Mad About You

woods. Virginia had stayed home, feeling helpless as she waited by the phone for a possible ransom demand. But the call never came, and the only tormenting clue had been the discovery of their son's blanket in a ditch along a busy highway. Lois Green must have discarded it as she drove out of town with her tiny victim, Virginia surmised.
    Chad's eyes moved rapidly over the story, then sifted through other accounts, recaps, and updates. Long-forgotten memories crashed over Virginia. The inevitable waning public interest, bitter fights with Bailey, separate beds, her leaving, then filing divorce papers. Ironically, on the day their divorce had been final, nearly a year after the abduction, a reporter called for her comment on the rumor that the investigation had been unofficially closed. The next day Virginia began picking up the remnants of her life.
    Chad suddenly pushed the pile of paper back toward the detective. "She was a good mom," he asserted in a challenging voice, his chin jutted high. "Maybe she made a mistake, but she was a good mom." At last he looked directly at Virginia. "She must have wanted me really bad to risk getting into trouble." She saw his unspoken words in narrowed, accusatory eyes. She wanted me, and you didn't.
    "Chad," Ms. Andrews cut in, standing up, "why don't we have one last chat this evening? I've got some free time right now, then you'll need to finish packing."
    He frowned, but shrugged reluctantly. "Whatever." He pushed himself away from the table with a heavy sigh, threw the remains of his meal into an industrial-sized waste can, and followed Ms. Andrews out of the room without a backward glance.
    Virginia took a deep breath and made her best effort to appear cheerful. "I suppose we should check into the hotel soon, but I don't look forward to facing that crowd."
    "Ms. Catron," Mr. Maybry said, his face flushing a deep pink. "Ms. Andrews and I assumed you both would want to be as close as possible to Chad tonight, but we weren't aware of your, um, status, and we have only one guest room available." He coughed. "However, it is equipped with twin beds, and we can—"
    "That was very thoughtful." She caught Bailey's wide-eyed reaction. "We'll work out something," she assured the embarrassed man, her insides churning at the mere suggestion of intimacy with her ex-husband.
    "Meanwhile," Bailey said, "we probably should decide what to do about the press."
    "Just run 'em off!" Edward sputtered.
    "But it's not often we hear of such a happy ending," Mr. Maybry reminded them, his expression gentle. "The attention might help some other child be reunited with his parents."
    "You could prepare a statement and your father and I can read it when we leave for the hotel, dear," her mother offered.
    "Thanks, Mom, but I think this is something Bailey and I need to do."
    "Together," he added, meeting her wary look with a conciliatory smile.
    Red flags went up in her mind. Darn him , she fumed. He was so, so... accommodating.
    "How about getting it over with?" he asked, standing and lifting his palms.
    She hesitated a few seconds before rising to her feet. "Okay."
    He held out his hand for hers. With an audience, she couldn't refuse such a friendly gesture, which was all it meant anyway. She placed her hand in his, a rush skittering over her as their fingers entwined and their palms met. Her heart raced with the realization this wasn't the first time they'd held hands that day, but it was the first time she'd participated deliberately and for a reason other than pure fear.
    They walked to the front of the building, preceded by Mr. Maybry and flanked by Detective Lance and her parents. As soon as the doors opened, a murmur rose and the crowd of about fifty onlookers pressed toward the tiny sheltered stoop where they stepped into the humidevening air. Cameras flashed and microphones bobbed high.
    Mr. Maybry unceremoniously yanked a microphone out of a young man's hand and waved his arms to silence everyone. He quickly introduced himself, then announced, "The child's parents, Ms. Virginia Catron and Mr. Bailey Kallihan, will make a short statement." He then thrust the borrowed microphone into Virginia's hand.
    She held it for a few seconds, registering the cold heaviness, wondering what on earth she was going to say. Every eye was riveted on her, and she could read the anticipation in their eyes, hands poised to record her every word. They wanted tears of happiness, an embracing Norman Rockwell-type family