Page 11 of Bows & Eros
"Well, those two things are in opposite directions," I reminded him. "Which one is more likely?"
"As far as I know, he's not carrying any pocket money, so probably the park."
I nodded, extending my arms to hand him his hat and mittens. "I'll go change into my own things," I explained, "and we can walk to the park. It's going to be faster than trying to drive in this."
"If you say so."
He didn't look convinced.
I didn't tarry, whipping over to my classroom just fast enough to grab my things from the coat peg in the dark. I left the borrowed gray trench tossed over my desk, to be dealt with tomorrow, when things were sane again, and sighed happily as I wrapped myself in something that fit. The fleece-lined comfort of my brown coat had never felt quite so luxurious, and my ear muffs were a sight more comfortable than that ridiculous hat. I had faux leather gloves too, which would allow me the use of my fingers in a way the mittens hadn't.
Overall, it was a huge improvement. I exited the classroom feeling refreshed and ready for our next challenge.
* * *
We had walkedto the park in silence, Ethan wearing the hat and mittens I'd returned to him as armor against the cold. I'd caught him casting a few glances my way since I'd emerged in my own winter wear, but he did not comment upon the improvement. He didn't say much of anything.
The snowfall wasn't terrible; it was light, fluffy snow, and it hadn't started to accumulate on the ground yet, so there was no slipping or stomping necessary to travel the three blocks north from the school to the sprawling park on the northeast corner of town. Unfortunately, that stroke of luck was quickly countered by the realization that there was no one at all in the town's park.
With the trees all stripped of their leaves, save the pines on the perimeter, and the snowbank flattening the modest roll of hills that accommodated picnickers and joggers in the warmer months, it was easy to see quite far just from the gates leading into the park proper. There were a few abandoned snowmen, sagging under their own weight as the new snowfall added to their bulk, but nothing more, at least not at first glance.
"We could separate and do a hard search," I said to him, each word its own cloud of frosty mist, "but I don't think there's any point."
He sighed, and rather than responding, he took to shouting Aaron's name several times, walking up and down the length of the fence that held the gates. His voice didn't quite echo, but it did boom loudly enough to startle a flock of geese out of their roost, sending a flurry of feathers and irritated honking over the pond on the far side of the park.
I looked over my shoulder at the street. Without traffic, I could see across to the square where my beloved little church sat, still as white and glowing as it had been in the peace of the early morning, just hours ago. I squinted, realizing there was movement over by the church, and a lot of it, too. There seemed to be a small mob of people there, perhaps taking refuge from the insanity around town?
"Ethan!" I called out, cupping my hands around my mouth so that my voice would carry. "Ethan, there are people at the church!"
He came stomping back through the snow toward me, real worry etched into his face. I'm not sure why I hadn't seen it there before. Perhaps this was the first moment where Aaron's predicament had seemed real to him, or maybe he was truly worried that his son was alone in the cold somewhere, frightened and in need of rescue. Whatever it was, it cracked the glass around my heart a little.
He did love his son, I realized. He wasscared.
I reached out to touch his arm, giving it a little squeeze of reassurance. "We will find him," I said, drawing those bright blue eyes to meet mine. "I promise."
He took a deep breath and nodded, concern still tense along the lines of his body. "We will," he agreed. "We have to."
"Maybe he's at the church," I said again, pointing over the empty street to the white and gray building in the distance. "It looks like a crowd has gathered there. If not, we can check the diner next, okay? And I'm sure Hazel is still trying the police station every few minutes. She won't give up. She never does."
He reached across to grip my other hand in his mittened one and squeezed. "Thank you," he said fiercely. "Thank you so much for everything you've done today."
I hesitated, momentarily rendered speechless by the impassioned tone he'd taken and more than a little bit surprised at the expression of thanks, especially given our repeated failures thus far.
"You didn't give up either," he clarified. "You called and called, and when I didn't answer, you put on someone else's coat and marched halfway across town to come find me. I owe you."
I blinked, a surprising feeling of bashfulness creeping up beneath my scarf and into my muff-covered ears. "Worry about owing me later," I said, more briskly than I really intended to. "Finding Aaron will be reward enough, though Iamfond of high-quality Turkish delight."
He smiled then, his teeth blindingly white in the intensifying brightness of the setting sun. "Turkish delight," he repeated, as though he were committing it to memory. "I really hope he's in that church."
I nodded, giving our clasped hands another squeeze and nodding toward the street we needed to cross. "God willing," I said with a smile braver than my anxious heart really merited. "Let's go find him."
CHAPTER6
The flurries were thickening as we crossed the street, a glare of relentless setting sunlight shining directly into our faces as we made our way toward the little historic church.
I had attended services here. It was a Unitarian congregation, which I always thought was smart. For such a small town, Crete likely had a hundred different belief systems from home to home.
The pastor was an aging gentleman who had done an undergraduate degree in art history, many decades ago, and he had chosen Crete as a place for semi-retirement, where he might rattle about the walls of a pre-Revolutionary church in his spare time and admire 200-year-old works of art from the sanctuary to the crypt.
