“Yeah. Sounds good,” J.R. agreed, though with little enthusiasm.

  “I’ll phone them now. Somebody should be in the kitchen. I’ll ask them to have it ready around five thirty.” Camille went to the back of the house to use the kitchen phone.

  J.R. turned to climb the stairs but was halted by his father.

  “Dr. Wainwright is in the study.”

  “Can I take a quick shower first?” J.R. paused on the staircase.

  “Of course.” Chad tried to look deep into J.R.’s eyes, but they seemed blank. His mood was testy. Chad could sense some irritation. Annoyance. Maybe even anger? What could those people possibly have done to him? Why doesn’t he seem relieved he’s safe at home? Chad grimaced at his thoughts and proceeded to his study, where Russell Wainwright waited. Chad poured himself a Scotch and glanced at the doctor. “Would you like to join me?” Chad realized his hands were trembling.

  “Not at the moment, but please don’t let me stop you.” He paused. “Not that you would.” He tried to make light of what was an extremely awkward situation. The young man he’d glimpsed heading up the stairs didn’t look like he’d spent two nights in the woods. Weary? Sure. Disheveled? Absolutely. Disoriented? Certainly. But surly, curt and almost rude? The doctor reminded himself that no one knows what goes on in other people’s lives. Sometimes even the participants have no idea. They’re mired in fear or denial. He hoped that wasn’t the case with the Pierce family. They were fine people. Kind. Generous. Russell restarted the conversation. “Did J.R. tell you anything about his time in the woods? What did he eat? How was he able to find his way back?”

  Chad knew he was on a slippery slope. He had to keep up the façade that J.R. had simply gotten lost in the woods and was not the victim of a kidnapping. “He really had very little to say.” Chad took a pull from his glass.

  “Perhaps he’s embarrassed. You know as well as I do that young men that age place a lot of emphasis and importance on their virility.”

  Chad gave a brief chuckle. “Aren’t we like that at every age?”

  The doctor snickered in return. “Good point.”

  * * *

  Camille placed the call from the kitchen and ordered their dinner. She thought about the two men in the study and the one upstairs. Even though she played a part in every major decision made by the family, she had a feeling the two men should have a private talk. Guy talk. She thought it might seem a little suspicious if she was hovering in the study over her son getting lost and then finding his way back. It was also better to have just one person continue the tale and not run the risk of two people possibly contradicting each other. It was better if there was only one voice.

  She heard the shower turn on in J.R.’s bathroom. Maybe a nice, soapy cascade of warm water would lighten her son’s mood. A familiar environment. She gathered the dinnerware and a few serving bowls. It would be another hour or so before dinner would be ready, but she decided to busy herself setting up the patio for dinner.

  Camille went back into the study to ask if the doctor wanted to join them for dinner. She hoped he would say no so they could have an intimate family meal, but she didn’t want to be rude, especially when he’d made a special trip to check in on J.R.

  “Well, it sure sounds delicious, and I appreciate the invitation very much, but I think the three of you should enjoy one another’s company without an interloper.”

  “Interloper?” Camille was genuinely stunned. “Not in the least!”

  Russell gave her a wide-mouthed grin. “How about a rain check?”

  “Any time.” Camille returned to the patio and picked a few flowers from her garden and some herbs with which to make a centerpiece. That was another thing she had learned during her travels abroad—that it was okay to mix herbs with flowers for the table. It gave the bouquet more texture and aroma. In the winter, she liked to mix rosemary with pine branches and pine cones. The fragrances complemented one another. She held the dill and tarragon up to her nose and inhaled their scent. It also reminded her how much she missed being outdoors. Their lives were so busy, they rarely took vacations, usually just a long weekend in Newport, but that, too, didn’t happen frequently. Maybe once or twice between April and September. She thought of what Chad had said earlier about taking a holiday. It was time. They’d pick a place the whole family would enjoy. She’d let J.R. make the first suggestion.

  About thirty minutes later, J.R. lumbered down the stairs as if no one was waiting for him. “There he is.” Chad attempted enthusiasm, but even he could hear the strain in his own voice. “I’ll give you two some privacy,” he said to J.R. and Russell, closing the sliding doors that separated his study from the main entry. He walked to the patio, where Camille was sitting at the beautifully set table. He came up from behind and kissed her softly on the cheek. She raised her hand to touch his face.

  “Do you think this nightmare is really over?” She sounded wary.

  “I hope so, sweetheart.” He sighed.

  Intuitively, Camille knew there was an unspoken “but” at the end of his sentence and so asked, “But?”

  “But I don’t know. Didn’t he seem a little . . . off-putting?”

  “Well, for someone who simply got lost in the woods, I would say yes. But for someone who was abducted and held against their will, I would say he’s probably just processing all of it.”

  “Is that what your therapist would say?” he asked sincerely.

  “Jean? Probably.” Camille didn’t frequent her therapist on a regular basis. Only when she was feeling overwhelmed or slipping into a bit of depression. “Chad, I’ve been thinking. I know I’m beginning to have some mood swings. Seeing J.R.’s shift made me realize I’m doing the same thing.”

  “You’ve been fine, honey. Once in a while you seem to lose your patience, but it’s not on a daily basis.”

  “Well, the depression and feeling overwhelmed is not who I am. They say menopause can cause both issues.”

  “Whoa. Where did this come from?”

  “My mood swings, darlin.’ Let’s face it—I am at the dreaded hormone horror’s doorstep.”

  Chad was perplexed at this sudden turn in the conversation.

  “J.R. and I could probably use a refresher therapy session. Well, at least I know I could. Especially after these past few days.”

  “You know what’s best for you. As far as knowing what’s best for J.R., we might know what that is, but getting him to follow our guidance is a completely different story.”

  “That’s very true. But sending him to school in Massachusetts paid off for him academically.”

  “He hasn’t graduated yet.” Chad looked out into the distance. “And after this, he may never graduate.”

  “Don’t say that.” Camille was surprised her husband would even suggest such a thing.

  “Let’s see what Russell has to say after checking J.R. You make an appointment to see Jean. Ask her if she can give you some insight about J.R. and his experience. If anyone knows about post-traumatic stress, I am sure she does.”

  Camille looked up at Chad. “Maybe we can get a group rate.” She smirked.

  Chad was happy to see Camille’s dry sense of humor return.

  “But seriously, Chad, all of this has made me think about a lot of things.”

  “For example?” He sipped his Scotch.

  “No woman wants to admit she is getting old. Older. At least not in our youth-worshipping society.”

  “Oh, my. Where is this going, honey?”

  “Just hear me out. You know I’ve had a privileged life. I’ve been lucky. We’ve been lucky.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Chad concurred.

  “Maybe it is my age, but I see more and more of it as I get older. Women are treated differently because of their ability or inability to bear children.”

  “Isn’t this a bit heavy for right now? Given we just rescued our son.”

  “No. That’s what led me to thinking about all this. What am I doing working at the museum? Of course, I love curating exhibits, but it’s always something someone else wants me to do.”

  “And?” Chad encouraged her to continue.

  “Facing this life-changing experience, dealing with J.R.’s and my own emotions . . . I believe a woman’s change of life is viewed as a stigma.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” Chad was genuinely baffled.

  “I have an idea. I want to help women in this new chapter of their life. Act Two. Act Three, even. So many women have even more to offer at a mature age. Their experience. Their wisdom.” She paused. “But where are the opportunities for them to continue to flourish? To give more and get more?”

  “So you’ve come up with a plan?” Chad was guessing he was on the right track.

  “Yes! I am going to form a support group for ‘women of a certain age.’” She used air quotes around the last bit. “I am going to start a foundation where women can learn to paint. Or continue to paint. Or sculpt. Even be mentors to aspiring artists.”

  “Camille, I must say that is a brilliant idea.”

  “I thought so.” She gave him a rascally grin. “But first, we will plan a holiday as you suggested. We’ll let J.R. pick the spot. Then, when we get back, I’ll speak to my father about starting up my crazy idea.”

  “Honey, I am so happy you are looking ahead in such a positive way.”

  “We got our son back, Chad. Everything else will be as easy as eating an ice cream sandwich.” Camille had always favored that expression. Life could be tricky, like trying to keep up with an ice cream cone as it melted and began to run down your wrist. But an ice cream sandwich was so much easier to enjoy.

  “You never cease to amaze me.” Chad sat back in the chair across from her. He looked at the outdoor clock hanging on the brick façade. “I wonder how much longer Russell is going to be with J.R.”

  Within a few minutes, footsteps were heard coming from the front of the house. J.R. had a smile on his face. Camille and Chad were thoroughly relieved.

  “He’s fit as a fiddle, as they say.” The doctor patted the young man on the shoulder. “Nothing is broken. A few minor cuts we patched with some iodine.”

  “Yeah, he tortured me,” J.R. broke in.

  “Hardly,” Russell protested. “I gave him a B12 shot to perk him up a bit. I think a little rest and some good food should have him up and running like normal in two to three days.”

  J.R. jerked his head. “Two to three days? I feel great now.”

  “That’s the B12 kicking in, son. You just take it easy. I don’t want to make any more house calls this week. Lake George is beckoning. I only have a few short weeks in which to get some bass.”

  Chad walked the doctor back to his study. He pulled his checkbook from the desk drawer. “I can’t thank you enough, Russell. What do we owe you for today?”

  “I was serious. A rain check for San Pietro. Or Patsy’s. I haven’t been there in ages either.”

  “You got it, my friend.” Chad hesitated, not wanting to violate any HIPAA confidentiality laws. Russell knew Chad was chomping at the bit. “He’s fine. A bit traumatized, but he’s okay physically. I’d suggest therapy, but kids his age tend to think that’s only for crazy people.”

  “Camille and I were discussing that a few minutes ago. She suggested a family discount.” Chad chuckled.

  “Give him a few days. Let him talk about it when he’s ready. And if you find his behavior is erratic, call me and I’ll recommend someone he might be more inclined to see.”

  Chad walked him to the door, and they shook hands. “Thanks again, Russell. I cannot tell you how relieved we are.”

  “Glad to be of help.” Dr. Wainwright walked across the brick courtyard and out the gate.

  Chad returned to the patio, where Camille and J.R. were sitting. She was reminiscing about her days at the farm, hoping she might get some feedback from J.R. about taking a trip. “Hi, honey. I was just telling J.R. about the Connecticut country house.”

  “Yeah. Sounds like it was a nice place to visit.” J.R. was in a much better mood than he had been only an hour or so before.

  Camille was just about to blurt out something about taking a trip, but Chad caught her eye in time. Too much too soon. “I have to pick up dinner. J.R., want to take a quick ride with me?”

  “Nah. I’ll hang out here with Mom. It’s peaceful.” He interlaced his fingers and rested the back of his head on his hands. “Mind if I have a beer?”

  The two adults looked at each other. “I don’t see why not.” Chad looked at Camille in a pleading manner.

  “Please. Do whatever you like. Tonight is your night.” Camille tousled her son’s hair. J.R. flinched and jerked back.

  “Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to . . .”

  “It’s okay. I’m still a little jumpy.” J.R. was quick to recover.

  “We have a few kinds of beer in the fridge in the butler’s pantry,” Camille said, referring to a small area adjacent to the kitchen, where they had an additional refrigerator just for beverages, cabinets for dishes and a number of kitchen appliances on a countertop.

  Chad followed J.R. into the kitchen. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

  J.R. twisted the top off a dark stout beer and guzzled it down like a pro.

  “Easy there.”

  “No prob.” J.R. wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

  Chad cringed at his son’s lack of etiquette. So much for boarding school. That thought led Chad to another. When would J.R. be ready to return to school? Or would he ever be ready? The past four years had been challenging enough, and now they faced another obstacle.

  With these worrisome thoughts bouncing around his head, Chad walked over to Third Avenue and hailed a cab. “Just doing a few short blocks, round trip,” he told the driver.

  “No problem, man,” the ponytailed driver replied as he looked into the rearview mirror. Chad gave him the address and they were in front of the restaurant in seven minutes.

  Manolo, the maître d’, met Chad at the door with two large shopping bags. “Buona sera!” He handed over packages containing the most luscious-smelling food.

  “Thanks. I hope it makes it home,” Chad joked.

  “I’m sure. You don’t want to get on the bad side of Señora Pierce. But I have to say, I don’t think there is a bad side.” He smiled and waved.

  “You are correct, my friend. Ciao!” Chad was feeling more as if life had returned to normal. He had a sense of elation. Or maybe it was the aroma of the garlic. He got back into the cab, where the driver also commented on the pleasant scent emanating from the back seat.

  “Now I know why people go there. Wow! If it tastes half as good as it smells—Ooo-wee.”

  Chad reached into one of the bags and pulled out a hunk of the homemade bread. “Here. Go buy some good salami later and make yourself a sandwich. That’s the best I can do or my wife will kill me.”

  “Hey, man. I appreciate it.” The driver reached back over the open plexiglass and grabbed the offering.

  Within minutes they were back at Sniffen Court. Chad gave the cabbie an extra-large tip. “For the salami. Go to Citarella. It’s the only place I trust with cured meat now that Balducci’s has closed.”

  “Yeah, man. That was a bummer. I loved their sandwiches.”

  Chad gathered his bounty, said good night and made his way to the front door.

  Camille greeted him, along with Lucy and Ricky. Even though you were not supposed to feed dogs human food, Camille would often spoil them with a little ravioli. She thought it was hilarious when they finished with red beards.

  “Where’s J.R.?” Chad was quite anxious to find out the details of his son’s dreadful experience.

  “On the patio?” Camille took one of the bags. Chad followed her into the kitchen.

  He tried to keep his voice low. “Has he said anything?”

  “No. We just talked about the farm in Connecticut.” Camille pulled a bread basket from the butler’s pantry. “I did most of the talking, really.”

  Chad’s brow furrowed. “As much as I want to be ‘in the moment’ and enjoy the homecoming, it’s a bit unnerving, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Dr. Wainwright said he was physically fine and found no evidence of abuse. But J.R.’s not opening up yet. We need to give him some time. He must have had an awful shock.”

  “I know you’re right, but I’d like to stop the hamster wheel in my head asking why and how all of this happened.”

  Camille tilted her head. “He’ll get there. He seems a little more relaxed now.”

  “For once, I don’t object to his drinking.” Chad snickered.

  “He’s only had one so far.” She elbowed him as she made her way to the farmer’s table, where Chad was laying out the food. Changing the subject, Camille took in a big inhale. “This smells absolutely scrumptious.”

  J.R. walked into the room and began to inspect the platters. “And it looks freakin’ delicious, too.”

  Chad bit his tongue. He had long tried to impress upon his son the importance of good grammar and minimal expletives, but this was the twenty-first century and a lot of things had gone away, including respectable manners. Plus, he was letting J.R. unwind.

  Camille placed a stack of the Italian VIETRI Lastra dishes on the table. She particularly liked this company and their handcrafted artisan approach to dinnerware, using durable clay and high-quality glazes. Their motto was to provide inspiration during the sacred time at the table. The imperfectly round dinner plates were a light aqua color that emphasized their artistry. She loved using them for casual family dinners. Then it dawned on her that they hadn’t had one in many months. At least not all three of them together.

  J.R. picked up a dish and began piling on the food. His ravioli was snuggled next to the prosciutto that covered the burrata cheese, while the chicken meatballs bullied the calamari to the edge of the plate. He ripped off a hunk of ciabatta bread and sauntered out to the patio.

  Camille and Chad gave each other an approving nod. “Now, if we can only get him to talk,” Chad said, lowering his voice so it was barely audible.

  Camille rolled her eyes and tilted her head toward the door. “Go. Sit down. I’ll be right out.” Camille plated her food with enthusiasm, but not with the same level of gusto as her son. Not that she didn’t want to shove everything into her mouth; she hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days, but the enjoyment of it was stifled by the fear and dread of what might still come. Still, tonight was going to be a celebration. Even if it was low-key.