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STRIDING TOWARD ME from his car, George’s face made Mt. Rushmore look like a sandcastle.
No greeting. No eye contact. Did he already know what I was going to say, or was he merely worried to death?
“Let’s sit here,” I suggested, gesturing toward some empty picnic tables shaded by red and white umbrellas. Inside the pizza place would be air-conditioned, but this conversation required privacy.
“How do you like your pizza?” I asked as I deposited my purse and phone on the table.
No answer.
After knocking on the sliding glass window displaying a menu, I told the woman who responded, "A plain personal pizza and one with all your vegetables. And two Cokes, please, lots of ice." Ice wouldn't last long out here. I was flushed and perspiring already.
Claiming a spot in the umbrella’s shadow a discreet distance from my guest, I tried to gather my thoughts.
My cell phone went off. Chelsea. It killed me to do it, but I hung up.
When I leaned toward George, he finally looked my way.
No reason not to be blunt.
"Jack is Mike's son," I stated. "His natural son. Mike took him from the mother right after he and Susan married. The day they left for Indiahoma to be exact."
George’s narrowed eyes squinted off into the distance. “And how do you know this?”
“Internet.” The shortest answer would do for now. "Is it what you suspected?"
Susan’s father drew in a deep breath, blew out the word "No" with his exhale.
“Do you think Susan knows?”
George’s angry glance said, "Of course not,” “How dare you?” and “What are you playing at here?” all at once.
I tented my fingers in front of my lips. Watched a blue pickup roll by on the road. Noticed a single cloud dangling in the noontime sky.
“Susan will be viewed as an accomplice, you know. She’s going to need an attorney."
“Is that what the police told you?”
I hesitated long enough for him guess the answer.
“You haven’t called them have you? You want Jack to stay here just as much as I do.”
Not exactly.
Well, maybe.
Oh, sure.
My face must have conveyed all that, but George didn’t notice.
"What if I paid you to forget about this?” he offered. “A private business transaction just between you and me."
Since no bookmaker in his right mind would believe Susan bought Mike’s adoption story, whatever it was, I wasn’t surprised that her father didn’t trust the vagaries of the court. The surprise was that he tried to buy me off.
I waved my head no, but George wasn’t finished. "If Jack really is Mike’s son, wouldn’t he be just as entitled to the boy as Claire?"
I was still waving my head. Couldn’t seem to stop. "I don't know the circumstances of the divorce, but I do know the judge’s ruling. Mike broke the law, George. He took Jack from his mother and transported him across state lines. I looked it up. That's parental kidnapping, in Pennsylvania 'interfering with the custody of a child'. He'll do jail time for that, either in Minnesota or here, whatever the authorities work out.”
George closed his eyes. His knee began to bounce.
I said I really wished I could help Susan, “but even if Mike kept her in the dark with some phony adoption paperwork, she’s still going to need a good lawyer."
George was up and moving.
“What’re you doing?”
“Warning Susan.” The same foolish thing I would do. His cell phone was probably back in his car, charged up and ready to go.
“Don’t!” I shouted, awkwardly extricating myself from the picnic bench. “Please don’t. They’ll run. You might never see Susan or Jack again.”
Ding! The one-note text alert from my phone shot my heartrate into the stratosphere. Had to be Chelsea trying another way to reach me, but what could I do from here? I squeezed my eyes shut for a millisecond and willed her to be okay.
George had arrived at his car. I hustled closer to be sure he’d hear.
“It’s too late,” I told him. “I already called the police.”
“Yo, you down there!” The pizza lady trying to deliver our lunch.
George opened his passenger door and reached inside.
“Please, George, don’t. I think I can fix this, but you just...”
“Hey!” The pizza lady sounded pissed. Of course she did. Her customers seemed to be running out on her.
“Oh, hell...Give me a minute."
George shut his door, and I dared to breathe.
Still, I was scared. What if I hadn’t hooked him with my “think I can fix this” malarkey?
I turned back. Patted the air. Assured him one more time. “I’ve got this. Don’t phone. I’ve got this.”
He folded his arms, no phone in his hand that I could see.
While digging pizza money out of my purse, I sneaked a glance at my message. Chelsea’s name and “URGENT!!” showed on the screen. I was dying to call her back, but I’m no Super Hero. One crisis at a time for me.
“No change,” I told the lady at the window.
Curiosity must have won George over, because he strolled back toward me, chin high, hands in his pockets.
“Exactly how are you going to fix this?” he demanded when we stood face to face.
Looking up into those gray, insurance-salesman eyes, the first thought that came to mind was, “Excellent question.”