Peter Abrahams - Crying Wolf

Silence. It went on until Nat said, “But?”

She shook her head. Nat went to the sink, full of smashed things, found an unbroken glass with the stub of a joint in it. He washed the glass, poured water, brought it to Freedy’s mom, helped her to her feet. She took the glass in both hands-still it shook-and drank a mouthful. Not drank, exactly; but filled her mouth, went to the sink, and spat it all out, with force. Then she swallowed the rest of the water. Izzie glanced at her watch.

“Thank you,” said Freedy’s mother. She must have felt the cup handle in her hair at that moment. She plucked it out, regarded it uncomprehendingly.

“You used to love the town,” Nat prompted her.

“A long time ago,” she said. “Back when the Glass Onion was still open.”

“The boarded-up place at the bottom of the Hill?”

“Everyone met there-townies, college kids, even some professors. It was a very positive space. Positive things happened to me there. I thought they were positive.”

“Like what?”

“Personal growth experiences.”

“This is getting us nowhere,” Izzie said. “What about Freedy?”

“He should never have come back from California,” Freedy’s mother said.

“Why not?”

“Why not? Look what’s happening. But I suppose there was no choice. Something bad happened out there, too.”

“What?” Nat said.

“I don’t know what. No one actually died. And the truth is it’s not the whole reason he came back. I see that now.”

“What’s the rest of it?”

“Do we have time for this?” Izzie said.

Freedy’s mother looked at Izzie. “I’m still not sure who you people are, or what you want.”

“We told you already,” Izzie said, her voice rising. “My-”

Nat cut her off. “If your son is a kidnapper-”

“He couldn’t be.”

“You’re wrong,” Nat said. “Shouldn’t you help us stop it now, before anyone else gets hurt? Before the police are involved?”

“I guess so,” said Freedy’s mother; her eyes, still open much too wide, looked confused. “But I’ve never heard of any kidnapping.”

“Just tell us where he is,” said Izzie.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying,” Izzie said. “You’ll end up in jail with him.”

“Could that happen?” Freedy’s mother’s voice had gone soft and high-pitched, like a little girl’s. “I’m a good person. Freedy’s basically a good person, too. He went out to California to make something of himself.”

“And did he?”

“I think so.”

“In what way?”

“He’s ambitious now.”

“What does he do?”

She thought. “Did he tell me the details?”

“We’re getting nowhere,” Izzie said.

“What did he do when he was here?”

“Went to the high school. Played on the football team. I didn’t watch-too violent.”

“What else did he do?”

“Hung out, I guess. Like a teenager.”

“Did he have a job?”

“Oh, yes.” She brightened. “He was always very hardworking. He worked for the college every summer.”

“Doing what?”

“In the maintenance department.”

Nat glanced at Izzie. She was quiet now, watching him.

“And the other reason he came home, the reason you see now?” Nat said.

“That would be a private thing,” said Freedy’s mother. “More of a personal quest.”

“Look around you,” Nat said. Freedy’s mother obeyed. “This has gone beyond a private thing.”

She nodded. He took her glass, refilled it, handed it back. “He got interested in his father,” she said; water trembled in the glass. “Why did I think that wouldn’t happen?”

“Who’s his father?” Nat said.

“That’s just the point,” said Freedy’s mother. “It was only a one-night… experience. I shouldn’t say only, because it had its own validity. But it was part of another world that had nothing to do with Freedy. That explanation used to satisfy him.”

“But not anymore.”

“No.”

“Did you tell him?”

“No. But he might have found out anyway, I don’t know how.”

“Who is he?” Nat said.

“I can’t tell you,” said Freedy’s mother. “It’s a private-” She stopped herself. “I’m sworn to secrecy.”

“Or is it that you’re being paid?” Nat said.

She stared at him. “Who are you, again?”

“Who’s paying her?” said Izzie.

“The father,” Nat said, watching Freedy’s mother. “Someone she met a long time ago, down at the Glass Onion.”

Freedy’s mother didn’t deny it; her lips parted slightly, gripped by the narrative, as though hearing her life turned into a story by someone who knew how.

“So he’s hiding her at his father’s,” said Izzie. “Is that what you think?”

“Yes,” said Nat.

“Then we have to know who he is, and that’s that,” said Izzie. Freedy’s mother backed up against the counter. “Who’s the father?”

She looked up at Izzie, started crying again. Was there something false in her crying now? Nat thought it was possible.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said.

“What do you mean?” said Izzie.

“We already know.”

They left Freedy’s mother like that, crying in her blood-spotted Moroccan robe. There was no time to do anything about her; and not much desire, either.

The nurse answered the Uzigs’ door. “The professor’s not in,” she told them.

“Where is he?”

“You’ll have to speak to Mrs. Uzig about that. Right now she’s sleeping.”

“We have to talk to her,” Nat said.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse said, closing the door; but they were already inside.

Helen Uzig wasn’t sleeping; she was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, watching the snow fall. She smiled at them.

“Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” she said. “Welcome.”

“Where’s Leo?” said Izzie.

“You missed him, I’m afraid. He was called to a sudden conference. Some Nietzschean emergency-perhaps they’ve discovered a long-lost retraction of the whole thing.”

“Where is the conference?” Nat said.

Helen noticed the nurse. “Stop hovering.” The nurse left the room. “Milan, I believe. Leo is probably on the connecting flight out of Albany at this moment, unless the airport is closed.”

“Did he go alone?”

“Alone? What is the implication of that, floozy-wise?”

“Was he with a big, ponytailed man?”

“Do you mean Freedy?”

“Yes.”

“How interesting you should know him. No, he wasn’t with Freedy. Why would he be?”

“Is Freedy here now?”

“Here?”

“In the house.”

“Of course not. I don’t expect him till spring.”

“Why?”

“He can’t very well do his excavating in frozen ground, can he?”

“Excavating?” Nat, in his winter clothes, felt cold.

“For the new pool. Malibu, Mediterranean, and the other one escapes me. An enterprising man-just think of that crow-although I wouldn’t describe him as bushy-tailed.” She lowered her voice. “And between you and me, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a serious drug problem.”

“Why do you say that?”

“His perceptions get a bit wobbly. At one point he thought I was his grandmother. Although it could have been because I fixed him a slap-up breakfast, just like the nicest granny in the world. You young people aren’t hungry too, by any chance?”

“We have to search your house,” Nat said.

“How exciting,” said Helen. “But you won’t find Leo.”

“We’re looking for Freedy,” Nat said.

“You won’t find him either.”

“What about Grace?”

“Grace?”

“My sister,” said Izzie.