nineteen

I make it through the forest without incident. Twice, I think I catch the sound of someone following, but both times I see nothing when I stop.

I head straight for the pay phone. Of course I try Edie again. By now I’m sure she’s not going to miraculously pick up, but I have to give it one last shot. I get the “mailbox full” message again. Then I call directory assistance and feed in the coins for another long-distance call.

It’s a good thing I stocked up on coins earlier, because I have to keep feeding them in as my call is rerouted through several departments. Finally I get where I need to be, speaking to a young-sounding guy in Edie’s college main office, who tells me he’s just a student covering the desk because “everyone took off early for the long weekend—figures, huh?”

I tell him I’m Edie’s sister and I’m supposed to pick her up at the bus station, but I haven’t been able to get hold of her in days. Does he have a backup number? Or anything? I expect a runaround about privacy laws, but he’s obviously bored, not terribly experienced, and happy to help.

He confirms that the number I have—her cell phone—is the only one on file. I ask if there’s any way to be sure she’s been in class.

He says, “The instructors don’t always mark attendance, but you’re in luck. There’s a message here saying she was expected to be gone after Monday, heading hella early for the long weekend. But I wouldn’t worry. She probably just decided to use her extra days off to squeeze in more partying.”

“But if I were concerned, is there anyone there I could talk to?”

“Four o’clock on a Friday before a long weekend? Nope. Call back Tuesday. By then, I’m sure she’ll have shown up. They always do.”

I thank him and hang up. Then I’m standing there, still gripping the receiver, when a voice to my left says, “Okay, your story’s legit,” and I spin to see Jude walking toward me, my switchblade in his hand. When I back up, he follows my gaze to the knife and says, “If this was a threat, I’d have the sense to open it first. I’m returning it, on the condition you don’t pull it on me again. I should also insist you learn how to use it, but that’s probably too much to ask for.”

“Put it on the ground and move away.”

He sighs. It’s an oddly put-upon sigh, again like a grown-up dealing with a small child. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Says the guy who knocked me around a few hours ago.”

“I defended myself. I blocked you every time you came at me. Not gently, either, in hopes of convincing you to stop trying. But you’re a slow learner.”

“You kidnapped—”

“I prevented you from leaving. Which is still involuntary confinement. Like I said, feel free to turn me in.”

“Because your parents will make any charges go away.”

“If they do, you can take it to the press.”

“You’re telling me how to get you in trouble?”

“No, I’m proving I don’t give a shit, so you can threaten me all you want. Except with the knife. I don’t like being threatened with a knife.”

He tosses the switchblade to me. I catch it and pocket it, and I’m trying to figure out what to say, when he continues, “Back to where we started. From that conversation I just heard, checking up on your friend, your story seems legit. So you don’t need to worry about me holding you hostage again.”

“That’s such a relief.”

He nods, completely missing the sarcasm. “We’ll go over it again so I can construct a timeline. That’s a start.”

“A start for what?”

“Finding him and your friend. We’ll gather what we can and then decide how to go about reporting them missing.”

“You’re serious.”

“About what?”

“You want to team up after you held me hostage?”

He gives a dismissive wave, as if I’m holding a grudge because he accidentally stepped on my toes. “I said I won’t do it again.”

“You’re right you won’t. Because I don’t want anything to do with you. If I hadn’t escaped—”

“Escaped? I faked falling asleep hoping you’d lead me to my brother. I honestly didn’t think you’d fall for the ruse. You did.” His tone says, on second thought he’s not that surprised. After all, I am the one who lost his brother.

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

“What?” I’m sure I’ve heard wrong.

“Are you hungry?” he says, slower. “We can grab a bite and talk this through.”

He looks at me expectantly. See? At least one of us is being reasonable. When I don’t respond, he starts walking away and says, “Come on.”

A moment later, his sneakers squeak as he stops and turns.

“Winter?” he says.

I’m already around the corner, running as fast as I can. He doesn’t curse or shout. There’s a sigh, rippling through the night air. Then the slow thump of his shoes…continuing in the direction he’d been headed.

Bert hasn’t left for the night, and for once I’m glad of it. That means Lennon’s crazy brother won’t follow me to the trailer. Or, if he tries, he’ll be met with the business end of a shotgun. I wonder if he’d actually react to that. Or just sigh and give a slightly pained look, as if a chest full of pellets would be a minor inconvenience.

Bert’s watching TV. He acknowledges me with “Pizza in the fridge,” his gaze fixed on the screen, where something is blowing up loudly enough that I have to read his lips to know what he said and then check the fridge to be sure of it.

I’m wolfing down a slice as I walk toward the couch. It’s a commercial break, and he hits the mute button and says, “What?”

I don’t thank him for the pizza. He gets pissy about that, like I’m either being sarcastic or making him feel guilty for the times he doesn’t share.

“Do you have a minute?” I ask.

He waves at the TV. “Make it fast.”

“Have you heard from Cady?”

It’s the question that’s been poking at me since Lennon first told me about Edie. The reminder that Edie isn’t the only person I care about who has disappeared. I’m sure there’s no connection, but it’s still raised the question.

When Bert turns to me, there’s an odd look in his eyes, one I can’t quite decipher.

“I…,” I begin. “You know we…When she left, we weren’t talking and she…”

“I know why she left.” He doesn’t say I’m why she left, but I hear the accusation nonetheless.

“So, she, uh, hasn’t been in touch with me,” I say.

“You surprised?”

“I’m just…I’m worried about her, and I was wondering if you’d heard—”

“Nope.”

“Or if she left contact information, some way of getting in touch.”

“Nope.”

“I’m not going to bug her. I just want to know she’s okay.”

He turns to me, and his eyes are as empty as Jude’s were earlier. “I have no damn idea if she’s okay, Winter. When she left, she made it pretty clear she couldn’t wait to get away from both of us. Can’t blame her, all things considered.”

My face heats. “I never meant—”

“What you meant doesn’t matter. What happened matters, and that’s all Cadence could see. I figure she needed time to get over it, and when she does, she’ll contact you. She’s sure as hell not contacting me.”

I drop my gaze. “Okay.” I start to turn away, and then say, “Do you think she’s all right?”

He’s quiet, his finger over the remote, and the show’s back on, and I think he’s just going to hit that button and ignore the question. But after a moment he says, “I think the fact that we haven’t heard from her doesn’t mean she’s not all right, and I think that’s really all we can say. That it’s understandable she hasn’t called.”

“Okay.”

When I do turn, he says, “About that boy, Winter…”

“I wasn’t with a boy.”

“I know what it’s like here, not much to do. But you go getting pregnant—”

“I’m not even dating.”

“One thing doesn’t always have much to do with the other. If you weren’t with a boy, that means one could have followed you here. You gotta be careful.”

“I am.”

“Good. Keep your eyes on the horizon, Winter. It’s the only way you’re escaping this shit hole.” He reaches for his glass of bourbon and gulps it down. “I’ve got a job tomorrow, but I’ll leave a twenty on the fridge. Pick up some groceries.”

I say, “Okay,” and head for my room as the TV blares again.