Page 21 of Unwanted Vows

Charles says, “I just hope she doesn’t yap and give everything away. But she will find Cece if she’s anywhere close by.”

“No point making more calls right now,” Kate says. “Let’s keep the phone lines open.”

I want to scream at her that we need to keep looking. But she’s right. If any of the children have their phones, and if their captors let them keep them, they might try to call us. Or Austin might call, saying he has them, or Grace might check in with us.

The room becomes quiet. Andrew folds up his phone. It is one of those old flip phones, not a smartphone like most of us carry now. He had moved away to make phone calls, but now comes back to me. “May I sit here?” he asks.

I shrug. “It’s a big couch.”

“Madeline,” he says, settling on the edge of the middle cushion. His voice has that same musical quality I remember. “I am so sorry about the phone number. About everything. The bus I was in overturned and caught fire, and all our possessions were destroyed. I had a head injury, and was in a hospital for almost six months.. I dreamed about you, but I was never sure if you were real. Grandfather probably did think I was dead, since our clinic head passed the word that there were no survivors. It was safer for us that way.”

“I see,” I say. And I kind of did. It explained why he didn’t recognize me at first. And why Mr. Aims was desperate for an heir. But if he’d treated me decently, I probably would have been glad for Paul to have a secure future – right up until I learned how Aims made his money and then it would have been too late.

I draw a shuddering breath, and he puts his arm around my shoulders. It is a gentle, tentative gesture, giving me room to slip out of it if I want. I check in with myself. I’m not getting chills or electric flashes of sensation over my skin like in the romance novels, but I feel warm, and safe. I let myself relax against him, and he gently tightens the arm, drawing me in.

“We will find him,” he says, “And the other children, too. Do they have a grandfather here?”

I nod. “Pops Quin. If someone walked up to them and said, ‘your grandfather wants you’, that’s probably what Cece or even Paul would think.”

“With so many relatives here, and not all of them known to each other, ‘your grandfather’, would have been the magic words.”

Charles, who has Kate and his youngest child cuddled up with him on another dilapidated couch says, “Cece and I are going to have a long talk about trusting grownups.”

The room gets quiet. Andrew’s arm around me is a safe haven. With Paul missing, I should be keyed up with nerves, but the truth is, I’m exhausted. Waiting is hard work. I fall into a sleepy haze, caught between hope and despair.

It has been a long time since anyone held me. I was afraid to date after I ran from Aims. I was almost afraid to apply for nursing school, even though with my education background I was a shoo-in. I even moved from a cheap but comfortable apartment because I started receiving bouquets and flowers from “Anonymous Admirer”.

I should not feel so comfortable with this man, but I do. I should be terrified, but I’m not. All my terror and fear is focused on Paul, where he is, and whether the search team can find him and the other children. I sit there, on the shabby old couch, sheltered in Andrew’s arms. I am in a state of dreadful numbness, and his arm around me is the anchor that keeps me from drifting out into an ocean of terror.

The room is silent, except for the faint rustling of clothing as someone moves to get more comfortable. There is a distant mechanical hum in another part of the house as something kicks on – probably a refrigerator or the air conditioning. There is not even a ticking clock to disturb the stillness.

Then there is a bustle at the front door. As one, we all stand up, looking expectantly toward the entry hall.

THE LOST IS FOUND

ANDREW

“Mommy!” Three young voices are raised to a shrill note, and a solid weight suddenly hits Madeline and I at waist height. Paul is trying to hug his mother, while Cece and Isabel run to Kate. Tears are running down Mr. Emory’s face. He has a look of relief on his face so profound it is beyond description.

I know the feeling. My face is wet, too, as I get a good look at Paul Northernfield, my biological son. He’s the tow-headed kid I didn’t recognize. How did I ever miss the family resemblance?

His skin is lightly tanned and freckled, not unlike my own. He has a full head of blond curls, bleached nearly white by the California sun and frequent dips in the ocean. He is slim but well-muscled for such a young child, and he is going to be tall. His head nearly reaches his mother’s shoulder. He will be nine this week — I know because notes on the med tent roster say that Ms. Northernfield will take the day off Friday to celebrate her son’s ninth birthday.

But we are not done with this incident yet. Austin hustles a skinny man toward us. I don’t know the man, and he does not look happy to be here.

My sister, Rylie, stares, then plants fists on her hips and growls, “Jason Leroy Wintergreen!” she says. “I thought you were in jail! Put away for a good, long while.”

“I got out on good behavior, and with some help from my friends,” the little shrimp whines.

Austin gives him a hard shake. “Tell her the full truth, right now, and I mean it,” he says. “Or I’ll feed you to the dogs.”

“The dogs?” Cece protests. “The dogs don’t eat people. They just find them.”

“That’s right, they don’t. Come on kids,” Richard says, leading the children out of the room.

“They might develop a taste for crooks,” Julia says, overriding Cece’s protest now that the children are gone. “I remember all the trouble you caused for Mama Lee. If the dogs think you taste too bad, we have a cage full of big cats at the end of the midway. By morning, there wouldn’t be anything left of you but bones.”

“You can’t do that!” the scrawny man whines, trying to wiggle away from Austin’s grip.

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