hopelessness when they realize they can’t.
Mrs. Boroson has tears in her eyes when she finally speaks. “I’ve gone over that day a thousand times. We both have.” She turns and looks briefly at her husband, offering him a weary half-smile before continuing. “But it was a day like any other day. I went in with Andy, gave him a hug—” Her breath hitches. “Told him I loved him and left him with Laura, his preschool teacher. He ran off to be with his friends, not even glancing back at me. He loved school.” There’s a long pause. We wait while she struggles to reign in her emotions. “He was such a happy little boy. That’s how we want to remember him.”
She’s looking up at the portrait over the fireplace. Zack’s eyes meet mine and he inclines his head slightly. It appears there isn’t much more to learn from her. I turn to Mr. Bososon. “Anything you can add?” I ask softly.
“No.” He draws in a breath. “Just find the bastard before he kills the Anderson boy.”
I rise. “Thank you for your time. We can show ourselves out.”
Zack and I head for the front door. I glance back once, knowing the image of these two grieving parents, like so many others, like the face of Demeter when she realized Persephone was gone, will be forever emblazoned on my brain.
Andy Boroson’s day care center is located in a residential area about five miles from the Boroson home. It’s a small house painted a cheerful yellow with fancifully cut white gingerbread trim around the entrance. The property is bounded by a five-foot whitewashed picket fence in front and by a privacy fence of six feet along the sides and back.
All this we can see upon approaching the Bee Happy Child Care and Preschool. Along with the name, the sign proclaims: Licensed Teachers and Certified Day Care Providers. There’s a telephone number and the name of the school’s director: Meredith Lawrence. A graphic of a smiling bumblebee graces the upper left corner.
We enter a small reception area just through the front door and as soon as Zack and I do, a woman greets us. We flash our credentials, state our business. The room has a clear view of the front door and behind it, an open window frames the play area out back. At this moment, the yard is teeming with children, laughing, carefree, and full of life. My heart warms as I watch them enthusiastically swarm over a jungle gym adorned with more attachments than I’ve ever seen on a piece of playground equipment.
I find myself smiling. When the woman—who introduces herself as Meredith Lawrence—notices, she smiles, too. But the lightness of our moods quickly dissipates. We all know why we’re here.
Her expression morphs into a weary frown. “ This is the way our children are supposed to spend their day,” she says, motioning Zack and I to sit. “What happened with Andy Boroson is beyond horrible.”
“It doesn’t seem to have affected your enrollment,” I say. “It looks like you have a full house.”
Ms. Lawrence nods. “We were lucky. We did have a few parents pull their children, but Bee Happy has a reputation for quality day care and we were able to fill the spots from a waiting list. Thankfully, everyone assumes that what happened was an isolated, tragic event.”
Zack has been watching the activity outside, too. “And yet, I see a man standing near the fence. Security?”
She follows his gaze. “Yes. What’s the old saying? ‘Hope for the best but prepare for the worst?’ We aren’t taking any chances. I never imagined in my wildest dreams that we’d have to employ full-time security. Or install cameras. I suppose it’s a sad reflection on today’s world.” She turns from the window to face us. “I saw on the news that another boy has gone missing. I assume that’s why you’re here?”
“We’d like to interview the day care workers who were on duty when Andy disappeared. Would that be possible?” I ask.
“Of course.” Ms. Lawrence gestures to a closed
Mrs. Boroson has tears in her eyes when she finally speaks. “I’ve gone over that day a thousand times. We both have.” She turns and looks briefly at her husband, offering him a weary half-smile before continuing. “But it was a day like any other day. I went in with Andy, gave him a hug—” Her breath hitches. “Told him I loved him and left him with Laura, his preschool teacher. He ran off to be with his friends, not even glancing back at me. He loved school.” There’s a long pause. We wait while she struggles to reign in her emotions. “He was such a happy little boy. That’s how we want to remember him.”
She’s looking up at the portrait over the fireplace. Zack’s eyes meet mine and he inclines his head slightly. It appears there isn’t much more to learn from her. I turn to Mr. Bososon. “Anything you can add?” I ask softly.
“No.” He draws in a breath. “Just find the bastard before he kills the Anderson boy.”
I rise. “Thank you for your time. We can show ourselves out.”
Zack and I head for the front door. I glance back once, knowing the image of these two grieving parents, like so many others, like the face of Demeter when she realized Persephone was gone, will be forever emblazoned on my brain.
Andy Boroson’s day care center is located in a residential area about five miles from the Boroson home. It’s a small house painted a cheerful yellow with fancifully cut white gingerbread trim around the entrance. The property is bounded by a five-foot whitewashed picket fence in front and by a privacy fence of six feet along the sides and back.
All this we can see upon approaching the Bee Happy Child Care and Preschool. Along with the name, the sign proclaims: Licensed Teachers and Certified Day Care Providers. There’s a telephone number and the name of the school’s director: Meredith Lawrence. A graphic of a smiling bumblebee graces the upper left corner.
We enter a small reception area just through the front door and as soon as Zack and I do, a woman greets us. We flash our credentials, state our business. The room has a clear view of the front door and behind it, an open window frames the play area out back. At this moment, the yard is teeming with children, laughing, carefree, and full of life. My heart warms as I watch them enthusiastically swarm over a jungle gym adorned with more attachments than I’ve ever seen on a piece of playground equipment.
I find myself smiling. When the woman—who introduces herself as Meredith Lawrence—notices, she smiles, too. But the lightness of our moods quickly dissipates. We all know why we’re here.
Her expression morphs into a weary frown. “ This is the way our children are supposed to spend their day,” she says, motioning Zack and I to sit. “What happened with Andy Boroson is beyond horrible.”
“It doesn’t seem to have affected your enrollment,” I say. “It looks like you have a full house.”
Ms. Lawrence nods. “We were lucky. We did have a few parents pull their children, but Bee Happy has a reputation for quality day care and we were able to fill the spots from a waiting list. Thankfully, everyone assumes that what happened was an isolated, tragic event.”
Zack has been watching the activity outside, too. “And yet, I see a man standing near the fence. Security?”
She follows his gaze. “Yes. What’s the old saying? ‘Hope for the best but prepare for the worst?’ We aren’t taking any chances. I never imagined in my wildest dreams that we’d have to employ full-time security. Or install cameras. I suppose it’s a sad reflection on today’s world.” She turns from the window to face us. “I saw on the news that another boy has gone missing. I assume that’s why you’re here?”
“We’d like to interview the day care workers who were on duty when Andy disappeared. Would that be possible?” I ask.
“Of course.” Ms. Lawrence gestures to a closed
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