Falling For Nick (24 page)

"What's wrong?" he asked. Lines of worry creased her forehead. A frantic light danced in her eyes.

"Is John here?" she asked, pushing past him.

"John? Why would he be here?" Confused, he followed her. She glanced around the room, and then made a beeline for his bedroom.

"John," she called.

"He's not here." Realization dawned in Nick's sleep-fogged brain. A sick feeling seized his insides. "Is he missing?"

She ignored him, and went to Maude's room, trying the knob.

"No!" Nick cried, but she went in anyway. The last thing he wanted to do was to follow her in there.

When he reached her, she stood in the middle of chaos. She'd flipped the light on, exposing the room to their eyes.

Dirty, yellowed sheets twisted on the bed. Clothes littered the floor. The dresser drawers hung open, their contents spilling out. An ashtray on the bedside table overflowed with smoked butts. A box, filled with cheap costume jewelry sat on top of the dresser, the necklaces, bracelets, and rings a jumbled mass of rhinestones and plastic and metal.

On the bedside table sat several prescription bottles of medicine. And next to them, the ever-present bottle of vodka.

Nick's stomach lurched, and for the first time he felt the true impact of Maude's death.

He turned away. A kaleidoscope of memories flashed before him; Maude combing his hair, giving him money for school pictures, tucking him in, then later her drinking, her smoking, her male friends. Before the drinking, she'd been a good mother which made her downfall so hard to take. He'd loved her, he remembered now, and a long suppressed grief rose within him. Disgust or hate hadn't kept him out of this room since his return, grief and remorse had.

"Nick," Clea said softly.

"I don't want to be in here."

She walked out of the room and he followed, closing the door.

He went directly to the window and threw it open, needing to get the smell of his mother's perfume out of his system.

"I'm sorry," Clea said behind him, laying a gentle hand against his back. "I didn't think. I'm so worried about John. I thought he might be here. I've looked everywhere else."

He whirled around, pushing his mother from his mind. He could grieve later. Right now he had to focus on his son. "How long has he been missing?"

"I'm not sure. The last time I checked on him was around nine, nearly three hours ago." She headed for the door. "If he's not here, I need to go. I have to find him. It's cold outside."

"Wait a minute," he caught up to her. Had John sneaked out to do further damage to his car? The kid knew how to get in and out of the apartment without Clea finding out. If she discovered he was gone, and he knew it, he could be hiding. "Don't panic. I'm sure he's all right."

"He's not all right," she cried, her eyes wild. "He hasn't been all right for a long time."

Her words cut deep, leaving a scar he didn't think would ever heal.

Clea's fingers closed around his arm. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. He was in a fight today, at school. He's been suspended. He's upset."

Had the combination of being caught in the act of vandalizing Nick's car and the suspension from school pushed John into running away?

"I'll help you find him." Nick sat down and pulled on his boots. "Come on." He shrugged into his waterproof jacket. "Let's find our son."

Together they hit the street. A glance at his car told him John hadn't been there.

"I don't know where he'd go," Clea said, a note of hysteria in her voice.

"Did you try his friend? What's his name? Toby?"

"Yes. Mother's at my place. She's called all his friends. I called Robert. He's not with him. That's when I thought maybe he'd gone to you."

He gave her a half smile. "Believe me, I wish he'd come to me, but I'm the last person he'd want to see. You don't think he'd try and get to Robert's on foot do you?"

"I don't know. Robert was with us all evening. John didn't ask him to stay. I don't think he'd try and go to him now."

"Is there anywhere else he'd go? A favorite place?"

Clea's forehead wrinkled. "I don't know. Wait. The fort. John and Toby have a fort. It's in the woods. I don't let John go there without an adult."

"You don't mean the fort up the hill behind the tavern? Billy and I used to go there when Mom brought her boyfriends home. The fort's an hour's walk from here."

"Yes," she said, her tone hopeful. "I'm sure it's the same one."

"That path is dangerous, even in the daylight." He couldn't allow himself to think of the danger John could be in, alone in the dark, the path slick with wet leaves and leftover snow.

"Oh, Nick," Clea said. "What if he's gone there?"

"I'm going to get Sheriff Kincade," Nick said. "If John's outside alone, I want as many people looking for him as possible. Go to your place and get flashlights, a blanket, maybe something warm for him to drink. We're going to find him. And then we'll figure out a way to make this right together."

*   *   *

Clea couldn't remember the last time she'd been this cold. Icy rain had started falling about twenty minutes ago, the drops stinging her cheeks. Her eyeballs even felt frozen. Wet ferns slapped at her legs, the moisture soaking her pants. Under her boots the frozen pine needles and leaves crunched, the sound mixing with their labored breathing.

Nick walked ahead of her. Their flashlights provided meager light this deep into the woods, and this far away from any town lights. She knew John had his flashlight, she'd checked his bedside table where he kept it, and found the flashlight missing. The knowledge gave her some relief, but the path was as bad as Nick had claimed, narrow, slippery, with a gully on the left side that scared Clea to death.

"John," she called for the hundredth time. "John, where are you?" She could hear the desperation in her words, feel it deep in the pit of her stomach.

"John," Nick shouted into the darkness. "John, can you hear me?"

She thanked God for Nick. He'd been her rock tonight. He'd taken charge with ease, helping to organize the search.

"How much farther is the fort?" Clea asked. They'd been walking for close to an hour. Her feet and hands had gone numb with cold. Just thinking about John, shivering alone made her move at a faster pace.

"It's got to be close. It didn't seem this far away when we were kids," Nick said.

He stopped. Clea almost ran into him.

"What?" She tried to peer around him to see what had caught his attention.

He bent down and picked something up, showing it to her.

John's flashlight.

Clea glanced wildly around. "John," she called. "Honey, where are you?"

Nick walked to the edge of the gully, shining his flashlight into the dark pit. She did the same.

"John are you here?" Nick asked. The beams of light played over the brush. "Look."

Clea followed the glow of his flashlight. At the edge of the path the pine needles had scattered, pieces of fern were ripped, as if John might have clutched at them, trying to save himself.

A strangled sob left Clea's lips. "Oh, my God. He's fallen. Nick, do something."

"John," Nick called again. "Can you hear me?"

"John," Clea echoed.

"Quiet," Nick said. "I need to listen."

Clea waited, the frantic beating of her own heart roaring in her ears. A horrifying silence filled the air. Then she heard him.

"Mom." His voice was far away, but strong.

"John," she returned. "I'm here, honey. Nick's coming down. Keep talking so he can find you."

"I'm coming, John." Nick pointed to the gully. "Shine your light done there so I can see. I need you to guide me to him. The brush is thick. Keep him talking so I can hear him." He reached for her hand, squeezing her fingers. "I'm going to get him."

Clea nodded. "I know. Now, go."

Nick left her, making his way down the side of the ravine. Twigs snapped, brush whispered. Clea held the light with shaking fingers, helping Nick find his way.

"Your dad's coming." She knew Nick would bring John to safety. She had no doubt of that. "Are you hurt, John?"

"My arm hurts. I can't get out," John said from below. "My boot is stuck in the mud."

"Keep talking, John," Nick said, shining his flashlight toward the sound of John's voice.

Clea kept her light on Nick until he disappeared, the thick foliage swallowing him up.

"Can you see him?" she yelled.

"John, talk to me," Nick said.

"I'm here. I can see your light," John said, excitement in his voice.

A dizzy relief filled Clea. She waited, her light on the last place she'd seen Nick.

"I see him," Nick called.

"Is he all right?" A rush of love for John brought tears to her eyes. Her baby was with his father.

"He looks okay," Nick replied. "I'm going to bring him up."

"All right."

She could hear Nick talking to John, but couldn't make out the conversation. The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. Below she could hear the rustle of the brush being disturbed, then she saw them. Nick had John on his back, piggyback style, with John's face visible over Nick's left shoulder. Clea used her flashlight to help light the way. When they were close enough, she held her hand out to Nick, helping to pull them to the path.

"Oh, John." She reached for her son, wanting to take him from Nick, needing to see for herself that he was all right.

"Careful," Nick warned. "He's bruised."

She helped Nick set John on the ground. Once there, Clea ran the beam of her flashlight all over him, checking him for possible fractures, but found none. A tear in his pant leg revealed a wicked scratch on his knee, but not much else. Relieved, she threw her arms around him, hugging him, kissing his tear-streaked face. "I was so scared. Don't you ever do that to me again, Johnathan Rose!"

"How far is the fort from here?" Nick asked John.

"Not far. I was almost there when I tripped." John's mouth puckered, as if he might cry. "I dropped my flashlight, and I couldn't see."

"It's all right," Clea said, her arm around him. "We're here with you." She glanced at Nick. "Should we try and take him back? It's cold and the rain is freezing."

John's teeth chattered.

"The fort is close, let's go there first and get him warmed up," Nick said. "You two stay here. I'll go ahead and take a look."

"All right, but hurry," Clea said. "John is frozen." Nick disappeared down the path. She had a thermos of hot chocolate in her backpack. She removed it, and poured her son a cup. "Here, drink this."

John nodded, taking the cup from her.

While he drank, she covered him with a blanket. Next she tried to call her mom, but the phone didn't pick up the signal this deep in the woods.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked.

"Um hum." He took another sip of the cocoa.