The Lost

Prologue

1979

Raptor Ridge, Illinois

She ran across the asphalt parking lot, keeping her eyes down. There was no way she could afford to trip or stumble.

Her heavy leather purse slapped her left thigh. There would be a bruise tomorrow. No matter. Tomorrow was a whole new day. The first day of the rest of their lives.

Her hair whipped into her eyes, snatched up by the small dust devils in the parking lot. She searched frantically for the car. Spying it, she sprinted toward it, the toddler bouncing on her right hip. As she neared the rusted-out station wagon, she nodded at the driver, and the engine slowly cranked to life, as if protesting to start at all.

With one last stolen glance over her shoulder at the large double doors leading into the shopping mall, she yanked the car door handle. The door creaked open, its rust hinges proclaiming their departure to the entire parking lot. She passed the child into the waiting arms of the driver, then dropped into the seat, pinning the boy between them.

Breathless, she waved her hands toward the windshield. AGet moving. I don=t know if they followed me or not.@

The driver looked left and right as the car chugged from its spot, the plan already in motion. Wriggling next to her, the child reached up his arms. She scooped him into her embrace, plunging her face into his soft hair, breathing in his little boy smells B baby shampoo, animal crackers, Play-doh. Closing her eyes, she envisioned tomorrow, and the next day, and then, hopefully, the next. Make the call, get the money, start a new life.

In the meantime, act normal. Drive carefully. Don=t draw attention. Right. She’d just stolen another woman’s child for no better reasons than money for a new life and to set right a wrong. Acting normal was gone forever. Staying invisible was now the goal.

Rosalie Thatcher wanted nothing but the best. And nothing but the best was what she intended to have. Beginning with the man of her dreams, the wedding of the year, a successful business expansion, and the cutest cottage in town with the best garden this side of the Great Divide. This time she was going to get it right.

Rosalie Thatcher may not have come from much, but she was going to be Somebody. If accomplishing her goal meant being the big fish in a little pond called Lesterville, California, population four hundred. At least for now she was Somebody.

She picked up the small pot of herbs, turning it from side to side, visually inspecting it for dying leaves. Her visit to the nursery this morning to confirm the flower selection for her wedding resulted in choosing some plants to go into her garden.

Her garden. She liked the sound of that. And Tony=s, of course. Hers and Tony=s for now, and then hers and Tony's and their children. She closed her eyes, visualizing where she would plant this rosemary. In her mind=s eye, she saw rows and rows of vigorous vegetables and fresh flowers for cutting.

The fact she=d never grown anything more than mold on the sour cream in her refrigerator did not deter her. Few things deterred Rosalie.

APartial sun will work fine, too. Keeping it moist is the most important thing. The instructions are on the tag in the pot.@

AThat should work, then.@ Rosalie set the pot on her rolling cart. ADo you have any edible flowers?@

AWe just had a local grower bring in a small selection.@ The clerk pointed to the far corner of the greenhouse. AShe brought in nasturtiums and hibiscus today. You got here at the right time. They don=t last long.@

AThanks.@ Rosalie wheeled her cart to the corner indicated by the clerk and located the plants. Most were in recycled containers including old margarine tubs and faded quart-size milk containers. Looks like the grower saved these milk cartons for years. Rosalie chose several varieties and colors of nasturtiums before turning her attention to the hibiscus. They would make a nice herbal tea. Perfect for a cozy winter evening in front of our fireplace.

A particularly vibrant yellow hibiscus caught her attention, and she picked up the milk carton the plant temporarily called home. Turning the hibiscus from side to side, she checked the leaves, making sure the stem was strong and straight.

A sketch of her fiancée Tony stared back at her, the headline “Missing Child” blazoned above his head.

She dropped the plant and covered her face with her hands, breathing deeply. Somewhere in the deep recesses of her brain, she tried to make sense of what she’d seen. Slowly she lowered her hands. She stared at the container at her feet. The stem broken, the flower buds crushed, moist dark dirt scattered around the pot. She stepped to the left to get a different view of the carton. Then she moved to the right. It didn=t help.

Sure, it was just an age progression charcoal sketch that could look like any number of twenty-two-year-old men: Dark hair, dark eyes, snub nose. But the scar on the forehead and the set of the smile looked much too familiar for her to discard as impossible. And the picture next to it of a little boy, maybe two years old at the time, bore an uncanny resemblance to Tony as a child. On the side of a milk carton.

AOkay, guys. Into the shower before you head home.@ Tony Medina stepped aside to allow the junior boys track team enough room to fit through the door. AWhy do you always want to be in the same place at the same time?@

AYeah, a lean, mean, running machine.@ Another lanky runner slapped his towel at the legs of the boy ahead of him, starting a retaliation. Soon the boys were embroiled in a mock fight.

Tony picked up the whistle hanging on a cord around his neck and blew it. AKnock it off. You know what happened the last time you had a towel fight.@ His ears rang from the sharp noise in the enclosed area.

AYou mean besides we got you good?@ It seemed to Tony the lanky runner was looking for extra laps.

AI mean the fact McPherson got a black eye when one of you top-notch athletes misjudged and caught him in the face.@

AYou=re right, Coach.@ The boys stopped jostling each other and filed into the showers.

Tony hated spoiling their fun. Most of their antics were just high spirits. His team was the first from Lesterville to make it the state finals. He and the boys had worked hard for this chance. At the beginning of the school year, nobody thought they would make it out of the basement in their league.

He ran his hands through his unruly hair, again making a mental note to get a haircut. He’d been hoping to wait until closer to the wedding so he didn=t have that >just got a haircut for the wedding= look. Those little details made a difference to Rosalie. He tilted his head from one side to the other, evaluating how much longer the cut could wait.

Excited voices broke into thoughts of his intended, bringing him back to the job at hand: getting his team ready for the state meet in eight weeks, just days after he and Rosalie returned from their honeymoon. Already a point of contention between them, he’d finally placated her by promising to focus on the wedding and honeymoon and include the assistant coach in the training regimen.

Rory and James, his two top sprinters, burst into the locker room as though they were still on the track.

Tony held up his hand, feeling like a traffic cop. “Save it for laps, which you will suffer if you don=t settle down.@ He tempered his words with a smile to let them know he wasn=t really angry.

ASure, Coach,@ the boys echoed in unison, then pushed through the doorway to the shower room, each wanting to be first.

Tony watched their antics. The boys were good for each other, equally able athletes with competitive spirits and good natures. He was glad he was going to be there for the big track meet but sorely hated missing the bulk of the pre-meet training. And knowing the assistant coach Mitch was going to step in and take his place somehow made matters worse.

Tony leaned against the wall listening to the hoots and laughter from the shower area. While he loved his job, being a coach in a small town high school was precarious at best. Much of the job was politics – keeping the school board, the principal, the parents happy. Not to mention keeping the kids occupied and willing to put in their best effort.

Stepping away from the training might be a career-killer. Especially if Mitch took it into his head to take over.

Tony pushed away from the wall, his thoughts in turmoil. As much as he wanted to be involved in the kids’ lives, he had to draw the line somewhere. Rosalie was a big part of his life already, and soon would become a permanent part. He needed to make choices for their best interest. He needed to set aside his desires and consider their future.

And the time had come to trust Mitch to do the right thing. This wedding was really important to Rosalie, which made it important to him. There was no way he was going to hurt her like that jerk had done a couple of years ago.

As her face came into his mind, his lips curved into a smile. He couldn=t wait until they were married, when all the planning would be done, all the questions answered. Lately it seemed like the deepest conversation he and his fiancée had enjoyed was what color place holders did he prefer. He wasn=t even sure what a place holder was.

He really was lucky B he had a job he loved, a woman he cherished, and a talented bunch of kids to coach. There was just one thing missing.

His parents were but a dim memory now, sandwiched between happy times and emptiness. They went to heaven, the doctor had told him. Why did God want his parents? Tony needed them. His four-year-old mind hadn=t been able to grasp much beyond the fact they were dead, and he was suddenly without any family. Foster families weren’t real family. At least not in the way that was important. He didn’t have anyone else in the world who looked like him, who knew about his grandparents, his family history.

Several other boys streamed into the locker room, jostling each other in good natured play. They called their greetings to Tony, and he waved them towards the shower area, pinching his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

AAww, Coach, we don=t stink much, do we?@ Michael lifted his arm and sniffed at his armpit.

Tony raised his hand for silence, and the boys stopped where they were. AAnyone who didn=t work hard enough to work up a sweat and stink needs to go out and do another ten laps. Who=s first?@

Michael was the first to speak. AI was wrong, Coach. I need to shower before I set off the toxic odor detectors.@

Tony=s cell phone chirped and he pulled it from the right pocket of his athletic shorts. A quick check of the flip phone display screen revealed the caller. AHey, Gregg, checking up on me?@

AJust wanted to make sure you weren=t going to be late.@ Gregg laughed. AWhere are you?@

AStill in the locker room, making sure these animals actually use soap in the shower.@

ALet me know when that happens. If it hasn=t happened in, what, twenty years, it probably won=t happen any time soon.@

AWhatever.@ Tony loved using the meaningless phrase, picked up from hanging around teen boys and girls for too many years. AI=ll be right down.@ He snapped his phone shut and headed towards his office down the hallway.

As he strode down the now-empty corridor, Tony=s sneakers squeaked on the linoleum. Dark paneling on the walls reflected the light from overhead, casting pools of brightness along the yellowed flooring. Built in the 1950's, the school smelled of chalk dust and pine-scented cleaner. Passing the gymnasium door, he cast another glance into the large room.

The well-maintained hardwood floor shone, although he made a mental note to requisition new floor striping from the principal. He sighed as he considered the fight he would have to put up to get the money for that. Budgets were being cut everywhere, and physical education was often on the short branch of the money tree.

Maybe if the boys could do well at the state finals, the school board would be more willing to shell out the money.

Tony was a product of this school, and he had turned out all right. A PhysEd degree from the local community college landed him a job at the school. And being from Lesterville pretty much guaranteed him a job for life, at least as long as he played by the rules and didn’t rock the boat. Still, sometimes he wondered if he might find what he was looking for somewhere else.

He shook his head. No, Lesterville was home. His parents were buried here, and they were all the family he had. And of course, Rosalie was here, too. Their new home was here and soon it would be filled with children.

Tony reached his office and pushed open the door. Closing it behind him, he quickly stripped off his t-shirt and tossed it in the direction of his gym bag. He slipped a shirt off the hanger on the back of his door, where he always kept a couple of changes of shirts at school. He raised one arm, sniffing for any odor. Still fine.

Tony grabbed his gym bag loaded with dirty shirts ready for the laundry. He left his office and turned right, heading for the front door of the school when he heard a voice call his name.

Tony sighed and stopped in his tracks. Turning around, he watched the principal waddle towards him. Just walking the length of the hallway takes a minute.

AActually, Bob, I don=t. I have someone waiting for me.@ Tony smiled what he hoped was his most sincere smile.

AWon=t take you away from your date.@ The principal pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and swiped at the sweat on his balding head.

ANot a B never mind. I can give you a minute or so.@ Tony leaned casually against a locker, his toe tapping on the faded linoleum floor. He waited for the principal to catch his breath.

Bob Lester drew in a deep breath through his mouth, letting it out slowly through his nose. ADoctor says I should learn to breathe right. Guess I should follow his advice, shouldn=t I?@

The principal beamed at Tony as if he had made a joke. ARight. I guess so.@ He gazed myopically through his thick glasses at a spot on the ceiling.

ARight. Right.@ Another deep breath. AOh, yes, now I remember. Tony, you know we all really love you here.@

AAnd we=ve never had our boys= track team go to state finals before, let alone the nationals.@

Tony glanced at his watch. Gregg would be sure to razz him about taking so long.

Bob Lester drew in another deep breath. AI may as well just come out with it, Tony. I have a friend in the athletic department at the state college in San Jose. He asked if I knew of any coaches who might be interested in moving up to the college track program. Your name came to mind.”

AI know it sounds like a demotion, but it really isn=t, you know. They can pretty much guarantee you will be in the head coach position within five years, since that=s when Anderson retires. Maybe sooner.@ Lester beamed at him again.

Tony tried to speak, but no words would come out. Move to San Jose to coach at the state college level? It was a high school coach=s dream come true.

AThey haven=t made a formal offer, mind you, but I wanted to check with you, see how you feel about making the move to San Jose.@

Lester clapped him on the shoulder. AGood, good. A great chance for you, a great loss for us.@

Tony nodded and unfolded himself from his stance against the locker. He looked in the direction of the door and checked his watch.

Lester finally took the hint. AGood. Well, I=ll see you tomorrow. Enjoy your date.@

Too numb to set him straight, Tony strode to the end of the corridor and pushed open the double oak doors, sending them flinging back on their hinges. He took the steps down to the parking lot two at a time.

Gregg stood beside his car, forearms resting on the roof. He looked up at the sound of the doors banging open, then started to speak. Tony held his hand up to stop him, grabbed the door handle and yanked open the car door. Plunking himself into the worn leather bucket seat, he leaned his head against the head rest.

Gregg turned the key and started the engine. “Do you need to come back here when we’re done?”

Tony shook his head, confusion washing over his entire being. He’d just been presented with the opportunity of a lifetime, and he didn’t know what to do. “I left the car home this morning and walked.”

Finally Tony lifted his head and smiled wearily at his friend. ALet=s go. We=ve got tuxes to try on.@

AWell, getting fitted for a penguin suit is one experience I hope not to go through again anytime soon.@ Gregg swiped at his forehead, wiping away phantom perspiration.

Tony pulled down one eyebrow in a mock frown. AAdmit it, you enjoyed having those guys running in circles. I think you made up half that stuff just to get them going.@

AOkay. So I wanted to have some fun. Somebody had to. You sure looked like you weren=t.@ Gregg checked his rearview mirror, then flicked on his signal, deftly changing lanes, all in one fluid movement.

ANot to anyone who didn=t know better. I just know you too well.@ Gregg glanced at his friend. AYou going home?@

AI=m meeting Nancy for dinner and she lives on the same side of town.@ Gregg reached over and turned down the volume on the radio a notch or two. ANeed to talk?@

Tony stared out the windshield, not really seeing anything. AI think it=s just nerves about the wedding, the house. You know.@ He laughed. ANo, I guess you don=t know. Still, I suspect Nancy is the kind of woman you’d go through the tux ordeal for again. Am I right, or am I right?@

Gregg turned to look at his friend. AMaybe.@ He shifted his glance back to the road ahead of them. ASo is that all it is? Nerves?@

AI guess so. And getting married, and talking about guest lists. I don=t know. It just got me missing my parents even more.@ Tony smacked his hand against the dash loudly. AThey should have been here for this, you know.@ Suddenly weary, he leaned back in his seat.

Gregg swallowed hard. AI know. They’re watching you right now, proud of the man you are.@

Tony twisted in his seat. AHow can you know that? You never knew them. And they=re dead. They=re not looking down from some cloud up there, in between harp lessons. They’re dead, cold in the grave, gone as if they were never here.@ Anguish made his voice crack, and he couldn=t speak past the lump in his throat.

In reply, Gregg slowed the car and pulled to the side of the road. He put the car in park, and turned off the engine. Silence enveloped them. Tony looked out the side window at the empty field, emotions whirling inside him like a small tornado.

Nothing but grass and bugs and dirt. Just like his Momma’s and Daddy=s graves.

ATony?@ When he got no answer, Gregg reached over and touched Tony=s shoulder. Tony reluctantly turned to face his friend, his chest tight as he struggled to hold back the emotion threatening to spill over. Gregg sat back in his seat. AI know because my parents told me they had talked to your parents about God.@

ADon=t talk to me about God. God took my parents. If He really loved me, they had be here for the biggest day of my life.@ Tony lost control, and the tears ran down his cheeks. Only babies cried. He wasn’t a child anymore. He’d only cried a couple of times since the day when he was four.

Gregg looked away for a moment before speaking. ATony, God loves you, and He didn=t take your parents. But they’re with Him. When your dad worked for mine, he and your mom -- @

AI can=t deal with this now. I have too much going on to get caught up in religion. Let’s go.@ Tony crossed his arms over his chest and hunkered down in the seat, his jaws clenched tight.

Gregg started the car, checked the rearview mirror for traffic, and pulled out. AThat=s okay, Tony. When you’re ready, then we can talk about it.@

		A Website Featuring the Writings of Donna Schlachter 10/22/10

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