“Where did this happen?”
I told her.
“Which hospital are they taking her to?”
I told her.
“Will the boy be there?”
I told her he would be.
“Forty-five minutes.” She hung up.
I looked over at Jeremy. “What’s the story on Charlene’s mother?”
“Well, aside from the fact that she hates me, I guess she’s okay,” he said, trying to sink into his seat where maybe I wouldn’t notice him. “She’ll shit a brick when she finds out Charlene’s been coming to see me.”
“Something to look forward to,” I said.
I found a place to park a couple of blocks from the hospital. We took two seats side by side in the ER waiting room while Charlene was being looked at. Jeremy sat with his hands clasped together down between his legs, his head bowed.
“You wanna talk?” I asked him.
“Not really,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Are we still going to New York?” he asked.
“I’d have to say that’s kind of up in the air right now. I’m going to have to let your mom and Ms. Plimpton and Bob know what’s happened.”
His head seemed to droop further.
“What happened to the other two?” he asked.
“The ones who rammed Charlene’s car? I don’t know. The police were dealing with them. They’re not my concern.”
We’d been sitting there for the better part of an hour when a smartly dressed woman with auburn hair walked into the ER like she owned the place. She went straight to the admitting desk and said, “I’m Alicia Wilson. Where’s my daughter? Charlene Wilson.”
I got up and approached.
“Ms. Wilson,” I said. “Cal Weaver. We spoke on the phone.”
She eyed me the way one might examine a bug in a jar. Her eyes went to Jeremy, and the look she gave him was even more contemptuous.
“I will speak to you after I have seen Charlene.”
She turned and disappeared into the rabbit’s warren of examining rooms.
“She looked kinda mad,” Jeremy said when I sat back down next to him.
“You don’t miss much,” I said.
Alicia Wilson reappeared five minutes later. We both stood as she stormed across the waiting room.
“How’s your daughter?” I asked.
“They say she’s fine,” Alicia said. “I’m going to take her home with me. Do you know what happened to her car?”
“I don’t,” I said. “Couple of scratches on the bumper, but not much beyond that that I could see. I think it’s at the hotel.”
“Hotel?” She fixed her eyes on Jeremy. “The two of you were at a hotel?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Jeremy and I were there. Charlene drove down to see Jeremy this morning.”
She still had her eyes on the boy. “You are a despicable worm.”
Jeremy said nothing.
“It wasn’t enough that you got one girl killed. You want to go for a second?”
Even though I knew the circumstances here were very different, I didn’t want to wade too far into this. Alicia had plenty of reason to be angry with Jeremy, even if her own daughter had to shoulder some of the blame.
“I didn’t make her come,” Jeremy said meekly. “And I didn’t run that car into hers.”
“Oh, don’t think for a minute that Charlene isn’t going to get an earful. But you — you shouldn’t even be free. You should be in jail, and not for some short visit, either.”
If I were Alicia Wilson, I wouldn’t feel much differently. Charlene wouldn’t be here if Jeremy hadn’t told her where he was. He’d clearly done nothing to discourage her from coming to see him for the second time in two days, even after my lecture about putting her at risk.
If I were Alicia Wilson, I’d rip his face off.
There was also our chat of the night before, once the lights were off, about owning up to his actions, about taking some responsibility for them.
“You got anything you want to say, Jeremy?” I asked him.
His eyes searched mine, as though he might find the answer there.
“Like what?” he said.
Alicia laughed. “He’s unbelievable.” The laughter quickly faded. “Stay away from my daughter. If you ever so much as wave to her from across the street, let alone send her a text, I’ll get a restraining order against you.”
Jeremy looked down.
Alicia turned and walked away.
“You had a chance there,” I said.
“A chance to what?”
“To do something right. To say you were sorry. To accept even some share of responsibility for what happened.”
“I just... I didn’t know what to... I...” His eyes were wet. “Do you think,” he asked me tentatively, “I could just say goodbye to Charlene?”
“With her mother there? Are you serious?”
His chest collapsed, his body a balloon that had just been pricked.
“I need to call your mom. Let everyone know what’s going on.”
Jeremy sighed.
We exited the ER and started walking back to my Honda. I didn’t want to have my chat with his mother in his presence, so I got out my keys and said, “If I give you these, you promise not to run off with the car?”
He took them. “Yeah, like I could even drive your car.”
“I’m not even sure I thought to lock it,” I said. When we’d arrived, we’d raced straight into the ER to see how Charlene was, and some things had probably slipped my mind.
As Jeremy walked away, I entered a number into my phone. Madeline Plimpton answered.
“Mr. Weaver?”
“Hi,” I said.
“We were going to call you. Well, Bob or I were going to. Not Gloria.”
“What’s going on?”
“We think Gloria might have given her phone to Jeremy. She took it out of Bob’s jacket and we can’t find it anywhere.”
“That’s exactly what she did,” I said.
“Oh my. I hope it hasn’t caused any kind of trouble.”
I filled her in on the latest developments.
“Good Lord,” Ms. Plimpton said. “You just can’t catch a break, can you?”
I smiled that she directed some of her sympathy to me. “I’m wondering if this changes anything. You want me to stay on the road with him, or bring him back?”
“I can discuss it with Gloria and Bob — I might even have a word with Grant about it — but honestly, I don’t think coming back here is an option.”
“Why’s that?”
“There was a protest out front of the house last night. About a dozen people, waving signs that said things like ‘Big Baby go home.’ We had to call the police to have them dispersed.”
“Okay,” I said. “I was going to take him to New York, but I don’t think that’s such a good idea any more.”
Madeline Plimpton said nothing.
“Hello?”
“I’m just thinking,” she said. “I have a place.”
“A place?”
“On the Cape. Cape Cod. My husband and I bought it years ago. I haven’t been there since he passed away. I still own it, but it’s in the hands of a rental agent. People book it for the summer months. But it’s only May. It might not be rented.”
“Would anyone be able to track us down there? Seems wherever Jeremy goes, people figure it out.”
A hesitation. “I don’t know. It’s owned through a company, so my name’s not really attached to it. I haven’t been to the Cape in years. And Gloria — in case you’re worried she might inadvertently let something slip — probably thinks I sold it years ago. But the good news is, it’s on the beach, you’ve got some privacy, there won’t be many people around through the week, it being so early in the season. I could make a call, see if it’s available right now. It’s not that far out. East Sandwich. Beautiful view of Cape Cod Bay.”
I thought about it. Finding a place to hunker down seemed better than moving from hotel to hotel.