Джон Краули - New Haven Noir

Oh, he would have understood. Then he said, Diane overruled me.

Diane was the director, now circling and waving, rising and descending on a white horse with brown spots. She smiled broadly, her big square glasses glittering. Her straightened hair held its shape, and she wore a ruffled blouse under her pantsuit.

I tried to pick Gavin out of the group revolving past me. We didn’t fill much of the carousel, and the kids were lonely figures here and there. Gavin was a stocky, moody, light-skinned boy with a big forehead, now astride a brown horse that didn’t go up and down. I wasn’t his therapist but I knew him — a boy with a serious diagnosis who’d been thrown out of several schools for fighting, a couple of times with a knife. The first time I saw him was at a staff meeting at which Frank explained some of his theories. Then Gavin was invited in, and he spoke in a loud, clear voice about an abusive father, about trouble with the police, about anger he couldn’t control — until now, because Dr. Frank helped him.

Gavin was not one of those who came forward when boat rides were offered. There was a little shoving, as half a dozen vied to be in the first group. The wind had picked up. I managed not to be the assisting adult on any of the rides. Some children wandered off down the beach, throwing rocks into the sea, pretending to throw them at each other. Some circled the locked lighthouse.

Only two kids fit into the boat along with Frank and a staff member, so even though some didn’t go, the rides took time. The motor was loud, and the boat leaned on its side and swung in reckless — or seemingly reckless — arcs through the gray water, beyond which West Haven and the taller buildings of New Haven were visible in the distance under the gray sky. The kids screamed as spray pelted them, and the wake started up curls of foam that broke on the shore with a bit of a crash. The first ride made some waiting kids decide not to try it, but others stepped forward.

So there was some confusion about who had been in the boat and who had not, how many kids had wandered off along the shore with the shift supervisor and her assistant. I was annoyed at how long it all took. I wanted coffee, but the concession stand at some distance along the beach was closed for the season. It started to rain. Diane — her hair now slightly less neat — climbed out of the boat, waved an arm, and called, Okay, enough! Everybody back to the bus!

It wasn’t until we were all seated inside that the shift supervisor counted us and we realized someone was missing. Gavin, the kids said, before the adults figured out who it was. Diane and I hurried off the bus. Now the park seemed vast — there was a playground I hadn’t noticed before; the beach wrapped around meadows and parking lots. In the other direction was the woods.

Frank was walking toward his truck, about to load his boat, when Diane called to him sharply and waved him over. He didn’t get upset. This kid’s not like the other one, he said. Then he added, in a voice that made Diane frown at him, Gavin’s a coward at heart. He won’t find his way out of the park. Frank spoke slowly, as if he were reading lines he couldn’t quite make out in dim light. Or as if he’d been caught unawares — well, of course he had been, just like the rest of us; but he was claiming that he wasn’t surprised, that this was almost ordinary.

I told myself that he was right, and that Gavin’s disappearance probably had nothing to do with other things that had happened. Downtown New Haven is at the bottom of a U-shaped curve in the shoreline, and the park is at one tip of the U, separated from the rest of the city by a narrow residential area next to the water, and then the mouth of a river that’s crossed by a highway bridge. This was unfamiliar territory to our kids.

Nothing to worry about, Frank continued. I’ll drive him back. Then I’ll return to load the boat. No, wait — Gavin will help me load the boat. It’ll do him good.

But we don’t even know where that child is! Diane said.

He’s behind a nearby tree, Frank said, patting her on the arm. I know Gavin, he continued. All the trouble is bluster. He wants to be found — just not in front of his friends.

We’ll keep the kids on the bus, I said. We can wait.

I didn’t think all Gavin’s trouble was bluster, and I knew Frank didn’t think that either.

Absolutely not, Frank said. They know I take him places. Tell them I’m driving him back to the house.

I hesitated. Frank, I said, at least I should stay. I’ll help you look.

Nonsense, he said, and all but pushed Diane and me onto the bus.

I’ve asked myself many times why I allowed myself to get on the bus. There was no reason why two searchers would be any less effective than one — obviously they would be more effective, no matter who they were. The truck was big enough that all three of us could have ridden back to the house together. I think Diane didn’t chime in and encourage me to stay because she was desperate to pretend things were normal — and Frank alone with one of his own clients would be very normal. He’d taken two girls hiking in a different park a few weeks earlier. Diane was arguing with herself, I found out later, about whether it was essential to call the police immediately. Gavin was sixteen. If the police were alerted it would be terrible for the residence, terrible for Diane. It might also be terrible for Gavin if he were found by the police: he was a known juvenile offender; he was a black teenager. It would be much better if we could consider his disappearance something that concerned no one but us, a problem we could solve easily.

My immediate response when Frank sent me off was shame, as if I’d proposed a sexual encounter and he’d said he didn’t find me attractive. Or attractive any longer.

One afternoon a few weeks after I was hired, I stepped out of my office and observed Frank, whom I scarcely knew, peering through a corridor window. Something about the way he stood, or his amused expression, drew me in. He seemed as if he were about to say something outrageous: I was detecting that he wasn’t a docile follower, but a skeptical observer. I was not happy in the job, which would lead nowhere. The administrators were competent but unimaginative. I needed a friend who’d raise an eyebrow — and Frank had such grand eyebrows.

Out the window, sitting on the front steps — though it was winter — were two girls. They’re deciding whether to sneak out, Frank said.

The kids were allowed on the porch, but no farther.

How do you know? I said.

Nobody sits on the steps in this weather. They’re making sure nobody sees them, but they’re not too bright — they haven’t thought of windows.

Will you stop them?

No. He shook his big blond head.

They could get into trouble, I said.

Girls get into trouble by getting pregnant, he said, but they won’t want to miss supper, and they can’t get pregnant between now and supper. They’ll just walk to the convenience store and buy cigarettes.

They’ll get lung cancer, I said.

That I can’t prevent, Frank said. He turned from the window. He was outrageous but not too outrageous, I decided. He took an emphatic step or two, then called over his shoulder, I hear you’re from Philly.

So I caught up to him.

Me too, he said. We should get coffee.

I’d like that, I said.

The first time we had dinner, we ended up at my apartment. I’d never slept with a man who had such big bones, such vigorous arms and legs. Frank was on all sides of me: we were Leda and the Swan. His arms glowed — his arm hair was golden too. When eventually he got out of bed that first night, he clutched his lower back and then pulled a vial from his pants pocket, swallowing a handful of pills without water.