Leslie Glass - Tracking Time

"You're not going crazy like Dad said, are you, Mom?" Brandy took another French fry, dipped it in catsup, stuck out her tongue at David, showing off her tongue pierce that just drove him nuts.

"I'm not crazy," Cheryl screamed. "He just says that to get back at me."

"For what, Mom?"

"Don't change the subject. Where the hell were you last night? That's the question."

"Don't you remember? You were in this horrible mood because Aston didn't call you after your surgery. Do you think Aston won't marry you when he sees your fat lip?"

"Brandy, I don't want you talking about that."

"Okay, Mom. But you were in a stinking mood. You didn't want to order in or anything."

"Brandy, I've had a hard week. I hope you're not lying to me about this."

"How could I be lying?"

"I don't know, sweetheart." A third big sigh. "I'm just trying to heal, you know, from a truly abusive relationship. And I can't imagine your getting mixed up with police or awful people in the park. You know what I mean? People get killed in there, and I don't want you to get killed. I want you to be a healthy girl."

"I am a healthy girl. I'm going to gym, aren't I?"

"Look, this cop is coming at quarter to three on the dot. He was going to pick you up at school, but I talked him out of it. I swear to God if I didn't feel so fucking terrible I'd come and get you right now."

"Thanks Mom, I love you."

"And don't call your father about this. It's none of his business."

Brandy hung up, laughing. "She is such a flake. I swear to God."

David finished the waffle fries and ordered a brownie hot fudge sundae. "I don't feel so hot."

"Did you take your Ritalin? You know how that tears your stomach up."

"I feel funny."

"You always feel funny."

"Maybe I should call my mother."

"Yeah, go ahead."

David reached for his phone but it rang before he could dial her number.

"Mom!"

"David, I've just been pulled out of the third meeting today because of you. Why didn't you go to school this morning? Why humiliate me like this?"

"I'm really sorry. I just felt so sick. I couldn't hold my head up."

Her tone changed immediately. "What's the matter?"

"My stomach hurts. I don't know. My head hurts. I just can't concentrate when it hurts this much. I didn't want to bother you with it."

"The school called."

"I'm really sorry. I didn't want to bother you."

"You're supposed to go to the nurse when you feel bad. That's what the nurse is for."

"I know. I didn't want to make a big deal of it."

"Well, David. I hope you learned your lesson. I don't want a repeat of last year. You have to stay in communication. I thought we had an understanding about that."

"We do."

"Well, I called you about a dozen times and you didn't pick up."

"I was sleeping."

"And that wasn't the only call I got."

"I bet I can guess. Was it a cop?"

"Yes! How did you know?"

"I talked to a cop yesterday. They were taking everybody's name and number. It's no big deal."

"He's coming over to the house. I'll be there in a half an hour. I'm leaving early. I'm going to call your father, too. If the police get there before I do, I don't want you to say anything until I get there."

"What did he tell you?"

"He wanted to know where you were last night."

David licked his lips. "I was at home."

"I know, sweetheart. I'll see you in a few minutes."

David raised his hand for the bill. "I gotta go. He's coming to my house first."

Mike stood waiting outside the red-painted door of the Owens' Park Avenue apartment for a full ten minutes. He kept checking his watch and thinking of Grace Rodriguez begging them to find Dylan but not to tell anyone that she was Maslow's half-sister. First go-round with these kids was his. He was meeting April afterward. She was still trying to get the story on Dylan Rodriguez from her mother.

Finally Mrs. Owen opened the door. "Oh, I didn't hear the bell," she said, admitting him with a little flurry but no apology.

Janice Owen was a tall, big-framed, pale-faced woman in an expensive-looking gray suit and red blouse. Her fingernails were a matching fire engine red and her fine straight hair of many golden hues was more than just air- or blow-dried. She wore a gold necklace of large chain links with a silver dollar-sized antique coin in the middle. A matching bracelet peeked out of one suit sleeve and a gold Rolex out of the other. Her wedding ring was a plain gold band, and her blue eyes made it clear that she was not happy to see him.

"Yes, come in. I'm Janice Owen, David's mother. I'm sorry the place is such a mess. The maid didn't come in today. I just got back from the office. I'm Vice President at York Bank," she said as if she were the only one.

"It's crazy right now. We're going through a merger, another one. You know how that is, Officer-?"

"Lieutenant Sanchez," Mike told her. She didn't offer her hand so he didn't offer his. As for mergers, his own little company of forty thousand had merged Transit, Traffic, and Housing police not too long ago. It had caused a major shakeup among the bosses so he did know how it was. He noticed that the apartment was immaculate even without benefit of maid.

She went on, "David's father, my husband, is a corporate partner at Debevoise Plompton. That's the Wall Street law firm. What can we do for you?" She was very self-assured.

The foyer, painted as red as the front door and its owner's nails, was as large as Mike's living room. The four doors leading off it were all closed. Like a tugboat leading a garbage scow, Mrs. Owen brought Mike into a wood-paneled library with a huge TV, surround sound in its bookcases, a burgundy leather sofa, two black-and-white-and-red tweed armchairs, a large coffee table covered with ostrich eggs and balls made of woven twigs that had a strong pine smell. A bar in the corner featured many wine bottles, crystal glasses in various shapes, and colored liquors in fancy decanters. It was a grand place, a fantasy place. April would like it because red was a lucky color. But it was not Mike's kind of thing at all.

Janice watched his face for a reaction.

"Beautiful room," he said dutifully.

"Thank you. Please sit down." Mrs. Owen took a chair and crossed her legs.

Since the chair opposite her was about three blocks away, Mike sat on the sofa. "As I told you on the phone, Mrs. Owen, I'm here to talk with your son, David."

"Well, let's get this over with as quickly as possible. He's under a lot of stress. He's a junior in high school, and I don't want to upset him. You know how important junior year is for college. He has his heart set on Amherst, his father's alma mater, and that's about the hardest school to get into." She seemed to take it for granted that Mike would be interested in this.

"I will try not to upset him. Where is he?"

"Oh, we're always in touch. I know where he is every moment. I called him on his cell phone. He's on his way home from the doctor." Janice Owen was a woman who had cultivated the appearance of composure and ease. She gave Mike a comfortable smile that showed just how uncomfortable she was. "He should be here any second."

"What's wrong with him?"

"Oh, he's had the flu for the last few days, nothing serious." Janice tapped her fingers on her knees. "It's terrible to start the school year sick. It puts them at such a disadvantage, and he has to struggle as it is. Documented learning disability." She shook her head. "We've never been visited by the police. David is a good boy. We've never had any trouble with him at all." She finally ventured to ask the question on her mind. "What is this about?"