and said goodbye as they walked out onto the front porch. But she suddenly grabbed his arm, then recoiled a little, as though physical contact had become alien to her.
“I never blamed my husband, even though everyone else did.”
“I’m sure you didn’t, why would you have?” Instinctively, Chapa reached into his coat pocket and wrapped his hand around his recorder. “Would you like to talk a little more about that?”
She shook her head, and Chapa responded with a nod, then reached up and squeezed her shoulder in a way he hoped would be reassuring. He was halfway to his car when he heard the screen door open behind him.
“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but please don’t come back.”
Chapa didn’t turn to look at her, and didn’t take it any way at all.
CHAPTER 7
Though the calendar read October 7, 1992, it still smelled a lot like summer in the Midwest. Smoke rose from suburban Illinois backyards, as folks were sneaking in one more night of barbecuing before the inevitable chill took hold. Roger Sykes worked late and came home to find his pregnant wife lying on the couch, slowed by another bout of the indigestion that was becoming a daily ordeal. He volunteered to run to the store and pick up a couple of necessities, namely milk, toilet paper, and a box of crackers to offset the nausea.
He was at the end of the driveway when his daughter Annie came bounding out of the house.
“Mom said I could go with you.”
It was a short drive to the store and Annie filled it with talk about school, her friends, and Halloween. When they pulled into the mostly empty lot, the child asked her father if she could run in and get what they needed.
Annie had just about convinced him someone would help her take the gallon of milk to the register, and that she would count the change to make sure it was right. Then his mobile phone started ringing, and he handed Annie a ten dollar bill and watched her run into the store.
The call lasted less than five minutes, so Roger wasn’t alarmed that Annie wasn’t back before he was finished. He turned the radio on and listened to an oldies station while waiting. When Fleetwood Mac’s “Don’t Stop” came on Roger flipped over to sports talk. The old 70’s hit was getting more airplay than usual since it had become presidential candidate Bill Clinton’s theme song.
Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, and the discussion between the former jocks had grown stale. Roger wasn’t quite worried yet, just a bit frustrated that maybe Annie had forgotten which type of milk to get. She’d be too stubborn to admit that, and would likely end up buying the wrong kind. He got out and went to help her.
Roger planned to pretend that he’d forgotten one other item, so as to not embarrass his daughter, or give her the idea he was checking up on her. There were more employees than customers milling around the midsize grocery store. Roger was a little surprised when he didn’t see Annie standing near one of the registers.
He walked the length of the aisle that ran across the front of the store, then more slowly down the one that was parallel at the back. Roger’s pace picked up as he weaved up and down the rows that connected the front to the back. When he’d walked each of them, several more than once, he hustled over to the customer service desk.
Had she gone to the bathroom?
“Could you page my little girl? Her name is Annie.”
An older woman with unnaturally dark hair framing a blank expression complied. After more than a minute passed without a response, Roger asked one of the employees to check the bathroom, and followed her to where it was located in the rear of the store. He watched as the squat, middle-aged woman pushed the door open, called out to Annie, then returned, shaking her head.
Could she have finished and walked out? Might he have missed her?
When none of the four people working the registers could remember a small girl checking out, Roger
“I never blamed my husband, even though everyone else did.”
“I’m sure you didn’t, why would you have?” Instinctively, Chapa reached into his coat pocket and wrapped his hand around his recorder. “Would you like to talk a little more about that?”
She shook her head, and Chapa responded with a nod, then reached up and squeezed her shoulder in a way he hoped would be reassuring. He was halfway to his car when he heard the screen door open behind him.
“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but please don’t come back.”
Chapa didn’t turn to look at her, and didn’t take it any way at all.
CHAPTER 7
Though the calendar read October 7, 1992, it still smelled a lot like summer in the Midwest. Smoke rose from suburban Illinois backyards, as folks were sneaking in one more night of barbecuing before the inevitable chill took hold. Roger Sykes worked late and came home to find his pregnant wife lying on the couch, slowed by another bout of the indigestion that was becoming a daily ordeal. He volunteered to run to the store and pick up a couple of necessities, namely milk, toilet paper, and a box of crackers to offset the nausea.
He was at the end of the driveway when his daughter Annie came bounding out of the house.
“Mom said I could go with you.”
It was a short drive to the store and Annie filled it with talk about school, her friends, and Halloween. When they pulled into the mostly empty lot, the child asked her father if she could run in and get what they needed.
Annie had just about convinced him someone would help her take the gallon of milk to the register, and that she would count the change to make sure it was right. Then his mobile phone started ringing, and he handed Annie a ten dollar bill and watched her run into the store.
The call lasted less than five minutes, so Roger wasn’t alarmed that Annie wasn’t back before he was finished. He turned the radio on and listened to an oldies station while waiting. When Fleetwood Mac’s “Don’t Stop” came on Roger flipped over to sports talk. The old 70’s hit was getting more airplay than usual since it had become presidential candidate Bill Clinton’s theme song.
Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, and the discussion between the former jocks had grown stale. Roger wasn’t quite worried yet, just a bit frustrated that maybe Annie had forgotten which type of milk to get. She’d be too stubborn to admit that, and would likely end up buying the wrong kind. He got out and went to help her.
Roger planned to pretend that he’d forgotten one other item, so as to not embarrass his daughter, or give her the idea he was checking up on her. There were more employees than customers milling around the midsize grocery store. Roger was a little surprised when he didn’t see Annie standing near one of the registers.
He walked the length of the aisle that ran across the front of the store, then more slowly down the one that was parallel at the back. Roger’s pace picked up as he weaved up and down the rows that connected the front to the back. When he’d walked each of them, several more than once, he hustled over to the customer service desk.
Had she gone to the bathroom?
“Could you page my little girl? Her name is Annie.”
An older woman with unnaturally dark hair framing a blank expression complied. After more than a minute passed without a response, Roger asked one of the employees to check the bathroom, and followed her to where it was located in the rear of the store. He watched as the squat, middle-aged woman pushed the door open, called out to Annie, then returned, shaking her head.
Could she have finished and walked out? Might he have missed her?
When none of the four people working the registers could remember a small girl checking out, Roger
Similar Books
