Wind Chime Summer: A Wind Chime Novel

by Sophie Moss

  “I’ve never heard Ryan talk about his mother,” Izzy said. “What happened to her?”

  Coop’s expression darkened. “Ryan’s mother took off when he was ten.”

  “Took off?”

  Coop nodded.

  “Where did she go?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Don’t know.”

  “You don’t…know?” Izzy asked, confused.

  Coop shook his head, looked away. “She didn’t leave a note.”

  Izzy’s eyes widened. “You mean…she just left? Without saying anything?”

  “That’s right.”

  “She never called afterwards?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did you look for her?”

  “Yep.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” Coop took another drag. “Police couldn’t find anything. We couldn’t find anything. She just…disappeared.”

  Izzy flashed back to the day Ryan had told them the story about the selkie—about the seal woman who’d abandoned her family, who’d vanished without a trace. Was that why he’d been so sad afterwards? Because that fairy tale mirrored his own childhood?

  She’d lost her own mother when she was thirteen, but at least she knew what had happened to her. What if her mother had walked away, without offering a single explanation?

  What kind of a scar would that leave?

  “It wasn’t easy on any of us,” Coop said, looking back at the farm, where Ryan was testing out the piece of equipment he’d bought the day before, “but it was harder on the kids than it was on me, because they didn’t understand why she left.”

  “Why did she leave?”

  “She wanted more than this,” Coop said simply.

  “More than what?” Izzy asked.

  “This life,” Coop said, gesturing to the boat. “This island. Me. That’s why I wanted Ryan to leave. That’s why I wanted both my children to do more with their lives—so they’d never know what it felt like to not be enough for someone.”

  Eighteen

  Grace heard her phone buzz and saw her brother’s name flash up on the screen for the third time that day. She hit the decline button—the same way she had the first two times—and slipped the phone in her pocket. She didn’t have time to talk to him right now.

  She’d been stuck on Capitol Hill all week, waiting for Congress to vote on a new health care bill. Lawmakers from both sides of the aisle had been meeting around the clock, trying to rally their supporters. In the end, instead of actually holding a vote, they’d decided to pass a seven-day extension so they could do the same thing all over again next week.

  She could scream.

  Not only because Congress could barely fulfill its most basic functions anymore, but because she hadn’t been able to make it back to Baltimore since the day she’d met Lana and Violet. It hadn’t taken her long, after Lana had pointed her in the right direction, to track down the name and address of Izzy’s friend.

  All she needed to do now was pay her a visit.

  Stepping out of her car in Sandtown-Winchester, Grace eyed the six-unit apartment building on the south side of Calhoun Street. Every window on the first floor was barred. A sheet fluttered from one of the second-story windows, and she could smell cheap beer and cigarettes as she crossed the street to the building. She opened the front door and strode into a lobby that, from the looks of it, had seen better days.

  Crumpled fast food wrappers and empty pizza boxes littered the stairwell. The grimy, yellowish-white paint on the walls was peeling. Rap music blared from an apartment down the hall. And outside the back door, which was propped open by a cinderblock, two men in their early-twenties stood smoking a joint.

  They didn’t even bother to try to hide it when they saw her.

  Grace climbed the steps to the third floor. She knocked on the door to Izzy’s friend’s apartment, then stepped back so she was fully visible through the peephole. She kept her facial expression friendly and her body language relaxed until the door opened just enough to catch on the chain lock.

  A Latina woman in her late-twenties eyed her warily through the gap.

  “Carolina Flores?” Grace asked.

  The woman hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Hi. I’m Grace Callahan. You don’t know me, but I’d like to talk to you about a mutual friend.”

  “Who?”

  “Izzy Rivera.”

  “Izzy?” Carolina unhooked the chain and opened the door. “Why? What’s wrong? Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine,” Grace said. “She’s staying with some friends of mine on Heron Island—in a rehab program for vets. My brother, Ryan Callahan, is one of the employers for the program. And the man who owns the inn where she’s staying is one of my best friends.”

  Carolina nodded and let out a breath. “Please,” she said, moving back from the door. “Come in.”

  “Thank you,” Grace said, stepping into the apartment. The first thing she noticed was that it looked nothing like the rest of the building. In lieu of the peeling, yellowish-white paint, Carolina’s walls were a bright, cheerful turquoise. A colorful Mexican tapestry hung over the sofa and several similar pieces—smaller, but just as vibrant—were scattered throughout the living room. The radio was tuned to a local Hispanic station, and two small children were sitting on the floor making finger puppets.

  They stopped what they were doing as soon as Grace walked into the room. From the looks on their faces, it was obvious they weren’t used to visitors.

  “Rosa,” Carolina said, holding out her hand to her eldest child.

  Rosa stood and went to her mother’s side immediately. “Yes, Mamá?”

  “This is Ms. Callahan,” Carolina said. “She’s a…friend of Izzy’s, but I need to speak with her alone for a little while.”

  Rosa looked up at Grace apprehensively.

  The younger child—a boy, probably only three or four years old—didn’t appear quite as concerned as his sister. As soon as he caught his mother’s eye, he held up both hands, wiggling his fingers to show off his puppets.

  Carolina’s face softened. “They’re beautiful, Miguel. I love them.”

  “Puppets!” Miguel said excitedly.

  “Would you like to make up a story to go with them?” Carolina suggested. “You could tell me about it at dinner.”

  Miguel nodded.

  “I bet your sister would be willing to help you.” Carolina looked back at Rosa, lowering her voice. “Why don’t you two go into my room? I’ll call you as soon as dinner’s ready.”

  “Okay,” Rosa said, but she didn’t let go of her mother’s hand.

  Carolina leaned down, whispered something in her ear, and gave her a brief, reassuring hug. When Carolina pulled back, Rosa nodded and let go of her hand. She helped her brother gather their things and led him into the bedroom. But Grace noticed that she left the door open a crack instead of closing it all the way—probably so she could keep an eye on them.

  “She’s protective of you,” Grace said.

  Carolina nodded, gesturing for Grace to follow her into the kitchen. “She has been ever since her father passed away last year.”

  “I’m sorry,” Grace said. She knew what it felt like to lose a parent, how scary it was to imagine anything bad happening to the one who was left. “Do you have any other family in the area?”

  “No.” Carolina went to the fridge and pulled out a bag of coffee grounds. “Unless you count Izzy. She’s practically family.”

  Grace noticed that the refrigerator door was covered in graded homework assignments from Rosa’s previous school year—all As. “When was the last time you spoke to Izzy?”

  “A couple weeks ago,” Carolina said, carrying the coffee pot over to the sink.

  “How did she seem to you?”

  “Good.” Carolina started to fill the pot with water. “Why?”

  “Something happened between her and another veteran a few weeks ago. There was an incident in the kitchen at the inn
where she’s staying. Did she mention anything to you about it?”

  “I don’t think so,” Carolina said, glancing over her shoulder. “What kind of incident?”

  “One involving a knife.”

  “What?” Carolina bobbled the coffee pot. “What happened? Did someone try to hurt her?”

  “No,” Grace said, surprised at how quickly she’d jumped to that conclusion. “She almost hurt someone else.”

  “That’s impossible. Izzy would never hurt anyone.”

  “She…wouldn’t?”

  “No,” Carolina said emphatically.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because…” Carolina trailed off. A flicker of fear, deep in her eyes, betrayed the fact that she was hiding something.

  Grace walked over to the sink and shut the water off when the pot started to overflow. “I wasn’t there. But, from what I understand, Izzy was having a flashback at the time. When the other veteran tried to pull her out of it, she went after him with a knife.”

  Carolina wrapped her arms around her midsection. “I can’t believe she would do that.”

  “My friend—the one who owns the inn—he’s the veteran she went after. He understands that she was probably just reacting to whatever was in her mind. And he’s willing to give her another chance. But his wife isn’t. She and their daughter moved out of the inn a few weeks ago because they’re afraid Izzy might be dangerous.”

  Carolina looked away, clearly distressed.

  “Do you have any idea why she might have reacted that way?”

  “Have you asked her that?”

  “No. But a lot of other people have. And she won’t talk about it.”

  Carolina continued to study a spot on the opposite wall.

  “If you could think of anything—anything at all—it would really help us. My friends are taking on a huge risk in letting Izzy stay. She’s already on thin ice. If she makes another mistake, she could lose her place in the program.”

  “What?” Carolina’s gaze snapped back up, and it wasn’t just a flicker of fear in her eyes now, it was full-fledged panic. “If Izzy doesn’t finish the program, she’ll go to jail.”

  “I know.”

  Carolina paled. “She’s not dangerous. I promise. You have to believe me.”

  “I want to believe you. I do. But the only reason she’s even in that program is because she shot someone.”

  “Izzy never shot anyone!” As soon as the words left her mouth, Carolina took a step back. Then another. “I… I didn’t mean… What I meant was…”

  “What?” Grace pressed. “What did you mean?”

  Carolina took another step back and her whole body started to shake.

  “You were there, weren’t you?” Grace said, her voice softening. “You were there the night Tyree Robinson got shot.”

  “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know there were two women in the alley that night,” Grace said, her eyes never leaving Carolina’s face. “What I don’t understand is why Izzy would take the blame for something she didn’t do.”

  The thrum of the bass from the music on the first floor pulsed through the floorboards. Outside, a basketball cracked against the backboard of the lone hoop set up between the two buildings, rattling the chain net.

  “Carolina,” Grace said gently. “I’m not going to go to the police. I am a reporter, but I’m not writing a story about this. I’m not going to print anything you say. I’m only here for my friends. And for Izzy. If you tell me what happened, I might be able to help you—both of you.”

  “You can’t help me.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know,” Carolina said, her dark eyes filling with tears. “But if I tell you what happened, will you promise that Izzy can keep her place in the program? That she won’t have to go to jail?”

  “I promise.”

  Carolina drew in a shaky breath. She took a moment to collect herself, then looked at the door leading into her bedroom, which was still cracked. “Please,” she said. “Just…give me a moment.”

  Grace finished making the coffee while Carolina went to check on her children. When she came out of the bedroom, she closed the door all the way behind her. “On the night of March 27th,” Carolina said, walking into the kitchen, “Izzy was supposed to give me a ride home from work. I usually work late on Thursdays, and she insisted on driving me so I wouldn’t have to walk home from the bus stop after dark. I work for a family in Guilford—the same family Izzy’s grandmother worked for before she got sick. That’s how we met.”

  Carolina went to the oven and adjusted the heat on the casserole that was baking inside before turning to face Grace again. “Izzy hated that I lived in this neighborhood. Every time she came over, she said it wasn’t safe. After my husband died, she begged me to move in with her. But I was too proud to accept her offer. I wanted to pay my own way—even if this was all I could afford. I’d been living here for a few years by then anyway. I figured if something bad were going to happen, it would have already happened.”

  Carolina took a deep breath and Grace could tell she regretted that now. “When I finished up work an hour early that night, I sent Izzy a message, telling her I didn’t need a ride. I thought it would be faster to take the bus than wait for her to pick me up. But traffic was terrible that night. There’d been some kind of accident and we sat on the road forever. By the time we finally got to my bus stop, it was almost dark. I hadn’t been able to call the woman who watches my children to tell her I was running late. I was on my way to her house when I ran into Tyree.”

  Grace stood up a little straighter. “Tyree Robinson?”

  “Yes.”

  “You knew him?”

  Carolina nodded. “He lives—well, he lived—in the neighborhood.”

  “Right,” Grace said slowly.

  “He was interested in me,” Carolina said. “He’d been interested in me for months. I always told him no, but he’d been more aggressive about it lately. I tried to be polite—you don’t want to make enemies in this neighborhood, especially with someone like Tyree—but that night, I was in a hurry.” Behind her, the coffee maker started to gurgle. “He got angry when I brushed him off. He started to follow me. I told him to go away. I tried to ignore him. But he wouldn’t stop.”

  Grace said nothing, waiting for her to go on.

  “When he grabbed my arm the first time, I was able to get away, but he caught the strap of my purse. He took it, held it away from me, and said he could buy me a better purse—a fancier purse. I asked him to give it back. He said, no, not until I gave him something in return.”

  Grace felt a slow roll in the pit of her stomach.

  “I didn’t really think he was going to hurt me at that point,” Carolina said. “I was more worried about my kids. I didn’t want them to think something had happened to me.” She looked back at the bedroom, where her children were playing quietly on the other side of the door. “I didn’t have anything valuable in my purse. I never carried more than twenty dollars in cash. And my keys were in my pocket. So I decided to walk away.” She took a breath. “The next time he grabbed me, he wouldn’t let go.”

  “Carolina,” Grace said quietly. “Do you want to sit down?”

  “No.” Carolina shook her head. “He didn’t… He wasn’t able to… Izzy found me in time.”

  “She…found you?”

  “The woman who was watching my children had called her. She was worried because I’d never been late before. I’d given her Izzy’s number as a backup, in case anything ever happened. Izzy knew I’d taken the bus home, but she couldn’t reach me by phone either. So she drove over and started looking for me. She found my purse lying on the sidewalk outside the alley.”

  Grace let out a breath.

  “She came into the alley right when he was…about to…”

  Grace nodded.

  “I think she caught him off guard, because when she pushed him off
me, he almost fell. He got angry, really angry. He started yelling at her, calling her a crazy bitch. But she wouldn’t stop…pushing him. She just kept pushing him toward the back of the alley, and telling me to run. There was a pay phone across the street. I was about to run over to it and call for help, when he…pulled out a gun.”

  The coffee maker hissed, letting out a puff of steam. “Somehow, Izzy knocked it out of his hand. It landed on the ground, only a few feet away from me. She kept telling me to run. But I couldn’t just leave her there. I was afraid he was going to do the same thing to her that he’d tried to do to me.”

  “So you picked it up.”

  Carolina nodded. “He had her by the neck. He was…strangling her. I thought he was going to kill her. I didn’t know what else to do.” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the memories. “The next thing I knew, Izzy was taking the gun from me and rubbing it down with her shirt. I didn’t understand what she was doing. I couldn’t hear anything she was saying, except for the word, ‘run.’ I tried to get her to come with me, but she wouldn’t. So…I ran.”

  “I don’t understand,” Grace said. “Why didn’t you just come forward, tell the truth? It was self-defense.”

  Carolina looked back down at her hands.

  The sound of a child’s laughter drifted toward them and, all at once, everything clicked into place—the neighborhood, the secrecy, the fear in Carolina’s eyes when she’d first answered the door. “You’re living here illegally.”

  Carolina didn’t move. She didn’t say anything. But the truth was written all over her face.

  “She did it to protect you,” Grace breathed, “so your name wouldn’t go into the system.”

  “No,” Carolina said brokenly. “She didn’t do it for me. I would never have allowed that.”

  Grace’s eyes widened. “Your children…?”

  “They’re citizens. They were born here.” Carolina looked back up at Grace, pleading with her to understand. “I could have been separated from them.”