He was struck again by how young she looked. Had he met her on the street, he would have pegged her for a college girl, bright-eyed and tackling a degree in elementary education or social work. She had the fresh-faced sparkle of a woman standing on the precipice of a transformation.
Max watched Joan talking. She pointed toward the martial art’s studio, and the woman gazed at the building, a tiny furrow wrinkling her brow.
He slung his bag over his shoulder and pushed through the door, waving at the women as he walked across the street.
“Hi, I’m Max Wolfenstein. I thought I’d take Joan to lunch.”
“You’re the man who helped her?” the woman asked, her eyes kind but weary. She had long silver hair pulled over one shoulder and wore an outfit not unlike Joan’s, jeans and a t-shirt advertising Kramer’s Auto Supply.
“Yes. And thank you for helping her.”
Martha nodded, glancing back at the women who’d piled into the van.
“Joan, I generally advise against social engagements so soon in the process.”
“Oh, it’s not like that,” Joan said quickly. “Max is investigating the missing children.”
“Missing children?” Martha asked, eyes widening.
“Yes, several from here in town, and I’m discovering others. Including Joan’s son, Nicholas.”
“That’s terrifying,” Martha said, resting a comforting hand on Joan’s arm.
Joan nodded and patted the woman’s hand.
“I’ll bring her home in an hour, two at the most,” Max promised.
“Please do,” the woman told him. “And I’m Martha Page. Nice to meet you, Max.”
“You too, Martha.”
He and Joan walked down the sidewalk.
“Pizza?” he asked her after they’d covered half a block.
“Sure.”
“Uncle Leo’s makes a killer Hawaiian. They also have great subs if you’re in the mood for a sandwich.”
“Nicholas used to say pineapple on pizza should be illegal,” she laughed.
Max smiled.
“I’ve always been a rebel.” He winked at her. “Have you talked to Denny?” He hated to ask, but couldn’t stop the question running through his mind.
She tucked her hair behind her ear and frowned at the sidewalk.
“No, Martha coordinated the delivery of a restraining order through the police in Mesick. I… I’m afraid to know what he’s thinking right now.”
“He has no idea where you’re at?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“That’s good,” he murmured, pulling open the door to Uncle Leo’s and gesturing for her to go first.
The hostess sat them in a half-moon booth near the salad bar.
After they ordered, Joan wrapped her hands around her plastic cup of lemonade. “Have you found out anything more, Max? About the kids?”
He sipped his tea and nodded. “I think so. A twelve-year-old boy went missing from Lake City three months ago. Another kid in the area was approached by a man in a black van.”
“What does it mean if a man took him? Does that mean he’s… he’s…?” But she couldn’t get the words out. She buried her face in her hands. “Nicholas has been my reason for living. Without him.” She shook her head. “What’s the point? What’s the point of living if my son is gone?”
Max drew in a breath, struggling for the wise words he should have been able to conjure. Instead, he slipped a hand across the table and clasped hers. Her hands were small, the bones felt tiny and fragile beneath her cool skin.
She didn’t look at him.
“You keep going, Joan. You’re the only advocate he has, the only person who will keep the pressure on the police, who will pass out fliers, and who will fight for him.”
Joan’s eyes looked troubled.
“They wouldn’t listen to me, Max. They never took me seriously. I should have been screaming from the rooftops. Instead I went right back to life as it had been, working, serving Denny his beer and getting slapped for my efforts.”
“You can’t go back to yesterday because you were a different person then,” he said. “It’s from Alice in Wonderland, one of those quotes that’s stuck with me since I was a boy. You’re not the same woman, Joan.”
She blinked at him, her expression so hopeful and scared it made his heart ache.
“I’m afraid that it’s too late, that I’ve failed him,” she whispered.
Max shook his head. “No,” he surprised both of them with the passion in his voice. “You didn’t fail him, Joan. You know what you did? The bravest thing of all. You got out. You left, so when Nicholas returns, he’ll have a new life too.”
“A new life,” she said, looking toward the window where a group of women walked by, arms linked, laughing.
“My maiden name is Joan Kimberly Phillips. My mother wanted to name me Kimberly, but my father insisted on Joan, his mother’s name. My grandmother had a temper, and she never touched us kindly, only to whip my brother and I as children. I used to imagine how my life might have turned out differently if I’d been named Kim.”
Max smiled. He’d had similar thoughts as a boy, especially when his teachers had insisted on calling him Maximilian rather than Max. He’d once begged his mother to change his name to Mike. She’d faced him across the table and told him Maximilian meant great, and emperors and leaders had shared his name. After that he’d puffed up a bit each time someone at school called him Maximilian.
“Kimberly’s a beautiful name,” he said.
“Kimberly Phillips,” Joan said, reaching out her hand.
He shook it and grinned. “Wonderful to meet you, Kim,” he told her.
28
It took almost three hours to nail boards over every window and door at The Crawford House. They left only two openings, the front door and a window in the back of the house. Ashley would reach the window by running down the main hallway and through the kitchen.
They nailed boards to both the front door and back window as well, but left one side free. When Ashley got the monster into the house, Shane would nail the window shut after Ashley jumped through into a pile of pre-arranged blankets. Sid would nail the door shut on the opposite side of the house.
Together, they’d ride to the payphone at the end of Turner Street, the closest phone to the house. They estimated they could be there in four minutes.
“Are you guys going to the Summer Shindig tomorrow?” Shane asked as they traipsed back through the woods. They were hot and sweaty and dirty, but both Ashley and Shane wore smiles of satisfaction. Sid looked dour, tiny creases between his eyebrows that seemed to deepen with each passing hour.
“Heck yeah,” Ashley said. “Mrs. Hagerty, the principal's wife, makes popcorn balls every year. They’re so good. I’d go just for those.”
“Mr. Pinot’s meatballs are pretty good too,” Sid added. “My dad always tries to replicate them after the Shindig, but his end up tasting like hamburgers covered in spaghetti sauce.”
“I’ve never gone,” Shane admitted. “My dad says it’s a waste of taxpayers’ money and gets all pissy about it every year, but he’s out of town so my mom’s going to drop me off.”
“Why don’t you ride your bike?” Ashley asked.
Shane shrugged. “My mom’s freaked about Warren. She doesn’t want me riding in the dark.”
Ashley nodded. “If she knew what was really out there, she wouldn’t let you leave the house.”
MAX SPOTTED JOAN, now Kim, across the grassy expanse where the town had set-up the Summer Shindig. In years past, he’d volunteered, usually grilling burgers or helping build the bonfire, but he’d opted out this year.