“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say.
Paul stands beside me, smelling of wood stain. His knuckles are darkened with it. “Is there a way to get things back on track?”
Michael gives a nod but looks chagrined. “Maybe, yeah. I’m seeing what I can work out. I want to finish.”
Joni interrupts before Paul can speak again. “They lost the game,” she says. “Colgate lost to Hamilton.” It’s like she’s trying to bring the conversation back to the important part — their impending union.
Michael looks at her. “It was a key game, too.”
“But you wouldn’t have met me.”
“That’s right.”
And they go back to mooning over each other. This time, Joni takes him by the hand and leads him out of the kitchen. Before either Paul or I can object, she says to us, “Okay? Enough grilling for now? You got the juicy details.”
But she smiles, and I see, for the first time since she’s been here, real delight in my daughter’s eyes. Joni has lots of defenses, but she is a good woman. I remember her often as a baby, who came into the world so quietly, so softly, so watchfully. My little bundle, that tiny face. The preternatural calm she exuded.
“We’re going swimming,” she calls over her shoulder, and she bangs out the front door, Michael in tow.
Both Paul and I turn to watch them run down the sloping lawn toward the sparkling water. She taunts Michael and he chases her, grabs her, and she squeals with laughter.
“I think we might just have to come to terms with it,” Paul says behind me.
“What?”
“Our daughter has found her man.”
I watch them continue down to the water, stripping off clothes, running for the end of the dock, then jumping in — her diving elegantly, him launching into a cannonball and making a big splash.
Oh God, I think.
What am I going to do?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
After their swim, Joni and Michael sit in towels by the water’s edge, holding hands. I turn from the window and walk upstairs to find Paul changing in our bedroom.
“The death of two parents,” I say, “and no life insurance? At least, not enough to cover a year’s tuition?”
Paul pulls on khaki shorts. He looks at me and shrugs. “I don’t know. Sounds kind of private.”
I roll my eyes. My husband doesn’t need to lecture me on privacy. But his comment doesn’t bother me. Instead, I approach him and give him a kiss. He has to pause, his arms through his dark-green polo shirt but not yet over his head. Paul is in good shape for a man in his late fifties. Of course, nobody can beat time, and I’ve never been that hung up on physique, but it’s good that Paul is healthy. And right now, with his arms in his shirt, he’s my temporary captive. I push against him and give him a kiss.
He studies me, looking into my eyes.
I ask, “Remember when we first met?”
“Of course.”
“You thought I would never meet your parents. Or your friends. I was too busy with school, then work.”
“I remember.”
“I told you it would all come with time.”
“Yes,” he says, sighing. “You were right.”
“That’s not what I mean. I mean that I’m hoping . . . that’s all this is. I just need to give it time with Michael. Like you said. There’s been so many false starts with her . . . But we’ll get to know him, and I won’t have to be anxious.”
He cocks his eyebrow at me — a very “Paul” expression. Paul has an angular face, sharp eyebrows, and when he raises his left one as high as the other, it’s comical. But he’s checking my sincerity.
“What?” I ask.
He pulls his shirt down the rest of the way. “Sounds like a plan.”
Dressed, Paul lingers a moment. My little confession seems to have softened him. He touches my face, his thumb near my bruise. “How you feeling? Otherwise?”
“I feel fine. I’m good.”
I smile and pat his butt as he walks out of the bedroom. Once he’s through the door and out of sight, my smile drops.
*
In the closet is my bag from the trip home. I open it and dig out Starzyk’s business card. He answers on the second ring. “Dr. Lindman? I was hoping to hear from you.”
I’m already feeling regret. Maybe it’s just the tone of his voice. “I was wondering if you could help me with something.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, I just—”
“Have you been contacted?”
I assume he means Laura Bishop. “No . . . I . . . no.”
“Is the boy still there with you?”
“Yes.”
“How does he seem?”
I walk to the bedroom window, a dormer to one side of the vaulted ceiling. The view of the lake is the same, just from higher up. Joni and Michael are no longer in the chairs. Their towels are gone.
I move to the door and shut it quickly but softly, speaking in a low voice. “He’s fine.”
“Has he gone anywhere?”
“No, just with my daughter. Just to lunch.”
“Any strange phone calls?”
“Have I gotten any strange phone calls?”
“Him. Has he.”
“Not that I’m aware of. Excuse me, Detective, but I called you.”
He’s silent for a moment. “I understand that. He could arrange to meet her some other way. But I wouldn’t advise following him. I’m not suggesting that. Okay?”
I shut my eyes and give a thought-clearing shake of my head. “The reason I’m calling — did you ever keep tabs on where Thomas Bishop went after everything happened?”
“I believe he went to live with his aunt and uncle.”
“But you never kept tabs on him after that?”
“No . . . That’s not in my purview.”
“I just thought . . . you were at the Bishop house.”
Starzyk makes no reply.
“He might be living in Arizona,” I say. “This might not be him. This Michael Rand has a very . . . compelling life story. He’s been to college. His parents are deceased . . .”
“Have you been able to verify any of that?”
“My daughter met him at college.”
“Uh-huh. So, she can verify he’s been there for however long?”
“He was playing on the lacrosse team. They said it was just after Easter.”
“Lacrosse team . . .” Starzyk mutters. He’s writing it down. “Easter . . . And it’s which college?”
I almost don’t tell him. “Colgate University.”
“Uh-huh. Okay. And you say he hasn’t behaved in any suspicious way.”
I think through every glance, every small moment over the past two days. Michael has admitted some baggage, but he’s the picture of a doting boyfriend. Around us, he’s neither obsequious nor arrogant, but perhaps just charmingly nervous and typically shy unless talking about a subject which interests him, like social media. In short, if he has a flaw, it’s being too perfect.
“Detective, can I ask you — you seem very interested in this. But if Laura Bishop is out on parole, that means she was reviewed. She’s had good behavior. And yet you were sitting outside the house last night . . .”
Starzyk is quiet for so long, I think we lost connection.
Then, his voice low: “Dr. Lindman, I think there’s a real concern here.”
I wait.
“Where you’re staying — it’s in Lake Placid?”
“Are you checking up on me?”