MARY CLARK - Piece of My Heart

“So, did he mention that we interviewed him?” Laurie prodded.

After a long pause, Summer finally answered. “I consider myself part of his legal team. I don’t think I should repeat any communications I’ve had with him.”

Laurie was no lawyer, but she was pretty sure that wasn’t how attorney-client privilege worked. “As a fan of Under Suspicion , you may have read that the nephew of our former host, Alex Buckley, recently went missing from a beach in the Hamptons.”

This time, Summer didn’t pause. “I saw that! I’m so sorry. I should have expressed my thoughts and prayers as soon as you called. I can’t imagine how terrified his parents are.”

Laurie felt like she was floundering. She needed to get Summer to initiate the idea of trading Johnny for Gunther’s freedom. “His family—which is my family, as you may know—would do absolutely anything to rescue Johnny. Maybe that’s how you feel about Darren,” she added. She had come as close as possible to saying directly that they were willing to strike a deal.

“Darren’s not a little boy,” Summer said, “but he was barely an adult when he was sent to prison. And he’s just as innocent as Johnny.”

“Can you and I meet tomorrow?” Laurie asked. “You could provide valuable insight that our show is missing. And anything you want to say to me, I’m open to hearing it—completely off the record if you want it that way.”

The pause returned. “Let me call you back.”

Laurie turned off the recorder attached to her phone.

Chapter 40

Johnny tried not to cringe as the man’s fingers tousled his hair. Johnny could feel the man’s breath on his cheek as he leaned over Johnny’s shoulder to inspect his artwork. “You’re doing an excellent job. I knew you’d be happier once you were able to leave that little bedroom and roam around the house a bit more. It’s a comfortable place to be, right?”

Johnny started to say “uh-huh” as he continued to color, but quickly corrected himself. “Yes, sir. It’s a very nice place. Thank you again for the drawing table,” he added.

Two mornings ago, the man had unlocked Johnny’s bedroom door and then walked away with no comment, leaving the door ajar behind him. Johnny sat and stared at the open door for what felt like hours. Eventually, he heard the clanging of pots and pans from the kitchen, followed by the smell of bacon. Still, he stayed put until the man returned, saying, “Breakfast is ready if you’d like to join me in the dining room.”

Since then, he had allowed Johnny to watch an hour of television a day in the living room and to eat all of his meals in the dining room. They had even sat on the screened-in porch yesterday while the man read the newspaper, occasionally asking Johnny to read parts aloud to him. He said, “It’s healthy for a child to know about the world.” But then the man’s face had reddened at the sight of one page that he immediately folded and hid beneath a book.

The story’s about me, isn’t it? Johnny had wondered. They’re looking for me. They’re going to find me, and then you are going to go to jail, locked away like you locked me in that room.

“You understand why I had to secure you in that room for the first few days, don’t you?” the man asked as Johnny continued to color. “I need to know that I can trust you—and vice versa. I’m taking good care of you, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, then, so now you know: as long as you behave, everything’s going to be okay. The more I know I can trust you, Danny, the more privileges I can give you.”

This morning’s “reward” had been this table, which the man had brought down from upstairs and set up in the living room. It was like the art table Johnny had at home, but it was tilted and had a lip on the bottom edge so the artwork wouldn’t fall off while you worked on it. The man had also given him a big set of colored pencils and a coloring book. It didn’t seem like a normal kids’ coloring book. It was called Historic Buildings of America , but it was better than nothing. As Johnny filled in the grass in front of the Alamo with his green pencil, he let his gaze wander through the living room window. He had yet to see another house within view—not even from the back patio.

“How long have you lived here?” Johnny asked, trying not to sound scared. It was the first time he had ever asked the man a question about himself.

“Depends on what you mean by here, but I’ve been in this house for about three years.”

“What about before that? I’ve only ever lived in one house—until this one, I mean.”

The man became silent, and Johnny wondered if the man could see that Johnny was only pretending to be his friend now. When he finally spoke, the man sounded sad. “I came out here to get a fresh start after I had some problems in my personal life.”

Johnny remembered hearing the man and the woman talk upstairs about some kind of court order and the way the boy was going to change everything. Did it all have something to do with the man’s problems? And why hadn’t Johnny seen the woman yet? Why was she always upstairs?

Johnny had a sudden idea and said, “I had a bad dream last night. I thought I heard a woman’s voice, like maybe it was coming from upstairs.”

Silence again.

When Johnny looked behind him, the man was peering at him with flat eyes. “You certainly are a clever boy.” Johnny couldn’t tell if the man was angry or pleased.

“I—” He didn’t know what to say.

The man’s face relaxed, and he tousled Johnny’s hair once again. “You’ll get more answers in due course. Trust is a two-way street, Danny.”

My name is Johnny, Jonathan Alexander Buckley. My parents are Andrew and Marcy Buckley. My sisters are Chloe and Emily. We live on Massachusetts Avenue in Washington, D.C.

Yesterday, Johnny found himself answering to that stupid name, Danny, without thinking twice about it. He wasn’t going to let the man force him to be someone he wasn’t. Even if it took ten years to escape from this house, Johnny would remember who he was and where he came from.

“Thanks again for the pencils and the coloring book.” He beamed up at the man with an appreciative smile and then added, “And for this cool table. I never had an art table like this one.”

Before Johnny’s mommy was a mommy, she was an actress. Sometimes, she would help Johnny write short plays for him and his sisters to perform when Daddy got home. This is just like a play, Mama. I will act the way I need to, as long as I need to… until I come home.

Chapter 41

That night at seven-thirty, Alex greeted Laurie at the door to his apartment with a gentle kiss on the lips. She picked up the hint of a taste of brine from the dirty martini he was holding.

“Laurie, you really don’t need to knock. That’s why you have a key.” After they got engaged, Alex had made duplicates of her keys and his, along with the keys to their new apartment.

“Old habits.”

Leo had bought tickets to tonight’s Yankee game for him and Timmy, assuming that Laurie and Alex would be on their honeymoon. She had convinced them to attend despite the changed circumstances, promising to call Leo in the event of a breakthrough in Johnny’s case. They were both trying desperately to give Timmy some semblance of a normal life right now.

Alex, knowing she hadn’t been able to eat much all week, convinced her to stop by so they could each make sure the other ate a little something for dinner.

“My apologies for starting without you,” he said, holding up his glass. Usually, they’d both enjoy a pre-dinner cocktail as they caught up on each other’s day, but there was nothing joyful about a drink these days.