“Hey, son.”
“Dad, what’s happening with everything?”
“I’m just doing some thinking.”
“Dad, I need to ask you something but promise you won’t get mad, okay?”
“Go ahead.”
“I want to have Mom here, you know, for the big day. Everybody says, like, it’s historic and stuff, and it just doesn’t feel right without her.”
Jake closed his eyes to find patience, then smiled.
“Logan. I know you want her here but we’ve talked about this. It’s just not going to happen. I’m sorry.”
Logan started to cry.
“But I miss her so much it hurts.”
“I miss her, too.”
“Really?”
Jake pulled him closer and held his shoulders. “So much it hurts.”
Logan looked into his father’s face, surprised by what he found. His dad, his real dad was back. Logan heard it in his voice, saw it in his eyes. His dad was telling him the truth, that he still loved Mom.
A lot.
“I thought you were going to stay mad at her forever.”
“You know I saw some terrible things in Iraq. Terrible things.”
Logan knew it was bad there.
“I don’t talk about it much but I got banged up pretty good. I still get headaches, real whoppers.”
“I know.”
“The whole deal shook me up, crossed my wires. I got confused about things. Like that time with your soccer coach.”
“It’s okay, Dad.”
“Well, there are a couple of things I am clear on. One is I love you and, in spite of what I may have said when we left, I know your mom loves you, too.”
Logan cried again.
“She never stopped loving you and she never will.
She’s a good mother.”
Logan nodded.
“Samara’s a good person, too. She risked her life in
Iraq to help people, including me. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be here, son. It’s that simple. I’ve just got a lot of thinking to do these days, okay?”
“Okay.”
“The pope’s visit is going to be a once-in-a-lifetime thing, son. You’re going to do a good job. Samara’s going to take lots of pictures. I’ll be there. I’ve got to leave now for a couple of days, but I’ll be back in time. I won’t miss it. After it’s all over we can talk some more.”
Logan nodded and brushed away his tears.
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too, pal. And so does your mom. Always remember that.”
It was a little before midnight when Jake pulled out.
Logan watched from his bedroom window, watched his running lights glow against the immense night sky.
Logan watched until they vanished.
Not long after, he heard the familiar soft tapping coming from the living room.
He left his bed and cracked open his bedroom door. Samara was there, working on her laptop. As he watched her, he spotted her purse.
Logan had a secret plan.
He was sure it would work.
It had to.
55
Interstate 15, en route to Las Vegas
Maggie and Graham left the Los Angeles area for Las Vegas on Interstate 15, each mile taking Graham further out on a limb.
Edging him closer to insubordination.
But he’d taken steps to reduce the risk.
He’d called his boss again but had timed it when he knew he’d be in a meeting, and then left another vague voice mail about a lead in Las Vegas. Then he called Vic Thompson’s voice mail and updated him with general information on Nevada. Then Graham advised Las Vegas Metro, and the FBI, he was coming to town.
He’d played loosely by the rules.
But soon he’d either have to give up, or make his own rules because deep down he didn’t care. Deep down he wasn’t ready to let go. There were too many unan swered questions and it was eating him up.
As the road rushed under them, Graham went back to that day, back to the riverbank, staring at the boy’s body with Liz DeYoung, the medical investigator.
“Mother Nature’s your suspect,” Liz had said.
Graham considered her words as he watched L.A.’s urban sprawl melt into the Mojave desert. Maggie had fallen asleep beside him. Her window was open, breezes played with her hair. She wore sunglasses, white Dockers, a lavender T-shirt that complemented her figure.
A cell phone was strapped to her wrist. A manifes tation of her faith that she’d talk to her son. She’d for warded her home number to her cell. She’d brought her laptop, she’d booked time off work, again. She’d nearly maxed out her credit cards.
Nearly took her own life.
Who was this anguished mother?
Graham knew one true thing about her. She’d put everything on the line just like him. He felt the stirrings of a partnership just as a rig roared by, its air horn sounding a blast that woke her.
Maggie massaged her temples, then checked her phone for messages.
They were strangers yet comfortable with each other, letting silence pass in long stretches along with the miles. Maggie asked Graham about the Mounties and he handed her his badge. She ran her fingers over the gold crown, the wreath of maple leaves, the words Royal Canadian Mounted Police, the bison’s head en circled with the scroll bearing the motto.
“I thought your motto was that you always get your man?”
“No, it’s there, in French, see: ‘Maintiens le Droit,’ means ‘Maintain the Right.’”
“Why the buffalo head?”
“Bison kept the guys alive when they marched west, half-starved in the 1800s, for a buck a day pay.”
“How come you’re not wearing a red serge and
Stetson?” She smiled.
“That’s pretty much ceremonial.”
“Do they still make you eat buffalo meat?” “No, you can be a vegan Mountie if you like.” “They pay you more than a buck a day?” “Depends what day.”
Maggie laughed, the first time she’d laughed since
Jake took Logan from her. She wanted to thank Graham for that; instead she turned to the desert, watching it flow by. Graham asked her how she’d met Jake and she told him about high school. Then she asked Graham if he had a family.
“My parents are still living. That’s it.”
