David Bell - The Hiding Place

“Just walking.”

“And I guess you were alone?”

“Did I mention, Detective, that I’m recovering from surgery? Prostate cancer. I get tired easily, so I’m probably going to have to ask you to leave.”

“That’s fine.” Stynes thought the man’s face looked even paler than when he’d first entered. And the conversation didn’t appear to be leading anyplace productive. “Were you alone?”

“I was. When I came home after my walk, my mother told me you’d been here. And I contacted you right away and answered all of your questions.”

“Fair enough.” Stynes stood up. When Ludwig started to reach for his cane, Stynes waved him off. “I can show myself out. Thanks.”

“As you wish,” Ludwig said, although he looked relieved. “How is this Manning family holding up, Detective? I read about them this morning.”

“The years have made them pretty strong.”

“Give them my best, if you don’t mind,” Ludwig said.

But before Stynes left the room, he asked Ludwig one more thing. “You’ve never been married, have you, Mr. Ludwig?”

“Is that a crime?” Ludwig asked. “I know how my life must look to someone outside of it. Unmarried old bachelor who lived with his mother all those years. Took kids on nature walks at the park. But don’t forget, I taught in the schools here for thirty years. My record is impeccable. I’d never harm a child.”

Stynes pointed at the cane. “I hope you feel better.”

“I hope you feel better, Detective,” Ludwig said. “It looks to me like something pretty serious is bothering you.”

In the late afternoon, when the heat of the day started to ease, Ashleigh received a text from Kevin.

I’m done. Where R U?

She wrote back: Going 2 park. Meet me there.

Ashleigh wore olive green shorts and a black Rolling Stones T-shirt she’d bought in a thrift store. She pulled a lightweight zippered sweatshirt from her closet, not because she was cold or expected to be but because she liked the feeling of long sleeves, of being a little covered up. She stepped into sneakers and went downstairs.

The old man sat in front of the television, getting his daily dose of Fox News. He looked up when she came into the room, his face almost expectant, like he might just be happy to see her. But the look fell just as quickly.

“I thought you were your mom,” he said.

“I’m not. Is she home?”

“She’s still at work,” he said. “They keep her hopping there, I guess.”

“She likes it.”

“Have you noticed anything different about her?” her grandpa asked. “Ever since the reporter and all these things started happening she’s been a little off.”

“This stuff probably just freaks her out,” Ashleigh said. She could tell the old man didn’t really get it. He looked confused, like he couldn’t grasp why someone would feel upset by reminders of a family tragedy. “Doesn’t it freak you out a little?”

The old man looked away. Ashleigh thought he wasn’t going to answer her, that he was just going to pretend he didn’t hear the question or something, but finally he said, “It’s best for everyone to not revisit those kinds of things from the past.”

Ashleigh didn’t say it, but she thought it: Things from the past? Your son’s death is a “thing from the past”? She wanted to just walk away, to leave the old man to sit in his house and stew in his own thoughts. But she felt compelled to push him just a little, if only to defend her mom.

“But it is hard,” Ashleigh said. “For all of us.”

“You weren’t even born,” he said. “Just don’t worry. We can’t sit around and fall to pieces about it.”

“I don’t think Mom’s falling to pieces.”

The old man chose not to respond to that comment. He watched the TV, the images from the screen flickering across his glasses.

Ashleigh shrugged. She didn’t have time for him anyway. “I’m going out. Tell Mom I’ll be back later.”

“Where are you going?”

Ashleigh froze in her tracks. The old man never worried about where she was going. The two of them seemed to have an unspoken agreement-neither one asked what the other was doing. Her grandpa left both major and minor decisions about Ashleigh’s life to her mother. Ashleigh suspected-although she didn’t know for certain-that her mom had laid that out as one of the conditions for the two of them moving into the house. To his credit, her grandfather managed to leave her alone, a far cry from her childhood when visits to his house-the house she currently lived in-meant a steady stream of corrective advice from how to chew her food to the proper way to hold a pencil. Ashleigh would never admit it out loud-and certainly not to her mother or grandfather-but she kind of missed his involvement in the things she did. Sure, he annoyed the crap out of her when she was little, but she liked having his gruff, raspy concern as a part of her life.

“I’m meeting some friends at the park,” she said. “Bye.”

“Hold it,” the old man said, his voice rising.

She looked over at him in his chair. He was wearing a Cronin College T-shirt, something her mom had gotten during homecoming week, and the same khaki pants he seemed to wear every day. His feet were bare, and his face looked puffier, heavier. Being out of work meant he sat around the house more, eating instead of working. It made Ashleigh a little depressed to think about it.

“That boy, you know-Kevin,” he said.

“What about him?”

“Is he in the park?”

“Yes.”

He looked back at the TV, but Ashleigh could tell he wasn’t finished asking her questions. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Get on with it.

“Are you…going with him?” he finally asked.

“Going with?” Ashleigh said. “You mean, am I dating him?”

The old man just nodded. He couldn’t even say the words.

“No, Grandpa, I’m not going with him. We’re just friends. From school.”

He nodded his head a little, eyes still on the TV. Some tension seemed to ease out of his face.

“Do you not like Kevin because he’s black?” Ashleigh asked.

Her grandpa’s head whipped around so fast she thought he might have injured himself. “What makes you think that?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I just think there are a lot of racists in Dove Point.”

“Well, I’m not one of them,” he said. He didn’t turn back to the TV but kept his eyes on her. “I just think you’re a little too young to be…keeping company with any boys, regardless of their skin color.”

“I’m fifteen, Grandpa.”

“When I was fifteen, I had a job. I worked.”

“Mom said-”

“I know,” he said. “As long as your grades were high, you didn’t have to work this summer. You’ll get into a good college someday. You do want to go to college, right?”

“Definitely.”

“Good.” He examined Ashleigh carefully, looking her over, his eyes traveling from her head to her feet. “You look like your grandmother did, you know that? She was skinny like you.”

Ashleigh felt uncomfortable under the old man’s gaze. She put her hands in the pockets of her sweatshirt. She guessed he was being nice, trying to compliment her.

“Did you know Grandma when she was fifteen?” she asked.

The old man looked surprised by the question. But he seemed to be giving it some thought. “I knew her then. We went to school together. But we didn’t go together until after high school.”

He offered nothing else, so Ashleigh said, “I’m going to go. Tell Mom for me.”

“You look like her, too. Your mom. You’re the spitting image of her when she was in school. And you’re smart like she was. Good grades. Your mom got good grades, up to a point.”