What Follows After: A Novel (26 page)

When Etta Mae arrived at Josephine’s house the next morning, Josephine had already positioned herself on the chair facing her next-door neighbor’s house. Already had her binoculars sitting on her lap. She’d told Etta Mae as soon as she came through the door that today something big was gonna happen. It had to, after God had gone to all that trouble to bring Etta Mae here. And she was sure that little boy she had seen for that ever-so-brief moment on the porch had to be Timmy.

Sitting right beside her on a little table was that newspaper, folded so that Timmy’s picture was right on top.

“You want me to start cleaning or making that pie?” Etta Mae said.

“The cleaning can wait. You already made it nicer in here than I ever get it. Why don’t you get to work on that pie? The sooner we get it done, the sooner we can get it next door.”

She said
we
, Etta Mae thought. What did she mean by that? Well of course, she couldn’t get over there by herself. With her on those crutches, Etta Mae would have to carry the pie.

Etta Mae walked out into the kitchen, then turned toward the dining room. “Miss Josephine, you’ve got all the ingredients to make a pie here, except what to put in it. Maybe before I get started, we
should drive to the store. You could drop me off by the front door with a list, and I’ll get it all together for you. You won’t even have to get out of the car.”

“Can’t you just go by yourself, so I can stay here and keep watch?”

“I don’t have a car, remember? I came by the bus.”

“You can take mine.”

“Take yours?”

“Can’t you drive?”

“Well, yeah . . . I suppose.” Though she hadn’t driven a car since she was in her twenties. Besides that, what would some of these white folk around here think, ones who knew Josephine, when they saw a black woman driving her car without Josephine inside? Etta Mae explained all this to Josephine, but she kept her resolve.

“If anyone bothers you about it, you tell them just to call me and I’ll straighten them out. But I don’t think anyone will give you any trouble. You might have to wade through some ugly looks and I’m sure you’ll catch a few people whispering behind your back. But that’s about all.”

Etta Mae figured she could deal with that well enough, if that was all there was. “Is your car manual or automatic?”

“Automatic. You ever driven one?”

“No.”

“Easy as pie,” Josephine said, then laughed at the unintended wit. “Get it? I said
pie
.”

“I get it. Do you have the keys?”

“In my purse. If you’ll bring it over here, I’ll get you the keys and some money. And over there on the hutch you’ll find a pad of paper and a pen. If you bring those, I’ll make you a little map to the store.”

Gina spent a few moments at the doorway of the boys’ empty bedroom on her way out to the living room. Judging by the light coming in the window, it seemed like midmorning. No one had come to wake her. But sleeping in hadn’t been a blessing this time. Not when she’d tossed and turned until 4:00 a.m.

Her little boy was still gone.

Staring at his perfectly made bed was a glaring reminder. Timmy had never made his bed like that. How many times had she tried to teach him the right way? How many times did she have to redo it to get it to look like it did now? How many times had she raised her voice when scolding him about it?

Tears rolled down her cheeks. She’d give anything, everything she owned, to see that bed made in his messy, Timmy way.

“Just made a fresh pot of coffee, hon. Mike and Rose are on their way over. Did you sleep well?”

She didn’t turn toward the voice emanating from the living room, though she’d heard it clearly. It was Scott. He had called her “hon” again. She did feel closer to him now, after this horrific week. Especially after their conversation yesterday. She felt closer to him than she had since the day they had married. She had even occasionally caught herself daydreaming about having him back in her life for good.

But was she his “hon”?

“No,” she said. “I didn’t sleep well.”

Vic stood next to Nate’s desk, listening in on his conversation. Nate had waved him over. Sounded like he had a live one on the hook.

It was Saturday, almost lunchtime. Vic had just finished up with his list of people to call. All dead ends. He knew Nate had to be
close to the end of his list too. Suddenly, Nate had gotten all animated about this present call.

“No, I agree,” Nate said. “This sounds promising. But can’t someone from your office go by the house and talk to this guy in person?” Nate listened a little more, shook his head no. “I see. No, I get it. These aren’t normal times. We’ve got a lot of personnel out sick here today too. But we’re a two-hour drive from there. It’s what, about twenty minutes up the road for you?” Nate looked up at Vic, shook his head no again.

Whatever it was, Vic hoped Nate didn’t push too hard.

“I understand,” Nate said. “Really, I do. Thanks for following up on this. This could turn out to be the break in the case we’ve been waiting for. We’ll take it from here.”

Nate hung up and sat back in his chair. “This one’s from a hospital in Palatka. Little boy died last year. He lived out in a rural area off Highway 20, between Palatka and a little town called Interlachen.”

“Interlachen? Never heard of it.”

“Me neither,” Nate said. “It’s about twenty-five minutes west of Palatka. Anyway, a sheriff’s deputy drove by there yesterday and recalled seeing a little boy about Timmy’s age on the front porch.”

“What, he didn’t stop?”

“No, he didn’t. Sounds like he didn’t have the right information. He was only told to drive by and verify if a boy that age lived at that address. Since the boy was right out there in the open, he didn’t see any need to stop and chat.”

“Well, can’t he go back and do that now?”

“That’s what you heard me asking about at the end there. They’re saying they’re really shorthanded today. Bunch of people called in sick. The guy I talked to thinks it’s this Cuba situation. Each day the news gets worse, and people are starting to think it’s really
gonna happen. They’re getting scared, like maybe they might only have a day or two before nuclear bombs start falling.”

Vic wanted to say something, but he had to admit . . . when he’d stood at the door of his own house that morning and kissed his wife good-bye, he’d had serious thoughts about closing that door and calling in sick himself.

Nate leaned forward, rested his elbows on the desk. “Looks like it’s up to you and me to check this situation out ourselves.”

“That’s at least a four-hour round trip, isn’t it?”

Nate nodded.

Vic looked at his watch. “Guess we better get started then. I’ll go tell Foster. Why don’t you get the car ready?”

Vic walked down the hall to Foster’s office. He heard him in there on the phone. The secretary’s desk just outside his office was empty. Speaking of calling in sick, she had done that this morning. Vic waited a few minutes until he heard Foster stop talking, then waited a few moments more. He opened the door to find Special Agent Foster was, indeed, off the phone. But something was wrong. He was looking down, rubbing his temples with both hands. He didn’t seem to notice Vic had come in. Vic made a little extra noise as he approached the desk.

Foster looked up. “Hey, Vic, what’s up?” His face looked grave.

“What’s wrong?”

Foster took a deep breath. “That was my friend who works at McCoy Air Force Base. They sent out a U-2 spy plane to see if the Russians had halted work on the missile sites. They just confirmed the Russians shot down the U-2 over Cuba. The pilot was killed.”

Both men looked at each other, but neither said a word. Vic could only imagine how President Kennedy and the military generals surrounding him would react to this news.

After leaving the office, Vic stopped at the curb where Nate had parked the car. “Hold on, Nate. Let me make a quick call to the Harrisons.”

“I don’t know, Vic. The trip down to the Everglades fizzled out. Maybe you should wait till we get to this place, see what the story is.”

Vic thought a moment. Maybe Nate was right. But the Harrisons were desperate for any news about Timmy. Even uncertain news. “I still think I should call them.”

“Go ahead. I’ll be right here.”

“I won’t be long.” He hurried back inside.

Back at his desk, he dialed the number. “Hello. This is Vic Hammond. Can I please speak with Scott Harrison?”

“Hey, Vic. This is Scott. Any news?”

“It may be nothing. I’ll leave it up to you to decide whether you want to brief Gina or not.”

“Brief her about what?”

“Nate and I are heading out to a little town west of Palatka to follow up on a lead.”

“Does it look good?”

“Could be. We’ll have to wait and see. We were toward the end of our list of hospitals to call when Nate ran across this one. A sheriff’s deputy went out to this property and noticed a little boy about Timmy’s age out front on the porch. But the little boy was supposed to have died last year.”

“You think this could be it?”

“Hope so. We’ll call you and Gina as soon as we know something solid.”

“Appreciate that, Vic.”

“Are you gonna tell her about this?” Vic waited through a pause.

“I’m not sure. She’s had a rough morning. Rougher than usual.”

“I understand. No pressure. Just want to make sure you know what’s going on.”

“Thanks, Vic.”

It was just a little past lunchtime now. Etta Mae was putting the finishing touches on a fresh apple pie she had just pulled out of the oven. The blueberries were a little too expensive today. She set it carefully on the windowsill to cool. “You should see this, Josephine. It came out perfect. I dare your redneck neighbor to toss this pie in the trash without tasting it.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“You should smell it.”

“You kidding? I been smelling it for the last hour or so. It’s been driving me crazy. Should’ve had you make two, one for him and one for you and me.”

Etta Mae lifted her little surprise out of the oven and walked it around the corner into the dining room. She held it out for Josephine to see. Her binoculars were already back up on her face. “Miss Josephine?”

Josephine set them aside and looked at the miniature apple pie Etta Mae was now holding. Her face lit up like a child’s. “For us?”

Etta Mae nodded. “I’ll just set it here on the sill with its big brother.” After she put down the pie, she came back into the dining room. “Still no sign of the boy?”

“Afraid not.”

“When do you want to bring that pie over? It should be ready before too long.”

“You mean,” Josephine said, “when are
you
going to bring that pie over?”

“You want me to do it?”

“Well, I can’t on these crutches.”

Etta Mae wanted to point out that she most certainly could. A person could do anything if they set their mind to it. “I was thinking you’d head over there on your crutches. And I’ll be right beside you holding this pie. You’re the one he knows, after all, not me.”

“That may be true. But we already know he doesn’t like me. He might react differently to you.”

“That’s right, he might just shoot me. What if he’s a member of the Klan? They’re all over the place in these small towns.”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s a member of the Klan. I’ve never seen any evidence of that. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Worst thing that would probably happen is, he’ll toss your pie in the trash can like he did mine.”

What a waste if that happened, Etta Mae thought. But she could live with that disappointment.

Josephine pulled the binoculars down with a mischievous smile. “Maybe we should just send him over that little baby pie you made instead.”

Thirty minutes later, the pie was cooled off and Etta Mae had helped Josephine get all situated. They had just prayed together for God to protect Etta Mae and give her strength, as she put it, “not to turn and run the minute that ornery ole cuss answers the door.”

Etta Mae was just now putting the pie on a tray with handles. They had decided the Christian thing to do was to give August the bigger of the two pies, fearing that if they gave him the smaller one, he wouldn’t share it with Timmy.

Suddenly, Josephine began to shout. As loud as one can shout when they’re trying to whisper. “There he is, Etta Mae. The boy. Timmy.”

Etta Mae left the pie on the table and ran over to the window. “You seen him?” She looked out for herself.

Josephine, still glued to the binoculars, said, “I did, I did. Just a moment ago.”

“Where? I don’t see him.”

“He walked right past the window. The front window. The first one there, on the right side.”

Etta Mae didn’t see anything but an old green house. “You sure it was Timmy?”

“I think it was him. It was just for that moment. But he’s got to come back by. Unless I already missed him.”

Etta Mae looked right at that window again, squinted her eyes all up. But it made no difference, not from this distance. “Well, I guess I better get over there then with this pie. If I go there right now, maybe Timmy’ll answer the door. If he’s still there in the living room.”

“You can try,” Josephine said. “But I doubt August will let that happen. I don’t recall the boy ever answering the door. Not just this time, but when he was here months ago.”

“What you mean, months ago? Timmy’s only been took a week.”

Josephine set the binoculars down. “August definitely had a little boy living with him before. A good long while. Kept him on a short leash. Not as short as the one he’s on now. But then he was gone, the boy, I mean. Not sure how long, but a few months, anyway.”

“Well,” Etta Mae said, “whoever he was, that other little boy, he couldn’t have been Timmy. Like I said, Timmy’s just missing since Monday. What’s that, six days?”

Josephine looked out the window again but left her binoculars on her lap. “If that’s true,” she said, “then who was that first little boy? And where is he now?”