He reached for her hand on the rail. “The police looked there, Carole. They told me.”
Carole could not be deterred. It was plausible. She could imagine that when she turned her back, he’d gone in the other direction, then right over the bridge and up the river to the construction site. It could have been what had happened.
“Maybe they didn’t see him,” she said.
David held Carole by the shoulders and searched her eyes. “Honey, they used dogs. The dogs’ trail ended at the river. At the driveway. His scent was all over the place. And then gone.”
Next they walked along the river and returned to the play area of Columbia Park. In the center of the grass space above the river was a pirate ship climbing structure that offered slides and various interactive games aligned with the pirate theme.
“Charlie loved to find the treasure,” Carole said. The treasure was a grouping of six items on a spinning wheel that included jewels, coins, and other nods to the pirate theme.
“Loves to,” David said. “He loves to.”
Carole stopped. “I didn’t mean to . . .”
“Mean to what?” David asked, though he knew.
“Mean to say loved. Yes, loves.”
A dog barked in the distance and a car drove by. Other than that, it was only the two of them—the two of them minus their boy who had disappeared.
“Where were you today?” Carole asked.
He didn’t answer.
“When we tried to call you,” she said.
David looked away. “Out with a supplier,” he said.
“Don’t lie to me, David.”
“I’m not lying,” he said. “Where is this going?”
“You know,” Carole said. “I don’t want to fight about her. Whoever she is. At least I know it isn’t Amanda. At least not her alone. She answered the phone at the restaurant. Whoever you’re screwing . . . you know I don’t even care. I don’t. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“You should be,” David said, refusing to allow her to bait him. Baiting him was a favorite pastime of Carole’s. She did it whenever she drank too much or was angry with someone else. “Our son is missing,” he said. “Let’s focus on that.”
“I needed you,” Carole said. “Charlie needed you.”
David didn’t speak for the longest time. He processed her words. She was looking for a way out of what she’d done: an act of carelessness that caused what he hoped was not a tragedy.
Her eyes were cold, unblinking. “Just who are you screwing these days, David?”
David stopped walking. “Are you seriously going to go there? Our son is gone. I’m not screwing anyone. God, Carole. Let’s focus on what we need to focus on. Getting our son back. Undoing your mistake.”
Carole gave her husband another hard, cold stare.
“I knew you would blame me,” she finally said.
“I don’t blame you,” he said, although his tone contained a hint of uncertainty. She deserved that. “I don’t.”
“Liar,” she said. “You are a terrible liar.”
“You always said I was a good liar.”
“About fucking,” she said. “Yes, a good liar. About things that matter to me, though, not at all.”
David could feel his blood pressure escalate. Carole could make him feel as though he were some kind of a voodoo doll that she could prick with words. There were a million reasons why he put up with it, of course.
In fact, more than a million.
“Were you drinking this morning?” he asked.
Carole threw her hands up in the air and shook her head slowly, emphatically. The remark was a direct jab.
And a familiar one.
“Are you always going to go there?” she asked, careful to contain her anger. “Goddamn you, David. I haven’t had a drink since before Charlie was born and you goddamn know it. You do. You of all people shouldn’t put that on me.”
“Really, Carole?” was all he said.
It was all right for her to question his fidelity. It was her go-to accusation whenever and wherever she seemed to feel the need. Sometimes he hated her so much that he would do anything to hurt her. He’d kept his mouth steel-trap shut. That was how he saw himself. Yet, every now and then, David Franklin could no longer hold his tongue. Carole deserved a jab from time to time. The drinking problem was the only thing he could grab on to at the moment. Maybe ever. He’d been in AA for ten years. He’d never so much as had a single drop of alcohol since the day he quit drinking. Never the slightest threat of a relapse. Carole had tempted him with mojitos, Manhattans, and merlot for years.
“Why’d they take your blouse?” he asked, focusing on her eyes.
She spun around and started for home, and he hurried behind her.
“Where did the blood come from, Carole?”
She didn’t answer.
“Did you lose control?”
“Don’t even dare say another word,” she said. “You know better. You know me.”
“And you know me,” he said. “I’m not playing around on you. It’s over. I promised you.”
“Over? Really? I doubt you and your whore are done.”
“It is over,” he repeated. “Believe me.”
Now back on the footbridge over the Deschutes, Carole and David faced each other once more.
“Look,” she said, speaking in a near whisper. “I’m not an idiot, David. I smell her on you sometimes. I do. I really do. And for you to say those things about me being a drunk or some kind of monster . . . I don’t think I even know you. I really don’t.”
David stood his ground. “Let’s focus on what we both know to be true,” he said, trying to reel in all the ugly words that had crossed his lips. “Charlie. Let’s focus on Charlie.”
Carole pulled her jacket tighter. “A minute ago you suggested I might have had something to do with whatever happened to him.”
David tried to hold her but she shoved him away. “I didn’t mean it, Carole. I know you better than that. I know you. Whatever we have isn’t perfect and hasn’t been great for a long time, but we’re solid in knowing each other. That counts for something.”
A fish jumped, startling Carole and shifting her focus. “The blood on my blouse was mine,” she said. “From my ear.” She touched her scabbed-over earlobe and winced. “I tore my earring out when I was calling 911.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I know. The cops know too. They are just doing what they are supposed to do: eliminate the possibilities. Exclude us. And they need to do that.”
“Right,” she said. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I said.”
“Me too. Me too.”
“Charlie’s out there, David. He’s scared. He’s cold. He wants to come home.”
“We’re going to find him. I know we are. Keep thinking positive thoughts. Know that our boy is only lost, not gone. Not gone forever. He’ll come home.”
The Franklins had done a good job of keeping their voices as low as possible, but the surface of the river is a good conductor of sound.
Someone could hear every word they were saying.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN