a man I’ve found as scary as any I’ve ever known, and I’ve known some characters. Oh, he’s benevolent enough, but he feels he has great power. I’ve seen it in the way his eyes dance when things are going his way, and it’s as if he thinks he made it happen through force of will or intellectual manipulation.
Only, his son hasn’t done what he wanted. For a doctor who has watched hearts beat inside open chests, who has held life in his hand and crafted a modest fortune and a foundation to do good works, it must be infuriating that his own son hasn’t fallen into line.
So Dr. Turner relishes the small victories of control. Like owning this house we live in.
I want to walk over and hang up. Just click the button down and free Michael of whatever lecture he’s hearing. It’s not that simple, though, as I’m well aware.
I approach Michael and circle his waist from behind, resting my cheek on his back, listening to his heart thrum beneath my ear. His voice sounds low and rumbly like this as he murmurs, “Mmm-hmm.”
Then his free hand untangles my fingers and he steps slightly away.
I slip into my parka and pick up my cigarettes, this time adding a hat because it looks like the wind is whipping up outside.
Outside on the sidewalk, I dial up Tony, having already received a voice mail I didn’t listen to, and two texts asking if I’m okay.
“Can you meet me?” I ask, as soon as he’s picked up.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t say it all on the phone, it’s too much.”
“Just say where.”
We agree to meet at “the Castle,” a chateau-esque granite building once a home, later a restaurant, now a dentist’s office. Fifteen minutes later, I’m leaning on a tree in front of it, staring at the garish magenta sculpture on the front lawn, when Tony pulls up in his ancient Monte Carlo.
I hop into the car, warming my hands at the heater vents. Inside I’m overheated from my walk and my anxiety; my exposed skin is almost numb.
Tony scratches his chin through his red beard, now threaded with more gray than I remember from our days as neighbors.
“What’s going on, Edna Leigh?”
I ignore his use of my given name and explain about Dylan, the presence of Mallory. As I finish up my story, I notice I’ve been twisting my engagement ring, which would now slide off easily, should I choose to remove it.
“I used to run away all the time,” he says, and because I know what kind of life he’s lived, I laugh.
“Oh, that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“I’ve turned out okay.”
“Yeah, finally at age, what, fifty-five? I’d like Dylan to be spared some of your more colorful adventures. Besides, he’s not—”
“Not what?”
“He’s not worldly. He’s quiet, a little awkward around new people. He has this stammer that comes out sometimes—”
“Yeah. I get it.” Tony taps his steering wheel. “So what are you going to do? Anything I can do to help?”
I tip my head back on the seat. “I don’t know. I’m not sure why I wanted you to come, even. I just had to get out of there for a bit.”
“Yeah. Oh, hey, why don’t you send me a picture? I can send it to some of my trucker friends. They can keep an eye out. Rest stops and whatever. Hell, maybe he’ll stick out a thumb and one of my friends’ll pick him up. You never know.”
I smile at him, and just then my head feels swimmy with cigarettes and lack of sleep and food. I pull out my phone. “I’m sending you a cell phone pic I’ve got. It’s not the best, but it will help.” I send it to Tony’s phone, and he looks to make sure he got it.
“Great. Need a lift back?”
I shake my head, hard. Tony doesn’t know that Angel read my journal, that a sighting of him now would be almost the worst possible thing.
“Stay warm, kiddo,” he tells me as I get out of the car, before I shut the door. “They say there’s a blizzard coming.” He squeezes my hand before I step back into the cold.
I wonder if the blizzard will hit Ohio. I don’t think Dylan has his warm coat.
I hurry back to the house, because I’ve been gone too long for a walk around the block. No one seems to have noticed my absence.
Michael is at the computer, the Web site of the National Center for