Tara Quinn - A Son's Tale

She’d been his student for four years, one of his favorite students, but beyond the teaching they’d talked a few times over the past several months, about her plans for the future since she was soon to graduate, about her son. About being a single parent, a student and working full-time. He’d meant it when he’d told her he’d help in any way he could.

He hoped she’d call.

Cal kept busy. He knew how to take his mind off from that over which he had no control. He’d perfected the art by the time he was ten.

Still, a child was missing. And Detective Ramsey Miller of the Comfort Cove Police Department had called him twice in less than twenty-four hours. It had been years since they’d heard anything from or about Comfort Cove.

And a child was missing.

Morgan Lowen—and Sammie—had nothing to do with Rose Sanderson, the mother from Comfort Cove, Massachusetts, who’d once been engaged to Cal’s father, and then accused him of kidnapping her daughter. Morgan and Sammie had no connection to Claire Sanderson, the little girl who’d been abducted, or to Claire’s sister, Emma.

The timing was coincidence. Bizarre coincidence. He knew that. Was completely, calmly certain of that.

But a child was missing…

His hands were typing before Cal had made a firm decision to access confidential student files. He typed his username. His password. Clicked a couple of times and then entered Morgan’s full name as he had it on his class register.

The wait was seconds but seemed interminable. The screen flashed. Renewed. He couldn’t see everything. Her social security number, for instance. But her classes were all there. Her grades. Her petition for graduation—she was due to collect a B.A. degree in early childhood development with a minor in business and another in English in less than six weeks, right after completing his class. He knew from their conversations that she wanted to open her own day care someday.

And there was her address.

He’d been mentoring her, educationally, for years. And more recently, since her trouble with Sammie in the spring, he’d thought they’d become more than just teacher and student. Closer to friends…with the professional distance mandated by their positions, of course.

She was a woman carrying a huge load, alone. She worked hard. Did all she could. She never asked for favors or special consideration. She never made excuses.

He tried to focus on the rest of his day. On lunch, and the afternoon and evening ahead. Papers he could grade. Calls he should make.

There was a mother whose child was missing.

Something Cal knew far too much about. He could still remember the sense of panic. The horror and disbelief. The pain that never healed…

No.

This was Morgan Lowen. Not Rose Sanderson. This was Tyler, Tennessee. Not Comfort Cove, Massachusetts. This was 2012. Not the 1980s.

He decided he was going to do a quick drive-by to make certain that she was okay. Then he’d head straight home. Due to his slow start that morning, he hadn’t left lunch prepared in the refrigerator for his father and chances were that the older man wouldn’t bother to fix something for himself.

Frank was a good cook. Better than good. If his father cared enough to get up and get out to the kitchen, they’d be eating much better meals than the ones Cal provided for them.

If Frank cared what he ate, or if he ate…

A child was missing. Frank would care about that… .

All thoughts of his father fled when Cal turned the corner of Apple Road and saw the cars parked outside the small duplex in the center of the block. Could be a woman having a Friday luncheon. Or a kids’ play group. Could be, but his gut told him it wasn’t.

People were walking the neighborhood. Calling out. Some had fliers already. He pulled up slowly, stopping his blue Ford Flex right behind a Cadillac Escalade—the vehicle he would have bought if he’d had the money.

A woman who looked to be about forty stood just off the sidewalk a couple of units down from the front door bearing the number he’d pulled from his computer. She had her arm around a young girl, holding her close, as she surveyed the street.

Moms would all be holding their kids close in that neighborhood tonight. There’d be no more summer nights playing tag on the streets. No more summer days playing tag, either. The fliers would be hung, and when they faded, they’d be rehung. People would watch carefully as they came and went. New locks would adorn doors that would remain tightly shut to the summer breeze.

Fear would become a family member.

No, this was Tennessee, not Comfort Cove, Massachusetts.

Flashes of knowing accompanied Cal as he approached the screen door of Morgan Lowen’s small home and knocked.

A woman appeared almost immediately. She was about his age, early thirties, with long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her face was pinched, her green eyes void of any makeup at all. She opened the door with an expectant look.

“Is Morgan here?” he asked.

“She’s in the living room.” The woman kept herself placed between him and the inside of the home.

“I’m Caleb Whittier, her English professor. She was in my class this morning when she got the call about her son.”

“Dr. Whittier?” She said the name like she knew it. Like it would be followed by “The Dr. Whittier?” He couldn’t tell if recognition was a good thing or not, but he nodded.

“I’m Julie Warren,” the woman said. “I’m the secretary at Sammie’s school. And Morgan’s friend. I’m the one who called her out of class.”

“Have they found him?”

After seeing the cars on the street, the shake of her head was no surprise. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

Julie Warren stood back. “Come on in.”

“No. I don’t want to bother her. I just…”

Just what? He could have called to find out if she was all right. If Sammie was. Or waited until class on Monday.

He could have watched the news tonight and known, if nothing was there, that the boy had probably been found.

“Morgan’s told me about you. About your talks,” Julie said, still holding the door open. “That’s unusual for her, the way she talks to you. Morgan doesn’t open up to people much.” The woman was talking fast, as though running away from something, or trying not to think about someone who couldn’t be found. “You may not realize it, but your support has helped her a lot,” Julie said now. “I really think she’d like to see you.” The woman’s brow was creased with worry.

She held the door open farther and Caleb moved forward.

* * *

SHE’DHEARDTHE KNOCK on the door a few minutes ago. Could see the people traversing the street through her living room window. She knew her mother was sitting next to her on the sand-colored faux-leather couch she’d picked up at a moving sale several years before. Her father was just around the corner in the kitchen, talking on the phone. His tone brooked no argument or refusal.

His first time in her home and he’d already taken command of the place.

Sammie was still gone. Todd had been questioned and released.

Detective Martin was around someplace. Outside, maybe, directing the canvas of the neighborhood. They’d tapped her cell phone. And her father’s. Morgan didn’t have a home line. But they wanted her there, anyway. In case Sammie came home. Or someone brought him home. Or tried to contact her there.

Morgan listened to the flapping sound of Julie’s flip-flops out in the foyer where she’d gone to answer the door. Her friend had been sitting on Morgan’s other side on the couch for most of the afternoon. She was wearing the sleeveless, long, tie-dyed cotton dress that she’d bought the year before at a clearance sale. Her husband hated the dress. Morgan loved it.