I type shark anatomy into the search box on my computer and pull up the website I found last week. “Check this out.”
Sherm scoots closer and looks at the computer as a shark swims across the screen. The narration for the program starts, and Sherm and I go through the interactive steps of deconstructing a shark until all that’s left is a cartilaginous skeleton.
He seems to forget his anxiety for a few moments, and I’m glad for that.
Lee calls to say she’s on her way while we’re putting the shark back together, and we’re almost done when she comes through the door. I stand and know just from looking at her, more frazzled that she was this morning, things aren’t good.
“Finish him up, Sherm, and I’ll be right back,” I say, moving swiftly toward his sister. “We need to talk.”
Lee looks over her shoulder at Sherm as she follows me outside. “Is Sherm okay?”
“He’s fine. He hasn’t spoken today, but he seems to have relaxed a little being in the classroom. So tell me, what has him so upset?”
Anger and frustration flare in her gaze as it shifts to me. “His brother left. We’re all upset.”
“It’s more than that,” I press, panic making me bold. “You’re worried because Rob went to Chicago. Why?”
Her stance grows defensive and she turns for the door. “We’re leaving.”
“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” I say, holding the knob.
“It’s none of your business. You’re Sherm’s teacher. That’s all.”
She looks like she wants to punch me, but I don’t back down.
“That’s not all,” I say, bracing myself. “Rob and I are . . . involved. I know some horrible things have happened to your family. He killed someone. Does that have anything to do with why he left?”
Her mouth drops open and her eyes pull round as dinner plates. “He told you that?”
I nod, feeling tears press at the backs of my eyes. I swallow them. “I don’t need to know details. I just need to know if he’s in danger.”
Her expression transitions from incensed to grief-stricken, and those tears I’ve been trying to swallow well in my eyes as hers spill over. She presses a shaking hand over her face and her voice is small as she says, “If they find him there, they’ll kill him.”
She may as well have reached down my throat and ripped my heart out. The hole her words left in my chest is gaping. I can’t breathe. “Can you call him? Tell him to come home?”
“I’ve tried. He won’t pick up.”
“Can you go after him?”
She shakes her head with a mournful look at my classroom door. “Not without risking the rest of the family.”
“The police?” I ask with a cringe.
She just looks at me.
It comes to me out of nowhere, but the instant I think it, I say it. “I’ll go.”
Her eyes light, but then despair snuffs it out. “I wouldn’t even know where to look for him. He wouldn’t go to the house or the cottage at the lake.”
“A hotel? Is there one he might pick?”
She shakes her head as more tears run down her cheeks. But then her eyes clear and she looks at me. “The Bienville. Our family owns it. Mom was killed there.”
“Would he go back there?”
She nods. “He does that sometimes . . . just goes to look at the spot. It would be risky for him to stay there, but . . . I can’t think of anywhere else to look.”
The hole where my heart used to be grows larger and starts sucking the rest of my vital organs into it. I move away from the door. “If he’s not back by the weekend, I am going to Chicago.”
“That will be too late.” She bites her lips between her teeth as she wipes her face with trembling fingers. “I can’t believe he told you.”
“We’re . . .” I want to say together, or close, or in love, but how things were left between us, none of those seem to fit. “. . . involved,” I say again.
“My brother doesn’t open up to anyone. Ever. I think you’re more than ‘involved,’” she says, making air quotes.
I stare after her as she steps into the room and collects her little brother. When they’re gone, I sit down at my computer and type in Bienville Chicago.
I dial the number and spin my chair to face the window. When the hotel operator picks up, I ask, “Can you please connect me to Robert Davidson’s room?”