawlins. “You'll see, we'll just try to find him and then you can ask him some questions.”

“What?” she protested. “You're not expecting me to go out there too, are you?”

Rawlins glanced at Todd, then back at Janice. “Well, it would be helpful. You could identify him at least.”

“No.” Janice was vigorously shaking her head. “I'm not going. I've…I've got to stay here by the phone.”

Todd knew there would be no changing her mind, no way to talk her into going out to the hospital, at least not tonight. Yet neither he nor Rawlins had any idea what this Zeb looked like.

His voice full of trepidation, Todd asked, “You don't have a picture of him, do you?”

She nodded, wiped her nose, shed the blanket from her shoulders, and got up. After crossing the room, Janice took a color picture of a young man from her wallet.

“It was taken a few years ago,” she explained. “He gave it to me when he first came up here, when we first met. He's older now, more mature-looking, and his hair is short, but…but…”

Todd crossed to her, pulled the photo from her hands. It looked like a high school picture, a handsome boy poised in front of a blue background. Long brown hair, nice smile. Todd searched the face, tried to see a hint of his own reflection.

Rawlins came up behind Todd, studied the picture, and volunteered, “Wow, cute kid.”

“Yeah, well don't get any ideas, you're much too old for him,” snapped Todd as he placed the photo in his shirt pocket. “Come on, let's go.”

“Call me,” implored Janice. “Tell me if you find him.”

Todd stared at her, wondered how deeply Janice and he were actually connected. Then he went over and kissed her on the cheek.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

She shrugged, pulled back a bit, and said, “You scared me.”

“Yeah, well, I'm an ass.”

“Just let me know as soon as you find out anything.”

As they headed for the door Rawlins said, “If anyone calls, take notes. Write down exactly what they said, when they called—everything. Do you have call waiting?”

“No.”

“Then if any friends phone, just tell them you can't talk. And don't make any calls either. You want to make sure to keep the line open.”

“Don't worry, I won't tie up the phone. And I'm sure as hell not going anywhere either,” stated Janice. “Just be careful. Be nice to Zeb too. In spite of whatever he's done, he's a good kid.”

From the windows of
her living room, Janice watched Todd and Rawlins trudge through the snowy night and down to the street. She wondered if Todd had guessed, if he even suspected, but as far as she could tell he hadn't. The entire truth was just so bizarre that it probably wouldn't occur to him. She wondered what he'd do if he ever did find out. God, she was so tired of this secret, exhausted from working so hard to conceal it for so very long.

They didn't take Rawlins's silver sedan, which was relatively free of snow, but instead brushed off Todd's Cherokee, Rawlins wiping the rear window with his gloved hand and Todd scraping nearly a half foot from the windshield and hood. She wanted them to be gone, to be on their way at once, for there was something she had to do. Oh, Lord, how had this gotten so incredibly screwed up?

It seemed to take forever, but finally the two of them climbed into the large four-wheel-drive vehicle. The headlights burst on, and Janice stared after them as the Cherokee began to plow forward and slowly make its way into the middle of the street. As Todd drove on, Janice pressed closer to the window, watching in the light of a street lamp as he turned right at the first corner and at last disappeared into the wintry storm.

Thank God they were gone, she thought, quickly turning away from the window. There was something she had to do, a call she had to make, right this very second.

Not wasting a moment, she hurried across her living room to the staircase. Taking the stairs two at a time, she climbed to the second floor, then passed through the upstairs hall. She had the address somewhere. The phone number too. But where? Damn it all, where?

Turning into the first room, she entered her study, a small room with beige walls and dark brown blinds on the windows. She went to her desk, a long white laminate table with stacks of papers and bills on one side, her black cordless phone with the short rubber antenna on the other. She yanked open the single drawer. Six months ago she'd gotten one of those electronic organizers, into which she'd entered all her addresses. Except one. She didn't know why. She remembered staring at the address and name, remembered that of all the numbers she had, this was the one she didn't want to lose. After all, what if she dropped the electronic organizer and it broke? What if she sat down next to a large magnet; might that not make it go haywire? Almost every other address could be replaced, either through friends or from her Rolodex at work. But not this one. Which was one of the primary reasons she'd kept her old worn address book.

But if she'd been so blasted careful about keeping the little book, then why the hell couldn't she remember where she'd put it? Shit. This was all too typical of her, of the disorganized manner in which she kept things, and she swept aside pencils and pens, paper clips and stamps, her stapler, as well as the cordless phone. But no worn and cracked little black leather book. What the hell had she done with that stupid thing?

Janice stopped, put her hand to her forehead. Wait a minute, she told herself. Where did she put things that didn't have a file or a place of their own? Of course. From the bookshelf she took a large blue bowl overflowing with everything from the extra garage door opener to a broken calculator she was sure was repairable to, finally, the book. She put the bowl on the middle of her paper-strewn desk, snatched out the little black book, and started thumbing through it.

And sure enough, there it was, Pat's telephone number.

Not hesitating a moment, she knocked an entire stack of papers onto the floor as she reached for the cordless phone. Without even thinking what she was going to say, she punched in the numbers. Only as it started to ring did she wonder if indeed Pat still lived in the same place, if in fact she'd be able to reach him. How many years had it been? They'd spoken by phone a couple of times since then, but she hadn't seen him since that year Zeb was born. Oh, God, if Todd thought he had some explaining to do, wait until he heard about this. And, yes, she realized. She had to tell him. She couldn't hold it back anymore. This final aspect of the truth was eating at her.

After
Greg died in that horrible accident, she knew what they were saying, all of them, about Pat. That was why she was nice to him. Heck, it was almost Christmas, you were supposed to be nice to others.

So they had coffee at a little restaurant in downtown Evans-ton.

“I
can't wait to get to France
—
and I can't believe I have to wait until the end of January.” Seated in a cold, plastic chair, Janice brushed aside her long, straight hair. “I'm supposed to go to my parents' in Phoenix over Christmas, but I'm sure as hell not looking forward to it. It's just so boring down there.”

Pat's face suddenly brightened, and he reached out and grabbed Janice by the hand. “I know, let's take a road trip! I've got a car; we can just take off and get the hell out of here. We can do whatever we want! Hey, I even have friends in Colorado we could stay with!”

That was how they eventually ended up in bed, Janice and Pat.

The trip was a lark, a way to escape their foreboding lives. Now, two days out from Northwestern, they were in some dumpy motel room with only one sagging double bed. And no TV. That was all they could afford. It was freezing too; Phoenix, not to mention the south of France, was beginning to sound better and better. To make matters still worse, Pat had bought a bottle of tequila, of which he'd drunk half, and they were lying on the bed together
—
Janice in her flannel nightgown and heavy socks, Pat in a T-shirt and jeans
—
because there weren't even any chairs in the room.

Actually, she knew why she'd been nice to Pat. Of course she had an ulterior motive: She needed to talk to someone. Someone safe, nonjudgmental. Someone in the same boat. She wanted to tell him about herself, that she liked women. Or that maybe she did. She didn't know, wasn't sure what she felt. Was he confused like that?

Finally she asked the question that she hoped would lead to the larger conversation, the big picture. “So, Pat, are you gay?”

Suddenly his drunken breath was in her face and his hand was on her breast. “What do you think?”

She grabbed him by the wrist. “Pat…”

“Well, do you?”

“I just want to talk. I thought it would be good. Actually, I don't care what you are.

“Well, I'm not,” he said, twisting his hand free and then grabbing at her nightgown and rubbing her left tit. “I'm really not.”

“Pat, stop it.”

“Why?”

“Come on, cut it out.”

“But…” And then he was raising himself up, crawling on top of her. “You know, you're really sexy.”

She started pushing him away. “Pat, don't.”

“Why? Don't you think I can do it with a woman?” He kissed her on the neck, his lips all sloppy and wet. “I .
. .
I…”

“Frankly, I don't care if you can do it with a tree.”

“Well, maybe I can't manage that one.” He giggled and reached down to her crotch, then started pulling up her nightgown. “But you, on the other hand, are unbelievable.”

“Don't!”

“Just try and stop me.”

“Pat!”

“Yeah, you want it, don't you.”

“Get the fuck off me!”

“Yeah, fuck…fuck…”

Janice started bucking and twisting, the fear coursing through her as he hiked her gown up over her knees, up her thighs. Shit, this couldn't be happening. Pat was supposed to be like her, he was supposed to be safe. And just as she realized how drunk he was, she realized how much stronger he was than her.

“Stop or I'm going to scream!”

He lunged for the tequila bottle, and then Janice felt a shower of burning booze as he dumped the bottle all over her face. She clenched her eyes shut, started to shout, but then he poured the rest of the booze into her mouth, at least a quarter bottle.

“Drink up, little girl!” he laughed.

She gasped for air, inhaled, and her body screamed as the tequila whooshed into her lungs like liquid fire. Christ, she couldn't breathe! She couldn't make a sound! Please, Lord, she begged, don't let me die here!

He slapped her once, twice. Maybe more. And when she opened her eyes she saw that he'd ripped off his own jeans and his dick was hard and arched.