Lois Richer - A Time to Remember

Gray McGonigle glanced around the cheerful kitchen his wife had taken such pleasure in decorating and felt his heart shrivel a little more. Would she ever come back, ever pull one of her pineapple upside-down cakes from the oven and tease him about his appetite?

And Cody—where was his son? Gray had promised God long before Cody was even born that he’d be the best father he could be as long as God kept Cody from the homeless life Gray had known as a child. So what had happened? Had he messed up? Was this God’s revenge—to take both his wife and child?

Something inside him screamed, “No,” but after five long months with few clues to their disappearance, Gray was so confused he didn’t know what else to think. He knew Marissa. She wouldn’t just take their son and disappear, not without telling him. Would she?

Maybe he didn’t know her as well as he thought.

Disgusted with himself and the ever-present clouds of doubt, he surged to his feet. His body ached for repose, but his mind wouldn’t stop asking questions to which there were no answers.

No one knew why Marissa had left, so how could Gray know if she would ever come back?

The phone pealed its summons into the silent room. He debated answering it, certain it would be Adam again, asking for money. His half brother had made no bones about his dislike of Gray or his disgust of their father’s will, which had cut him out of the ownership of the ranch. Gray had no desire to go over it all again. But the phone wouldn’t quiet, and finally he grabbed the receiver just to shut off the noise.

“Yeah?”

“Gray? Is that you?”

Not the baker woman! Dear Lord, he didn’t want to listen to another of her little pep talks tonight.

“Gray?”

He was about to snap a response, then hesitated. Something in her voice told him she was upset. And Winifred Blessing seldom got upset about anything life threw at her.

“What’s wrong, Miss Blessing?” Maybe focusing on someone else’s problems would help him forget his own.

“Gray, we—we found Cody. Bless the Lord, we found Cody.”

The words sucker punched him. His knees gave out and he collapsed onto a chair.

“Cody?” he squeaked, afraid to believe.

“He’s all right, dear. A little scratched and bruised, but he seems fine. Luc’s checking him out, just to be sure.”

Gray had to ask.

“Marissa?”

“We’re organizing a search party as we speak. Too bad it gets dark so early now, but we won’t let a little September dusk stop us. She wouldn’t have let Cody out of her sight, Gray. You know that.”

Miss Winifred was solid bedrock. But just now he thought he’d heard a wobble in her voice. A second later it was gone, replaced by the firm conviction that had stood her through more than six decades of life.

“She’s out there, I know it. We’ll find her. You just hang on to your faith, Grayson. Can you do that?”

Gray figured his faith had died about four months ago when he’d heard nothing from his wife and son in a month, had gained no information from the man he’d hired to find them. But he wouldn’t look back. Cody was home.

“Where are you, Miss Winifred?”

“In town, in the parking lot by the church. Can you come?”

“Try and stop me.” He was out of the house and barreling down the road thirty seconds later, his heart pumping like a jackhammer. “Come on, Marissa,” he muttered, peering into the gloom of an autumn evening. “Come home to me. Please come home.”

He couldn’t pray. God had betrayed him with the two things entrusted to him. How could he trust again? Now it was time for him to take control. It was his job to take care of his wife and son, and he’d do it, no matter what.

At the far side of the church parking lot a small crowd had gathered. Gray raced across the pavement, pushed his way through, his mind screaming his son’s name. He jerked to a halt at the heart-stopping sight of his boy seated in Miss Winifred’s lap, munching on a cookie he held in one hand. The fingers of the other were closed around the small glass figurine that had disappeared with him, a gift from the grandfather he’d barely known.

“Cody?”

At his whisper, the boy glanced up, grinned and jumped to his feet. Gray scooped the beloved wriggling body into his arms and held on as hard as he could. Tears obscured the landscape, blurred his vision, but it didn’t matter that the whole town would see him bawling. Cody was home. Cody was safe. For now he’d let himself revel in that.

“Gray?” Luc Lawrence stood at his elbow, his eyes dark with concern. “Can you give him to Dani? Just for a moment? We need to talk.”

Gray’s fingers tightened. He pressed Cody away just enough to stare into his tear-filled eyes, glimpsed the receding terror. Scrapes, bruises—yes, he had lots of those. But he looked fine. He looked wonderful.

“There’ll be time to talk later,” he told Luc, speaking past the lump lodged in his throat. “For now just let me hold my son.” He hugged the little boy close, wallowing in the feel of those precious pudgy fingers against his face. “Are you okay, Cody? Are you all right?” He tilted back, searched the eyes Marissa claimed were mirror copies of his own.

“Where’s Mommy, Cody? What happened to Mommy?”

Big fat tears coursed down Cody’s dirty cheeks as he stared at his dad.

“You can tell me, son. I just want to help. I won’t be mad. Honest. Tell Daddy where Mommy is.”

“Gray, please, will you just listen to me?” Luc dragged at his arm, but Gray jerked away.

“Leave us alone, Luc,” he snarled. “This is my son, my only son. If he has any idea where Marissa is, he’s got to tell us.” He smoothed a hand over Cody’s head. “Where’s Mommy, son?”

“Gray, he can’t tell you that.”

“What?” Gray stared at the town’s newest doctor, then glanced over at Joshua and Nicole Darling, seeking answers to questions he didn’t want to ask. His fingers tightened around the precious body pressed to his chest. “What are you talking about? Why can’t he tell me? Has something—”

“We don’t know where Marissa is yet. We’re still looking. Once the sheriff came, did his thing, the whole town showed up. They’re searching the ravine right now.” Dr. Nicole Darling’s eyes warned him to follow her lead. She stepped forward, placed her hand on Cody’s arm. “Cody, can you stay with Miss Winifred while I talk to your daddy for a minute? I promise it won’t take long. You can stand right here beside her and watch us, if you like. Okay?”

Misty silver eyes, too serious for a child his age, studied Gray for interminable minutes. Finally Cody nodded, pressed himself away from his father, struggled to get down, fingers white as he squeezed the horse he held. Gray let him go, barely stemming his need to grab him and hang on for all he was worth. Cody walked over beside Miss Winifred and thrust his hand into hers, but he kept his eyes on his father.

“Okay, something’s going on. What is it?” He glanced at the three doctors in turn and knew the news wouldn’t be good. “Spill it. Did something happen to Cody? Is he sick?”

“He won’t speak, Gray. We don’t know what happened to him, but we think something traumatized him badly enough to stop his speech.” Joshua Darling, the senior partner in Blessing’s medical practice, put a hand on his shoulder and kept it there, his voice low but firm. “There’s a technical name for this, which I know you don’t care about. The gist of the diagnosis is that Cody’s problem doesn’t seem to be medical—there’s no sign of injury. Though we don’t know why, we think he’s unconsciously decided that he’s not going to speak. Not yet, anyway.”

“Can you accept that?” Luc demanded.