Stranger in the House Page 12

  The first time she brought Tom to the annual July Fourth picnic he drank it in like a parched man at an oasis. “This is what I want for us,” he told her then. “A family, like this.”

  Anna shivered in the nearly empty air-conditioned grocery store. Nobody shopped on a lovely, Sunday afternoon in the summer. But she figured she might as well. Tracy and Paul had gone off together to the animal shelter, unhappily yoked together by Thomas’s command. Tom had informed her that he had a lot to do when she left him at the garage. Anna felt as if she just had to get out of the house and do something useful.

  “That’s a pretty good price,” advised the overweight dark-haired woman in the uniform smock coat who was standing behind the cash register. She had been watching Anna staring at the napkin display and presumed that the shopper could not make up her mind. Anna smiled blindly at her and put a package in her cart, realizing as she did so, that she wanted the woman to think she had need of them for a large gathering.

  Anna wheeled the cart around and began to unload her groceries so that the woman could check her out. One by one the woman rang up the items and began packing them in brown paper bags. Anna looked out the huge windows of the grocery store between the backs of the sale posters into the parking lot. Maybe, she thought, when she got back, the children would be home. Or Tom would be back. Tonight was the Stewarts’ party. That will be fun, she told herself. But even as she did so, she realized that she held out little hope for it. With a sigh Anna lifted the paper bags into her shopping cart and, after thanking the woman at the checkout, headed through the electric eye doors and out of the store.

  “Buy a chance?” cried a voice to her left as Anna left the store. She looked over and saw a man in a navy blue cap and shirt seated at a card table, waving an arm at the end of which was a hook, instead of a hand. Anna stared at the curved steel claw, which the sun glinted off as the man jabbed it at a pile of white tickets on the table. “VFW bazaar,” he said. “You could win a station wagon.”

  The man beckoned to her with the gleaming hook, but Anna turned her head away. “No, thank you,” she whispered, pushed her cart hurriedly onto the hot asphalt, and headed toward her car, which was parked near the island in the middle of the nearly empty lot.

  She rested the cart against the rear bumper of the car and reached into her pocketbook for her keys. Her hands were trembling slightly, and she realized that she had been vaguely frightened by the man with the hook. She inserted the key in the lock for the trunk and turned it.

  A few spaces down, a man in a blue car watched her movements. As she lifted the trunk hood, the man got out of his car and started toward her. He was wearing a gray baseball cap and dark glasses, and he looked nervously around him in all directions.

  Anna lifted the first paper bag out of the cart and placed it in the open trunk. The man walked up to her.

  “Miz Lange,” he said.

  Anna straightened up from inside the trunk and turned to face the wiry man standing beside her car. The instant she saw him, she knew who he was. Anna gasped and let go of the bag she was holding. Four oranges rolled out into the trunk, and a cereal box tipped over on top of them.

  “Now take it easy,” he said.

  Anna stared at him. There he stood, the subject of all her worst imaginings: a thin, pale-skinned man with receding features, a dark-gray cap, and shiny shoes. She realized at once that she had no intention of screaming. It was as if she had always known that this meeting would come to be. Her eyes locked on the face of the man who had stolen her son.

  Rambo lit a cigarette and spit out some tobacco from the end. He spoke rapidly in a nervous voice. “Now don’t start hollering,” he said. “I don’t want the boy back or nothing like that. I just want to talk to you.”

  “I knew you’d come back,” said Anna. She did not recognize the sound of her own voice. It was even and absolutely cold. “You can’t have him this time. I’ll kill you first.”

  Rambo put up both hands and pressed them into the air. “I don’t want him back. Naw, I don’t want him. That’s not what I’m here to say. No, sir. I’m here on a mission for the Lord—”

  Anna slammed down the lid of trunk. “I’m getting the police,” she said.

  “Don’t do that,” Rambo cried, lunging toward her and grabbing her arm as she tried to pass him.

  “Let go of me, you filthy—” Anna struggled to free herself. His fingers clamped down on her flesh.

  Rambo’s eyes darted around the quiet parking lot. “Hey now, you listen. I’m taking a chance coming here like this. People’ll come running. Be still.”

  A white-hot fury possessed her, and Anna turned and snarled at Rambo. For years he had been her absentee torturer. Now the fact that he seemed frail and ineffectual only angered her further. “You…you,” she sputtered. “You won’t get away this time.”

  With a swift motion she punched him in the sternum and jerked her arm free of his loosened grasp. Staggering away from him, she looked frantically around the lot for a policeman or a squad car. The parking lot was nearly deserted of cars, and there was not a cruiser in sight.

  “Help,” she cried out. “Police.”

  Rambo caught up to her and grabbed her arm again. “Listen to me,” cried Rambo. “Don’t.”

  “Let go of me,” Anna snarled. “Help.” Her eyes swept the shopping center, searching for aid.

  They were stumbling along together now, joined by Rambo’s grip. “I’m telling you something,” he hissed desperately. “That boy’s life is in danger. Don’t you want to know?”

  Anna wheeled on him with vengeance in her eyes. “You’ll never get near him. You’ll be in jail.” She jerked free of him again and bellowed for help.

  “Not from me,” Rambo screamed at her. “But you better listen. It’s a matter of life or death.” It was his last try. He knew in a second he would have to run, the way she was hollering.

  As she was about to cry out again, the man’s words registered in her mind. In spite of herself, the words arrested her. She hesitated, hating herself for stopping, and turned to him. “What do you mean?” she said. The question made her feel low and helpless. “What do you know?”

  “Listen here,” he whispered urgently. “I’ll tell you all you want to know. I know something about that boy that you better know. I swear to you on my wife’s grave. But we can’t talk here.”

  “Tell me what you know or so help me—”

  “No threats, no threats,” said Rambo. “This is the Lord’s work I’m doing here.”

  Anna trembled and controlled the urge to spit at him, but she could not take her eyes off him. “You are a vicious liar,” she said. “Why would I listen to you?”

  “I’m not lying to you, ma’am,” said Rambo. “Life or death.”

  “What’s going on here?” A voice floated toward them, and both Anna and Rambo turned to look as the veteran with the hook was trundling toward them, his body puffed up with military importance.

  Rambo saw that it was too late to run, although the panic rising in him made him wish he’d never come here. He glanced at Anna and saw the uncertainty on her face. The man was getting closer. Rambo clutched his car keys in his hand and hoped the old Chevy would turn over quickly if he had to bolt.

  Anna watched the vet coming toward them, his face red and indignant, as if he were moving in slow motion. All she had to do was tell him and Rambo would be caught. Every reasonable sense told her to start screaming. But inside her, instinct warred with reason, telling her something alarming and awful. Rambo was not lying. He was telling her the truth. And he was the only one, the only person alive, who knew about Paul’s lost years and could tell her.

  Images of Paul filled her head: his pale complexion; the headaches that made him wince; the way he crouched in the pantry, trembling and disoriented, plagued by sleeplessness. He could be sick. He could be in danger. The last, lost eleven years could hold secrets she could never hope to learn any other way.

  The vet was
in front of her now, puffed up and angry. “Is this man bothering you, ma’am?”

  Anna stared at her would-be rescuer for a second. Then, with a sickening feeling in her stomach, she shook her head. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Just an argument. I’m sorry I yelled out like that.”

  The vet glowered at Rambo, who was staring down at the asphalt, the bill of his cap covering his face. “If she hollers again,” he threatened, brandishing his hook, “I’ll have the police here. I know just about every cop on the force. So mind your manners.”

  “Thank you,” said Anna. “Thank you so much for coming over.”

  The vet grunted and gave a casual salute before he turned and started back toward his ticket table.

  Anna watched him go and then turned to face Rambo. The bargain was struck between them. Rambo was shaking. “Tell me now,” she said. “You have to tell me.”

  Rambo shook his head. “Not here. Every minute I’m here I’m in danger.” He handed her a piece of paper. “This here’s the address,” he said. “Come tomorrow morning. No police. No one but you. The door will be open. When I’m sure you’re alone, I’ll show up and tell you it all.”

  “I’d have to be a fool,” said Anna weakly, half to herself.

  “Up to you,” he said. “That boy’s life could depend on it.”

  Anna looked into Albert Rambo’s shifty eyes. “What’s in this for you?” she said. “If the police catch up with you…”

  “Well, a modest donation would help me, I admit,” he said. “Just enough so’s I can get away from here and continue doing the Lord’s will in greener pastures.”

  “Why should I help you get away?” she cried furiously. “You stole my son.”

  “Ma’am,” he said, “as God is my witness, I saved your son.” Before Anna could reply, he backed away and hurried to his car.

  9

  Anna wiped her hands on a dish towel and glanced up at the clock. It was nearly five, and Thomas was still not home. In a way it made her angry, and in another way she was relieved. She wondered how she was going to conceal the turmoil she was feeling when he did come in. The less time they had before the Stewarts’ party, the better.

  Using the towel in her hand, Anna began to wipe the counter, which she had just finished cleaning. Usually she loved to be in her kitchen, which was her haven and the center of the house. But now, as she looked around the room, she felt a rising panic. Everything was neat and in its place, yet her life seemed to be in a state of chaos.

  No feeling sorry for yourself, she scolded herself. You have to do it. What’s the point of debating it with yourself a million times? Thomas had once railed at her that there was nothing she wouldn’t do to get Paul back. Now she had him back, and she intended to protect him. I don’t care what Thomas says when he finds out, she thought, although she was already apprehensive about his response. She could not tell him, though. She could not take the chance.

  Anna heard the sound of the front door opening. She walked into the dining room and saw her husband coming in the front hallway. He was carrying a large white box under his arm.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said sheepishly. “Where’s Paul?”

  “Upstairs in his room,” she replied. “He’s kind of upset. He thought his cat was with Tracy, but apparently she hadn’t seen it. The cat still hasn’t come back. You know, he seems so attached to that animal.” Anna picked some dead leaves off a plant. “How’s the car running?”

  “Oh, fine,” said Tom. “I went shopping after I picked it up,” he said. “I bought him a birthday present.”

  “You did? For Paul?”

  “It is his birthday. After all…”

  “Well…”

  Thomas looked at her in surprise. “What do you mean, ‘Well’?”

  Anna spread her hands helplessly. “I wished him a happy birthday this morning, and he said his birthday was in October.”

  “What?”

  Anna winced. “They made up a birthday for him.”

  Thomas’s face puckered in disgust.

  “It’s not his fault.”

  “I know.”

  “What did you buy? Let me see.” She came toward him.

  “It’s a jacket. I figured he needed something for the Stewarts’ party tonight.”

  Anna smiled nervously at him. “Take it up to him. I’m sure he’ll like it.”

  “I suppose,” said Thomas. He peered at her for a moment. “Are you okay? I’m really sorry I took so long.”

  “Fine,” she insisted. “I was afraid you’d forgotten the party.”

  As Thomas started up the stairs, Anna turned away so that he wouldn’t see the tears that rose to her eyes. He had remembered Paul’s birthday and brought him a present. Maybe things would work out after all. He seemed less angry than he had been all weekend. Maybe once this whole thing was over…

  Anna glanced up the stairs. She knew she should tell Thomas about Rambo, about what she planned to do. Then she shook her head. He would insist on the police. She couldn’t take the chance. She would tell him everything once it was all over. Just then, Anna heard the sound of raised voices over the wail and thud of rock ’n’ roll from Tracy’s speakers upstairs. Then a door slammed, and Thomas came pounding down the steps, glowering.

  “He doesn’t want it,” said Thomas. “He wants to wear that filthy camouflage rag that he goes around in.”

  “Oh, Tom, I’m sorry.”

  “I told him he’ll wear this jacket and like it. I’m not taking him anywhere looking like some bum.”

  “You didn’t say that to him,” she said.

  Thomas glared at her. “Yes. That’s exactly what I said. And I meant it.”

  “He’s just so attached to that old vest of his. It must have sentimental value to him.”

  “I’m going to take a shower,” Thomas said.

  “How about a glass of wine? We could sit outside,” she said hopefully.

  “No,” he said, and stalked off down the hall.

  Anna sighed and looked at the clock. It was almost time for the party. She needed to get ready, too. But first…she wiped her hands nervously on her shorts and started toward the staircase. First she would go and appeal to the strange boy upstairs.

  The crescent moon hung like a sugar cookie in the violet sky, and garlands of pastel paper lanterns cordoned off a large area of lawn and patio behind the Stewart manor. A three-man combo in dinner jackets played mellifluous jazz on the patio near the French windows, although none of the guests were dancing. Clusters of sleekly dressed people talked and laughed in the twilight. A few teenagers, who had come with their parents, were huddled by the pool, the boys shoving one another into the girls, who shrieked as sodas splashed on summer dresses.

  Anna fiddled with the bracelet on her arm and glanced at Paul, who stood stiff-shouldered in his new jacket in the doorway leading out to the patio. Tracy had already rushed past them, greeting the Stewarts on her way, and joined the tight little group by the pool.

  “Doesn’t it look pretty?” Anna asked the boy. Paul studied the glowing yard. “They must be loaded.”

  Anna nodded and then looked gently at him. “You look nice in that jacket.”

  “I feel like a prize sow,” he said.

  Anna watched his eyes shift nervously over the scene, the tables covered in white linen, waitresses hovering as the band played. She could tell that he wanted to back away quietly and just avoid it. Anna was all too aware of the knot in her stomach. She could not relax enough to make it easier for him. She watched him helplessly as he squared his thin shoulders and stuffed his hands in his pockets. She did not want to push him out into the throng. She just wanted to keep him there, standing still and safe on the edge of the party.

  Anna looked away from the boy and saw Thomas watching them with indignant eyes.

  “Shall we go say hello?” asked Anna.

  Paul jumped and shrank back. At the same moment Iris spotted them. She was talking to a woman with strong featu
res and short, wavy brown hair who was wearing an Indian caftan and long, dangling earrings. Iris motioned toward Anna, and the woman in the caftan accompanied Iris to where Anna and Paul were standing. Anna could see by Iris’s high color and her nervous, fluttery gestures that she was in a state of total agitation about the party. She felt a sense of real empathy for her, but for once Anna felt as nervous as Iris herself.

  “You must be Paul!” Iris exclaimed. “I’m so happy to have you here. I’m Mrs. Stewart.”

  “Hello,” said Paul.

  “And I want you both to meet Angelica Harris. She’s my ceramics teacher and one of the hospital’s most prized volunteers.”

  Anna smiled at the woman and shared a firm handshake with her. “You’re quite a teacher. Iris has shown me some of the beautiful things she’s made.”

  The ceramics teacher smiled broadly, revealing a gap between her front teeth. “Well, she’s my most talented student.” Iris blushed and smiled.

  Edward joined them, casting a critical glance over the ceramics teacher’s flowing dress, and then turned to his wife. “Iris,” he said with a thin smile, “I hope you won’t forget all our other guests.”

  Iris blanched and looked down at her clenched hands. “If you’ll excuse me,” said Angelica, obviously aware of Edward’s disapproval, “I’m going to mingle.”

  All but Edward smiled at her as she left. “Thank you for inviting us,” said Anna to Edward, “and for taking Tom and Paul to play golf yesterday.”

  Edward nodded. “My pleasure,” he said. “Paul, why don’t you go over there and join the other young people by that table? They seem to be enjoying themselves,” Edward suggested, clasping his hands together behind his back.

  “That’s okay,” Paul demurred, his eyes straying anxiously over the knot of laughing teenagers by the pool. Anna placed a hand on his shoulder and then removed it instantly as he twitched his shoulder blade. She wanted to intercede for him, but she knew she couldn’t say what she was thinking. I need to keep him here with me. I need to watch him every minute. He may be in danger. For the hundredth time that day she asked herself what Rambo had meant. Was the boy ill? She thought again of his headache the other day and his sleeplessness. She could just take him to the doctor and be done with it. But what if Rambo knew something specific about his condition? Or perhaps it was not illness at all. Perhaps it was a vendetta. Some enemy of Rambo’s or his wife’s. She looked at the back of Paul’s head in front of her. She wanted to run a hand gently over his hair. She could not imagine anyone wanting to hurt him.