Perfect Match Read online

  "Red."

  "That's very good! How about this color?" She touched her finger to the yellow stripe.

  Eli rolled his eyes in her direction. "Red," he said.

  "Is that red, or is it a different color than the other stripe?"

  "I want my mommy," Eli shouted. "I don't want to talk to you. You are a big fat fart."

  "All right," Monica said evenly. "Do you want to go get your mommy?"

  "No, I don't want my mommy."

  After about five more minutes, Monica terminated the interview. She raised her brows at me through the glass and shrugged. Mrs. Grady leaned forward immediately. "What happens next? Do we set a date for court?"

  At that, I took a deep breath. "I'm not sure what happened to your son," I said diplomatically. "Probably, there was some abuse involved; his behavior seems to indicate that. And I think you would be wise to assess your husband's involvement with Eli. However, we can't prosecute this case criminally."

  "But ... but you just said it. There was abuse. What more does there have to be?"

  "You saw Eli now. There's no way he's going to be able to come into a courtroom and sit down on a chair and answer questions."

  "If you spend more time with him--"

  "Mrs. Grady, it's not just me. He's going to have to answer questions posed by the defense attorney and the judge, and there's going to be a jury a few feet away staring at him, too. You understand better than anyone does what Eli's behavioral issues are, because you see them on a daily basis. But unfortunately, the legal system doesn't work for people who can't respond within its framework."

  The woman's face was white as a sheet. "Well ... what do you do, then, with cases like this? How do you protect children like Eli?"

  I turned to the one-way mirror, where Eli was breaking crayons in half. "We can't," I admitted.

  I bolt upright in bed, my heart racing. A dream. It has only been a dream. My heart is pounding, sweat covers me like a veil, but my house is still.

  Caleb lies on his side, facing me, breathing deeply. There are silver tracks crossing his face; he has been crying in his sleep. I touch my finger to a tear, bring it to my mouth. "I know," I whisper, and then lie awake for the rest of the night.

  I doze off as the sun comes up, and wake to the first frost of the winter. It comes early in Maine, and it changes the landscape. Hoary and barbed, the world is a place that might shatter the moment you step into it.

  Caleb and Nathaniel are nowhere to be found; the house is so quiet it throbs around me as I dress and make my way downstairs. The cold sneaks in through the crack beneath the door and wraps itself around my ankles while I drink a cup of coffee and stare at the note on the table. WE'RE IN THE BARN.

  When I find them, they are mixing mortar. Well, Caleb is. Nathaniel crouches on the floor of the workshop, using bits of brick to outline the dog sleeping on the cement slab floor. "Hey," Caleb grins, glancing up. "We're building a brick wall today."

  "So I see. Has Nathaniel got a hat and gloves? It's too cold out for--"

  "I've got them right here." Caleb jerks his chin to the left; there are the blue fleece accessories.

  "Well. I have to go out for a little while."

  "So go." Caleb drags the hoe through the cement, mixing it.

  But I don't want to. I'm not needed here; I know that. For years, I've been the main breadwinner; the odd wheel out. Lately, though, I've gotten used to my own house. Lately, I haven't much wanted to leave.

  "Maybe I--"

  Whatever I'm about to say is interrupted as Caleb leans down and yells right into Nathaniel's face. "No!" Nathaniel quails, but not before Caleb grabs his arm and pulls him away.

  "Caleb--"

  "You don't touch the antifreeze," Caleb yells at Nathaniel. "How many times do I have to tell you that? It's poison. It can hurt you badly." He picks up the bottle of Prestone he's been mixing into the mortar to keep it from freezing in this temperature, and then covers the mess Nathaniel's made with a cloth. A stain, alien green, seeps through and spreads. The dog laps at the sweet spill, until Caleb shoves it away. "Get out of there, Mason."

  In the corner, Nathaniel's on the verge of tears. "Come here," I say, opening up my arms. He flies into them, and I kiss the top of his head. "Why don't you go get a toy from your room to play with while Daddy's working?"

  Nathaniel runs off to the house with Mason at his heels, both of them smart enough to know a reprieve when it comes up and grabs them. Caleb shakes his head in disbelief. "Just undermine me, Nina, you go right ahead."

  "I'm not undermining you. I'm ... well, look at him, Caleb, you scared him to death. He wasn't doing it on purpose."

  "It doesn't matter. He was told and he didn't listen."

  "Don't you think he's been through enough lately?"

  Caleb wipes his hands on a towel. "Yes, I do. So how's he going to take it when the dog he loves drops dead, because he broke the rules and did something he was expressly told not to do?" He caps the Prestone, sets it high on a shelf. "I want him to feel like a normal kid again. And if Nathaniel had done this three weeks ago, you can bet I would have punished him."

  This logic I can't even follow. Biting down on my response, I turn and walk out. I am still angry with Caleb by the time I reach the police department and find Patrick asleep at his desk.

  I slam the door of his office, and he nearly falls out of his chair. Then he winces, holds his hand to his head. "I'm just glad to see that you public servants are really earning all my tax dollars," I say sourly. "Where's the digital lineup?"

  "I'm working on it," Patrick responds.

  "Oh, yeah, I can see that you're really exerting yourself."

  He stands up and frowns at me. "Who peed in your coffee?"

  "I'm sorry. Just some domestic bliss spilling over. No doubt I'll find my manners by the time you find probable cause to lock up Szyszynski."

  Patrick looks me right in the eye. "How's Caleb?"

  "Fine."

  "Doesn't sound like things are fine ..."

  "Patrick. I'm here because I need to know that something's going on. Anything. Please. Show me."

  He nods and takes my arm. We move through corridors I have never navigated at the Biddeford Police Department, and finally wind up in a back room not much bigger than a closet. The lights are off, a green screen hums on a computer, and the boy who sits in front of the keyboard has acne and a fistful of Munchos. "Dude," he says to Patrick.

  I turn to Patrick, too. "You're kidding."

  "Nina, this is Emilio. Emilio helps us with digital imaging. He's a computer whiz."

  He leans over Emilio and hits a button on the keyboard. Ten photos appear on the screen, one of them Father Szyszynski's.

  I lean forward, look close. There is nothing in the priest's eyes or his easy smile that would make me believe he is capable of such an abomination. Half of the people in the photos are dressed in the vestments of priests; the other half are wearing the standard issue jumpsuit of the local jail. Patrick shrugs. "The only picture I could find of Szyszynski was in his clerical collar. So I have to make the convicts look like priests, too. That way there won't be any cause for question later on, after Nathaniel makes his ID."

  He says it like it is going to happen. For that, I adore him. As we watch, Emilio superimposes a collar over a picture of a ham-faced thug. "Got a minute?" Patrick asks me, and when I nod, he leads me out of the little makeshift office, through a side door, and into a courtyard.

  There is a picnic table, a basketball hoop, and around this, a high chain link fence. "All right," I say immediately. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing's wrong."

  "If nothing was wrong, you would have been able to talk to me in front of your teenage hacker."

  Patrick sits down on the bench of the picnic table. "It's about the lineup."

  "I knew it."

  "Will you just stop?" Patrick waits until I sit down, then looks right into me. Those eyes, they've got a history with mine. They were the firs