Cracks in the Sidewalk(96)

“Claire and I would like to patch things up. We only want to help. You and the kids, you’re family—”

“No, we’re not!” he thundered. “To us, you’re nothing! You’re less than nothing! You’re dog shit we’re looking to scrape off our shoes!”

“I know you’re angry, but maybe there’s a way—”

“There’s no way! I don’t want you around me or my kids. Ever. You got that?”

“Look, all I’m asking for is a few minutes of your time. If we could talk—”

“You’ve got nothing I want to hear. Stay away from me and my kids!”

“Please, Jeffrey,” Charlie begged, “Liz would want—”

“Liz’s dead!” Jeffrey yelled before slamming down the receiver.

~

Charlie buried his face in his hands. What now? he asked himself. Sooner or later he had to tell Claire that Frank Walsh had found the kids, but what then? Would he kill the shred of hope she had by repeating what Jeffrey said? Was it better to lie and say Frank couldn’t find the children? Was knowing better than not knowing? Or could he do something else?

These questions plagued Charlie in the days that followed. One week folded into the next, and still he felt uncertain about what he should do. At one point he nearly told Claire the truth. Then he overheard her explaining to Chloe about the Cabbage Patch doll in the closet.

“Kimberly is my granddaughter,” Claire said, “and that doll is for her.”

“Then why is it in the closet?” Chloe asked.

“Because Kimberly and her brothers are with their daddy, and he lives far away, so I haven’t been able to give it to her yet.” Claire turned back to stacking the dishes. “Hopefully I’ll see them one day soon, and then I’ll give her the doll.”

Hopefully, she’d said. There had to be some other way, Charlie decided, some way that didn’t dash her last bit of hope.

~

In April when buds began to appear on bare branches and crocuses sprouted along the walkway, Charlie announced he’d planned a business trip and would be gone for a few days. Such trips were not at all unusual, so Claire packed his bag, tucked in a package of freshly-baked cookies, and waved a cheerful goodbye.

When the plane landed in Minneapolis, Charlie rented a car and asked for a map of the area. Once in the car, he unfolded the map and traced his fingers along a series of highways until he located Plymouth. The town was northwest of Minneapolis, almost an hour drive. He slid the car into gear and began the journey.

As he pressed his foot down on the gas pedal Charlie tried to imagine what he would say once he stood face to face with Jeffrey. First off, he’d push himself through the doorway the moment it was open; then Jeffrey would have to listen. Although in his heart Charlie knew he’d done no wrong, he’d apologize as if he had. “I’m sorry,” he planned to say, “sorry for any harm I’ve caused you and your family.” He’d explain that Claire felt the same way, and then he’d offer financial help so Jeffrey could get back on his feet.

Charlie knew he had to make it perfectly clear that he was here to give, not take. He would ask for nothing, no favors, no concessions. He wouldn’t even mention the possibility of moving back to New Jersey until they’d established a reasonably friendly dialogue.

But what if Jeffrey refused to listen? The possibility ripped through Charlie’s thoughts, and his fingers tightened their grip on the steering wheel. There could be no “what if” he decided; he had to make Jeffrey listen. If he was thrown out of the house today, he’d come back tomorrow, and he’d keep coming back until he said what he’d come to say. Sooner or later Jeffrey had to realize that pulling the family back together was good for everyone, himself included.

Eventually Charlie left the highway and threaded his way through the streets of Plymouth until he came to Breezeway Gardens, a winding maze of single-family houses that looked much the same, except each house was painted a different color. 12571 Easy Way was the address he was looking for. After several wrong turns he found Easy Way; then he spotted the house. It was fourth from the corner, dark gray with burgundy trim.

He drove by once, then circled the block and passed by again. He had hoped to see some toys in the yard or a minivan in the driveway, but he found nothing. He circled the block again. This time he noticed that the blinds were closed, probably because Jeffrey was still hiding from his creditors. Charlie parked the car two doors down, walked back to the house, and rang the doorbell.

No one answered, but Charlie expected as much. Jeffrey seldom opened the door when he figured it might be trouble. Charlie continued to ring the bell for nearly fifteen minutes; then he began knocking with a heavy-fisted hand. After a good bit of that he took to calling out Jeffrey’s name and pleading for him to open the door.

“I’m not leaving here until I speak with you!” Charlie said loudly over and over.

Around five o’clock a car pulled into the next driveway. A woman emerged with two small children and a bag of groceries. Charlie called out, “Excuse me” and asked if he was at the right house for the Thomas family.

“It’s the right house,” she answered, “but they moved last week.”

“Jeffrey Thomas? He’s got three—no, make that four kids?”