8. The Lost is Found
THE LOST IS FOUND
ANDREW
“Mommy!” Three young voices are raised to a shrill note, and a solid weight suddenly hits Madeline and I at waist height. Paul is trying to hug his mother, while Cece and Isabel run to Kate. Tears are running down Mr. Emory’s face. He has a look of relief on his face so profound it is beyond description.
I know the feeling. My face is wet, too, as I get a good look at Paul Northernfield, my biological son. He’s the tow-headed kid I didn’t recognize. How did I ever miss the family resemblance?
His skin is lightly tanned and freckled, not unlike my own. He has a full head of blond curls, bleached nearly white by the California sun and frequent dips in the ocean. He is slim but well-muscled for such a young child, and he is going to be tall. His head nearly reaches his mother’s shoulder. He will be nine this week — I know because notes on the med tent roster say that Ms. Northernfield will take the day off Friday to celebrate her son’s ninth birthday.
But we are not done with this incident yet. Austin hustles a skinny man toward us. I don’t know the man, and he does not look happy to be here.
My sister, Rylie, stares, then plants fists on her hips and growls, “Jason Leroy Wintergreen!” she says. “I thought you were in jail! Put away for a good, long while.”
“I got out on good behavior, and with some help from my friends,” the little shrimp whines.
Austin gives him a hard shake. “Tell her the full truth, right now, and I mean it,” he says. “Or I’ll feed you to the dogs.”
“The dogs?” Cece protests. “The dogs don’t eat people. They just find them.”
“That’s right, they don’t. Come on kids,” Richard says, leading the children out of the room.
“They might develop a taste for crooks,” Julia says, overriding Cece’s protest now that the children are gone. “I remember all the trouble you caused for Mama Lee. If the dogs think you taste too bad, we have a cage full of big cats at the end of the midway. By morning, there wouldn’t be anything left of you but bones.”
“You can’t do that!” the scrawny man whines, trying to wiggle away from Austin’s grip.
“Who says we are going to do anything?” Austin says, gently while keeping a firm grip on the man’s collar. “We’ll just let the elephants drop you into the leopard cage. ‘Gosh, officer. No idea how he got in there. So unfortunate’. Accidents happen all the time around animals.”
Not around the zoo animals from Ildogis or around Austen’s dogs, I knew that much. A more meticulously trained assemblage of beasts would be difficult to find anywhere. Which is why I also know, if the elephants were instructed to dangle this little man over the leopard cage until he talked, that is exactly what they would do.
“Who are you working for, you little slime?” Rylie demands. “Who is your parole officer?”
From the way he squirms in Austin’s grip, I know she has struck gold. “I ain’t supposed to tell,” he says. “I like my kneecaps. I like them just fine the way they are. Rylie, please don’t make me tell! I didn’t mean things the way you took them. And I already been beat up. Lots of times. I was in the infirmary as often as in my cell.”
“You know him?” I ask my sister.
“Oh, yeah,” she says. “He’s my asshole ex, Jason Wintergreen. When he couldn’t get me to marry him, he tried to murder me. Look you spineless little worm,” she says to the skinny man. “You made me feel worthless. You criticized me, my business, the dresses I designed, and just everything. I can’t think of even one single reason not to feed you to the dogs.”
She crosses her arms, and glares at the little man.
“I did not try to murder you,” Jason whined. “You took everything all wrong”
Austin gives him another good shake. “Try again, dimwit. Who hired you? And, oh, just incidentally, was he the same guy who insisted you marry Rylie in the first place?”
The man squirmed and didn’t say anything.
“I still have my copy of that pre-nup,” Rylie says. “I could give it to the press. They would love it.”
“All right, I’ll talk, I’ll talk.”
Austen plonks him down on a chair, and straps him there using zip ties. “Sing, little bird,” he says. “Coo your little heart out, before I cut it out for what you did to my mermaid.”
Jason swallows. His Adam's apple bobs up and down. “I was hired by Rodri Aims. You know, head of Aims Corporation. I don’t know if you are aware or not, but it’s a huge gang of criminals. They’ve got gambling dens, escort services, and do ‘security’ work. Only, usually, you end up paying them not to off you or bust your kneecaps. You’ll see many crippled shopkeepers in my old neighborhood — those are the guys who tried to buck the system. So are some of the street beggars.”
He pauses for breath. Then he went on, “I knew Rylie would recognize me, so I hired a lawyer to make my proposition to the ladies. When they turned him down, I tried to get this school teacher dude to woo the little ones in, but he wouldn’t cooperate. The boys roughed him up a little too much, so I knew I had to act fast. Those kids must love their grandpa.”
I ask, “Why now? What has changed?”
“Two things,” Jason says, calming a little now that no further threats are forthcoming. “Old man Aims is dying. His doctors have given him six months to live, and he is desperate for an heir. And you have turned up alive and have found your son.”
A deep silence falls on the room, as we all try to digest this information. We are all trying to figure out what this means for each of us.
Into that silence, I say, “Ms. Northernfield, do I have your permission to introduce myself to your son?”