Every Fifteen Minutes (24 page)

Eric picked up his phone, thumbed to the Internet, and typed in white pages. He went to the site, plugged in Ren
é
e Bevilacqua and Berwyn, and a short list of addresses popped onto the tiny screen. None of the listings was under the name Ren
é
e, which he had expected, but there were plenty of Bevilacquas and the site listed their ages: they all were men or women aged forty-five and up. One of them had to be Renée's mother or father, and Eric skimmed the addresses to see which were the closest, since they would be the likelier. There were three Bevilacquas that were possible candidates: Trianon Lane, Sunflower Road, and Gristmill Road. So he wouldn't be able to tell where he was going until Ren
é
e left.

The dashboard clock went from 8:30, to 9:30, to 10:30, and Eric put his phone away and focused complete attention on the store. The crowd of teenagers had thinned, and only a few customers were in the store. Ren
é
e was wiping down the countertops, Trixie scooping the toppings into white tubs, and the cashier taking money from the drawer and stuffing it into a cloth bag with a zipper.

Eric could count on one hand the cars in the parking lot, and most of those were in the back, probably the employees' cars. He scanned the Walgreens and the Dunkin' Donuts lots, but he didn't see Max anywhere. In time, the lights of the Swirled Peace went off, and the girls left the shop, chattering and laughing. Eric shifted up in his seat, coming to alertness. Ren
é
e was easy to spot because of her red hair, and he watched as she hugged the other girls good-bye and walked toward the back of the parking lot. The leftmost car was a cobalt blue Honda Fit, and Ren
é
e made a beeline for it. In a few moments, the Honda's engine started, the headlights went on, and the Honda zipped forward.

Eric looked around to see if any headlights came to life in any of the parking lots, but no dice. He turned his head away as Ren
é
e steered toward the exit of the parking lot, and as she passed behind Eric's car, she was yapping on the phone, pressed to her ear. She barely braked at the exit before entering traffic on Barrett Street, then she turned left, and Eric still didn't see anyone else around that seemed to be in pursuit. Traffic was light, the day winding down, and Ren
é
e sped to the traffic signal, which was red.

Eric turned on his ignition, reversed out of the space, and took off after her, trailing her at a safe distance.

A guardian angel to the guardian angel.

 

Chapter Twenty-seven

Eric followed Ren
é
e down Barrett Road, which was a well-lit main drag, two lanes going both ways with traffic lights at regular intervals. He stayed a car length away, traveling behind a burgundy Cadillac that tailgated her, but its driver was a smoker, leaving his hand with the cigarette outside the car. Eric eliminated him because Max didn't smoke.

The traffic cruised forward after the light, nobody in a hurry except for Ren
é
e. The Cadillac took a right onto one of the side streets, so Eric lost his buffer car and he moved up directly behind Ren
é
e. Her driving made it a job to keep up with her in a way that wasn't obvious, but Eric figured she was probably talking on the phone, oblivious to the fact that she was being followed.

Eric kept a sharp eye on the traffic. Ren
é
e's aggressive driving served his purpose because after five blocks or so, it flushed out the only two other cars that stayed with her; one was an older black Toyota sedan, and the other was a blue VW Cabriolet. Eric could tell from their silhouettes that both drivers were short men, but either could have been Max. He didn't want to get close enough to risk being seen by either of them and he didn't have to, if he just bided his time.

Eric trailed them all, watching them jockey for position, the three cars like moving pieces of the same puzzle as they traveled. He kept in mind the potential Bevilacqua addresses as they sped eastward; he eliminated Trianon Lane because that was to the right, so only Sunflower Road and Gristmill Road were left. Ren
é
e zoomed forward, and an orange Horizon Plumbing van joined the mix, giving Eric some temporary cover from the black Toyota, which was getting dangerously parallel to him in the slow lane. He shifted his gaze underneath his cap to see if Max was driving the Toyota, but the Horizon van accelerated at the last moment, pushing the Toyota forward and ruining Eric's view.

The van turned off after a few blocks, but the black Toyota and the VW Cabriolet stayed, and suddenly Ren
é
e put on her left blinker, turning unpredictably onto Wheatfield Drive, another main drag running south. Both the Toyota and VW signaled left and turned onto Wheatfield after her, and Eric had to brake to let the VW into the turn lane ahead of him, catching a glimpse of the driver in shadowy profile.

The driver looked like Max, and Eric felt the start of recognition, but he couldn't be sure. He followed the traffic with renewed determination, turning left onto Wheatfield. He'd traveled these roads before and realized that Sunflower Road wasn't in this direction. That left only Gristmill Road, but he wasn't familiar with it, in any event, and there was always the possibility that he'd picked the wrong Bevilacqua address.

He fed the car gas as Ren
é
e accelerated and narrowed his focus to the VW. It was a younger person's type of car, and though he hadn't figured Max for the convertible type, the boy could've bought it used. Ren
é
e's car, the Toyota, and the VW barreled down Wheatfield, which was also two lanes both ways, with side streets off of both sides.

Eric switched into the slow lane to keep everyone in his view. The terrain changed, the trees taller and leafier, the houses set farther back, and the streetlights fewer and farther between. There were some traffic lights, and Eric kept an eye on the VW as it stayed slightly behind Ren
é
e's car next to the Toyota. Wheatfield Drive wound left and right, and slower cars joined the trio but dropped off, and the VW stayed with Ren
é
e's car. Eric bet that the driver was Max.

He felt his heart beat faster as Ren
é
e put on her right blinker, switched into the right lane, and slowed just enough to make a right turn. Ren
é
e turned into a side street, but the black Toyota kept going on Wheatfield, leaving only the VW. Eric held his breath as he watched the VW put on its right blinker, switching to the right lane, and turn right after Ren
é
e. It had to be Max.

Eric shifted forward in his seat. He turned left behind the VW and spotted the street name, Harvest Road. Harvest was a quiet residential street with no traffic lights, and the three cars traveled in the darkness together in a line—Ren
é
e first, the VW, then Eric. Ren
é
e decelerated only slightly but suddenly the VW slowed considerably, which Eric realized would be just what Max would do if they were approaching Ren
é
e's house.

Eric braked, shifting up in the seat. He'd never tried to intercept anybody in a car, but it couldn't be that difficult. Ren
é
e had put on her right blinker, and he was sensing they were getting closer to Gristmill Road, especially given the Wheatfield/Harvest motif of the street names. Eric flashed his high beams, signaling to get Max's attention, but the VW didn't speed up or slow down.

Harvest Road curved sharply to the left, and Ren
é
e zoomed ahead, turning left off of Harvest without her blinker. Max slowed, but instead of following Ren
é
e, put on his right blinker and braked to a stop, confusing Eric, who braked as well. In the next moment, the VW turned right into a driveway of one of the houses, #212 Harvest.

Eric groaned, watching as the VW's ignition went off and its lights out. He'd been wrong. The driver couldn't have been Max. It was somebody who lived here, and unless Eric stepped on it, he was going to lose Ren
é
e. He accelerated, taking the first left that Ren
é
e had taken and catching a glimpse of the street sign, Gristmill Road. Her red taillights glowed at the end of the street, and he slowed, braking when he realized that the beginning of Gristmill looked like a regular road, but ended in a large cul-de-sac.

Eric pulled over to the curb on the right. He put the car in park and watched as Ren
é
e zoomed into the driveway of a large house in the middle of the cul-de-sac, then her engine and taillights went off. So Ren
é
e lived on Gristmill Road, but Max hadn't followed her home. Eric switched off the ignition so his engine noise didn't draw attention. He exhaled, puzzled.

He realized that maybe he was jumping the gun. There was still a chance that Max was on his way and he knew where Ren
é
e lived. Max could be on his way, right now, just to make sure that Ren
é
e was home safely. Either that, or the boy was somewhere out there, doing away with himself.

Abruptly, Eric's car filled with light from the headlights of a car that was turning onto Gristmill Road. The headlights finished their turning arc, straightened out, and headed down Gristmill Road. The car was a dark coupe, and Eric tugged the brim of his cap down as the coupe drove by, but he spotted a male driver. Eric waited to see if it was Max, and since it was a cul-de-sac, Max would probably drive forward, follow the cul-de-sac to check Ren
é
e's car, then drive out again. Eric would be able to stop him at the bottleneck. It was perfect.

Eric watched the dark coupe drive slowly down Harvest Road, enter the cul-de-sac, drive along its curb, and exit the cul-de-sac, driving toward Eric in the opposite direction. Eric shifted up in his seat, in anticipation. If the driver was Max, he would come eye-to-eye with Max, and the boy wouldn't be able to avoid him.

Suddenly, the coupe switched on its high beams, temporarily blinding him, and braked beside Eric's car, so that the driver was only a foot away. Eric looked over to see that it wasn't Max, but a middle-aged man, his eyes narrowed behind his horn-rimmed glasses.

“Excuse me, pal,” said the driver, sternly. “I live on this cul-de-sac. I know my neighbors. You're not one of them. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, sorry.” Eric reached for his cell phone and held it up. “I just got a text and I pulled over to answer it.”

“Why were you on the street in the first place?”

“I didn't realize it was a cul-de-sac. I was on Harvest when I got the text and I turned onto the street, but I didn't know it dead-ended. I must have missed the sign.”

“Oh, okay.” The driver eased back in his seat. “You didn't miss the sign, there isn't one. Most people around here know this is a cul-de-sac, but if you're not familiar, I can see how you could make that mistake. I didn't mean to jump down your throat, pal. These are the days of ‘when you see something, say something.'”

“Understood, completely.”

“I'm not saying you're a terrorist or anything. I mean, obviously, you're not a terrorist.”

“No, of course not. I'll be on my way. The text can wait.” Eric started the engine and put the car in gear.

“Good. We have an active town watch here, and sooner or later, somebody's going to call the cops.”

“Of course, good night now.” Eric hit the gas, cruised slowly forward, and turned around in the cul-de-sac, glancing over at Ren
é
e's house, which was a large brick Ch
â
teau type, with the lights on downstairs. He steered to the exit of the cul-de-sac and waved good-bye to the coupe driver, who flashed him a thumbs-up.

Eric didn't exhale until he reached the top of the street.

 

Chapter Twenty-eight

Eric headed south, his chest tightening, an unhappily familiar sensation. He remembered back when he was in the throes of his disorder, tension like steel bands would squeeze his chest, lungs, even his windpipe. He controlled his breathing and drove ahead, wondering where Max could have gone. He passed the closed, dark strip malls in Devon, the Whole Foods parking lot finally empty, the Brewster's ice cream just closing, and the last of the independent mechanics, the one he used. It occurred to him that PerfectScore wasn't far away and there was an off-chance Max could be there.

He took a left turn, then two rights, and he could see PerfectScore. The sign glowed crimson, subliminally suggesting Harvard, which was the right color to affluent parents giving their kids every advantage to get into the best colleges. The store was brick and single-story, and he pulled into the small parking lot, but it was empty. He drove around the back of the lot, but it was completely empty.

He left the lot and took a right turn, heading home and sensing the tension in his chest wouldn't be leaving until he had found Max safe. He drove past the darkened houses and found himself thinking about the families within, the children tucked in on a school night and the mothers and fathers climbing into bed together, too tired for sex, but spooning like he and Caitlin, the very companionship a comfort. Eric loved being married, loved having a home base in the family, loved being taken into the same place every night. It struck him that he wasn't really missing Caitlin, but a wife, a home, a family, security. Maybe he had been as guilty as she of falling in love with a cardboard cutout, not a person. Looking back, they never got along that well, and their bickering was about who took the trash out last time, or who forgot to record which check, or who went out to Staples for school supplies, and by the end, they were both keeping score—and both were losing.

Eric realized that he was driving on automatic pilot toward his old house on Mill Road, not his new home. He braked and made a U-turn. He didn't live there anymore. He wasn't about to drive by and see if Caitlin was alone, or if there was another car in the driveway, Brian's. He hit the gas heading home, then realized with a start that Max could be there waiting for him.