The Moon Pool (30 page)

“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “For coming to get me, for getting us the room.”

Shay didn't say anything for a moment. She set down her fork and stared out the window, across the parking lot to the airport. Banks of plowed snow glittered in the blinding morning sun, and a small plane like the one Colleen had arrived on waited outside the terminal.

“That room you said Andy got?” Shay finally said.

“Yes.”

“You owe me now. That room's half mine. As long as we're here, as long as it takes.” Her face had darkened slightly.

“Of course.”

“And it's not charity. This isn't you doing me a favor. We need to get that straight.”

“I never said—”

“Let me finish. I just want it understood between us, I did my part last night. You probably think it's easy for me, with him, letting him put his hands on me, just because you look at me and think I give it away every chance I get.”

Colleen wanted to object, but she kept her mouth shut, her hands clenching in her lap.

“Look. Okay, I see people,
men
, it's all casual. I'm not all hung up, like, what society thinks if there are two of us having a good time, responsible adults, whatever. But last night? I don't
do
that. Not with a guy like that. Thinking he was going to have me in that bed when he could barely remember my name? His hands on my ass while I could hear his phone buzzing because his wife was calling for the third time?

“He made me
sick
,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “So no, that wasn't easy. I did it for the same reason you asked that girl to come meet you, because we've got to do
everything
we can.”

A moment passed. “That's it,” Shay said, her voice nearly back to normal. “I guess that's all I have to say.”

“I understand.” Colleen pushed her plate to the edge of the table, no longer hungry. “I don't... take it for granted. I don't take you for granted.”

The bill came, and while Shay signed it to their room, Colleen remembered something else she had thought of, a way to do her part.

“Listen, I think we need to get some better media coverage. Not just the papers, but TV.”

Shay snorted. “Right. Didn't you hear what Chief Weyant said? They have guys walking off the sites all the time. How are we going to convince them this is any different?”

“You aren't going to like this, Shay, but hear me out. This is different because it's two white boys with money. Back in Boston, who do you think gets covered? In Chicago? In any big city? How about Sacramento, out by you? Kids from rich families.”

“But Taylor doesn't—”

Colleen stopped her with a shake of the head. “They're together,” she said firmly. “That's the story. Look, I'm sick of trying to explain myself all the time, but there's some things in this world you can buy. Let's go out to the affiliate and see if we can talk to someone. I'll get Andy to call the bigger outlets.”

Shay nodded slowly. “Okay. You know where it is?”

“Yes, I looked it up while you were in the shower.” She allowed herself a small smile. “On my
phone.
See, there may be hope for me yet.”

THEY TOOK A
poster off a drugstore window on the way. The affiliate was located a few miles out of town on a flat, snow-thatched field, the transmission tower spearing the chalky sky. There were only a few cars in the lot, and inside, there was a lone woman sitting at a desk, cleaning her glasses on a cloth and staring at her screen.

“Help you?” she said.

Colleen had reapplied her lipstick in the car and arranged her scarf carefully around the neckline of her coat, while planning exactly what she wanted to say. Now she raised her chin and took a breath.

“My name is Colleen Mitchell, and this is Shay Capparelli. We are the mothers of the boys who went missing from the Hunter-Cole job site that has been plagued with shocking safety violations. The local police have been unwilling to help, and there are rumors that someone in the department is being paid to stonewall the investigation. We're ready to speak out on camera to get the message out that we need to get Paul and Taylor home.”

She was shaking when she finished speaking. The women lowered her glasses to the desk and frowned. “Seriously? You think the cops are covering it up?”

“We don't—there's no proof, but we were hoping that KUXC might be willing to do an investigation,” Colleen said, some of her certainty slipping. “We're also working with several media outlets in Boston and Sacramento, where the boys are from, as well as Bismarck.” With any luck, that would soon be true.

“Wow, I wish you luck. I can try to get someone to call you this afternoon,” the woman said, reaching for a pen.

“Isn't there anyone we could talk to now?”

The woman waved at the closed door to her right. “Honey, there're only three people here besides me. Lester at noon and Anna on weather, and one engineer.”

“You can put on the news with so few people?” Shay asked. “What about all the reporters? And the, you know, sound and camera people?”

“It's all automated now.” The woman shrugged. “Ten years ago there would have been more than a dozen people running the show. Now we got cameras that think for themselves. Hey, do you want me to go ask if you can come in and watch?”

“Thanks, but we don't have time,” Colleen said, deflated. “It would be great if you had someone call. And here's a poster with the boys' pictures.”

She wrote down their names and cell numbers. The woman wished them luck again on their way out.

BACK IN THE
car, Shay didn't turn the key right away. She looked out on the desolate horizon, a few snowflakes drifting aimlessly in the steely cold winds. “You did good,” she said quietly. “You knew how to talk to her.”

“I don't think it's going to do any good, though. I've got to figure out how to get to the programming director, or whatever they call it.” Colleen had her phone out and was tapping away.

“Who are you texting?”

“I'm not. I found an app for taking notes this morning. I'm writing down the anchors' names.” She glanced up. “Don't look at me like that, Shay. You're the one who inspired me to figure it out.”

When Colleen had come out of the shower this morning with the thick white towel wrapped around her head, smelling of the fancy soap the hotel provided, she'd looked not so much relaxed as relieved. As if she was finally back in her own skin. She'd called someone to come up to their room to get their laundry, something Shay hadn't even known you could do, and showed him the rip in her pants and told him she was happy to pay a surcharge for them to be repaired right away, and then she'd given him a ten-dollar bill.

Shay, who had been sitting at the desk writing Mack an email, pretended not to pay attention to the conversation. But she added her own laundry to the pile and wondered what it would be like to live that way. She could see that it would be a comfort, but the risk was that you would be helpless if it was taken away from you.

She was finally understanding how much farther Colleen had had to fall.

And not just because she'd had to sleep on a table for two nights or wear dirty underwear. Somehow, seeing her in her own environment—the Hyatt that was probably the closest thing in Lawton to what felt like home to Colleen—Shay got a glimpse into what it must have been like at home, for her and her husband, and also for Paul. When Taylor came home, as often as not trailing a couple of guys from the team, or his study group from Spanish, Shay didn't make them take their shoes off at the door or call her “Mrs. Capparelli.” They helped themselves to whatever was in the fridge and didn't seem to care that the dinette chairs didn't match, and when the pizza came they all threw in a few bucks unless Shay had just gotten paid, in which case she'd send one of them to the Freshway down the block with money for sodas and a salad from the deli, and give the pizza guy a big tip.

She guessed that in the Mitchell home, you paid for the thick carpet and the gourmet groceries and the maid by never causing a fuss. Never leaving crumbs on the coffee table or the toilet seat up or yelling during a football game on TV.

Taking Colleen out of her environment had shaken her badly. But for Paul, maybe it had been his first taste of real freedom. Taylor had told her how happy Paul was in the camp. He sang dirty songs in the shower, changing the lyrics and getting people to sing along. He loved when they all gathered around the big-screen TV to watch games, half of them on the floor because there weren't enough chairs, almost getting into fistfights when Alabama played LSU. He even loved when the girls at the desk got mad when they tracked mud in and made them all go back outside and put the little booties on.

“Look, there's something you need to know,” Shay said, when Colleen finally put her phone back in her purse.

“Please don't tell me anything technical, because I swear to you I can't learn one more new thing right now.” Colleen gave Shay the little self-deprecating half smile that Shay had finally figured out indicated her most confident moments.

She took in Colleen's carefully drawn-on eyebrows, her hair sprayed in place. She knew that Colleen felt like she finally looked decent again, but to Shay she looked like the moms who'd never talk to her in the pickup lines at the school, the ones who stared at her when she took Leila to the park, not because Shay was too old to have a two-year-old but because Leila was biracial.

She missed the woman who'd first stumbled into the motor home, with her mascara smudged from crying and her hair standing up. But that wasn't the version of Colleen who was sitting with her in the car, and she had no choice but to make things right with this one.

“What I said about Paul. What Taylor told me. It was true. When he first got there, he did have trouble fitting in. But not the way I made it sound.”

She peeked at Colleen. Her face was a mask; she'd gone rigid.
Keep breathing
, Shay wanted to say.
Honey, just stay with me here.

“They just didn't know what to make of him, is all, and he was shy, and every time he'd do something that they made fun of, he'd get all embarrassed and go back to his room. Like even if it was a little thing, like I guess he had this belt with anchors all the way around it, nobody had ever seen anything like that. And you know how guys are.”

Colleen's lips trembled and Shay knew she was going to cry if she didn't get this out right.

“Okay, look, the one who gave him that nickname? Who got everyone calling him Whale? It was
Taylor.
But he wasn't making fun of him, he was trying to give him something to hang on to. And all of this was just the first week. Taylor said the minute Paul figured out that everyone didn't hate him, he was like a different guy. He went to Walmart and got all new clothes and wore them with the wrinkles from the package still in them, he started joking around with the desk girls, he played poker... Taylor said he always won at poker. What I'm saying is, everybody
liked
him.”

Colleen was crying now, silently shaking while tears tracked down her cheeks. She took a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. “You can't know,” she whispered. “You just can't know.”

“It's okay,” Shay said, and then she really needed Colleen to stop because there was still that other part, that thin, dark shadow behind the friendship between their sons.

The boy with his skull caved in. The boy in the locker room. And because of that boy, the gift she had just given Colleen was tainted, it was spoiled at the core.

But let Colleen hold on to that solace for now. Because if she found out that Paul had gone crazy again, there would be ample time for her to pay. And pay and pay for the rest of her life.

“Okay,” Shay said. “We'd better get back to town.”