The Newman Resident by Charles Swift Page B

place we could. For two days, we searched. I even hired two private detectives. But nothing.”
    Joseph took a deep breath, looking down at his hands.
    “Somehow, the Solomons heard about my situation and contacted me about a month ago. I came to a couple meetings and listened, but I was searching for my son—I didn’t have time to truststrangers. Things changed two weeks ago, and I had something to say. I had nothing left to lose.”
    Joseph paused again.
    “The police found Samuel,” he said, “not far from the George Washington Bridge, lying beside the Hudson. Face down.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
    W hen Richard got back to the apartment, his pillow and a blanket were waiting for him on the couch. He hurried for his son’s room and made sure Christopher was safe, then collapsed on the couch. He was exhausted, but still had trouble getting to sleep until about four-thirty in the morning. When he woke up it was almost eight, and Carol had already left without saying a word.
    He went to Christopher’s room and opened the door. Christopher was sitting up in his bed, spelling out words with the Scrabble game, waiting for his father to wake up. All he wanted to do that morning was be with Christopher, sit next to him, try to talk to him, but it just wasn’t that easy.
    After breakfast, the two went back to Carol’s home office so Richard could get some writing in for the day. Christopher brought his Scrabble game and played on the floor while his father struggled over getting something down in the notebook. At noon, he still had nothing to show for the morning. Nothing on the page. He wasn’t surprised. Nothing in his life seemed to be working. Nothing with his son. Nothing with his wife. Nothing.
    Richard went over every word from the meeting the night before. He couldn’t stand not knowing what his son must have gone through at the school. His childhood had been stolen from him. And what would his son have to go through when he returned? The superintendent would be angry with Christopher for having been the only child to leave on sabbatical before they’d ended the policy.
    Forget Newman. What about now? Was Christopher safe now?
    All Richard could think of was some sweet, innocent boy named Samuel, lying face down by the river. He didn’t want to look at Christopher and see Samuel.
    But he couldn’t become paranoid, like those people last night. Maybe it was some horrible set of coincidences that brought those people together with such painful stories. After all, there were a couple of hundred kids at this Newman. Out of all those families, some were certain to have negative experiences, but that doesn’t mean all of them would. That doesn’t mean he had to.
    Joseph had shown Richard a photo of Samuel. He was a beautiful, healthy, intelligent boy—full of wonder at one time, his father had said. Full of life.
    The phone rang and Richard figured he should just let voice mail answer it. Maybe he should screen all the calls. But what was the point of having his son home if they had to live in fear? He ran into the living room and picked up the phone.
    “Hello.”
    “Hello, son.”
    “Dad. How’re you doing?”
    “Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine. Your mother’s fine, I’m fine, the house is fine, and if we had a dog, he’d be fine, too. What we wantto know is, how are you and our grandson doing? We were just talking about you two and felt like we ought to call. You know, grandparents’ intuition.”
    “We’re doing fine.”
    “Go get Christopher, would you, son? We’d like to talk to him.” His father called out across the room. “Hey, Grandma, get on the other phone. Christopher’s coming on.”
    “Hello, is this Christopher?” Grandma asked.
    “No, this is me,” Grandpa replied.
    “I know you’re not him. I want to talk to my grandson. Is he there?”
    “Don’t you want to talk to me, Mom?” Richard asked.
    “Sure. How are you doing?”
    “Fine.”
    “Great. Now get my