Jaxon With an X Read online

  Danny called out that his order was ready, so David went back up to the counter and took the coffee and the small bag with his fresh biscuit. He turned back to the men, measuring his words carefully, knowing they would be repeated throughout the day. “We always wondered what really happened back then, which is why no one was ever charged. Unfortunately, we can’t always control the rumors.”

  The men exchanged startled glances. “But…”

  “Y’all have a great day. Give Marge my best, will ya, Abe?” David left them buzzing and headed out to the parking lot. He settled into the driver’s seat and looked through the plate-glass window. The men were huddled together, probably feverishly rehashing the conversation.

  Of course, the whole town thought Harold Lathan had kidnapped his own son. The sheriff’s department had never said otherwise. But it was also true that he had never been charged, a fact that had probably grown fuzzy over the years. David had planted a seed of clarity with them, giving himself some maneuvering room no matter the outcome.

  18

  Half of Connor’s life had happened after his little brother disappeared. Jaxon was as much myth as memory, snippets of images. Birthday cakes. Shared toys. Sibling fights. Fleeting visions that felt more like dream than reality.

  The boy in the bed didn’t match those visions. He didn’t seem like Jaxon at all. If the sheriff and his mother hadn’t told him, Connor would have assumed he was nothing but a stranger.

  Too timid to interfere after entering the cubicle, Connor stood with his back against the curtain, watching his mother and younger brother. Heather sobbed uncontrollably with joy in one moment then paced around the room, jabbering nonsensically in the next. But no matter how much she moved and what she said, Jaxon lay still—a cheerless, bony shadow with his arms around his mother’s neck when she sat beside him. His eyes darted around the room like a wild, trapped animal when she paced.

  Connor wondered how the boy had lost the vibrancy, the giggle, the gleam of a kid who had delighted in both antagonizing and worshiping his older brother, busting into his room unannounced and absconding with his toys. Back then, he had bubbled with laughter at the silliest things—a fart joke, burping the alphabet, blowing bubbles in cereal milk. This joyless boy didn’t seem to know how to laugh at all.

  Connor’s memories were of their similarities, how much they liked each other, and how often they hung around together. But he was suddenly confronted with all of their differences. His own hair was a reddish-brown, unmanageable mop that never responded well to brushes and combs, not something anyone wanted to run their fingers through to relish its silkiness. Heather brushed Jaxon’s thick hair out of his eyes and tucked it behind his ears. Even dirty and matted, it hinted at its lushness.

  The laughing little boy of the past had smooth, lightly tanned skin that highlighted his constant smile, unlike his older brother’s freckled white face. Jaxon probably would never have the pimples that Connor had fought since the beginning of puberty. His skin had turned pale and cracked from the cold and wind. A scar rippled across the cheek, masking the angelic face from the past.

  But mostly, Connor realized, it was the eyes that had changed. He couldn’t count the number of times he had stared at his own brown eyes in a mirror, wishing he had Jaxon’s twinkling blues, which sparkled with mischief. So many people had remarked about how stunning his eyes were. But they had been replaced with dull gray, washed-out shadows of the past—eyes that spoke of defeat, loss, and grief.

  In that moment, he understood how much he had been bottling up over the years, pretending they had been perfectly matched siblings. He hadn’t wanted to admit how much they competed with each other. Jaxon was smart, reading before he was in kindergarten. He blinked those baby blues and twinkled a smile, and adults smiled back. He made friends quickly and easily, no matter where they went.

  Connor had always felt less sure of himself, hesitant in social settings, and slower to make friends. School was drudgery and homework a chore. He never liked reading assignments and hated making presentations in class. He acted out and played the role of class clown to hide his insecurities.

  And, truth be told, he hadn’t left Jaxon alone that morning because he wanted to be with his friends. They hadn’t threatened to leave if they had to hang around the younger boy, a story he had told dozens of times. They liked Jaxon, thought he was cool “for a little kid.” Connor had ridden off with them because he wanted to shed himself of his brother, if only for a while.

  Blame for the tragedy of that day could only be placed in one spot, Connor knew—on himself. On a selfish kid who wanted to ride bikes with his friends more than he wanted to babysit his little brother. On the impatient kid who couldn’t wait for his father to show up—if he ever did—and take them to the park. On the scared little kid who took hours to admit to his mother he had returned to find the swing set empty, Jaxon’s bicycle leaning against the tree right where he had left it.

  If only I had stayed with him that day. Then I would have my little brother and not this stranger in a hospital bed.

  Nurse Sheila, dabbing her own eyes with a tissue as she watched the mother-son interaction, glanced toward Connor. Jaxon followed her gaze and stiffened at the sight of the older boy. Heather smiled through her tears. “Oh, Jaxon, honey, I’m sorry. It’s been so long, and I never really thought… I know lots of changes have happened, but that’s your brother.”

  With wary eyes, Jaxon scanned the young man from feet to head, sizing him up. He whispered in a hoarse voice, “Connor?”

  The voice was deeper, rougher than the higher-pitched little boy’s voice Connor remembered. He heard himself whimper, a choked sound hinting of the tears he fought so hard to contain. “Yeah, Jax, it’s me.”

  “You’re…” Jaxon looked at Heather then back to his brother. “You’re bigger than I thought.”

  The words stabbed. He had been inventorying all of the changes in his sibling without thinking of how strange he must seem to Jaxon. The last time they had seen each other, Connor had been a foot-and-a-half shorter and half his weight. He tried to smile but failed and choked on his words instead. “Yeah… You’ve changed too, lil’ bro.”

  Jaxon lay back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. He muttered as if he was talking to an apparition floating above his head. “I don’t know what’s real.”

  Confused, Connor took a hesitant step forward. “What do you mean? This is real.”

  “No, not now. The past.” Jaxon closed his eyes. “We told each other stories. About our families. About things we did.”

  “We? You mean me and you?”

  “No.” Jaxon’s raspy breathing was the only sound in the room. “Back there. The others. Stories helped pass the time. Families. Big brothers. It’s what we always talked about.”

  Connor’s limbs went numb, and he sat down hard in a plastic visitor’s chair. He whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t know which stories are real and which are made up. They’re so much… they’re just stories in my head.”

  Connor’s hands trembled in his lap. “Tell me some. I will let you know which ones are real.”

  Jaxon ran a tongue along his lips, looking like he was arguing with himself. He swallowed, the clack audible in the quiet of the room. His eyes remained focused on the overhead lights. “Flying kites. Racing bikes. Pillow fights. Swimming in a creek.”

  Connor answered, his voice little more than a whisper. “We did all those things.”

  “Things are so hazy. Like dreams.” His breath wheezed in and out. “Like maybe I never did those things at all but only heard about them.”

  Connor dragged his shirtsleeve across his face, clearing his eyes so he could focus. He scooted the chair closer to the bed and reached his hand out, their fingertips brushing. “I’ll help you remember. Everything.”

  Jaxon’s hand trembled, quivering against Connor’s touch. His fingers recoiled and then, after a pause, stretched and interlaced with his older broth
er’s. “I’d like that. I want the stories to be real.”

  Grasping his brother’s hand, Connor fought the flood of memories as they reappeared one by one. He hadn’t been traumatized like Jaxon had, and yet he struggled to piece everything together. He wanted to help his brother get back to normal, but first he had to confess. “That day… My friends… I left you alone… I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Yeah. I wish you hadn’t.” His gaze lowered from the ceiling and locked onto his brother’s as a faint smile crossed his face. “Long time ago, though, Con.”

  “Yeah, long time ago.” They sat there, holding hands, hearing only the buzzing of the fluorescent lights. Connor leaned back in the chair, his brother’s bony fingers resting in his own hand. He hadn’t allowed himself to dream they might ever touch again, but it had happened. No matter how different things were, he felt complete for the first time in a long time. “Welcome home, Jax.”

  Jaxon’s eyes flicked between his visitors. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His mouth slowly closed again, and he chewed on his chapped lips. He lay back on the bed, stared at the ceiling, and whispered, the word coming out more a question than a statement, “Home?”

  19

  Heather felt Sheila wrap her arm around her waist. She turned to look into her friend and former boss’s concerned face. “Thanks so much for being here for us.”

  “Honey, it’s the best part of being a volunteer. I don’t have to race to the next patient, ’cause I get to spend time where I want to. And taking care of you and that boy is what I want to be doing right now.” A wide grin spread across her face. “And you wanna know what the second-best part of being a volunteer is?”

  Heather couldn’t help but smile as she shook her head.

  “I get to call up to administration and tell them what needs to happen. What they going to do? Fire me? So that’s what I just did. I told them we need to move this boy up to the fifth floor and get him out of this ER.”

  “Is he ready to move?”

  “Already cleared it with Doc Queen, and he’s signed the order. Medically, all this boy needs right now is that IV, some sedatives to deal with the pain, and someone to change the dressings. It’s going to get busy down here, anyway, once people start stirring ’bout town, so up there’ll be much quieter. I even got him a room all the way down at the end of the hall so no one will bother him.”

  “Thank you.” Heather hugged Sheila. “When?”

  Sheila pulled the curtain back to reveal a waiting wheelchair. “Horace is ready, so ain’t no time like the present.”

  Horace came into the room and helped Jaxon out of his bed. The boy stood on unsteady legs, leaning on Connor as Horace guided him gently into the chair. Without any personal effects to move, they were soon rolling toward the elevators as the ER nurses called out well-wishes and gave Heather hugs. Minutes later, they were on the fifth floor. Horace and Connor assisted Jaxon back out of the chair and into bed.

  Horace wheeled the empty chair out of the room, and Sheila left with a promise to check in later. The room fell quiet as Connor draped his jacket over the back of a chair then flopped down into it.

  Heather stood at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed as she hugged herself, her eyes dancing back and forth between the boys’ faces. For the first time since learning of Jaxon’s return, she wasn’t surrounded by others bustling around. The quiet was unnerving.

  “I’m going to find some coffee. You boys need me to bring you something back?” They shook their heads, and she slipped out the door, hearing it latch behind her in the quiet. She only took a couple of steps before her emotions overwhelmed her, and she crumpled into a chair at the end of the hall and sobbed.

  She stared out the hall window at the snow-covered mountains, tears streaming down her face. She needed to be strong for Jaxon—for both her sons. They didn’t need to see her cry, but how could she not bawl at the sight of him? His dull eyes had followed her around the room, obviously questioning why she had given up on him. That jagged scar running down his face seemed to accuse her of not caring about his suffering. His gaunt features and lifeless hair…

  Coffee wasn’t what she desired. She craved her little boy, the one gone for so long. She yearned to hear his infectious giggles as she made him pancakes on the rare mornings she wasn’t racing off to a day of classes after working all night. She wished to see his eyes light up when she agreed that he and Connor could split an order of french fries. She longed to feel his little arms snaking around her neck as he hugged her.

  She wanted him back, not the hollow shell propped up in a bed, hooked up to machines, the bony teenager who didn’t seem like her son at all.

  If only…

  She had spent many a sleepless night, staring at the ceiling, playing the if-only game.

  Her last memory of Jaxon was wrapping her arms around him at the breakfast table as she was leaving for class. He’d rewarded her affection with a big, wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek, his mouth full of cereal and milk. He’d cackled in delight, and she’d laughed along with him as she exaggeratedly wiped the mess off her face. She’d sent him one last smile as she kissed Connor on the top of the head, grabbed her car keys and bag of nursing textbooks, and raced out the door, late for school.

  She never saw him again. She didn’t even remember saying “I love you.” She had found the time to nag them, though, reminding them to do their chores, not to watch TV all day, and not to leave the house until Harold got there.

  Except Harold never showed. The boys didn’t really expect him to because he had failed so many times before, but they had always backed their dad up, claiming he was there when he hadn’t been. The lies had flowed freely because that was easier than them facing how much of a loser their father was. How many times had Harold not shown up? How many times had Connor lied for his dad? How many times had Jaxon played in that playground by himself? How many times did I suspect they were alone but hadn’t pushed because then I would’ve had to do something about it?

  I didn’t know.

  But she did know—if not the specifics, the generalities. She was months away from completing her coursework for being an RN, which came with a big raise. Without Harold’s steady contribution, that extra money was supposed to help her keep up with the mortgage payments so they didn’t lose their house. She needed to buy clothes and food for a pair of growing boys. Maybe, she hoped, she could even save a little extra for their college years.

  What was I supposed to do?

  She had held Jaxon’s cereal bowl in her hands that night, staring at the dried cereal stuck to the side, left from their half-hearted effort to rinse their breakfast dishes. She didn’t wash it for weeks, scared to remove the last tangible sign that he had been in the house.

  She had stood in the boys’ room, looking at the wrinkled beds, the sheets pulled up in their best bed-making effort. Pillows still lay on the floor from a pillow fight they must have had as they waited on Harold. She knew them and knew that they must have planned to straighten up before she got home so they wouldn’t get into trouble.

  Connor had been reluctant to admit that his father had never shown up that day. At first, he had claimed he had been there, just like he was supposed to, but the lie quickly fell apart, and he recanted.

  That change in story made the police wonder if Harold had really been there all along. They seemed to think that maybe Connor’s real lie was that the man wasn’t involved.

  Confused and frustrated, Connor had broken down and told the whole story. His friends had shown up, and they played in the front yard. They grew bored waiting and decided to go to the park without Harold. It was close to the house and a safe place. Lots of kids in the small town went there unsupervised.

  Connor had seen no harm in joining them. He’d hopped on his bike and had Jaxon follow. He made sure Jax was on the swings and having a good time. He made him promise not to leave and noted there were other kids and parents hanging around. He made him promise
not to tell Mom what they had done. He had no qualms leaving to ride the dirt trails with his friends.

  He wasn’t worried because it was something they had done dozens of times before, he had confessed with tears in his eyes.

  I didn’t know. I suspected, sure, and had even heard from other moms that they had seen Con and Jax playing at the park without Harold in sight. But I didn’t know-know. Maybe Harold was sitting on a bench, smoking a cigarette. Just because they didn’t see him…

  Heather hung her head. She had lied to herself because it was easier than admitting she’d left two little boys alone to fend for themselves. Sitting in that hospital room, staring at the husk of her boy in that bed, she grew tired of the justifications in her mind. A mother’s job was to know what her children were doing. Her first priority was to keep them safe. And she had failed.

  And why? Because it was also her job to put food in their bellies, clothes on their backs, and a roof over their heads. Harold never helped much with that either.

  20

  With the fresh cup of coffee in hand, David entered the hospital and headed toward the elevator bank. As he punched the elevator call button to go up to Jaxon’s room, a female voice called out, “Sheriff Newman?”

  David turned to see FBI Supervisory Special Agent Roxanne Porter walking toward him, a second agent in a coat and tie two steps behind her.

  “You made it to Millerton fast.”

  She extended her hand and shook David’s firmly. “I appreciate the phone call. Not often we get happy endings in this business, especially after such a long time.”

  A decade earlier, Roxanne had been the most junior member of the team the FBI dispatched to Millerton on the day of Jaxon’s disappearance. As far as the family understood, her primary role was inside the Lathan house, serving as a liaison to Heather. She kept the frantic mother as calm as possible, helping her to understand what law enforcement was doing to find her missing son. Nothing about the case looked like a kidnapping for ransom, though Roxanne had been prepared to coach the family through that process if the need arose.