Waves of regret washed over him. He didn’t know where he went wrong, how he didn’t realize he had been making the same mistakes as his father…the very ones that drove him away.
His phone buzzed, bringing him back from his thoughts, and he pulled it out of his pocket. Reading the text Martin had sent, he tried to hide his disappointment from Olivia.
“What is it?” she asked.
“We got a hit on the plates of the car. Came back to a stolen vehicle out of Peabody. It was found ditched near Boston College.”
Nodding, she snuggled against him once more. “You always knew it was probably a dead end,” she assured him with a heavy sigh.
“I know, but it didn’t prevent me from hoping,” he responded quietly.
“Me, either.”
They continued to sit in the stillness of Melanie’s darkened room…Alexander with his back against the wall and legs stretched out in front of him, Olivia curled in a ball on his lap. This was the first time in weeks, maybe months, they had a moment to themselves. He hated that their daughter’s abduction was the reason. They had both been so busy…Alexander with the company, and Olivia with all the charities she was on the board of. When they did have time together, they always spent it with Melanie.
Since the very beginning, Olivia had been insistent on raising Melanie with minimal outside help. With the wealth they had, most would assume they’d have a full-time nanny, but Olivia refused. It takes a village to raise a child, and they’d been fortunate to have a village at their fingertips. Still, life changes after having a baby. Moments alone are rare and valued…like this. Just them. The more he thought about it, though, that wasn’t necessarily the case. Alexander felt Melanie’s spirit surrounding him. Her energy. Her enthusiasm. The eyes that always looked at him as if he were her hero.
“Thank you, Mr. Crenshaw, for taking the time to tell us all about working in finance,” Melanie’s teacher said, clapping in a way that encouraged the rest of the class to follow her lead. Doe-eyed with brunette hair cascading to her mid-back, she barely looked like she could have been more than a day out of high school, yet here she was, instilling knowledge into Alexander’s little girl.
He glanced around the classroom as he sat in front of a few dozen desks arranged in a circle. It was a far cry from the classroom he remembered from his school days. Then again, he went to public school. His father’s company didn’t take off until he was a teenager, and even when it did, his parents didn’t let that wealth go to any of their heads. Nothing changed, except they were able to take more vacations, drive nicer cars, and not worry about how to make the money stretch to pay all the bills.
The decision to enroll Melanie in private school didn’t come easily. Alexander wanted her to have the same kind of upbringing he did, but his need to keep her safe outweighed all that. The other students here were the sons and daughters of politicians, CEOs of Fortune 500 companies, and anyone else wealthy enough to spend more on a year of first grade than most paid for their freshman year of college.
“Next, we have Melanie’s dad here to talk about what he does for a living. Class, give Mr. Burnham a warm welcome.” She clapped, the rest of the class following her lead.
Alexander looked at the group of students, Melanie standing out with her wide grin and proud eyes. Standing up, he adjusted his tie and made his way to the center of the room, sitting down in the chair.
“Thanks for being here today, Mr. Burnham,” Miss Killingly said, sitting in the chair next to his. “We’ve been learning about different careers and jobs over the past few weeks. Melanie has told the class you’re a veteran.”
Alexander turned his attention to the group of six-year-olds in front of him, a sudden bout of nerves overtaking him. He had no problem being put on the spot in meetings, confrontations, or interrogations, but there was something uninhibited about children. They asked whatever came to mind. They hadn’t yet grasped the concept that there was a time and place for everything, that certain questions just weren’t asked.
Based on the previous few parents who had been in the proverbial “hot seat”, Alexander knew he could expect anything and everything from these kids. Melanie’s teacher certainly encouraged them to ask questions and learn. He had a feeling they would have a lot to ask him. In the grand scheme of things, the other parents worked relatively mundane jobs — real estate investors, hedge fund managers, stockbrokers. Alexander doubted they’d ever had a bullet fired at them, let alone shot a gun.
“Yes,” he answered. “I joined the navy when I was eighteen.”
“You didn’t go to college?” one of the kids asked.
“Thomas,” Miss Killingly scolded. “Remember what I told you about not speaking unless you are called on.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Killingly.” He raised his hand. Alexander nodded at him to go ahead. “Did you go to college, Mr. Melanie’s dad?”
“Burnham,” Miss Killingly corrected.
“Mr. Burnham,” Thomas said, grinning.
“I went to college for a semester, but decided I wanted to serve my country instead. At first, I had planned on going back after leaving the navy, but I became an officer, then went to BUD/S training.”
“Why don’t you explain to the class what BUD/S stands for, Mr. Burnham,” Miss Killingly encouraged.
“It’s Basic Underwater Demolition / SEAL training.”
Hands shot up all around him. Alexander nodded to a little girl with perfect blond curls.
“You trained seals?” Her eyes were wide and innocent, and she could barely contain her excitement. All the students were on the edge of their seats, honestly believing he was a seal trainer.
“No,” Alexander replied, trying not to laugh.
Miss Killingly gave him a grateful smile. Teachers were so underappreciated. This moment reaffirmed that belief. She dealt with the absurd on a daily basis, keeping her composure when Alexander was sure she wanted to laugh at some of the crazy things these kids said.
“A Navy SEAL is a special type of seaman. That’s what people who are in the navy are called…seamen.” Alexander thanked his lucky stars this was a class full of six-year-olds and not sixteen-year-olds. That sentence would have had a completely different reaction if the latter sat before him.
“That’s right, kids,” Miss Killingly said. “Do you remember when we talked about 9/11 and the bad man responsible for that?”
They all nodded.
“Well, it was a team of Navy SEALs, like Melanie’s dad, who captured that bad man so he wouldn’t do something like that again.”
“Oh,” several of the kids said, a look of understanding crossing their faces, although there was no way they could truly comprehend exactly what that meant at this age.
“So you killed that bad man?” the little boy named Thomas asked.
“Thomas,” Miss Killingly berated. “Remember to wait until you’re called on.”
“It’s okay,” Alexander said. “No, I didn’t kill that bad man. I left the navy more than a decade ago to take over my father’s private security firm.”