But one week later he put on a suit, packed his bags, and got on a plane anyway.

23

claire

On the first day of school the kids pout because Chris had to catch a 6:00 A.M. flight and won’t be joining us at the bus stop this year.

“Daddy always comes to the bus stop,” Jordan says, lip wobbling.

“If you haven’t noticed, he’s not here. He had to leave again,” Josh says. “Quit being a baby.”

I shoot Josh a look. “That’s enough.”

“Well, she is.”

“I said, that’s enough!”

He opens his mouth to protest and wisely shuts it. I know he’s frustrated, but I’m not going to let Josh take it out on me or his sister.

I snap pictures of them standing in front of the fireplace in the family room, the same way I do every year, and try my best to make up for Chris’s absence. “Daddy is very sad that he couldn’t be here today. He wants us to call as soon as you get home so he can hear all about your day.”

“He’ll probably be in some meeting,” Josh mutters under his breath.

Sighing, I let it go but only because Josh is right; that exact scenario has happened too many times to count. “He told me he’ll be waiting. He’ll call right back if for some reason we get his voice mail. Okay?”

“Okay,” he says.

Jordan’s backpack is overflowing with stuffed animals. “Let’s leave some of these at home so they don’t get lost,” I say, as gently as I can. Lately she’s developed a strong attachment to the toys Chris brings her when he comes home. She loves all of them, but the stuffed gray kitty is her favorite. “I’ll babysit them for you,” I say, when I see the panicked expression on her face. “They’ll be safer here with me.”

Reluctantly, she pulls them out of her backpack and lines them up on the couch, covering them with a throw blanket. “Please take care of them,” she says somberly.

I bend down to her eye level and say, “I will. I promise, okay?”

“Okay,” she says.

The kids perk up a little at the bus stop, caught up in the excitement of the first day of school.

“How did it go this morning?” Elisa asks.

I take a sip of my coffee. “They’re disappointed. Josh is angry and Jordan is sad. I’m trying not to let them make it into a bigger deal than it is. Their feelings are justified, but there are worse things in the world.”

When the school bus pulls away from the curb I say my good-byes to Elisa, Bridget, and Julia and head home. I pour another cup of coffee, light a scented candle, and turn on the adult contemporary station. I sit on the couch, laptop resting on my crossed legs as Tucker snoozes next to me. Reveling in the silence, I focus on my work and the morning passes quietly. At lunchtime, I send an e-mail to Daniel at the police station to let him know that I’ve finished mocking up the designs for their logo. An hour later my cell phone rings and Daniel’s name lights up on the screen. “Hi, Daniel,” I say when I answer.

“Hey, how are you?”

I let Tucker out and then open the fridge to grab a bottle of water. “I’m fine.”

“Great. I got your e-mail. Can you meet me tomorrow?” he asks. “I’m working the afternoon shift, but I take a break to eat around seven.”

“Sure.” Since I don’t rent office space and work out of my home, I often meet with my clients at restaurants and coffee shops. “Where?”

“Panera? On Mission Road.”

“That’ll be fine,” I say. “See you then.”

I arrange for a babysitter and the next day I arrive at Panera a few minutes early. Daniel is already there, waiting just inside the front door, and he smiles when he notices me walking toward him.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.” We order and when the cashier rings up our food Daniel insists on paying. “Thank you,” I say. I follow him to a table and notice the other patrons glancing his way. “Do people always look at you when you’re in uniform?” I ask, sitting down and putting my napkin in my lap.

“Yes,” he says. “It’s why I don’t usually eat in restaurants. It’s easier to take something back to the station.”

“I could have met you there,” I say.

He shakes his head. “No, this is fine. I thought you might be hungry, too.”

“My husband travels during the week, so I let the kids take turns selecting the menu. It was my daughter’s night to choose. You saved me from a dinner of chicken strips and Tater Tots. It’s her favorite.” Before I pick up my fork, I pull my pump out of my pocket and check the reading, then adjust my insulin.

“What is that?” Daniel asks, looking curiously at it.

“It’s my insulin pump,” I say. “I’m diabetic.” I slip it back into my pocket and take a bite of my salad.

“I noticed your tag the other day, but I didn’t know what it was for.”

I pull my medical alert necklace out from under my T-shirt and show him the back, where it says DIABETES in capital red letters. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to switch to a bracelet so I can wear a necklace that I actually like.”

“How long have you been diabetic?” he asks.

“Since I was twelve.”

“How does the pump work?”

I pull it back out of my pocket and show him. I’ve learned that it’s best just to get the tutorial out of the way, especially with men. “See this?” I point to the numbers. “This tells me my current blood glucose level. Then I program it to give myself the right amount of insulin for what I’m about to eat.” He turns it over in his hands, fascinated by the intricacies of it. They always are.

He hands it back, and I slip the pump into my pocket and go back to eating my salad. When we’re almost done with our food, Daniel says, “Can I see the designs?”

I pull my portfolio out of my shoulder bag and place three designs next to Daniel’s plate. He wipes his hands on his napkin and picks them up one by one. “These are really good.”

“This one is my favorite,” I say, pointing to the one in his hand. “I simplified your existing logo and gave it an updated look.”

“I like it, too,” Daniel says. He slides the designs back into the portfolio and sets them on the table. “I’ll show these to everyone and we’ll take a vote. I think they’re really going to like them.”

“I hope so,” I say. “Let me know which one you decide on and I’ll send over the master files. You’ll need them if you want to order promotional materials. I can suggest some vendors if you want.”

“That would be great,” he says.

I take one last bite of my food and push the plate away. “How long have you been a police officer?” I ask.

He thinks about it for a second and then says, “About fifteen years. I started right after college.”

“I thought policemen went to the academy.”

Daniel takes a drink of his iced tea. “We do. But I went to school and got a criminology degree first. I always wanted to be a crime scene investigator.”

“I don’t know if I could handle a crime scene.”

“They’re not for the faint of heart,” Daniel agrees. “Do you remember when Alex Green was abducted?”

“Yes,” I say, as goose bumps break out on my arms and a chill runs through my body. Twenty-five years have passed, but everyone in the tristate area who is over a certain age knows that name. Alex Green was a twelve-year-old boy who had been abducted one afternoon on his way home from school. He was last seen talking to a man who had pulled his van over at the corner. There were signs with his picture up everywhere, for years. They never found him.

Daniel finishes his sandwich and crumples the paper wrapper. “He was my best friend.”

“He was?” I ask. “Oh my God. You were so young. That had to be very traumatic for you.” I can’t even fathom the thought of someone abducting one of my children. And even though it was a long time ago, my heart still goes out to the missing boy’s family.