by Jeff Giles
She watched Baldino out of the corner of her eye. He crumpled up his lunch bag, compacting it into a tight ball as if it were a feat of strength. Then—though Zoe could count at least four garbage cans in plain sight—he handed it to Officer Maerz and said, “Throw that away for me, would you, Stuart? Can of Coke Zero on my desk, too.”
The chief yawned, stretched, and surveyed his kingdom.
He noticed Zoe.
He grimaced and moved toward her. It was clear he hadn’t forgotten that nasty night at the house. It was clear that he loathed her as much as she loathed him. She just prayed he wouldn’t say anything to set her off.
Baldino came so close that all she could see was his gut. Crumbs from his shirt fell onto her lap.
“I thought I smelled teenager,” he said.
Zoe sprang out of her chair. She began talking too loud, her hands shaking all the while, as if they wanted to disconnect from her body. The whole station got quiet. Everyone stared.
Just as Zoe finished shouting—and just before Baldino, whose face had swelled with anger like a balloon filling with water, began yelling, “You’re a disrespectful brat, and your old man can stay in that hole for all I care”—she heard a microwave ding preposterously in the silence. Somebody’s burrito was ready.
Val and Brian were standing now, too. When had they stood up? Everything was blurring. They each had a hand on one of Zoe’s arms, and they were steering her toward the door. She didn’t want to cooperate. She stiffened her body, like Jonah when he refused to get dressed. Finally, Val whispered, “I love you, but stop it or you really are gonna get arrested. I’m saying this as your lawyer.”
Baldino seemed to notice Val for the first time now. He did the least subtle triple take Zoe had ever seen.
Val gave him a wide smile—god, she loved Val, she was a born blurter, too—and said, “I could show you how to get this look, if you want.”
Baldino snorted.
“Get your little friend out of here,” he told her.
Zoe let her body go slack.
There were tourists at the door, openly gawking at her. Brian cut a path through them.
“It’s all good,” he told Zoe gently.
The door swung open. She felt cold air on her face. She heard car tires hissing on the wet street. Already, she’d forgotten everything she had said to Chief Baldino. She knew she’d been loud, but had she been clear? Had she been heard? Had she told him what she’d promised Jonah?
She turned back to the chief. Brian’s head sagged. He just wanted this to be over. And it was. Almost.
“If you guys don’t go get my dad, I’m gonna go get him myself,” she told Baldino. “And then you may have two bodies to fish out of that cave, not just one.”
Val took Zoe’s car keys and escorted her to the passenger side. Zoe was still in such a cloud that Val had to help her with her seat belt.
Brian leaned in through the window.
“Let’s all just breathe for a second,” he said.
He rested against the Struggle Buggy, hands stuffed in his pockets, head tilted up at the sky.
Zoe waited for the tension of the last ten minutes to dissipate, for the wind to sweep in and break it up and turn it into rain, or something. She regained her equilibrium slowly. Everything started to come back into focus.
Brian patted the roof of the car twice in an okay-let’s-do-this sort of way. He crouched down beside Zoe’s window again.
“First, the good news,” he said.
He waved a small bag of candy—sour gummy worms, it looked like—and offered it to the girls.
“I confiscated these from my daughter this morning,” he said. When they smiled, he added, “It was a routine stop-and-frisk.”
Zoe and Val each took a handful of worms—Brian winced when he saw how many they were about to ingest—and dropped them one after the other into their mouths. The girls squirmed as the bitterness corroded their tongues.
“Thith ith horrible,” said Val.
“Weally horrible,” said Zoe.
When they’d calmed down, Brian did another one-two pat on the roof of the car.
“Can we talk for a second?” he said.
“Yeth,” said Zoe.
“Abtholutely,” said Val.
Brian cast his eyes back at the station to make sure no one on the force was milling around.
“I know the chief doesn’t seem like the world’s awesomest guy,” he said. “And I’m not going lie to you, Zoe—he is not the world’s awesomest guy. Between us, his wife is leaving him and he’s pretty torn up about it. Anyway, the point is…”
He paused, frowning.
“The point is, he’s not saying no about your dad because he’s some colossal jerk,” he continued. “He wanted to recover the body, believe me. There’s some good cave-rescue units out there. He was in touch with them.”
Brian paused again, looking tortured.
“But he was told to let it go,” he said. “Well, not told, really. I shouldn’t put it that way. He was asked to let it go.”
Zoe and Val replied simultaneously:
“By who?”
“It’s not my place to say,” said Brian. He dropped his head, like a dog that knew it had done something wrong. “I’m sorry.”
Zoe needed an answer. She made Brian look at her. Her eyes, she knew, were teary and bloodshot. Good. Let him see the kind of pain she was in.
“By who?” she said again.
Brian groaned. He swept a hand through his hair, which settled back down into an even messier formation.
“I just know I’m going to regret telling you this,” he said.
He thumped the car a final time, by way of good-bye.
“Your mother.”
Zoe slipped down in the passenger seat, her mood darkening by the second. There was a bank of black clouds approaching. It looked like the underside of a massive spaceship.
“You should call your mom,” Val said quietly.
“Yeah,” said Zoe. “But can we just sit here a second?”
“Whatever you need,” said Val. “I’ll sit here forever if you want. I’ll sit here until they tow the car to the junkyard. I’ll go in the trash compactor with you, if I have to.”
“Thank you,” said Zoe.
“I mean, I’d prefer not to go in the trash compactor,” said Val.
Zoe laughed despite herself.
“You want to hear something weird?” she said.
“Of course,” said Val. “Have we met?”
“When the cops came to ask us about Stan,” said Zoe, “I made some comment about how they were idiots and how they’d never gotten my dad’s body out of the cave. And my mom gave me this look, like, Nothing good will come from stirring all that up! Now I know why—because she told them to leave him there. Because she was glad he was gone.”
“Maybe there was another reason,” said Val.
“Like?” said Zoe.
Val twisted her mouth into a frown.
“I got nothing,” she said.
When Zoe was ready to call her mom, Val slipped out of the car to give her some privacy. She gave Zoe an encouraging shove as she left.
Zoe watched Val disappear into a thrift store across the street, then finally called. Even the phone sounded jittery as it rang. It took her mother forever to answer.
“Zoe, what’s up? Are you okay? I’m working.”
The first fat drops of rain had begun to detonate on the windshield.
“Zoe? Are you there? What’s wrong?”
Zoe hardened her voice so she wouldn’t cry.
“What’s wrong is that you told the cops not to go get Dad’s body,” she said. “Which is so messed up! And you lied to me about it.”
There was a long pause. Zoe waited. She could hear the everyday sounds of the Hot Springs in the background—the ping of the door opening, the beep of the cash register, the scuffling of bath slippers on the concrete floor.
“Look, this is a long conver
sation,” her mother said. “And I can’t have it right now. I’ve got people asking for their money back because they don’t want to sit outside in the rain—like I’m responsible for the rain.”
Zoe slid over to the driver’s seat and switched on the windshield wipers so she could see out. The rain was already coming down hard, hitting the roof like nails.
“I don’t care how long a conversation it is,” she told her mother. “I want to have it now.”
Across the street, Val was waving at her through the thrift store window. She was modeling a red suede blazer, and asking Zoe’s opinion. Zoe shrugged in a meh sort of way. The red clashed with the orange streaks in Val’s hair.
“I told the police to leave him because I didn’t want someone else to get themselves killed,” said Zoe’s mom. “And that is the truth.”
Zoe considered this.
“You’re full of crap,” she said.
“Zoe!” said her mother.
“I’m sorry, but you are,” said Zoe. “That may be part of the truth, but it’s definitely not all of it.”
“So tell me,” her mother said. “Why’d I do it?”
“Because of all that stuff you told me about him and Stan,” said Zoe. “Because Dad was never around. Because he was a ‘disappointment’ or whatever you called him. Because you hated him.”
“You’re wrong,” her mother said. “I never, ever hated your father. I wouldn’t have spent twenty years with someone I didn’t love. If nothing else, I wouldn’t want to set an example like that for you and Jonah. You’re going to have to guess again.”
“I’m sick of guessing,” said Zoe. “I told you before X left that I want to know everything.”
“And I told you that you don’t,” her mother said.
There was another silence, a stalemate.
“Listen,” said her mother. “There’s stuff I’m still sorting through. There’s stuff I’m still forgiving your father for. I’m not ready to talk about all of it yet—and I don’t think you’re ready to hear it. I’m sorry.”
Val appeared in the shop window again. She was holding an absolutely enormous plastic skunk. How about this?!
Zoe laughed silently, so her mom wouldn’t hear her.
A car cruised past, kicking slush up against the windows. Her mother was still waiting for her to say something.
Zoe wasn’t ready to forgive her. She just wasn’t.
“You know what?” she said. “I don’t really care what you thought of Dad. Jonah and I loved him, even if he was lame sometimes.” She paused. “I warned the police, and now I’m gonna warn you. Dad taught me how to cave—and you know what that means? That means I know how to go get him.”
Val trotted back to the car in the rain. She crossed in the middle of the street and, when a pissed-off trucker honked at her, responded with a quick curtsy. She slipped into the car, and handed Zoe a bag. She’d bought her a trophy at the thrift store. It had a weird golden O at the top.
“You won Best Donut,” said Val.
Zoe broke out of her mood long enough to smile and accept the award graciously.
“There are so many people I want to thank,” she said.
Zoe set the trophy on the backseat, and started up the Struggle Buggy. The engine coughed before catching, annoyed at being woken up. But soon they were out on the wide, rain-slicked highway to Kalispell. Zoe told Val they had to make one more stop. They had to see Dallas. When she began to explain, Val interrupted her.
“You want to see him because he’s a caver,” she said. “You want him to train you in case you have to go into Black Teardrop.” She paused. “Hello? This is me, Zoe. I’m the one you don’t have to explain things to.”
The rain was gentler now. The clouds were pulling apart, and there was a small blue hatch in the sky. Zoe felt herself beginning to breathe again. She had a plan—and she’d won Best Donut. On the road in front of them, there was a massive pickup with dual back tires and a bumper sticker that read, Montana Is Full! I Hear North Dakota Is Nice.
Ten minutes later, Zoe pulled into the giant lot outside House of Huns, where Dallas had gotten his dream job on the grill. Val still wasn’t a huge fan of Dallas. He’d never asked out The Girl Who Was Gonna Say Yes, and Val was convinced he still had a thing for Zoe.
She told Zoe she was going to hit FroYoLo.
“I can’t stand to watch Dallas drool over you,” she said.
“Dallas and I are just friends,” she said. “He gets that.”
“Yeah, okay, whatever,” said Val. “I don’t actually care if you hurt him because—bottom line—that dude is basic. I mean, he was named after a TV show.”
“He says he was named after the Dallas Cowboys,” said Zoe.
“Of course he does,” said Val. “I’d say that, too, if I was named after a TV show.”
Zoe felt the greasy air settle onto her skin as she entered House of Huns. Dallas and three other cooks were grunting around the giant grill, which they referred to as the Ring of Doom. They were all comically hunky. They carried rubber-tipped spears and wore cone-shaped leather hats, which were ringed with fake fur. They had wide leather straps crisscrossing their chests and backs, but were otherwise shirtless. Because of the heat, they perspired constantly. Every so often drops of their sweat hit the grill and sizzled.
The grill itself was an imposing black circle with a hole in the middle for scraps. Customers handed over the frozen meats, veggies, and sauces they had selected from the salad bar—placards suggested at least five ladles of sauce, and recommended various combinations—and then pushed their tray along the cafeteria rails that surrounded the grill as the cooks fried the stuff up and chanted nonsense that sounded Hunnish. There was a miniature gong positioned nearby that patrons could strike with a mallet if they put something in the tip jar. Whenever the gong was struck, the cooks stopped whatever they were doing and flexed.
To say that Dallas loved his job would be a tremendous understatement.
He beamed when he saw Zoe—then remembered he was supposed to be a Hun.
“What want?” he barked theatrically.
“Can I talk to you?” said Zoe.
“No talk,” said Dallas. “Eat.”
Zoe gazed down at the grill. It was heaped with grayish chips of what purported to be pork and beef. A handful of frozen peas rolled around like marbles.
“I’m not eating this stuff,” she said.
She saw, with a pang, that she had insulted him.
“No eat, no talk,” he said. “Mrgh!”
“Seriously?” she said.
At this, Dallas transformed back into Dallas for a second and said, almost pleadingly, “Come on, Zoe. Work with me!”
Another cook—was he Head Hun?—stomped over to where they were standing and pounded a fist against his pecs, which were glistening with sweat and body lotion.
“Girl no eat?” he said to Dallas.
Zoe rolled her eyes.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “Girl eat, girl eat. Mrgh!”
Later, when Dallas was on break, he sat across from Zoe as she twirled noodles around a fork.
He’d taken off his Hun hat, and pulled on a white V-neck T-shirt torn slightly at the base of the V. He was fanning himself with a laminated menu.
“What’s up?” he said cheerily. “I haven’t seen you in here since you dumped my ass.”
Zoe smiled.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” she said.
“You kinda broke my feelings, dawg,” he said.
“I know,” said Zoe. “I didn’t realize—”
“You didn’t realize what?” said Dallas. “That I had feelings?”
“Kind of?” said Zoe.
Dallas surprised her by laughing, and she saw a flash of the cute, unpretentious guy she used to make out with in the handicapped bathroom at Target.
“Totally honestly?” he said. “I didn’t really know I had feelings, either. But it’s all cool. No worries. I mean, I’m about to ask somebody
out, anyway.”
“The Girl Who’s Gonna Say Yes?” said Zoe.
“She is gonna say yes,” said Dallas.
“I know she is,” said Zoe. “I’m seeing somebody else, too.”
Dallas’s face fell.
“Ugh,” he said. “Why’d you have to tell me that?”
“You just said you were asking someone out,” said Zoe.
“But still!” said Dallas.
Zoe ate a sickly looking chip of pork as a goodwill gesture. Dallas pretended not to care, but she could see a flicker of pride in his eyes.
“It’s better than you thought, right?” he said.
Zoe nodded.
“It’s really not,” she said.
Behind her, another cook began beating the gong in a low steady rhythm to signal that Dallas’s break was over. When Dallas didn’t immediately stand, the cooks added an unintelligible chant on top of the beat. Dallas looked over Zoe’s shoulder at the half-naked savages who were his co-workers.
“I should go soon,” he said. “Before my bros get rowdy.”
“I can do this quick,” said Zoe. “I want to go caving again, and I want you to go with me. I don’t know how to do it in the snow, and you’re the only caver I know who’s as good as my dad was.”
Dallas shook his head.
“No way,” he said.
Zoe’s heart fell—until he continued.
“Your dad was way better than me,” he said.
“Here’s the messed-up part,” said Zoe. “I told Jonah I’d go into Black Teardrop if the cops wouldn’t. Actually—this is crazy, but whatever—I told him I’d bring my dad a blanket.”
Dallas took this in. The cooks were chanting louder now. Dallas looked up and shouted something that sounded like, “Furg!”
“Why would your dad need a blanket?” he asked Zoe. “He’s … dead.”
“Jonah thinks he’s cold,” she said.
“Wow,” said Dallas.
Zoe waited.
“Will you help me?” she said.
“This is pretty bat-shit crazy, Zoe,” said Dallas. “And really gruesome.”
“You know what would be more gruesome?” she said. “If I didn’t give a shit what happened to my father’s body.”