37

 

Eric carried a basket of clean laundry up from the basement, thinking that the house seemed unusually silent. The TV blared as usual, with Jack on the couch watching, but for some reason, it accentuated the quiet, almost made it unbearable.

Passing through the living room, Eric looked over at his son. “You doing okay?” It was a warm afternoon, which was why the blanket Jack held up under his eyes made no sense. Unless he was crying.

He blinked, nodded.

“Why don’t you come upstairs? Papa and I are sorting laundry. You could help.”

“Sounds like a laugh riot,” mumbled Jack.

“Suit yourself.” Eric wasn’t sure how to handle his son, who had been emotionally up and down all day. He and Andrew had tried talking, tried not talking, tried playing cards. Nothing seemed to penetrate.

Heading up the stairs, Eric’s felt a sudden urge to order Jack not to leave the house. Jack already knew he wasn’t supposed to. Saying it again would only irritate him, and yet Eric had to force himself to remain silent when his every instinct shrieked at him that if he came back downstairs again in five minutes, Jack could be gone. Again. He had to trust his son, which was nearly impossible because Jack had done nothing recently to earn that trust.

Returning to the bedroom, Eric found Andrew making the bed. He set the laundry basket down, then walked around the side of the bed and kissed him. “I’m so grateful your work gave you some time off.”

“Me, too,” said Andrew, drawing Eric down on the bed.

“Jack hasn’t moved in the last two hours.”

“This is so hard. All of it.”

Hearing the landline ring, Eric reached over to pick it up off the nightstand. He said hello.

“Eric? It’s Jane.”

At Andrew’s questioning look, Eric mouthed her name. “What’s up? You sound out of breath.”

“I figured it out. I know who took Gabriel.”

“You do?”

“Remember the door that was kicked in at the house, where Gabriel and Jack were hiding?”

“Yeah?”

“Here’s my thought process. Cordelia and I had just arrived at your house last night when Truman roared up on his motorcycle. While we were talking, Branch came out of the house. He’d brought Jack home because Jack said he was tired, didn’t want to work on the storm cleanup anymore. We all stood around for a couple of minutes. Truman let it slip that he’d seen the boys in town last week, before they took off, and that they were both carrying brown paper bags. Truman grabbed them so he could look inside. Mostly it was food, but in Gabriel’s bag, he found a scissors and some multicolored electrical tape, the kind that was used to tape the newspaper to the windows of that old house. Are you with me so far?”

“Yes,” said Eric. “Go on.”

“That electrical tape was a dead giveaway to anybody who knew about it and had seen that house. I think Branch must have noticed it when he was out cleaning away storm debris. It probably registered, but he didn’t think anything of it until he heard what Truman had to say. That’s when he put it together. I think he drove straight to that house to check out his theory. He kicked the door in and found Gabriel.”

“If that’s true, why wouldn’t he tell us he’d found him?”

“Did Branch ever come back after he returned Jack to the farmhouse?”

“He said he was going to, but he never showed up.”

“It fits. Branch has Gabriel, but we don’t know why and we don’t know where he’s taken him. I still think Jack’s the key. You’ve got to get him to talk.”

“How? We’ve tried everything we can think of.”

“Cordelia and I are heading over to your place right now. Let’s put our heads together when we get there.”

“Branch would never hurt Gabriel.” Eric resisted the idea with all his might.

“I hope you’re right. The thing is, if you are, then why didn’t he bring Gabriel home?”

Eric’s gaze collided with Andrew’s.

“What, what?” demanded Andrew, his eyes pleading. “What’s she telling you?”

“Can you call Suzanne?” asked Eric. “Tell her what you just told me?”

“That was my plan. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Eric said good-bye and cut the line.

Hearing Jack’s footsteps on the stairs, both men stood.

“Hey,” said Andrew, seeing Jack in the doorway. He smiled.

“Come in,” said Eric.

“Do I have to fold clothes?” grumped Jack.

“No, but there’s something I’d like to ask you,” said Eric, sitting down on the foot of the bed.

“Now what?” said Jack, his mouth pulled together into a pout. “I’ve already told you everything.”

“Just humor me.”

He dragged himself over to a chair by the window. “What,” he said morosely.

Eric knew it was now or never. He had to get it right. Thinking there was one question he’d never asked his son, he said, “The night you slept in the backyard—the night you and Gabriel took off—we found a bunch of cigarette butts and the tip of a marijuana cigarette in the grass about ten yards from the tent.”

“They’re called roaches, Dad. I’m not four years old.”

“Fine. A roach then. Do you know who might have been standing there smoking them?”

Jack’s expression grew wary.

“Did you see someone?” asked Andrew, sitting down next to Eric.

“Maybe.”

“Who?”

“Uncle Branch.”

Eric felt his pulse speed up.

“Branch?” repeated Andrew. “It was the middle of the night. What was he doing out there?”

And why had he never mentioned anything about it, thought Eric.

Again, Jack shrugged. “Watching the tent, I guess. We didn’t know he was there until he climbed inside. I think he was pretty stoned. He laid down between us, started talking about when he was a kid. Boring stuff. We’d both been asleep. I was pissed.”

“How long did he stay?”

“I don’t know. Maybe half an hour. After he left, Gabriel said that we shouldn’t wait. That we should head into town right then. I didn’t think we’d stockpiled enough food, but Gabriel figured we’d be fine. I kept dragging my feet until he said that he was going with or without me. Hell, I couldn’t let him do that. We were in it together. Friends forever.”

“Your friendship with him means a lot to you,” said Andrew.

Jack scratched his face to hide the fact that he was rubbing a tear away.

Instead of trying to comfort him, Eric let him sit there with his feelings, raw and exposed. “If that’s true, then why did you leave that house without him?”

“I didn’t want to. I never would have.”

“But you did.”

“Yeah,” he said, his shoulders beginning to shake.

“Why? There must have been a reason.”

Wiping a hand across his mouth, Jack said, “It was that bottle of vodka. Gabriel got real drunk. I mean really really drunk. He started telling me stuff I didn’t want to hear. Awful stuff.”

“About what?”

“About—” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“About Branch,” said Eric.

“Yeah. How did you know?”

Eric felt a shiver. “What about him?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jack said, “I’m so sick of keeping secrets.”

“We know,” said Eric. “Now’s the time to tell it all.”

Jack covered his mouth with his hand. Removing it after several long moments, although only partially, he said, “For the last couple of years, Branch has been taking Gabriel out with him on his pontoon. Fishing trips. Gabriel loved it. Last fall, when they got out into the center of Arbor Lake, Branch started messing with him. He insisted it was completely normal. That his father had shown him love the exact same way. He told Gabriel that he was proud of him. That he loved him more than anything in the world. He made sure Gabriel understood that he wasn’t gay. He wasn’t like you two. At first, I think Gabriel was too ashamed to admit what was happening. But he hated Branch. He told me he wanted to kill him. Branch had promised to buy him a rifle when he turned fourteen, but Gabriel didn’t want to wait. As soon as he got it, he was going to use it on Branch. A few days before we took off, Gabriel found a pocketknife. He said that if his stepdad ever tried to touch him again, he’d use that.”

Andrew looked stunned. “We had no idea.”

“Nobody did,” said Jack.

“But why did you run away from that house?” asked Eric. “Was it because Gabriel started telling you about Branch? Because he was drunk?”

“No way.”

“Then why?” asked Andrew.

“Because—” He drew his legs up to his body, turned sideways in the chair and covered his head with his arms. In a barely audible voice, he said, “Because he tried to freakin’ kiss me.”

“Oh, Jacko,” said Andrew.

Both men kneeled down next to Jack’s chair. Eric squeezed his son’s arm. Andrew held back. “Jack, you have to listen to what we’re going to tell you,” said Andrew. “Are you listening?”

With his arms still covering his face, Jack nodded.

“Gabriel had no right to do that. He forced himself on you. Nobody has a right to touch you unless it’s something you want. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I know,” Jack mumbled.

“What Branch did was even more wrong,” said Eric. “He’s an adult. What he did to Gabriel was a crime. It has nothing to do with being gay or not being gay. And absolutely nothing to do with love. You may not want to hear this, but you and Gabriel are both still children. Adults have no business initiating sex with a child. Ever. Period.”

Hearing more footsteps on the stairs, Eric turned to find his sister rushing into the room.

Suzanne stopped in the doorway. By the look on her face, Eric could tell that she’d talked to Jane.

“Oh God,” groaned Jack, seeing his aunt. He started crying again.

“You stay with him,” said Eric, touching Andrew’s back.

Once out in the hallway, Eric led Suzanne into Jack’s bedroom. “Are you okay?”

“What do you think? Did Jack confirm that it was Branch?”

“Yes.”

Suzanne seemed dazed by the news.

Andrew came into the room. “I’m sorry, Suzanne. So very sorry.”

“I know where he’d take him,” she said, a fierceness blooming in her eyes.

“Where?” asked Andrew.

“The hunting cabin.”

“I’ve never been there,” said Eric.

“I have,” said Suzanne and Andrew, almost in unison.

With renewed energy, and for the first time in days, some real hope, Eric charged down the stairs. He was about to grab his cell off the coffee table when he saw Jane’s SUV pull into the driveway.

“Call the police,” said Suzanne, racing past him. “Have Andrew show them how to get there. I’ll go with Jane. Someone needs to leave right away.”

“I love you, sis,” called Eric. It was all he could think of to say, and yet at a time like this, it hardly seemed enough.