Fear Has a Name: A Novel (16 page)

23

As Pamela wandered the bright aisles of the Giant Eagle in Cleveland Heights, shopping for cereal, grapes, and a few other things for the girls, she looked around for Faye and Rebecca. Not seeing them, she spun frantically, on the verge of screaming their names—then deflating as she remembered they were at her parents’ house in the Heights.

Phew.
The girls had become such a fixture at her side, it was just a habit to make sure they were there. But now Pamela was alone at the grocery. She told herself to enjoy the freedom of the moment and concentrated on making her neck and shoulders relax.

She admitted once again that she scared easily, a behavior she’d learned from her mother. And after all these years, she had some insight into why Margaret lived in such fear. Soon after their disastrous arrival, when her mom had thought someone was trying to break into the house, Pamela called her dad on his cell phone to get him to come home.

Looking older and grayer, he’d knelt down to give the girls big hugs then walked Mom to the back porch where he helped her prop her feet up beneath the breeze of the ceiling fans. He brought her a cup of chamomile tea, an English muffin, and two extra-strength pain relievers. Soon she was smiling with Faye and Rebecca on her lap, asking them all about their summer and swimming and life in Trenton City.

“Her blood sugar drops this time of day,” Dad had said to Pamela when they were alone in the kitchen. “She doesn’t eat anything.”

“She may not have
eaten
anything,” Pamela said, “but she’s been
drinking
. I can smell it.”

Daddy basically ignored the comment.

“She’s drinking in the morning now?” Pamela persisted.

“Honey, I don’t know what to tell you,” Daddy said. “You know your mom. She has a hard time coping.”

“Coping?” Pamela said. “You’re both retired. You live in a beautiful home in a safe neighborhood. You have good neighbors and friends. I don’t understand what there is to ‘cope with’ that’s making her drink during the day.”

He had persuaded her to go to a local AA meeting one time, he acknowledged, but she never went back. To some extent, he seemed to blame himself for her discontentment.

“It’s not you, Dad,” Pamela said. “She needs God in her life.”

“We go to church every week. We never miss.”

“Dad, the act of going to church isn’t what I’m talking about. Does Mom ever read her Bible? Does she get alone with God? Pray about her issues? He can set her free of her fears.”

Dad’s silence reminded Pamela of her parents’ older, war-Depression-era generation. Many of their friends seemed to think all Americans were Christians and, beyond that, they didn’t want to talk about it. If anyone dared mention Jesus Christ or salvation or being born again—or, God forbid, hell—they thought you were a fruit loop who should be avoided at all costs.

“Pam.” Daddy broke the silence. “It’s time we had a talk.”

He sat Pam down very close to him at the kitchen table, looked her in the eyes, and began to speak very softly and concisely. “When your mom was in college, something happened to her.”

Pamela’s stomach flip-flopped, and heat consumed her face.

“A man broke into her dormitory room one weekend when her roommate was away. He kept her there all night—she couldn’t get away.”

Pamela’s heart was pounding. “Oh, Daddy … did he hurt her? … Rape her?”

“She’s never been able to talk about it,” he said. “He slipped out in the morning, and she never saw him again. But she never reported it or told anyone about it at all for years, until she finally broke down one night and told me that much.”

He shook his head slowly. “It changed her life, Pammy. We need to be patient with her.”

And now, as Pamela put a box of chewy granola bars in the cart along with the other items and headed for the checkout, she thought about her mother’s fearfulness.

You judged her—wrongly.

She would be more patient now, just as her father said. She would set her mind to loving her mom through her troubles.

Pamela had debated whether to even leave the girls with her folks that day, especially knowing Mom had been drinking. But Daddy was always extra attentive when Faye and Rebecca were in his care, so she had grabbed an apple to munch on the way and told them she’d return in a while.

Once outside the Giant Eagle, she walked the shopping cart to her car and let the July heat soak in and thaw the chill that lingered from the freezing store. She put the groceries in the trunk, wheeled the cart to the cart bin, and found herself scanning the parking lot for Granger’s brown car on her way back to the Accord.

Was she being paranoid, like Mom? Or would anyone be thinking the same thing after what Granger had put them through?

She wondered why she hadn’t heard from Jack with news about Granger’s arrest. It had been a whole day since he had shown up at their house. Certainly the police must have tracked him down by now.

She got in the car, shut the door, and dug in her purse for her cell phone, thinking she might have missed a call or text. Jack often asked her in jest why she even had a cell phone, because so many times she failed to answer it. But she couldn’t find her phone.

Uh oh.

She dumped the contents of the purse in the passenger seat.

Nope.

She must have left it somewhere in the house after calling her dad, probably in the kitchen.

Jack would be ticked if he knew she was bopping around town without her phone. What if he called her cell and Mom or Dad answered, or one of the girls?

He’s going to have to get over it. Besides, he knows we made it safely.

She started the car and put the windows down.

She’d been gone less than an hour.

Working her way out of the large parking lot, she wondered what people did before cell phones.

They had faith and a lot more time to themselves.

She sometimes wondered if the invention of cell phones and computers and iPods was some devious plot by Satan to busy people’s minds so there was no time or space or quiet left for hearing God’s voice. They made everyone so codependent.

The day was picture-perfect. Blue and clear. Sunny. So good to be back in her hometown. She still called it that, even though their lives were in Trenton City now. But everything was familiar—the streets, the businesses, the memories of youth—and she loved that. She sometimes wished Jack would apply for a job at the
Cleveland Plain Dealer
or
Akron Beacon Journal
. They could find an affordable place in any number of towns near the city—Euclid, Eastlake, Maple Heights.

Still debating what to do next, she headed in the direction of the house but also toward the lake and several shopping options.

Relax.

The girls were fine.

But Mom and Dad don’t know about Granger.

He could sweep in there and snatch one of the girls before the folks knew what hit them.

But it wasn’t the girls he was after, it was her.

You are so paranoid.

Even if Granger was in the area, he didn’t know Pamela and the girls were.

Quit this!

She made a quick left on Neff Road and swung up toward the lake, singing aloud. “Give to the wind, your fear. God hears your sighs and counts your tears … God will lift up your head.”

Approaching Lake Erie, Pamela felt like a kid pulling up to an amusement park as she wheeled into the gravel lot leading to a small green area where she and her parents used to picnic. She pulled right up to a rope, beyond which were some steps leading down to the grassy area, picnic tables, and farther out a concrete pier.

It was beautiful. Dark and cold and vast, yet shimmering as far and wide as she could see. God’s utter power and majesty were spilled out there before her. It looked more like an ocean than a lake. Several boats dotted the endless horizon. A few cars were parked nearby, no one in them.

She got out to gaze at the water and feel the breeze whip her hair. Yes, waves and clouds and storms would roll in, but God would be the lifter of her head.

Everything. Everything. Everything must be thrust onto him.

That’s what he wants.

In weakness he makes you strong.

Nothing can separate you from his love.

Nothing.

Not Granger Meade.

Not anything.

Back at his desk in the newsroom—now bustling with reporters, photographers, and editors—Jack was slightly miffed, his head beginning to buzz with anxiety. It had been more than an hour since he’d left Pam a voice mail telling the latest about Granger, and she still hadn’t called back. “He could be anywhere,” Jack had warned. “Call me as soon as you get this.”

He knew Faye and Rebecca were safe, because he’d phoned Pam’s parents’ house immediately after failing to reach her. Pam’s mother had laughed and said they had heard Pam’s cell phone ringing somewhere in the house but didn’t answer because, (a) they didn’t think they should, and (b) they “didn’t know the first thing about operating that contraption.” He wondered if, (c) Margaret might have been nipping at the peppermint schnapps.

Pam had told her folks she would be gone awhile, grocery shopping and driving around the old town; she’d obviously forgotten her phone, which frustrated him and left him tight as a drum.

She’s fine.

Jack was 98 percent sure of that. It was the 2 percent uncertainty that nagged him.

He sifted through the notes on his desk and glanced at his computer screen. He’d pounded out almost all of a new story on Evan’s disappearance, mainly just to stay busy. But it still had holes, and he was a bit hesitant because it didn’t deliver a lot of new information.

Pam didn’t know Granger had stolen a car and was still on the loose. Even though she had forgotten her phone, she probably figured it didn’t matter, since she had called Jack to let him know she and the girls had made it to Cleveland Heights. He envisioned her driving around town, happy as a lark, probably hitting the Goodwill to see if there were any treasures for the girls.
Lord, please … let her be fine. Let them find Granger. Bring this thing to an end.

His computer dinged, then his desk phone rang.

The email was from Wendy McDaniel. He ignored it for the moment to answer the phone.

“Jack Crittendon.”

“Jack, it’s Wendy McDaniel. I just sent you an email.” The tone of her voice was hurried and high-strung.

“It just popped up,” Jack said.

“Don’t read it yet,” she said. “Please. It’s a letter from Sherry Pendergrass. The police found it on Evan’s computer.”

Jack wanted to read it right then, but he focused on Wendy. “Tell me more.”

Wendy sniffled. “She’s in love with Evan.”

Ouch.
That was what Jack had dreaded.

“You’ll see when you read it,” Wendy said. “I just wanted you to have the latest. Not for print, of course. Just so you know.”

“I’ll read it when we hang up.” He moved to the edge of his chair, wanting to help but not sure what to say.

“I don’t know if Evan feels the same about her,” Wendy said.

Poor Wendy, hanging on to every last hope. She had to suspect, as Jack did, that Evan and Sherry had run off together.

“Jack,” she said. “I think I know where Evan’s going.”

“Where?”

“Englewood, Florida.”

“That place in the picture I saw at your house, where your family always goes? What makes you think so?”

“I just have a feeling.”

“Have you mentioned it to the police?”

“Yes, but I can’t get any help from them. It’s so frustrating.”

Jack had a good hunch what was happening. Evan was a grown man. The police had no evidence of foul play. If he had run off in an affair or to commit suicide, that was his choosing. They had criminals to catch.

Like Granger Meade.

“Does the letter suggest … I mean … do we have reason to believe they might have gone off together?” There was no easy way to ask it.

“No, no way,” Wendy said.

She was in total denial, especially if the letter said what he assumed it did.

“She may have feelings toward Evan,” Wendy said, “but that doesn’t mean it was reciprocal.”

“Have there been any more sightings of his car?”

“I don’t think so. I can’t reach anybody!” Wendy began to cry. “This woman’s fallen in love with him. Church leadership is driving him out, making him feel guilty. His mind is messed up from stopping the antidepressants. All he ever wanted to do was love people, help people. And this is what he gets.”

Sometimes the best way to calm a person was to ask a question, to get the person’s mind going in another direction. Jack had an important one; the trick was framing it right.

“Wendy, I talked with Patrick Ashdown and Rhonda Lowe at the church.” He let that sink in and gave her a chance to pull herself together. “They both sensed something was wrong the morning Evan went missing, that he wasn’t himself. I remember you saying you saw him off to work that morning, but did you speak to him after that—on the phone?”