“Kinsey filled me in on your situation. She thought you ought to see motherhood in action, so here it is,” Vera said.
I raised a tentative hand, wanting to protest. I hadn’t expected Vera to take so direct an approach. I pictured subtlety, Anna gradually taking in Vera’s competence and her love of her job. Vera had had her children comparatively late in life and she’d adapted to motherhood as though she’d been born with a gift. I thought Vera would be the perfect antidote to Anna’s view of babies as poisonous. Vera’s children were beautiful, cheerful, good-natured, and cooperative. When they finished their dinner, the older three took their plates and bowls to Mavis at the sink, handing them over with a pretty “Thank you.” This wasn’t as obnoxious and syrupy as it sounds.
Vera produced crayons and coloring books and the three sat down again and began to scribble vigorously. Peter was industrious, Meg precise, and Abigail was the clown. I was watching them with frank appreciation, so it took me a moment to tune into what Vera was actually saying. “Oh yeah. Most of the time they drive me nuts. You can imagine having the lot of them age five and under. I’m lucky I get a shower in every third day. This is them being good, which I’m happy to report occurs sometimes as often as once a week. Wait until one of them comes down with a cold. Then they’re all sick as dogs, including me and sometimes Mavis. Right, Mav?”
Mavis said, “Amen.”
“I don’t know your feelings about termination,” Vera went on, conversationally. “What’s your current thinking?”
“I’m still debating,” Anna said.
“I can offer you an alternative,” Vera said. “I was hoping to have one more, but I’m getting a little long in the tooth and Neil’s not that happy with the idea of me being as big as a house again with milk squirting out of my jugs. Good news is he’s not opposed to adding a kid, so if you decide to go through with the pregnancy, you might consider the notion of open adoption.”
“Give the baby up?” Anna said.
“To the perfect family, which you’re looking at. Next door to Cheney, so you could see the baby as much or as little as you want. My kids get a sister or brother out of the deal and everybody’s good.”
“I don’t know,” Anna said with uncertainty. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”
“It’s a possibility to factor in,” Vera said, ever practical. “Travis and Scott will be fifteen months old by the time yours comes along. The age difference is ideal.”
I raised my hand again. “Vera?” I said, cutting into her proposal. “Jonah has a say in this, don’t you think?”
Vera waved dismissively. “Men don’t care about these things.”
“Well, he does,” I said. “He’s already got three great kids and he’s crazy about them. He’s nuts about Anna and he’s looking forward to having one with her.” I hadn’t spoken to Jonah on the subject, so I was making this up, but it sounded right.
“Forget Jonah. How much do you think he’ll pitch in? Nada. So let’s focus on Anna. The choice is hers. That’s where we started, with you telling me she was going to load her pockets with stones and jump off a bridge.”
“You told her that?” Anna said with a sudden look at me. “I can’t believe you’d mention it.”
“You’re the one who said it,” I remarked defensively.
“I was joking!”
“Sorry.” I could feel the heat mount in my cheeks. I couldn’t believe the abrupt right-hand turn the conversation had taken.
Vera said, “Don’t sweat it. I’ve felt that way myself early on. You’ll go through all kinds of emotions. Eventually things work out. Jonah might not be as opposed as you’d think. I mean, he knows us. Might be a win-win for everyone while he sorts himself out with Camilla. Change your mind, it’s no big deal. All I’m saying is, consider it when you’re weighing your options.”
“No, I like that. I appreciate your perspective,” Anna said.
Shortly after that, Mavis took the three older children upstairs to the playroom while Vera, Anna, and I ate our sandwiches and soup. Vera and Anna were chatting delightedly while I tried to remember the point at which my plan had gone so far wrong. It always comes back to the notion of doing a good deed, which I’ve known for years is the definition of disaster in the making.
31
Wednesday, October 4, 1989
One good thing about a town as small as Santa Teresa: even with 85,000 souls, there’s only one bus station, one train station, and one airport with a total of six gates. Armed with a photograph of Fritz, I made a number of brief stops, consulting with Greyhound ticket agents, ticket sellers at the train station, and desk clerks for Delta, United, American Airlines, and USAir, none of whom recognized Fritz as someone they’d done business with in the past week. I would have paid a visit to the two fixed-base private operations, but I doubted Fritz would carve out a chunk of his hard-won cash to charter a flight. Just to be thorough about it, I had a quick chat with five of the taxi drivers in the queue waiting for an airport fare. None of them recognized Fritz’s photograph. Once I was back in the office, I’d run off a batch of fliers that I’d address to the remaining twenty. It was possible Fritz had left town by car in the company of Austin Brown or, if he were traveling alone, he might have hitchhiked his way to parts unknown. The long and short of it was that I didn’t turn up a trace of him.
I went back to the McCabes’ at eight that night. This time, Lauren was in her robe and slippers, looking like an invalid. Hollis was fixing himself a drink and automatically poured me a glass of high-end Chardonnay. I rendered a verbal account of what I knew. Then I said, “You mentioned earlier you didn’t have relatives in geographical range.”
“I have a brother in Topeka, but we haven’t heard a peep out of him since Fritz went to jail,” Hollis said. “Look, Fritz has all kinds of friends. They threw a party for him when he first came home. He’s been staying with his pals on weekends. He’s a popular boy. You can’t tell me nobody has a clue. Surely he said something to one of them.”
“I’ll check with Troy and Iris first thing in the morning,” I said.
Lauren said, “What about Bayard?”
“He’s on my list.”
“The sooner the better,” she said. “Do you think it would help to put a notice in some of the papers? Los Angeles and San Francisco, for instance?”
“I doubt it. If he left voluntarily, he’s not going to be checking the personal ads to see if you’re sending messages.”
“What do you mean, ‘if he left voluntarily’? Are you suggesting he’s been kidnapped?” she asked.
“He hasn’t been kidnapped,” Hollis said irritably. “The kid’s loaded. He’s walking around with a pocketful of dough. Chances are he’s gone to Vegas and blown the whole wad by now.”
“It’s not productive to speculate,” I said. “The Santa Teresa police will circulate his photograph and the circumstances surrounding his disappearance. When it comes to tracking him down, they’re your best shot.”
“I can see you have a lot more faith in the police than I do,” Hollis said.