Waiting for the Night Song

by Julie Carrick Dalton

  “What if we sent an anonymous letter telling the police what we heard?”

  “What are you going to do, cut letters out of a magazine and paste them down like on TV? We do that and the police will have evidence of a murder and my dad will be the last person who saw Juan before he disappeared. You think they won’t investigate us then?”

  They could both disappear. Daniela and Garrett. Gone.

  Daniela beat her fist on the rock harder and faster. Friar circled around Daniela, licking her ear and trying to shimmy into her lap.

  Cadie grabbed Daniela’s balled-up hand midstrike. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

  Daniela wrenched her arm free from Cadie’s grip and slammed her fist down even harder. “I already did.”

  Cadie scooted closer and put her arm around Daniela’s shoulder. Daniela continued pounding the granite. Cadie didn’t stop her.

  “What if I go to the police alone and make them swear not to reveal my name? I’ll keep you out of it and never even mention you,” Cadie whispered. “No one would bother your father.”

  “You’re going to tell them about the boat and the blueberries and the gun? No one would believe that in a million years. You’re such a Girl Scout.”

  “I’m quitting Scouts.”

  “Besides, our parents know we spend every day together. I’ll get dragged in somehow.”

  “I could have done it alone.”

  “All by yourself, you just happened to be paddling by in a boat you stole, while stealing blueberries—” Daniela paused. “And then you heard a noise that sounded like a gunshot but decided not to tell anyone? Aren’t you on the Safety Patrol at school? No one would ever believe you did that.”

  “But I did do it.” Cadie looked down at her translucent, noodley arms, splattered with splotchy freckles. Arms that had dragged a body, buried a body. Saliva gathered around her words, the way it always did right before she vomited. She plucked a handful of trumpet honeysuckle blossoms from a bush behind her. One by one, she bit the tender ends off, unthreaded the delicate interior, and sucked out the nectar in an attempt to displace the acid in her mouth. She tossed each empty flower into the lake until a small flotilla of red petals gathered in the water.

  “You take it for granite that everything will always be fine in the end,” Daniela said.

  “Granted.”

  “What?”

  “Granted. You take it for granted. Not granite.”

  “No, it’s granite. Like, things you assume will always be the same.” Daniela picked up a stone and smashed it against the rock they sat on. She held up the stone, unmarred by the impact. “Like granite, like a rock that won’t ever break.”

  Cadie fingered a speckled rock in her hand. Light glinted off the iridescent flakes. Daniela was wrong, but as Cadie scratched a rough edge of fingernail over the stone, she felt certain that Daniela was actually right.

  “Yeah, okay. Granite makes more sense.”

  “If you tell anyone, Clyde will know you did it. He’ll tell the cops about my family. End of story.” Daniela stood up and brushed pine needles from her shorts. She ducked under the hemlock branches and disappeared into the woods without saying good-bye.

  Cadie lay in bed that night, staring up at the bony shadows dancing on her bedroom walls. They pointed at her, wagging like witch fingers, until she could no longer bear their accusations. She tiptoed into the family room and curled up on Friar’s bed next to her warm dog. She pulled the afghan her grandmother made from the back of the couch and tugged it over their heads.

  In the darkness Friar licked the dried salt off her cheeks. Gaps in the yarn allowed moonlight to sift through the weave of the blanket. Last summer she had nestled on the couch with her father, watching The Amityville Horror with the afghan draped over her head so the familiar yarn patterns could screen out the scary parts.

  Her protective shroud couldn’t filter out the dangerous bits anymore. What she feared most huddled under the blanket with her, inside her. Friar whimpered in solidarity and curled into a ball against Cadie’s chest. The bed smelled of damp dog and urine. Cadie panted in rhythm with Friar, filling their stagnant bubble with heat, humidity, and dread until the sun rose.

  18

  PRESENT DAY

  Why had she agreed to this dinner? she berated herself as she walked through the woods toward the Garcias’ house. Sitting around a table with Garrett, Daniela, Raúl, and Dolores felt reckless. Dangerous, maybe. Daniela would sense the tension between Cadie and Garrett and Dolores.

  Her phone buzzed. We’re short-staffed again. Be there soon. Eat without me, Daniela wrote.

  Daniela would probably make sure her emergency lasted long enough to avoid dinner, to avoid Cadie. She relaxed slightly. But part of her had hoped that being together in that same, familiar space would bridge the distance between them.

  Cadie stopped walking. She could turn back and skip dinner, avoid having to face Raúl and Dolores. But Garrett. He would already be on his way to the Garcias’.

  Her phone buzzed again. Don’t even think about skipping dinner. Dad will be disappointed.

  Garrett pulled up in the driveway right before Cadie knocked on the door. She smoothed down the curls on her temple and waited for him. Cadie tried to act casual, as if this were any other dinner with friends. Garrett lifted his hand to ring the doorbell, but Cadie grabbed his wrist. “Give me a minute. I can’t go in there and act like everything’s fine.”

  Before Garrett could respond, Raúl opened the door.

  “You made it,” Raúl said, pulling her into a booming embrace. “Daniela’s going to be late, but Sal will be home any minute.

  “Come, come. Dolores will be so happy to see you. How many years has it been?”

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” Dolores said without looking up from a pan on the stove. Unlike Raúl, Dolores seemed smaller than Cadie remembered, leaner, stronger. More tightly coiled. She wore her dark hair pulled back in a tight knot on the back of her neck, not a single strand escaping. Her arms and shoulders still looked capable of carrying a heavy load.

  The dinners at the Garcias’ Cadie had attended as a girl had been full of belly laughs and smells that made Cadie’s stomach hunger for more food than she could eat. No matter who Raúl brought home unannounced—usually men from the farm or employees from the store—Dolores always magically had enough food. Cadie had imagined how annoyed her own mother would have been if her father brought guests home for a meal without warning. But Dolores always greeted them with fierce embraces as if she had been expecting them all along.

  Tonight Cadie was the unexpected guest foisted on Dolores by Raúl. Or maybe Dolores had always known Cadie would return to her kitchen one day too.

  “Smells great.” Cadie kissed Dolores on the cheek. “It’s nice to see you.”

  Dolores flickered an unconvincing smile. Garrett extended a formal hand to Dolores, who hesitated before accepting it. Vegetables on the stovetop hissed.

  Raúl pulled two bottles of beer from the refrigerator and held them up to Garrett and Cadie. Cadie nodded. A little alcohol might make the dinner easier to get through.

  “Did you see the new wakeboard ropes I got in?” Raúl handed Garrett a beer.

  “No, but Tino told me they’re better than ours. How much?”

  “Seventy-nine dollars.”

  “For a rope? That’s criminal,” Dolores said. “Come by when I’m running the register. We’ll work out a deal.”

  “If I let you run the business we’d be broke.” Raúl threw his hands up in the air. “You want to give everything away.”

  Dolores stirred vegetables with rapid, short strokes, her lips pressed into a tight line.

  “Can I help?” Cadie stepped up next to Dolores and looked out the window, where the rosary beads still hung. Instead of dangling down the center of the window catching light as they once had, the beads hung in the corner of the window, all but the bottom inch hidden by the floral fabric.

  Dol
ores stopped stirring, closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath. She laid the spoon on the counter. Up close Dolores’s gray roots showed in a chalky line framing her face. Tiny wrinkles radiated out from her mouth after years of pursing her lips.

  “I don’t need any help, thanks,” Dolores said. She put one hand on top of Cadie’s and both women looked out the window toward the lake. “How have you been?”

  “I’m fine,” Cadie said. Dolores’s hand felt small, the skin loose over the wiry muscles and tiny bones.

  “What brought you home?”

  Before Cadie could answer, a young girl burst through the door in a navy blue one-piece bathing suit with a striped beach towel wrapped around her. “I jumped the wake. Well, almost the whole wake, but I landed strong. Tori said I got really big air.”

  The girl stood as tall as Cadie. She had lanky, lean arms, short black hair, and thick lashes framing dark eyes. Daniela’s eyes. Cadie looked at the girl, who she assumed to be Sal, half expecting her to recognize Cadie through those familiar eyes. Sal did not react to Cadie’s presence.

  “We have company for dinner. Why don’t you go get dressed?” Dolores said.

  “You jumped the wake?” Garrett said.

  “Almost jumped it.” Her eyes widened as she recognized him. “Why’s there a cop here again?”

  “He’s having dinner with us,” Dolores said, her lips barely parting as she spoke.

  “Are you drinking a beer?” Sal put a hand on her hip, exactly like Daniela. Cadie tried to stifle a laugh, but the girl turned and looked at her without saying anything, then looked back at Garrett.

  “I’m not on duty,” Garrett said.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Sal,” Dolores said. “These are friends of your mom’s.”

  “Where’s Mom? I need to talk to her.”

  “She’s stuck at the hospital.”

  “Of course she is.” Sal turned to Cadie and looked her up and down.

  A jolt of memory prompted Cadie to smooth the curls on her temples as she imagined Sal seeing her the way Daniela had the day they first met in the woods. Wild frizzy hair, mismatched clothes, muddy from having fallen in the creek.

  “This is Ms. Kessler. She grew up with your mom,” Dolores said in a flat voice.

  “Hi.” Cadie extended her hand.

  Sal offered a limp hand and turned back to her grandmother. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Stir fry.”

  “Don’t forget I don’t eat meat anymore,” Sal called as she disappeared down the hall.

  The phone rang and Raúl answered. He paced in short strides as he listened to the voice on the other end. Dolores stood still, straining to hear.

  “Is this necessary?” He shook his head at Dolores, then closed his eyes for a few seconds. “I don’t have anything new to tell you.”

  Dolores straightened her back and turned to the stove with a spoon suspended in the air above the vegetables as she listened. Onions and peppers sizzled and squirmed until a curl of smoke rose from the pan. Dolores did not move. Cadie stepped up beside her and took the spoon from her hand. She turned the heat down and stirred from behind Dolores, who did not step away from the stove, her eyes locked with Raúl’s.

  “Okay. I’ll be there in the morning.” Raúl hung up. “Friends of yours,” he said under his breath to Garrett.

  “You know they have to go through the process.” Garrett placed a hand on Raúl’s shoulder. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

  “Good grief, I’m getting old.” Dolores forced a smile and took the spoon back from Cadie. “I almost ruined dinner.”

  Raúl pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped it across his brow and the back of his neck. Dolores twisted a small gold pendant necklace around her finger. Her fingertip turned dark red and she loosened the charm for a few seconds, then began twisting it again. Twist and release. Twist and release.

  The stew of heat and the tension, seeing Garrett next to Raúl, and watching Dolores’s agitation made Cadie dizzy. She tried to take in long, slow breaths, but her tense muscles cut them short, leaving her gasping for air.

  “I’ll be right back.” Cadie hurried down the hall toward the bathroom where Daniela had taught her to shave her legs decades earlier. The walls swayed as she walked the dark corridor. Inside, she bent over and put her head between her knees, trying to clear her vision. The pattern of familiar floor tiles grounded her. She leaned one arm on the cool porcelain of the bathtub and lowered herself to the floor. She dragged her jagged fingernail along the grout to smooth the rough edge of the nail where she’d caught the splinter the night before. The pressure hurt, but she welcomed the distraction.

  Cadie held on to the counter with both hands and pulled herself up. Her reflection in the mirror looked pale, even for her. Dark circles hung under her eyes. She let cold water run over her wrists and splashed her face, practicing a calm smile.

  The bathroom door gave way when she pushed it open as Sal yanked on the other side at the exact same time.

  “Sorry. I didn’t know you were in there,” Sal said.

  “It’s fine. I’m done.”

  “Are you sick? You look kind of green,” Sal said.

  “It’s just strange being in this house after all these years. I used to hang out here as a kid.” She paused, trying to shake off her pathetic tone. “I can’t believe she named you Sal.”

  “It’s from a book.”

  “Blueberries for Sal,” they said simultaneously. Sal rolled her eyes, making it clear she had heard the joke too many times.

  “I was with her the first time she read it. I couldn’t believe she had never heard of it, so I dragged her to the library and—”

  “You’re Cadie?” Sal cut her off.

  Before she answered, Sal spun Cadie around and ran her hand across Cadie’s shoulder blades. “She said you had fairy wings, but they were invisible to everyone but her.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t think you were real.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be real?”

  “She used to make up stories about stuff you did when you were little. I always thought you were an imaginary friend, but then…” Sal paused. “I read The Poachers’ Code, and I know it’s stupid, but I started wondering if it was all true.”

  A single tear spilled over Sal’s cheek and she wiped it away with her forearm. “It’s like, all the fairy tales she made up were real. She used to tell me Cadie Brady stories when I couldn’t sleep.” Sal scuffed her bare foot back and forth over the threshold. “After Dad died. I used to think Mom was trying to magic my father back with her stories. You always did something amazing and saved someone. I think Mom wanted something magic to happen and make everything okay again.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.” Cadie wanted to reach out and put her arm on Sal’s shoulder or hug the girl, but she stood frozen. She imagined Sal lying on her back under the shelf in Daniela’s room in the dark, reading The Poachers’ Code with a flashlight.

  “She said you could taste sunlight and read every book ever written.” Sal leaned closer. “And she said you could control the wind and the lake and the trees with your mind.”

  “I was a pretty strange kid.” Cadie couldn’t suppress a smile, knowing that despite their silence all those years, Daniela had been thinking of her too. “Did she ever tell you about our blueberry business?”

  “Don’t be mad.” Sal lowered her voice. “But she took me there. She’s never told anyone else in the world about Blueberry Cove. She didn’t want to betray you, but she said you’d understand.”

  “You’re Sal, for God’s sake. Of course it’s okay.”

  “Do you wear braids anymore?” Sal asked.

  “Sometimes.”

  “You’re Cadie Brady. You have to wear braids, or you aren’t Cadie Braidy.”

  “I don’t think that’s where the nickname came from. She called me Cadie Brady after The Brady Bunch TV show.”

  “No. She
told me you were Cadie Braidy because of your braids. She said you kept your magic powers in your braids.”

  A lump in Cadie’s chest loosened. The nickname she both loved and hated. She had always resented the goody-goody connotation she thought Brady implied. The dizziness and nausea that possessed her minutes earlier dissipated.

  “You two ready for dinner?” Dolores called.

  “I’m starved,” Cadie said.

  “Mom said you had superpowers,” Sal said as they sat down at the table. “Like, you could hold your breath longer than anyone she ever knew. And you could scare off bears with your terrible singing.”

  Garrett raised his eyebrows. “Do you still have these superpowers?”

  “No comment.” Cadie wished she could be that brave girl Sal believed her to be.

  The front door opened and Daniela walked in. “Did you save any for me?”

  “I found Cadie Braidy.” Sal jumped up. “Now I can hear all the stories of her badassery from her.”

  “Sal.” Daniela wrinkled her brow at her daughter exactly the way Dolores used to wrinkle hers at Daniela.

  “What?” Sal smiled innocently at her mom. “Badassery is a word.”

  “First, it’s not a word. Second, even if it was a word, it’s not one you use at the dinner table.” Daniela kissed Sal on top of her head.

  Raúl’s shoulders shook as he held in a laugh.

  “Mom said you wore Wonder Woman underwear.”

  “I didn’t make that part up, and you know it,” Daniela said. Her expression darkened as she looked at Garrett, nodding to acknowledge him but not saying hello.

  “You know he’s a cop, right?” Sal balanced her chair on the back two legs and crossed her arms.

  Dolores pulled her lips into a tight line.

  “Garrett’s our guest tonight. Not a police officer,” Raúl said.

  “Mom, is it true you want to build a house on one of the Crittenden Farm lots?” Sal said.

  Daniela’s face froze.

  “Tori’s mom’s a real estate agent. She said you looked at a lot the other day.”

  “I just looked. They’re really cheap.” Daniela looked flustered. “Don’t you want to get our own house?”