Is—everything okay?”
Mrs. Shields and the cop stood up. Andy’s father hurried to the door and flung it open. “Jesus, I’m sorry,” he muttered. He reached into his pocket. “We should have called you, Bridget. Mrs. Shields and I aren’t going out tonight. We won’t need you, but thanks. You can go back home.”
Bridget thought of David Ahern, and realized she was getting her wish. She started to smile a little. But then she saw the torment in Mr. Shields’s eyes. He was holding out two five-dollar bills for her. His hand trembled. “Here, let me give you something for your trouble—”
“What happened?” she whispered. “Is Andy okay?”
“He’s missing,” Mr. Shields replied, his voice cracking. “He and two other boys in his class—the Gaines twins, Robbie and Richie—they wandered off during recess at school today, and no one has seen them since. I’ve been on the phone with just about everyone from his class. You haven’t heard anything, have you?”
Bridget numbly shook her head. “No. I’m—so sorry.”
“See if she can’t sit with Danielle for a while,” Mrs. Shields said, plopping back down on the couch.
“Would you mind, Bridget?” Mr. Shields asked. He held on to the screen door and moved aside to let her in. “Danielle won’t go to sleep. I think she senses something wrong here. Could you read her a story and keep her occupied until she drifts off?”
“Of course,” she murmured, heading for the stairs.
The phone rang, and Mr. Shields stopped to answer it. He waved her on. “Hello?” he said into the phone. “Yes, thanks for calling back. Andy was wearing a navy blue jacket with a zipper up the front, madras shirt, green sneakers . . .”
Bridget continued up the stairs by herself, passing through the darkened hallway to Danielle’s room. The little girl’s door was halfway open. Bridget slipped into the room, which had been decorated with a Sesame Street motif. There was wallpaper with Sesame Street characters on it, a Cookie Monster bedspread, and a five-foot, stuffed Big Bird standing in the corner. A lamp on the dresser had a heat-activated shade that rotated and cast moving shadows across the wall—colorful stars and birds. The three-year-old with curly red-hair lay quietly in her bed and stared at Bridget.
“Hi, Dani,” she whispered, stepping closer to the bed. “Your mom and dad wanted me to read you a story, so I came all the way over from my house to do just that.” She pulled a chair near the bed, then glanced at the books by the nightstand. “What did you want to hear, Dani?”
The little girl just stared at her with those big, innocent blue eyes. “Where’s Andy?” she asked in a sleepy voice.
Shrugging, Bridget reached for a book. “I don’t know where Andy is,” she replied. “He’s with some friends. He should be home soon. What do you think of this story? Betty, the Bashful Bumblebee. I don’t know about you, but I’m sure interested. Should I read it?”
Bridget didn’t even get halfway through the book before Danielle was nodding off. Lulling Andy’s little sister to sleep was easier than she’d thought it would be. The hardest part was lying to her about Andy coming back. While she read aloud from the children’s book, Bridget pretended not to hear Mrs. Shields crying downstairs. The sound drifted through the vent.
Bridget sat at Danielle Shields’s bedside for a few more minutes, watching the colorful shadows sweep across the wall, and listening to adults talking down in the living room. Between the phone ringing and whispered conversations, Bridget only caught snippets:
“. . . bringing in the state police,” the cop said at one point.
“Andy has never run away before,” according to Mrs. Shields. “Nancy Gaines said the same thing about Richie and Robbie. They’re good kids.”
Later, the phone rang again, and Bridget listened to the policeman mumbling for a few moments. Then she heard him tell Mr. and
Mrs. Shields and the cop stood up. Andy’s father hurried to the door and flung it open. “Jesus, I’m sorry,” he muttered. He reached into his pocket. “We should have called you, Bridget. Mrs. Shields and I aren’t going out tonight. We won’t need you, but thanks. You can go back home.”
Bridget thought of David Ahern, and realized she was getting her wish. She started to smile a little. But then she saw the torment in Mr. Shields’s eyes. He was holding out two five-dollar bills for her. His hand trembled. “Here, let me give you something for your trouble—”
“What happened?” she whispered. “Is Andy okay?”
“He’s missing,” Mr. Shields replied, his voice cracking. “He and two other boys in his class—the Gaines twins, Robbie and Richie—they wandered off during recess at school today, and no one has seen them since. I’ve been on the phone with just about everyone from his class. You haven’t heard anything, have you?”
Bridget numbly shook her head. “No. I’m—so sorry.”
“See if she can’t sit with Danielle for a while,” Mrs. Shields said, plopping back down on the couch.
“Would you mind, Bridget?” Mr. Shields asked. He held on to the screen door and moved aside to let her in. “Danielle won’t go to sleep. I think she senses something wrong here. Could you read her a story and keep her occupied until she drifts off?”
“Of course,” she murmured, heading for the stairs.
The phone rang, and Mr. Shields stopped to answer it. He waved her on. “Hello?” he said into the phone. “Yes, thanks for calling back. Andy was wearing a navy blue jacket with a zipper up the front, madras shirt, green sneakers . . .”
Bridget continued up the stairs by herself, passing through the darkened hallway to Danielle’s room. The little girl’s door was halfway open. Bridget slipped into the room, which had been decorated with a Sesame Street motif. There was wallpaper with Sesame Street characters on it, a Cookie Monster bedspread, and a five-foot, stuffed Big Bird standing in the corner. A lamp on the dresser had a heat-activated shade that rotated and cast moving shadows across the wall—colorful stars and birds. The three-year-old with curly red-hair lay quietly in her bed and stared at Bridget.
“Hi, Dani,” she whispered, stepping closer to the bed. “Your mom and dad wanted me to read you a story, so I came all the way over from my house to do just that.” She pulled a chair near the bed, then glanced at the books by the nightstand. “What did you want to hear, Dani?”
The little girl just stared at her with those big, innocent blue eyes. “Where’s Andy?” she asked in a sleepy voice.
Shrugging, Bridget reached for a book. “I don’t know where Andy is,” she replied. “He’s with some friends. He should be home soon. What do you think of this story? Betty, the Bashful Bumblebee. I don’t know about you, but I’m sure interested. Should I read it?”
Bridget didn’t even get halfway through the book before Danielle was nodding off. Lulling Andy’s little sister to sleep was easier than she’d thought it would be. The hardest part was lying to her about Andy coming back. While she read aloud from the children’s book, Bridget pretended not to hear Mrs. Shields crying downstairs. The sound drifted through the vent.
Bridget sat at Danielle Shields’s bedside for a few more minutes, watching the colorful shadows sweep across the wall, and listening to adults talking down in the living room. Between the phone ringing and whispered conversations, Bridget only caught snippets:
“. . . bringing in the state police,” the cop said at one point.
“Andy has never run away before,” according to Mrs. Shields. “Nancy Gaines said the same thing about Richie and Robbie. They’re good kids.”
Later, the phone rang again, and Bridget listened to the policeman mumbling for a few moments. Then she heard him tell Mr. and
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