I stop playback, feeling that thrill again. If anyone needs convincing that mistakes were made by the police back then, Mooney is the one to admit it. While she seemed scared at the end, I also felt her desire to come clean. Maybe purge herself of her sins before she meets an untimely end?
Back in civilization, I navigate the main drag in Lake George, bustling with tourists in the late summer season. I realize I haven’t checked the message from Paul and I’m about to when I catch sight of the pickup truck in my side mirror. It’s waiting for the light like I am, about five cars back — I’m pretty sure it’s the same one, a gray Ford Super Duty.
Waiting for the light, I check my voicemail.
“Em!” Paul sounds frantic. “Where are you? Listen, Em, there’s been an accident.”
I almost don’t register the words, since I’m so focused on the truck.
But the next words are crystal clear: “Sean is hurt,” Paul says. “It’s bad, Em. It’s bad. Call me back. Try to get here as soon as you can.”
The message ends. I’m so stunned that it’s not until the car behind me blares its horn that I get moving. I forget about the gray Ford truck, I forget about everything, just focusing on what I have to do — drive the car to the interstate, head north, get to my son.
My boy . . .
PART FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
TRANSCRIPT OF 911 CALL
OCTOBER 27
911: 911, what’s your emergency?
Caller: Um, my dad is hurt.
[Noises in the background.]
911: He’s hurt? What’s the matter with him?
Caller: He’s dead.
[Woman in background: We don’t know that yet!]
Caller: He might be . . . he might be okay. My mom says. But he’s— 911: Where are you, honey? What’s your address?
Caller: Um, it’s 2113 Pondfield Road. In Bronxville.
911: Okay. What’s your name?
Caller: Tom.
911: Tom, can you tell me what happened to your daddy?
Caller: He got hit by a hammer.
911: Hit by a hammer? Did he hurt himself?
Caller: No, someone did.
911: Do you know who?
[Woman in background: Tell them to send an ambulance!]
911: Is that your mother?
Caller: Yes.
911: Is she with your father?
Caller: Uh-huh.
911: You can tell her an ambulance is on the way. Is your father breathing?
Caller [muffled]: Mom, is Daddy breathing?
[Woman in background: unintelligible.]
Caller: She says he’s not. He’s, um, not breathing. Is my dad gonna be okay?
911: We’re coming, honey. We’re coming to help him . . .
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
I don’t remember the drive.
That’s not entirely true. I remember going eighty-five miles an hour, ninety at times, and thinking that if my excessive speed alerted a state trooper, that trooper would have to chase me all the way home. If I’d had ten police cars and a helicopter on me by the time I got there, I wouldn’t have cared.
I also recall trying Paul’s phone over and over again. Listening to the ringing through the car speakers. Cutting off his outgoing message: “Hi, you’ve reached Paul Lindman. I’m actually on vaca—”
I’ve left at least three messages already. On my way. Call me back. Tell me more. Where are you? Which hospital?
The sun’s just above the treeline as I exit the interstate and speed toward Lake Placid. I need to know where they’ve taken him — Lake Placid’s hospital is small, but it has an emergency room. I went there after my run-in with the deer. Saranac Lake’s is larger.
When I finally hear from someone, it isn’t who I expected. His voice, coming through the car speakers, is calm. Apologetic even.
“Mrs. Lindman,” Michael says.
“Where’s Sean? Where are Paul and Joni?”
“They’re with him.”
“With him where? With Sean? Michael — what happened?”
“We were sailing. He was teaching me. He hit his head and went into the water. I went in after him, but I’m not a very strong swimmer. He was down a long time . . .”
“Michael . . .” I can feel the anxiety rising, threatening to turn into panic. And I’m breathing too fast. I try to slow it down. “Where is he?”
“Um, it’s Adirondack Medical Center. In Saranac Lake. But they’re talking about moving him. He’s—”
I end the call. It’s impulsive, but another word from Michael and I’m going to lose control. And the last time I came charging along this windy mountain road, I hit a deer.
What’s going on? Sean’s never had a boating accident in his life. He hit his head?
I try to clear my mind. Think of nothing but getting there in one piece. The daylight is fading. It feels poignant, like my entire life is getting darker.
*
Sean is silent, unmoving. A tube in his neck does the breathing for him. His skin has blanched, and his eyes are still beneath the closed lids. I gingerly touch his bandaged skull and plant a kiss on his forehead. “Hi, Seanie. Hi, baby. Mommy is here.”
My eyes are dry, probably because I’m in shock.
Paul is just beside me, his hand on my shoulder. Joni sits in the corner, her feet drawn up onto the chair, arms wrapped around her knees. She looks out the window and bites at her fingernail. Michael stands beside her. He’s studying the floor, but when I look at him, his eyes come up.
My question is soft but demands an answer. “What happened?”
Paul’s hand slips away from my shoulder as I walk to the corner, toward Michael.
“I . . . he was teaching me,” Michael stammers. “I’ve never sailed.”
Joni gives me a hard look. “He was tacking to head upwind, Mom. The boom swung around and hit him.”
Michael’s voice becomes thick with emotion. “He was teaching me . . . showing me. I distracted him.”
“Stop it,” Joni says, taking Michael’s arm. “It’s not your fault.”
“He was headed upwind? Tacking?” I say. “I’d maybe believe he slipped on deck.”
The words are out before I’ve had a chance to preview them.
Joni’s mouth opens as she stares up at me in incredulity. Michael looks slightly confused, his eyes swimming.
But I don’t stop. The horse has now left the barn. “Sean’s never had an accident like this. Sailing since he was eight, and never once hit by the boom.”
Paul pulls at my shoulder. “Honey. Come on . . .”
I yank away, my gaze drilling into Michael. “Then he went overboard? That’s what you’re saying?”
He nods, and a tear falls from his eyelash. His long, almost feminine eyelashes. His sharp nose and thick eyebrows and handsome face. I want to slap it. He’s standing there, while Sean is comatose.
“Why didn’t you pull him out right away?”
“Mom, stop.” Joni glares up at me. Pure hatred in her eyes. I don’t care.
“I tried,” Michael whines. “But we were going fast. He fell in and I was alone. I didn’t know what to do right away. I panicked. It was just a few seconds, but . . . when I finally jumped in to swim to him, he was already several yards away. I tried to . . . get his face out of the water. And then we had to get back to shore . . .” Michael sobs. Joni stands and embraces him.
I study Michael’s face over Joni’s shoulder. “I don’t buy this act anymore,” I say to him, pulling away again from Paul’s clutches. “If you’ve got something against me or my family, be a man. Come at me head-on. No more games.”