Look Again Part 15

"Why do they make that sound?"

"So you know they're there."

"Why are they there?"

Ellen sighed inwardly. "Maybe I went too fast. We'll find out in a minute."

"Why did you?"

"Just rest, sweetie, don't worry." Ellen waited as the cruiser door opened and a tall cop emerged and walked along the side of her car, holding a small clipboard. She pressed the b.u.t.ton to lower the window, letting in a blast of cold air. "Yes, Officer?"

"License and registration, please."

"Oh no." Ellen realized that she had neither, because she hadn't taken her purse. She had been going to Shortridge before she changed the plan. She took off her sungla.s.ses and rubbed her eyes. "This isn't my day. I left the house without them."

The cop frowned. He was young, with light eyes under the wide brim of his brown hat, worn pitched forward. "You don't have any ID on you?"

"Sorry, no. It's at home, I swear it. What did I do?"

"You ran a stop."

"I'm sorry, I didn't see it. I was looking for the sign into Philly."

"What did you do, Mommy?" Will called out, and the cop bent from the waist and eyed Will through the open window.

Ellen felt a bolt of panic, out of nowhere. What if the state police had a registry of kidnapped kids? What if there was an Amber Alert out for Timothy Braverman? What if the cops got those white cards? What if the cop somehow recognized Will as Timothy? Ellen didn't know if the questions were paranoid or not, but couldn't stop them from coming.

"Cute kid," the cop said, unsmiling.

"Thanks." Ellen gripped the steering wheel, her heart beginning to thump.

"He looks unhappy," the cop said, his breath foggy in the frigid air. His gaze remained on Will, and Ellen told herself to stay calm. She was acting like a criminal and she hadn't done anything wrong.

"He's just tired."

"I'M NOT TIRED, MOMMEEEE!" Will screamed.

"I got a nephew hollers like that." The cop finally cracked a smile. "All right, Miss, this is your lucky day. I'll let you slide on the license but don't make a habit of it, we clear?"

"Yes, thank you, Officer," Ellen said, hearing the tremor in her own voice.

"Eyes front when you're driving, and no cell phones."

"I will, I swear. Thanks."

"Good-bye now, and be careful pulling out." The cop backed away from the car, and Ellen pressed the b.u.t.ton to raise the window. She exhaled with relief as the cop rejoined the line of traffic, then she checked the rearview mirror. Will was falling asleep, his head listing to the side and his cheeks glistening with tear tracks, like tiny snail trails.

She looked for an opening in traffic, then pulled back onto the highway. Her forehead felt damp but her heartbeat was returning to normal. She fought the impulse to check her BlackBerry, but part of her knew that Amy Martin wouldn't be emailing her anytime soon.

Her head hurt, and she wished for the umpteenth time that her mother were still alive. She needed to talk to someone about Timothy Braverman, and her mother would have known what to do and what to think.

Ellen felt like she was losing her grip. Fainting in the office. Blowing her deadline. She could lose her job to Sarah if she didn't get her act together. She needed a saner head to prevail.

The traffic started to move, and she accelerated.

She had a new destination in mind.

Chapter Thirty-eight.

"Hey, Dad," Ellen said, closing the front door behind them.

"Pops!" Will raised his arms to her father, revitalized after his long nap in the car. Given the traffic, it had taken over an hour to get to West Chester.

"My little buddy!!" Her father's face lit up, his hooded eyes alive with animation. "What a nice surprise! Come here, you!" He reached for Will, who jumped into his arms, wrapping his legs around him like a little monkey.

"Dad, careful of your back," Ellen said, though her father looked fine, his face only slightly red.

"Are you kiddin'? This makes my day! I missed my grandson!"

Will hung on tight. "Pops, I went down the big hill!"

"Tell me all about it," her father said, carrying Will into the living room. Ellen took off her hat and coat, set them on the chair, and looked around. The rug was rolled up, leaving a dull yellow square on the hardwood floor, and cardboard boxes sat stacked all over.

"We only went down the hill one time, and Mommy wouldn't let us go down again." Will held up an index finger while her father set him down, then unzipped his coat, tugged it off, and tossed it aside, leaving the sleeves inside out.

"Why wouldn't she, w.i.l.l.y Billy?"

"She said it was too big."

"She's so mean!" Her father stuck his tongue out at Ellen, which sent Will into gales of laughter.

"Hope this isn't a bad time." She gestured at the boxes. "Did we catch you in the middle of packing?"

"Nah." Her father carried Will over to the couch and sat with him in his lap. "Barbara did all that. She's finished for today."

"You didn't put the house up yet, did you? I didn't see a sign."

"Nah, but it'll go fast. Frank Ferro was asking me about it already." Her father gestured to a small cardboard box on top of the TV. "That one has some things from your mother, pictures and whatnot. You might want to take it home."

"Sure, thanks," Ellen said, caught off-balance at the notion of Barbara, packing her mother into a box.

"Where's my Thomas the Tank Engine?" Will asked, looking around in bewilderment. The toy box that had been tucked in the corner was gone.

"I got the horse right here," her father answered. He got up, took Will by the hand, and crossed him to a large cardboard box, with the top flaps open. "Look inside, cowpoke. The gang's all here."

"My truck!" Will dug in the box, pulled out a red truck, and knelt and zoomed it back and forth on the floor, where its hard plastic tires made a satisfyingly rumbling sound.

Ellen said, "Will, I'm going to talk to Pop in the kitchen."

"Be right back, pal," her father said, straightening up, and they went into the kitchen, where her father leaned against the counter and faced her. He crossed his arms in a pale yellow golf sweater and khakis, with a smile. "G.o.d love that kid."

"I know."

"He got so big! He grows like a weed."

"He sure does."

"You gotta bring him over more, El. Barbara's dyin' to meet him."

"I will."

"He's so much smarter than her grandkids. They hardly talk, and him, you can't shut up!"

Ellen laughed, marveling at the emotion Will always brought out in her father. He became a different man when Will was around, and she loved it. Just not now. She had called him for a reason. "Dad, I need to talk to you."

"Sure. Right. What's on your mind, kiddo?"

"This is going to sound strange, so prepare yourself." Ellen lowered her voice, though Will was out of earshot. "What if I told you that Will might really be a boy named Timothy Braverman, who was kidnapped from a family in Florida, two years ago?"

"What?" Her father's eyes widened, and Ellen filled him in quickly, starting with the white card, going through to the composite drawing, and ending with the visits to Gerry and Cheryl. They were interrupted twice by Will, and Ellen sent him back to the toy box with a foil bag of potato chips, always a handy bribe.

"So, what do you think?" she asked, when she was finished.

"What do I think?" Her father looked mystified. "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"I think you're just like your mother."

"What does that mean?" Ellen felt resentment flicker like an ember in her chest.

"It means you're a worrywart. You worry too much!"

"How am I worrying too much?"

He shrugged. "You dreamed this up. It's crazy."

"I'm not crazy, Dad."

"But you don't have any facts. You only have a.s.sumptions." Her father frowned, making deep wrinkles in his forehead. "You're a.s.suming lots of things that may or may not be true. I'm surprised at you, a newspaperwoman."

Ellen hadn't heard that term in years. "What are the a.s.sumptions?"

"You can't tell anything from those stupid cards about the missing kids. I get them, too."

"Did you see the last one, with Timothy Braverman?"

"Who the h.e.l.l knows? They're junk mail. I toss them out."

"Why? They're real people, real kids."

"They have nothing to do with me, or you. Or my grandson."

Ellen tried another tack. "Okay, remember that photo I showed you, last time I was here?"

"No."

"You said it was Will. You thought it was Will. Remember?"

He frowned. "Okay, whatever."

"It wasn't Will, it was Timothy Braverman. You thought it was Will."

"What was that, a trick, then?"

"No, Dad. Keep an open mind. I need you to take this seriously."

"But I can't. It's just silly."

"Dad." Ellen touched his arm, the cashmere soft under her finger-tips, and the tight line of his mouth softened just a little. "It wasn't a trick, but the photo wasn't Will. It was Timothy. They look that much alike, exactly alike."

"So the kid looks like Will, so what?" He shrugged.

"They could be the same kid."

"No, they can't." Her father almost laughed. "You can't tell anything from those police drawings. I know, they're on TV news all the time." He pointed to the doorway. "They look like one of Will's coloring books, in that d.a.m.n chest out there."

"They have an artist who does them. They're real tools the police use."

"There's no way in the world you can tell who a composite is by tracing a picture over his face." Her father looked at Ellen with a smile reserved for the delusional, and for a minute, she almost saw it his way. "You adopted that little boy in there-my only grandchild-legally. You had a lawyer."

"Who killed herself."

"So what? What are you saying?"

Ellen didn't even know. "It just seems strange. Coincidental."

"Bah!" Her father waved her off, chuckling. "Forget about it, it's crazy talk. You adopted that boy, and he loves you. He was half-dead. n.o.body wanted him but you. n.o.body was there for him but you."

Ellen felt touched, but that wasn't the point. "What matters now is whether he's Timothy."

"He is not not Timothy. He's just a kid who looks like Timothy. He's not the same kid. He's Will. He's Timothy. He's just a kid who looks like Timothy. He's not the same kid. He's Will. He's ours. ours." Her father paused, then looked at her with a half smile. "El, listen to me. Barbara's grandkids, Jos.h.i.+e and Jakie, you could swap 'em out and n.o.body would know the difference."