Chapter Four
As promised, my mother called several times throughout the afternoon and evening. Dad, though, didn’t call the house phone. I checked my cell’s voice mail five more times, but he hadn’t left any more messages. Devon and I watched both Red Box movies, finished the pizza, and ordered cheesecake for dessert from First Wok.
“He’ll call,” Devon mumbled as I checked my messages for the sixth time. We had retreated to my bedroom and were on the verge of falling asleep.
“He already did,” I told her.
“What? When?” Devon sounded a lot more awake now. “If he called, then why do you keep checking your messages and watching the phone like a girl desperate for a prom date?”
“Last night. Dad called last night while we were at the lake, and he promised to try again today. Only my cell still isn’t working, so I changed the outgoing message to let him know it was okay to call the house,” I explained.
The mechanical voice in my ear told me I had no new messages. I replaced the receiver and settled back against the pillows.
“He’ll call,” Devon repeated, placing her hand over mine.
I smiled at my best friend, so glad she was there. Devon was one of the few people who knew all the details of my parents’ divorce and that it was a court order that kept Dad away, not a choice he made. Even Elizabeth thought Dad was a deadbeat who’d basically abandoned us. It was easier to let people believe the rumors than explain the truth. Less embarrassing, too.
“He said he needed to talk to me,” I confided. “And he sounded sort of…nervous. Do you think he’s okay?”
Devon’s tired eyes turned sad as she squeezed my hand. “I’m sure he’s fine, Eel. He probably just misses you. Besides, he’s a history professor. Not exactly the type of profession that breeds trouble, ya know?”
I laughed. Dad’s job was sort of boring. The couple of lectures I’d sat through as a child put me to sleep. “You’re right. I’m sure it’s nothing.” I rolled over and turned the bedside lamp off. “Night, Dev.”
“Night, Eel.”
While I agreed with Devon about Dad being worried about me, and about his profession being less than exciting, I couldn’t shake the nagging sensation that his message was about more than just missing me. The urgency in his voice said more than his words had. On the other hand, he hadn’t called back yet, so maybe I was overanalyzing the entire situation.
“Stop obsessing, Eel,” Devon groaned. “Go to sleep. He’ll call tomorrow.”
I closed my eyes and took her advice.
That night I dreamt of the boy from the lake.
****
He stood amidst a crowd of cheering fans, hands shoved into the front pockets of well-worn jeans. The hood of his blue sweatshirt was pushed back, and the wind blew chestnut strands across his rosy cheeks. His intense gaze bore into the back of my head as I took my position on the field.
A shrill whistle pierced the air, and girls started moving around me. I went through the motions, following the ball from one girl’s stick pocket to the next, but I kept stealing glances at the stands, at him. A girl with blue-black hair rammed my shoulder, sending me careening to the Astroturf. I blinked up in surprise. The girl wore a red and black Mt. St. Mary’s uniform and I knew her: Jamieson Wentworth. Instead of doing the sports-womanly thing and helping me to my feet, she sneered down at me with icy blue eyes full of hatred.
“Pay attention to where you’re going, Captain,” she spat, and ran off down the field.
I stumbled to my feet and jogged slowly after her. When I glanced over my shoulder, a hooded figure was walking across the track that surrounded the field, his back to me. Suddenly he turned, as if sensing I was watching. The hood shielded his face, but I knew it was him. A voice, his voice, echoed in my mind. “I’ll see you soon.” The words weren’t comforting. They held a promise of pain and every nightmare I’d ever imagined.
****
I woke with a start, my heart thudding against my ribcage and a line of sweat beading across my forehead. The clock on my bedside table read 4:00 a.m. Devon was still sleeping beside me. I crept out of bed and tiptoed to the bathroom adjoining my bedroom, careful not to wake her. Once inside, I splashed water on my face. It took me a minute to recall the details of the dream. The images were hazy, like I’d seen them through a fog. The harder I concentrated, the fewer details I remembered.
“It’s nothing,” I told my reflection quietly. “He will not show up at your game against Mt. St. Mary’s.” I laughed. This was so ridiculous. I was giving my bathroom mirror a pep talk. Of course the boy wasn’t miraculously going to turn up at a girl’s lacrosse game in Westwood.
I left the bathroom and crawled into bed, much calmer now than moments before. I carefully lifted the receiver on my antique phone and dialed my voice mail. One new voice mail. My heart lifted. “Dad,” I breathed against the handset. Maybe he left a number where I can reach him this time, I thought.
“Endora Lee?” a voice that definitely was not my father’s said in my ear. “Endora Lee, this is Kaydon. We met last night at Caswell Lake. I was the guy who helped you out of the water.” My hand tightened around the receiver and my jaw dropped open. Panic and pleasure warred for dominance of my emotions. How did he get this number?
“I hope you don’t think calling you out of the blue like this is too weird or anything. What am I saying? Of course this is weird, but I really wanted to talk to you about what happened last night. You can call me back any time, night or day,” the boy, Kaydon, continued. He left his cell number, but I was too stunned to write it down. “I’ll see you soon,” he said then the mechanical voice was back telling me if I wanted to hear the message again, press three.
I pressed three and listened to Kaydon’s message a second time. I’ll see you soon? That was the same thing he’d said to me in my dream. Coincidence? Maybe. But Agent Gibbs and I, we don’t believe in coincidences.
After replaying Kaydon’s message two more times, I finally disconnected and lay back down against the pillows. The guy definitely had my attention. Two nights in a row now, he’d starred in my dreams. Or was it my nightmares? Both times, I’d awoken with my pulse racing and drenched in sweat. Was my subconscious trying to tell me something? Maybe I needed to research dream interpretation. Too bad the details I could remember were few and far between.
“Eel?” Devon said sleepily. “Are you okay? You’re shaking the bed.”
I stilled. “Sorry, Dev. It’s nothing. I just had a bad dream. Go back to sleep.” Had a bad dream? What? Was I five? I hoped she was too tired to ask what the dream was about or ask why I was listening to my voice mail in the wee hours of the morning.
“Okay,” she mumbled.
Several seconds passed before Devon’s breathing evened out, signaling she’d fallen back to sleep.
Life would be so much easier if my cell phone worked, I thought. That way, getting answers to my questions wouldn’t require actually talking to Kaydon – I could simply text him. But I was eighteen now, an adult, and it was time to start acting like one. I glanced at the clock again. 4:12 a.m. Probably best to wait until a decent hour. First thing tomorrow, though, I would call him and put to rest all of this stupid obsessing.
Despite my vow of maturity, twelve hours later I had yet to pluck up the courage to dial Kaydon’s number. Instead, I sat at my desk, feet propped on the edge of my bed, staring at the antique phone and willing it to ring. I had spent most of the day rehearsing what I would say when we did finally talk. Unfortunately, no matter how I phrased the question, there was no sane way to ask whether he’d had to pry a mermaid’s fingers from my neck before pulling me to safety.
“This is stupid,” I said aloud to the empty room.
“What’s stupid?” my mother’s voice responded.
I jumped, nearly falling off the chair. “Don’t you knock?” I demanded, my tone harsher than I’d meant on account of the near heart attack she’d given me.
My mother’s thin eyebrows shot skyward. “This is my house, Endora. I don’t need to knock.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, feeling stupid. “Do you need something?”
“I wanted to give you this.” My mother held out a cell phone in my direction. “You really should have one, so I had my old phone reprogrammed.”
I softened. Mom was trying. “Thanks,” I said and crossed the room to take the phone.
I hugged my mother. It was awkward at first. She wasn’t really the hugging type, but she relaxed after a second and wrapped her arms around me.
“Try not to break this one,” she said when she pulled away, but a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth so I knew she was teasing me.
“I’ll do my best,” I told her.
“Well, I will be downstairs if you need any help with your paper.” Mom didn’t wait for my response. She turned, closed my door, and padded down the hallway.
I returned to my desk and placed the phone next to my computer. My mother’s gift, while appreciated, took away the only excuse I had left for not returning Kaydon’s call. But, since I’m a great procrastinator, I bought myself a couple more minutes by changing my outgoing message back to the original so Dad wouldn’t call the house and risk encountering my mother for nothing.
The instant I hit the end button, the phone rang in my hand. My heart skipped a beat when instead of a name or number, “BLOCKED” appeared on the cell’s screen. I swallowed thickly and pushed answer.
“Hello?” My voice was barely above a whisper.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“Dad?” I nearly wept at the sound of his voice.
“It’s me, tootsie. How are you? How is eighteen treating you?”
“Good,” I lied. Since entering adulthood, nothing that had happened could be termed “good.”
“Do anything special for your birthday?” Dad sounded calm and his tone was conversational. I thought maybe I’d imaged the fear in his message.
“Hung out with my friends,” I told him. “Nothing too exciting. How are you? Where are you?”
“I’m good, sweetheart. Right now I’m out of town doing some research. Listen, I need to talk to you about something, but I think it would be best if we talked in person. You have a car, right?”
I was going to see him. After nearly five years, I was going to see my father. My chest felt like it might explode with happiness. “I do,” I confirmed.
“Wonderful. I fly back into town on Wednesday morning. How about we meet that evening?” Dad asked
“Okay, yeah. Where?” I replied eagerly.
“Do you know the Moonlight Diner? It’s on route 140, just before you cross over from Westwood County to Baltimore County.”
I knew the place. It was a hole in the wall and usually had a parking lot full of Harleys. It wasn’t the type of establishment my friends and I frequented, though. “I know it,” I told him.
“Does six work?”
“I’ll be there,” I promised him.
“I can’t wait to see you, Eel,” Dad said, his voice heavy with emotion. “Do me a favor in the meantime, though. If you feel uncomfortable in a situation or you meet someone new and you don’t feel safe, trust your instincts.”
“What?” I stammered. I was eighteen, a little late for the “don’t talk to strangers” discussion. Then I remembered Kaydon and how uncomfortable he’d made me. The intense way he’d stared at me, the tight coil of fear that had developed in the pit of my stomach while we were sitting on the grass, the burn his fingers had left on my cheek.
“I promise I’ll explain when I see you,” Dad continued. “Keep your phone on and close in case I need to get in touch with you again before then.”
“Okay,” I whispered, not wanting the conversation to end but knowing it was about to.
“I love you, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.”
“I love you, too,” I told him and then disconnected.
I sat back on my bed, a mixture of longing and disbelief. In just over seventy-two hours I would see my father in the flesh. The once-a-year phone calls were not enough. I tried to imagine what he would look like. Five years was a long time. I imagined his hair would still be full, but maybe a little grayer around the temples. He’d worn glasses for as long as I could remember, and I doubted he’d bothered to get Lasik. I got my athletic abilities from his side of the family. He played water polo in college and had always been a distance runner, so I figured he’d be in good shape for a man in his fifties.
Of the two of us, I was the one who’d probably changed the most. My auburn hair hit the middle of my back, a big change from the chin length do my mother insisted looked best on me. I wasn’t much taller, only an inch or two. I hoped he would recognize me.
Despite my father’s warning, I immediately texted Kaydon. I needed to put the past couple of days behind me and move on to what was really important. Until I talked to Kaydon, that wasn’t going to happen.
Me: How did you get this #?
Kaydon: Can we talk in person?
Me: Answer my question and I’ll consider it.
Ten minutes passed more slowly than a snow mound melting in January. I tapped the desk impatiently with my nails, the click click click loud in my otherwise silent bedroom. Finally, my phone dinged, signaling his two-word response: Jamieson Wentworth.
I stared at the cell, mouth agape. I blinked several times to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. No, I’d read the text correctly the first time. A hot flush of anger made my cheeks burn. What the hell was going on?
My phone dinged again.
Kaydon: You two are friends, right?
I laughed bitterly. In another life, yes, Jamieson and I had been friends, best friends. Now? Not so much.
The damned phone dinged a third time.
Kaydon: So, when can we meet ?
Quarter till never, I thought. Any friend of Jamieson’s was not someone I wanted to associate with. Sure, the animosity between Jamieson and me had cooled over the past several years ― nothing like it had been right after I’d moved away and left St. Mary’s, which Jamieson took personally. But we still couldn’t be near one another without her making some snippy remark. I usually ignored her; there was no reason to poke the beast. Sometimes, though, she made me so mad that I couldn’t help but take the bait. Those encounters never ended well.
To Kaydon, I replied simply: We can’t.
To my surprise, he didn’t push the issue. Initially, I was thankful he left me alone so easily; but by bedtime I was more intrigued than ever, and it took a great deal of willpower not to rescind my earlier refusal.