father?"
"He brought it up, I think."
"What did he say?"
"I don’t really remember."
"What did you say?"
"I forget. Maybe I told him it was high time he found out."
Nina stood up, putting her hand in front of the camera lens. "Keep out of my business," she said.
Terry jumped to one side, continuing to shoot. "Talk to me," she said. "I won’t tell."
"You don’t have my permission to film me." Nina walked to the door, the camera in pursuit.
"I don’t need permission to film, just to show it in public. I’m going to watch this film later, in private, Nina, and learn all about you. I’m going to figure out a few things. And then I’m going to shake your world."
"Don’t you ever talk to my son again. And I can’t represent you any longer. If you need further legal work, call my office and we’ll refer you," Nina said. Why wait? This woman was impossible. Walking rapidly down the path, she half-turned so that she could see the camera and the dark figure behind it, blown by the wind, backdropped by the dark forest and the small, half-buried building.
"You fought for me in court, my right to plant myself in other people’s lives," Terry called loudly from the doorway, putting the camera down far enough that Nina could see her white face back there, but keeping it pointed her way. "What’s the matter, Nina? Why should your precious privacy be so different?"
Nina hurried to the car and drove away, heedless of the joyously slavering dog that chased her all the way down the hill.
Bob lay in his bed Wednesday night long after his mother left the room. He waited until everyone had fallen asleep, listening to the forest sounds. His thoughts traveled to where they usually did lately, circling around his father. When he tried to picture him, television characters came to mind. He knew that wasn’t right. He’d give anything just to know who he was and what he really looked like. And maybe where he was now, where he lived.
He held his breath for a minute, deciding. Okay, he’d break the rules. He’d go to hell if he had to, like Huck Finn. This was worth it.
On Thursday morning Nina rose early to grab the first precious moments with her hot steaming coffee and newspaper. Within a few minutes the rest of the household erupted. Andrea came in with her kids, helping them arrange cereal, running to dress herself, answering the phone, snatching coffee. Matt presided over breakfast, his usual angelic look replaced by a haggard stranger until he’d drunk a few cups.
Nina finished two sections of the paper before she realized she hadn’t seen her son. He had overslept. That’s what happened when you read comics late into the night.
"Bobby awake?" she asked Troy.
"I didn’t see him. He got up before me. He’s probably in the bathroom."
She went to track him down. She looked first in both bathrooms, but saw no sign of him. Then she looked in his bedroom.
"Where’s Bobby?" she asked next, in the kitchen, to Matt’s assembled family, who looked up, momentarily diverted from their breakfasts. "I can’t find him."
"Did you check the pantry? Maybe he went down there to get cereal or something," Andrea suggested, taking Nina by the arm and leading her toward the pantry door. "How about the garage?"
When Nina gave up and sat down at the kitchen table, unable to move or think, Andrea called the police.
5
BY MIDMORNING THE POLICE HAD ISSUED A STATE-WIDE alert with Bobby’s description. They didn’t hold back on missing children’s cases anymore; they hit the tarmac running. Andrea got in touch with missing children organizations. Matt hounded neighbors and friends. Sandy told everyone Nina had been called away on some important business.
Nina called her father in Monterey. Harlan Reilly said he’d be on the lookout and distribute the flyers she was making. Then she called Paul at his office in Carmel.
"Van Wagoner Investigations," said his voice, gruffer and deeper than she remembered. She took a breath to
"He brought it up, I think."
"What did he say?"
"I don’t really remember."
"What did you say?"
"I forget. Maybe I told him it was high time he found out."
Nina stood up, putting her hand in front of the camera lens. "Keep out of my business," she said.
Terry jumped to one side, continuing to shoot. "Talk to me," she said. "I won’t tell."
"You don’t have my permission to film me." Nina walked to the door, the camera in pursuit.
"I don’t need permission to film, just to show it in public. I’m going to watch this film later, in private, Nina, and learn all about you. I’m going to figure out a few things. And then I’m going to shake your world."
"Don’t you ever talk to my son again. And I can’t represent you any longer. If you need further legal work, call my office and we’ll refer you," Nina said. Why wait? This woman was impossible. Walking rapidly down the path, she half-turned so that she could see the camera and the dark figure behind it, blown by the wind, backdropped by the dark forest and the small, half-buried building.
"You fought for me in court, my right to plant myself in other people’s lives," Terry called loudly from the doorway, putting the camera down far enough that Nina could see her white face back there, but keeping it pointed her way. "What’s the matter, Nina? Why should your precious privacy be so different?"
Nina hurried to the car and drove away, heedless of the joyously slavering dog that chased her all the way down the hill.
Bob lay in his bed Wednesday night long after his mother left the room. He waited until everyone had fallen asleep, listening to the forest sounds. His thoughts traveled to where they usually did lately, circling around his father. When he tried to picture him, television characters came to mind. He knew that wasn’t right. He’d give anything just to know who he was and what he really looked like. And maybe where he was now, where he lived.
He held his breath for a minute, deciding. Okay, he’d break the rules. He’d go to hell if he had to, like Huck Finn. This was worth it.
On Thursday morning Nina rose early to grab the first precious moments with her hot steaming coffee and newspaper. Within a few minutes the rest of the household erupted. Andrea came in with her kids, helping them arrange cereal, running to dress herself, answering the phone, snatching coffee. Matt presided over breakfast, his usual angelic look replaced by a haggard stranger until he’d drunk a few cups.
Nina finished two sections of the paper before she realized she hadn’t seen her son. He had overslept. That’s what happened when you read comics late into the night.
"Bobby awake?" she asked Troy.
"I didn’t see him. He got up before me. He’s probably in the bathroom."
She went to track him down. She looked first in both bathrooms, but saw no sign of him. Then she looked in his bedroom.
"Where’s Bobby?" she asked next, in the kitchen, to Matt’s assembled family, who looked up, momentarily diverted from their breakfasts. "I can’t find him."
"Did you check the pantry? Maybe he went down there to get cereal or something," Andrea suggested, taking Nina by the arm and leading her toward the pantry door. "How about the garage?"
When Nina gave up and sat down at the kitchen table, unable to move or think, Andrea called the police.
5
BY MIDMORNING THE POLICE HAD ISSUED A STATE-WIDE alert with Bobby’s description. They didn’t hold back on missing children’s cases anymore; they hit the tarmac running. Andrea got in touch with missing children organizations. Matt hounded neighbors and friends. Sandy told everyone Nina had been called away on some important business.
Nina called her father in Monterey. Harlan Reilly said he’d be on the lookout and distribute the flyers she was making. Then she called Paul at his office in Carmel.
"Van Wagoner Investigations," said his voice, gruffer and deeper than she remembered. She took a breath to
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