Emily Locke 01 - Final Approach

they’ve been called in, a lot of parents leave for a while. Many take their kids.”
    We barely noticed Jeannie when she walked up. Big Red was still talking.
    “When that happens, we keep going back until we find them. At least three times. We talk to neighbors, check databases…If it all fails, a case might get closed as ‘Unable to Locate.’
    “The auditor noticed a lot of Unable to Locates in our office, so he went through the records. Nearly all the cases were David’s
and
all of them were white kids. On paper it looks like he never really tried, just wrote the cases off and said he couldn’t find them…but I know David. He works hard on everything he does.”
    I watched Vince and Scud weigh this new information against the person they knew as a friend. I wished I knew David better so I could form my own opinion. Jeannie listened and watched, clearly confused.
    “That doesn’t make sense,” I finally said. “If he didn’t investigate cases involving white kids, that’d mean leaving them in potentially dangerous homes. If anything, that’s reverse discrimination.”
    Big Red pointed his fork at me. “You’d think so. But the concern would be that David thinks whites can handle their kids and blacks and Hispanics can’t. So he works harder on his minority cases and looks the other way with the whites.
    “At any rate,” he concluded, “Not a good idea to ask David about work right now.”
    Scud stared at his brisket like he was thinking about something, but he didn’t say whatever crossed his mind. Jeannie leaned close to tell me she was turning in. She was sharing my tent.
    Vince jangled his keys and said he was heading out too. I walked him to his truck.
    When we got there, he opened its door and sighed. “Well. You’re not a bore. I’ve got that much. But…I can see there’s plenty still to learn.”
    He gave a questioning look and didn’t say more. It seemed his way of asking me to finish what I’d started at the picnic table.
    I braced myself with a deep breath and looked overhead at the stars.
    “Her name was Annette,” I said, “and she died before her first birthday. My husband was with her.” My voice caught. “It was an accident…they were boating.”
    Tears began to pool, but were too stubborn to fall, and I shifted my gaze downward. I swallowed hard and stared at Vince’s front tire with my hands shoved deep in my pockets. He was quiet.
    “It was four years ago,” I added softly. “She would have started kindergarten this fall. Jack and I would have been married eight years in June.”
    He took me gently by the shoulders and pulled me toward him. He wrapped his arms around me and cradled my head in one of his hands. I was too weak with memories to return his embrace, but he didn’t let go. We stood like that, silently, for what seemed like minutes. Then Vince kissed me lightly on my forehead, and I took more comfort in his gentle touch than I could have found in any words.

Chapter Eighteen
    That night I dreamed of Thanksgiving with Jack and Annette. Keith and Nora Shelton dropped by unannounced and brought a sweet potato casserole. Annette and Mattie played side by side on the floor next to the dining room table, ignoring each other, absorbed in their own toys, and I worried because I hadn’t set out the nice china. The doorbell rang, and before I could answer it, Vince and Trish let themselves in. Vince wiped his feet, and Trish tracked in dirty snow. Jack shook Vince’s hand in the foyer and suddenly Vince was wearing Jack’s clothes, sitting in Jack’s usual spot on our sofa. I returned to the dining room to find Big Red where Mattie had been. He was reading Annette a book. Behind them, Trish scooped sweet potato casserole onto an unadorned plate, and her fancy bracelet slid down and covered the tattoo on her wrist.
    “Your tattoo,” I mumbled, and it was the sound of my voice that woke me.
    Jeannie breathed deeply and obliviously behind me in the tent. I checked my watch. It was almost six o’clock in the morning. The crickets were obnoxious.
    “Wake up.” I rolled partly over and gave her a crude shove.
    She rolled further away.
    I shoved her again. “Wake up,” I said. “Get dressed.”
    “Why?” she complained, half asleep.
    “We’re going to see Richard. I remember something.”
    ***
    Jeannie drove. I used the time to delve into my journal. Maybe there was more I hadn’t connected. More that I should be able to connect. Maybe.
    July