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Chapter 1: Missing
By CHRISTOPHER SCANLAN and KATHARINE FAIR
Published December 1, 2005
Editor's note: Today, the St. Petersburg Times begins publishing The Holly Wreath Man, a fictional story about the tide of progress and the power of love that binds families together. An installment will appear daily in Floridian (in Taste on Wednesdays) through Dec. 25.
Jeff Henderson's life was full, too full. And at the moment, it was full of trouble. Stacks of computer printouts covered every inch of his desk. It would take another two days of number crunching to finish the marketing report. It was due tomorrow morning. He put up his "Rabid Dog: Do Not Enter" sign, shut the office door, and hunkered down in front of the computer.
When the door opened a crack, and a hand waving a white hankie reached in, he had to smile.
"What is it, Cheryl?"
"Sorry," his assistant winced. "It's your wife. She said it's an emergency."
Jeff felt his heart race. Maybe Rachel wanted him back? He took a deep breath and picked up the phone. Careful, he told himself.
"Hey," he said. "What's up?"
"The kids aren't with you, are they?"
There was panic in Rachel's voice.
"What?" he said. "Of course not."
"Well, they didn't come home from school. The bus drove by without even stopping. I figured they missed it again; you know how Katie dawdles. But when they didn't call . . ." She caught her breath.
"Now wait a sec. What about band practice?"
"That's Monday, Jeff."
He clenched the receiver. Forgetting the kids' schedules had been one of Rachel's major complaints to their marriage counselor. "Gosh," he backpedaled. "Is it Tuesday already?"
"I dropped them at car rider's circle this morning, but the office has them marked absent. Jeff, I'm scared."
Jeff's gaze caught the spreadsheet on his monitor. He knew what she wanted from him, but an invisible chain bound him to his desk. "Have you called their friends?"
"Of course. No one has seen them. I've called the police."
"What?"
"You have to come home, Jeff. Now."
He saved the computer file and grabbed his coat.
"I'll be back," he told Cheryl. "Can you print out what's on my screen?"
"Is everything OK?"
"Sure."
"Do you want me to ask Susan to finish the report?" Susan was the newest member of the marketing research team, a bright, young MBA, eager to pitch in, and, Jeff feared, claim his turf.
"No, no. I won't be long."
On the interstate, speeding toward his house, it struck him: Rachel had said "home." Ever since he had moved into a furnished studio apartment, Jeff always knocked on the front door when he picked up the kids. But today he let himself in with his key. From the living room, he heard Rachel call, "We're in here."
"I was just telling your wife I wouldn't be too worried," the police officer said. "Nine times out of 10, kids are off at the mall, or at a friend's house."
"They're only 10 and 12," Rachel said.
"They're skipping school younger and younger, ma'am. Even the good ones," the officer said, flipping the page in her notebook. "Let's see, what about family problems? Any, uh, issues between you two, or you and the kids?"
"We separated this summer," Rachel said.
Jeff glanced at Rachel's left hand. When had she stopped wearing her wedding band? "Will and Katie seem fine about it," he said.
The cop looked at Rachel. "They weren't happy about Thanksgiving," she said.
"I was going to take the kids to my mother's farm," Jeff told the officer. "Something came up at work."
"They were very excited about the trip," Rachel said.
"I had a deadline," Jeff said. "They understood."
"They were very disappointed," Rachel countered. "Especially Will."
"Come on, that's not fair," Jeff said, looking Rachel in the eye for the first time. "Will told me himself he thought he'd be bored out of his mind."
"What do you think he's going to say, Jeff? He was crushed."
The officer tapped the notebook against her chin. "Could they have gone there?"
Jeff shook his head. "Just a minute," Rachel said, and walked out of the room.
"Where does your mother live, Mr. Henderson?"
"Tennyson," Jeff said. "It's a small town, about five hours west of the city. No, it's too far." He looked at his watch: He was running out of time.
"Jeff!" Rachel stood at the top of the stairs, holding the piggy bank they had given Will last Christmas.
"It's empty," she said.
* * *
COMING TOMORROW: FOUND AND LOST
* * *
ABOUT THE HOLLY WREATH MAN
Christopher Scanlan was working as a reporter for the Delaware State News 30 years ago when he happened upon a story about a bygone industry.
During the first half of the 20th century, many farmers supplemented their income at holiday time by selling handmade wreaths to city dwellers. But by the time Scanlan wrote his story in the mid 1970s, the business had died because of strict fire codes and competition from artificial decorations.
Scanlan and his wife, writer Katharine Fair, decided to explore what would have happened if things had turned out differently. The Holly Wreath Man is the result of their many years of on-and-off work. First published as a newspaper serial in 2003, it is now available as a hardcover book (Andrews McMeel, $9.95).
Scanlan has worked as a feature writer for the St. Petersburg Times and national correspondent for Knight Ridder Newspapers. He is now a senior faculty member in writing at the Poynter Institute, which owns the Times. Fair, a freelance writer, was for four years the editor of Re Advisory News. They live in St. Pete Beach with their three teenage daughters.
[Last modified November 30, 2005, 10:33:03]
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