Hunter couldn’t believe it—the cigarette burns, the bruise on the boy’s ribs that Greer had pointed out to him behind closed doors, the shame in Jamie’s eyes at having been discovered.
Though he was standing on the grass in front of the Youth Rec Center and watching the kids play while they waited for their parents to pick them up, mentally he was somewhere else entirely.
Off to the wayside, Greer was keeping up appearances, chatting with a few of the camp assistants that Tasha and Jennifer had befriended. A woman named Tessa Avery Hayes, who was a photographer and also thick as thieves with Tasha, suggested that it might be fun to play a round of mini-golf before dinner, but Hunter was barely paying attention. Another assistant, Renata Blackstone chimed in, mentioning how late Putt ‘N Stuff would be open.
Beyond the happy children, Jamie was standing on the sidewalk all by himself. His head was down, his posture slumped, the limp knapsack slung over his right shoulder wouldn’t stay put.
Hunter felt for him. He’d been there more times than he could count—anxiously waiting for his dad to pick him up after school, dreading what mood the man would be in, knowing that if he didn’t look alive the second his father pulled up and jump in the car fast the man could very well drive off, leaving Hunter to walk home. And yet strongly identifying with Jamie was the very force that prevented him from reaching out to let the kid know he wasn’t alone.
It didn’t simply prevent him, in fact.
He was paralyzed.
And that sculpture...
Hunter had made a career out of creating disturbing pieces of art. Before he’d met and fallen in love with Greer all of his sculptures had been grotesque—snarling women devouring their lovers, fangs sinking into flesh, grisly men pulverizing the weak, wolves in sheep's clothing metaphorically speaking that exemplified how the world had treated him as a child. Galleries and museums across the country had consistently praised his daring portrayals, his bleak commentary on society, the stark emotions that his sculptures evoked—none the wiser as to where these images stemmed from.
But Jamie knew. He was living it—breathing it—just like Hunter had.
Greer broke away from the girls and neared him, just as Jennifer began teasing the two photographers, Tasha and her blonde assistant, Tessa. “Double trouble,” she sang, a wry grin spreading across her face.
As the ladies chuckled in response, Greer softly told him, “The police station is in the Civic Plaza on Bluebird Road.”
“Yeah,” he said without taking his eyes off Jamie.
The children gradually filtered into their parents' cars. Here and there they shouted, Mom! or Dad! and bounded off happily, eager to tell their families about their first day at art camp. But the long-sleeved boy with greasy hair and dirty jeans didn't. Jamie remained a statue on the sidewalk.
“We’ll catch up with you guys in a bit!” Greer called out to Tasha and Jennifer, as the girls made their way towards their rental car. Once they had piled into their compact Honda, she told him, “We have pictures. We’ll both feel better when we turn this over to the police.”
But Hunter wasn’t so sure. The few times the police had gotten involved with his own family, the dynamic within his household had gone from bad to worse. In fact, the very second the cops had left his childhood home, having responded to a neighbor's complaint that he was being abused, his father had flown into a rage.
Based on that experience and others, Hunter knew there wasn’t a damn thing the authorities could do.
He winced at the thought.
“You can’t be debating this,” she said. When he didn’t respond, she folded her arms and stated, “You have to let me in.”
“Yes, we’ll go to the police,” he shot back automatically.
“You haven’t taken your eyes off him,” she pointed out. “You think we should bring Jamie with us?”
“No,” he said softly.
Not a moment later, a rusted-out Volvo barreled up the street and Jamie straightened his spine, readying himself to jump in the car as soon as it came to a stop.
When it did, the boy behaved exactly as Hunter had anticipated. He feigned a distressed smile at his father as he hopped into the passenger’s seat. As far as Hunter could tell, Jamie's dad looked like the working-class sort that probably drank his paycheck every Friday.
The Volvo’s windows were rolled down so when the agitated man behind the steering wheel barked, “You’re filthy,” and began roughly yanking the long-sleeved shirt up and over the kid's head, Hunter didn’t miss a beat.
Jamie locked eyes with Greer, as the Volvo sped off down the road, and the brief exchange—the desperation on the boy's face, the hopelessness in his eyes—caused Hunter’s stomach to bottom out.
“Let’s go,” he said, starting off towards the parking lot.
After climbing into their rental car and rolling down the windows, Hunter pulled a U-turn and drove south into town. Greer rested her hand on his leg, physically offering the kind of comfort that words couldn’t.
The Civic Plaza was hard to miss. Situated on Bluebird Road just past the cinema, the two-story stone building was a prominent landmark replete with architectural columns, a stately entrance, and Corinthian detail carved along its marble archways.
“The actual police station should be on the first floor,” said Greer, as he angled the car along the curb directly in front of the building. As soon as he pushed the gear-shifter into Park and killed the engine, she added, “I don’t like how heavy things have gotten and I know it isn’t either of our faults, just the situation, but can we promise that once we report what’s going on we’ll both lighten up?”
She didn’t mean we. She meant him and Hunter had no way of promising.
“That came out wrong,” she said quickly, perhaps because he had clammed up. “I just want to have a nice time. I don’t want you to be distant.”
“Yeah,” he said vacantly so that she would stop pushing.
“I’m saying all the wrong things.”
“There’s no right way to put it,” he assured her, though his tone sounded flat.
Greer stepped onto the sidewalk and shut the passenger’s side door, but Hunter wasn’t quite as motivated to climb out of the car. For a lingering moment he sat, silently pulling himself together despite the fact that he felt like his mind was splitting apart.
After forcing air into his lungs with a few deep breaths, he finally stepped out into the hot afternoon and joined Greer on the sidewalk. She offered him a somber smile, took his hand, and they started up the stone walkway.
Inside the Civic Plaza, the lobby was vast, the air cool. Their footfall echoed as they crossed through. When they rounded into the police station, which was clearly marked, the officer behind the front desk lifted his eyes.
“Can I help you?” he asked with an easy smile, but as friendly as he seemed, Hunter’s chest tightened and his mouth went dry.
“Yes,” said Greer, quickly glancing at Hunter before she returned her gaze to the police officer. “I’m not sure who we should talk to. We’re teaching art over at the Youth Rec Center and...” she trailed off, taking a moment to lean over the counter, as she pulled her cell phone from the back pocket of her jean shorts. “If I’m being honest here, one of our students is…” she trailed off again, her voice dropping, “being abused.”
As she cued up the photos on her cell that she had taken of Jamie’s arms and ribs, the policeman said, “I can get you started filing a report.”
Hunter snorted and folded his arms, which gave the officer pause.
“Let me see if the chief is available,” he added, lifting the desk phone to his ear. “I’m Geffen, by the way.”
“Thank you,” said Greer, poised with her cell in hand.
As Officer Geffen spoke quietly into the receiver, turning his back, Greer neared Hunter.
“This isn’t New York,” she reminded him. “They’re not going to make us feel like we’re the ones who’ve broken the law.” She studied him for a moment and her expression shifted from concern to marked hostility. “You know what? Wait in the car.”
He was about to apologize for his bad attitude, which he could neither control nor explain, when a tall man dressed in uniform approached Officer Geffen. The police chief plowed his fingers through his chestnut brown hair and angled his greenish-blue eyes at the floor, as Geffen spoke discretely in his ear.
As Hunter waited, he realized he couldn’t place the chief’s age thanks to his baby face and boyish grin, which quickly drooped.
“I’m Maguire,” he said, setting his hands on the counter after Geffen had gotten him up to speed.
“As in Amy Maguire?” Greer guessed.
“Younger sister,” he said, sidestepping out from the counter. “Why don’t you both come on back with me?”
“Hey, E-Love,” said Geffen, handing him the form he'd pulled from under the counter.
Chief Maguire took the form and then led Greer and Hunter through the police station and into his office, making small talk all the while about his sister’s love of art and how they must have had a rough first day in Hope Falls if it had resulted in them swinging by the station house.
After shutting the door for privacy and rounding to the business side of his desk, Maguire invited them to have a seat and said, “What child are we talking about here?”
Greer lowered into one of the chairs across from the chief and Hunter followed suit, stating, “Jamie Sand. He’s about twelve.” Explaining that much had Hunter exhausted, but he pressed on. “We heard his brothers are a bit rough around the edges and that the Sands haven’t lived here long.”
“And you think he’s being abused?” Maguire asked.
Regretfully, Greer said, “We know he is,” and handed him her cell phone.
Before glancing at the photos, the chief said, “Bear with me as I collect all the details.” He plucked a pen out of a mug that was resting on the edge of his desk and first jotted down Greer and Hunter’s information onto the form as they recited answers to his every question—legal names, phone numbers, home addresses. Finally, he studied the first photo—a close up shot of the bruises on Jamie’s ribs. “Kids roughhouse,” he commented.
“Keep going,” said Hunter, indicating the additional photos.
As he scrolled to the next photo and the next, both evidence that someone had held a lit cigarette against Jamie’s arm on more than one occasion, Maguire seemed to age before their very eyes. His youthful grin twisted and his light eyes darkened. He set the cell phone on his desk and ran his hand down his face.
“You can bet I’ll look into this,” he said, having worked up the nerve to scroll through the photos again.
Greer seemed satisfied and shot Hunter an encouraging smile, but Hunter only felt more concerned and asked, “Meaning what, exactly?”
Again, Maguire returned the cell to his desk. “I’ll speak with Jamie’s parents, Anson and Sally,” he explained. “We’ve had enough problems with their older boys,” he added, as though paying the Sands another visit was the last thing he wanted to do.
But Hunter wasn’t worried that the chief would brush this under the rug. He was worried about what would happen to Jamie as soon as the police became actively involved.
“Is there anything else you need from us?” asked Greer.
“Could you email those photos to me?” he said, handing her his business card along with her cell phone.
She did it on the spot, tapping the LCD screen and shifting her gaze from his card to her cell as she punched in the address.
“I want to thank you both for coming in,” he said, rising to his feet. “And just know that the entire town takes this type of crime very seriously.” Maguire walked them through the station house and when they reached the front desk, he added, “I hope you won’t let this sour your impression of Hope Falls.”
“Not at all,” said Greer, as she laced her fingers through Hunter’s.
As they left the police station and walked through the lobby, Hunter had to admit that part of him did in fact feel relieved. His mood wasn’t as bleak and when Greer pulled him in for a kiss outside, he was able to not only reciprocate but actually stiffened in his jeans for her, a marked improvement over how he’d felt since first laying eyes on Jamie Sand.
After settling into their rental car, Greer placed a quick call to their friend, Jennifer to check in. The girls were selecting golf clubs at Putt ‘N Stuff, having just paid for twelve holes. “They’ll wait for us,” she said, returning her cell to her jeans.
Hunter glanced at her, offering an easy smile, and then pulled the car into the street.
The drive was short and breezy with the windows rolled down. As always, Greer’s hand rested on his leg. He glanced at the quaint, little shops along Main Street as they drove past. When the road opened up with dips and bends, marking the Riverside Recreation Area, Hunter stole as many glimpses of the landscape—deep green pine trees in the distance, colorful Aspens dotting the vast wilderness at either side of the road—as he could without careening their vehicle off the asphalt.
But as they came upon Putt ‘N Stuff, its brightly painted fixtures looming over every hole—a red windmill, an old-timey automobile, a blue whale, each positioned on synthetic grass—Hunter couldn’t shake the growing anxiety in his chest.
They met Tasha, Jennifer, and their new friends, Tessa and Renata inside the Putt ‘N Stuff hut where golf clubs of varying sizes hung on a wall. As Hunter selected his club, hanging back from the group in order to get his emotional bearings, Greer wasted no time diving into all the ideas she had about how they might spend their free time for the rest of the week—hiking and kayaking and checking out that little bookstore, how adorable!
All told, twelve holes of mini-golf was entertaining enough to lift him out of deep thought especially when Greer jumped for joy, having scored a hole-in-one, or Tasha flung her golf club out of frustration after wracking up ten or twenty strokes on a single hole, or Jennifer sprung a cartwheel for no other reason than the fact that it burned more calories than walking.
Afterwards, they had dinner at JT’s Roadhouse, connecting with Amanda and Justin who they’d met their first night in Hope Falls.
For a brief and shining moment, and perhaps because he’d slugged a few beers along with his meal, Hunter finally felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. And with the sudden lightness came a breath of clarity. Maybe telling Greer the real reason he’d been in a dark mood wouldn't be as painful as he’d imagined.
It was a little after eight o’clock when they finally entered their room at the Meadow View B&B, having declined Jennifer’s invitation to join Tasha and her at Hope Falls Twin Cinemas to watch some rom-com that to Hunter had sounded terrible.
But though he had every intention of opening up to his girlfriend who deserved to hear the truth, the second he closed the door all he wanted was to escape his troubled mind and get lost in the soft, warm curves of her body.