Mummy Said Goodbye

His son tried to hold out, but couldn’t. “What did she want?”

“A conference.” Craig waited for a deliberate moment. “Do you know what it’s about?”

Brett shrugged. Craig’s least favorite response.

“We’ll see,” he said.

Brett turned his face away on the pillow.

“Do you want to go fishing tomorrow?” Craig asked.

He looked back at his father. “Really?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Does Abby have to come?”

“Nope. She’s going somewhere with Summer.”

“Cool! Yeah!”

THEY HAD A GOOD DAY, taking their poles to a small lake where they rented a rowboat and trolled. With Labor Day weekend past, the lake was uncrowded, a few powerboats crisscrossing, one water skier making half a dozen laps before taking a spectacular fall.

The sun was warm, the blue surface of the lake dazzling, the occasional excitement of hauling in a trout of legal length all they needed to save them from boredom. Trees grew down to the shores of the lake, interrupted by summer cabins and docks.

Craig made no effort to direct the desultory conversation, just let it drift along with the boat.

Only once did the subject of Brett’s mom come up.

After one of the many long, contented pauses, the eleven-year-old said, “That policeman is dead, right?”

Craig nodded. “His funeral was last week.”

“What will they do now?”

“I don’t know.” Craig flexed his pole and cranked the reel a few times. “It may not make any difference that he’s gone.”

His son gave him a look older than his years. “He thought you killed Mom.”

Craig considered denying it, but dismissed the notion. He wasn’t a believer in telling his kids lies.

“Yeah, that’s the impression he gave.”

“Maybe the other cops don’t.” Hope was scrabbling here. “Maybe they’ll find Mom.”

“You know, even if they did, I don’t think she’ll be coming home.”

Brett nodded. “Unless she’s, like, being held captive somewhere. I read about this guy who kidnapped women and kept them for, like, six months at a time. Or she could have amnesia or something.”

“Almost anything’s possible.” Craig made his voice gentle. “But the chances are she’s either dead or she left because she wanted to.”

“Yeah,” his son said despondently. “I know. But…hey!” His pole bowed. “Wow, this feels like a big one!”

That was it. Excited about his catch, Brett didn’t seem interested in talking about his mother anymore.

Sunday was catch-up day: clean the house, mow the lawn, buy groceries for the week. Brett was even quieter than usual but helpful, Abby as chatty as always.

Monday Craig did errands: the bank, the dry cleaners, the post office. He usually drove to Tacoma to do them, just so he didn’t have to endure the stares.

Coward, he accused himself. Or maybe he was paranoid; maybe some of the stares were imagined. Could be that he and Brett both were being egotistical in believing the whole world gave a flying leap about their personal drama.

He still went to Tacoma.

Abby and Brett both took the bus home from school. They’d be okay without him for an hour. Craig parked in front of the elementary school administration building and waited until the buses pulled out and the majority of the parents picking up children had left the parking lot.

While he waited, he tried to remember a woman he’d met a few times but probably hadn’t exchanged ten words with. She was pretty, he seemed to recall, but not in Julie’s class. He remembered her as too thin, tense. Always nice, but looking wired, as if she didn’t sleep. Brett had hung out with her kid and seemed to like her. For some reason, Julie and Robin McKinnon had clicked, which was the part that worried Craig.

Finally he made himself get out of the car and walk in. This was the kind of place he hated most to go, where he was especially unwelcome. A sign on the door read Visitors MUST Check In At Office. The secretary looked up with a smile that froze when she saw him.

“May I help you?”

“Just checking in to see my son’s teacher. Ms. McKinnon is expecting me.”

He signed in and she handed him a pass that he was supposed to clip to his shirt pocket.

“I’ll let her know you’re on your way.” The secretary turned away.

Striding down the hall, careful not to turn his head to look into classrooms or to make eye contact with passing adults or kids, Craig imagined that she was summoning reinforcements to be sure that Robin McKinnon didn’t risk life and limb by being alone with him.

More paranoia.

Turned out that Brett’s classroom was in a portable just outside the double doors at the far end of the wing. If he’d known, he would have parked in the back and gone straight to her classroom without walking the gauntlet. The hell with their rules.

Not a good attitude for the parent of two young kids.

He went up a ramp, knocked and went in.

As Robin McKinnon turned from the blackboard, an eraser in her hand, his first thought was that she was prettier than he’d remembered.

She’d put on weight, but in a good way. It made him realize that what he’d seen back then was worry. Something wrong in her life. He remembered something about a divorce, but that had been a while back, hadn’t it? But divorce did bring consequences: money problems, or her boy had reacted badly to his dad moving out.

Now she had a round, gentle face, big brown eyes and light brown hair pulled loosely into a ponytail on the crown of her head. It was beautiful hair: thick, straight, shiny. Heavy silk.

She wore a batik-print skirt in brown and cream and a cream-colored T-shirt. Quite a bit taller than his petite wife, Robin McKinnon was five-seven or -eight, slim but curvy in the right places.

“Mr. Lofgren. Thank you for coming.”

She didn’t smile. Blocking his awareness of her as a woman, he nodded curtly.