Free The Deep End of the Ocean by Jacquelyn Mitchard Page A

has?”
    “That’s why we listen to the Easter bunny.”
    Past them proceeded an almost mournful parade of half-familiar faces, refugees from the reunion. A few people were staying, Ellen had told her, mostly those who were going to stay over a few days anyhow. And they wanted to help. But the majority of the people were going home, or out in large groups for dinner.
    “Can we still stay here?” Beth asked. She wanted to be good, the model complainant, the kind of patient the dentist liked best because she kept her mouth open so wide.
    “Of course, absolutely.” She smiled at Pat. Now he had to hear the recounting, find out about the odds. “Anyhow, it’s a beautiful night out there; he wouldn’t even really be uncomfortable.”
    Beth gaped at the clock.
    It was 9:15. Ben had been missing for eight hours. A work day. A day of school. An amount of time that would not be accidental. She jumped up, sweating. “It’s so late!”
    “That’s what I mean, Mrs. Cappadora. In a sense, that’s an advantage. Now it’s quiet out there, and we can really start getting a sense of what’s going on in the town. The canine unit is on the way, and we’re getting helicopter support from Chicago. We have a neighborhood patrol, too—”
    “Helicopters?” Beth asked.
    “Equipped with infrared sensors, Beth. When things quiet down, they can scan open areas. They pick up objects that are giving off heat. A person, lying down maybe.”
    “Or a person dead.”
    “Or a body, yes. But that’s not what we’re looking for here. We want to be able to pick up a sign of Ben even if he is trying to hide from being seen, for example, in some bushes. See?” She excused herself for a moment and whispered to one of the cops on the phone, almost too low for Beth to hear, “Are they breeding the goddamn dogs or what?”
    “Where’s Rosie?” Beth asked Pat, gripping his hand, which was icy and wet. “Where’s Rosie?”
    Rosie was about to leave, to take the children home. But she came to Beth, humming so softly it sounded like a purr, and pushed Beth’s tangled hair behind her ears as if Beth were a little girl. In Jill’s arms, Kerry was absorbed in her bottle, but Rosie took Vincent firmly by the hand and told him, “Kiss Mama. You’ll see Mama soon. We’ll go to sleep at Nana’s.”
    His eyes were wired with overtiredness, and something else, a confusion she had never seen before in her linear-minded eldest. Vincent leaned over. Beth hugged him perfunctorily; but for an instant, surprising her, he clung. Then Vincent took Rosie’s hand and walked a few steps without looking back. All at once he stopped.
    “Mom?” he called.
    Beth heard him, but had no energy for an answer.
    “Mom?” Vincent called again, conversationally. “Did Ben get back yet?”
    Rosie said firmly, “Not quite yet. Very soon.” But Vincent was looking straight at Beth’s eyes, his comically too-bushy brows drawn down in absorbed attention.
    “Mom,” he said, “I asked you a thing. Did Ben get back yet?”
    Beth said, “Sweetheart. No.”
    Vincent said, “Oh.”
    Beth covered her face, scoured it with her fingers. She looked down at her nails. The creamy-coral guaranteed-two-week manicure was smudged and split.
    Angelo and Bill didn’t leave. They stayed in the lobby, sprawled in armchairs, though the manager officiously encouraged everyone, over and over, to “relocate” to an upper-floor lounge. People walked into the Tremont lobby, looked at the command center, and took a quick powder. Ellen and Nick Palladino were in the bar; Wayne had mustered a volunteer force of fifteen schoolmates to take their own cars and cruise the cemetery, the parking lot of the school, Hester Park. Beth had overheard a cop tell another that it was like bumper cars out there, but that no one had the heart to stop them.
    Supporting Beth under one arm, Pat brought her to a more comfortable chair by the piano. Candy Bliss followed. She wanted a picture of Ben for