“Go ahead.” Felicia dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “I don’t mind.”
I frowned at the number, tapped the screen. “Hello, this is Josh.”
“Hi, Josh, it’s Emily. Emily Rhodes.”
“Emily? Hello.” My voice took on this weird falsetto pitch, and I cleared my throat in an attempt to dislodge my tongue, which had become stuck to the roof of my mouth.
“Bill gave me your number,” she said. “I know you’re busy, but I just wanted to call quickly and say thank you for the designs.”
“Do you like them?”
“Like them? I love them, I really do. I was wondering if you could stop by tomorrow morning. Not just for the designs, but for a sprinkler problem. I’m not sure what’s wrong, but a couple of them aren’t working properly. Could you take a look, too?”
“Sure,” I said, trying not to let an idiotic grin spread across my face. “Bill doesn’t need me until eight thirty. I could come over an hour before. Or is that too early?”
“Not at all. I’ll put some coffee on, or boil the kettle. I hear you prefer tea.”
“I do, thanks. See you tomorrow.” I hung up, worked harder to keep my face straight. Feeling the need to explain, I said, “That was Emily Rhodes. I did some yard designs for her.”
“I can’t wait to see what she chooses,” Felicia said. “Emily’s so creative, too, a real artist. Have you been to her studio yet?”
“No. Not yet.”
“It’s fantastic. Lydia’s been going to her after-school art classes for six months, and absolutely loves it now. It was a struggle getting her to go at first.”
“How come? Isn’t she a fan of painting or something?”
“Oh, no, not at all. It was the building. For whatever reason it freaked her out. You know how kids can be. It’s this big, old, redbrick thing, lots of corridors and creepy spaces. It was a clothes factory years and years ago, then they made printers—”
“Printers?” I frowned. “You mean for offices?”
“Yeah. Those early models where the paper was all connected with the holes down both sides? They were really successful, but missed the boat for the digital trend and went out of business eventually. Shut the whole company down overnight about ten years ago, laid everybody off.”
“That must’ve hit the town pretty hard.”
“It did. The building was empty until Emily and Tyler bought it, and they rent out the spaces to artists now. They have a photographer, a couple of sculptors, a glassblower and a recording studio on the top floor.” She grinned. “Meanwhile I can’t sing, play an instrument or draw to save my life.”
“Ah, but you save animals instead. That’s got to count for a whole lot of something.”
“You’re very sweet.” Felicia pushed back her chair. “Excuse me for a minute?”
As she got up and headed for the washroom, I took a deep breath. They’d made printers in that building? It was a total long shot, but what if that note Grace had hidden—TELL NO ONE—had been printed there? It was definitely done on one of those old machines... I shook my head. A machine from there or anywhere else on the planet, and I still didn’t know if it had even meant anything.
Felicia wouldn’t be gone long, and I reminded myself I had to get her DNA. I reconsidered pocketing her glass, but the couple at the table next to us was too close; they were bound to see. Instead I bent over, pretended to fix my shoelaces, all the while quietly sliding my phone onto the floor—volume off, display side down—and nudging it under my seat.
An hour later I paid for dinner despite Felicia’s insistence on splitting the bill. “You showed me a fantastic pub,” I said as we made our way to the front door. “Buying you a meal is the least I can do.” We said goodbye to Miranda, making promises to visit again soon, and as we stepped outside into the crisp air, I patted my jacket pocket.
“I think I dropped my phone. I’d better check...”
“Do you mind if I head off?” Felicia said. “It’s far later than I thought it would be. A sign of good company.”
“Likewise. Thanks for a great evening. It was good meeting you.”
“You, too, Josh,” she said with a smile. “Really lovely. I hope I’ll see you around.”
I waved her off, quickly walked back to the front of the pub, ready to retrieve not only my phone, but Felicia’s glass, too. My plans derailed as soon as I stepped inside.
“Thank goodness you came back,” Miranda said, rushing up to me. “I found this on the floor.” She pressed my phone into my hands and looked over my shoulder. “Did Felicia leave?”
“Yes, she’s heading back to work.”
“Dang it,” Miranda said. “She forgot her cardigan here last time. I meant to give it back.”
“I could drop it off at Ethel’s in the morning.”
“Really? Thanks so much. It’ll save me the trip into town. Let me get it for you.”
As soon as she disappeared into the kitchen, I walked back to our table and made a big deal of checking the floor for anything else we might have dropped. By the time Miranda returned with the cardigan, Felicia’s glass was rolled up in a napkin, safely tucked away inside my jacket pocket.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Grace’s presence filled my dreams that night, the kind of dream where I’d have bet everything it was real. We sat in a field of tall, green grass that smelled of summer, the sun high up in the cloudless sky. Grace smiled, whispered, “I love you,” and I smiled back, said it, too, before remembering what she’d done. Within an instant the skies turned dark, filled with purple, menacing clouds that made the grass wither and die. I tried to ask Grace who Logan was, and why she’d taken him, but found I couldn’t speak, my lips held together with sticky caulking.
When I finally managed to talk, Grace answered as if speaking through a two-inch-thick pane of bulletproof glass. I watched her lips move, cupped a hand to my ear, and still heard nothing. She shook her head and got up, slowly drifted across the barren fields in the pouring rain. My boots became as heavy as concrete when I tried to follow her, and they disappeared into the earth, sucking my body farther and farther down until only my head was clear. A high-pitched noise filled my ears as a monstrous lawn mower raced straight toward me, tearing up the dirt, about to rip me to shreds.
As I struggled to break free, squirming and writhing my entire body, I woke myself up with a loud yell. I wasn’t about to die a horror-movie death, but had become tangled up in a mess of sweaty sheets instead. It took my brain another second to figure out the loud screeching wasn’t still a figment of my imagination, but my truck’s alarm.
Within a heartbeat I’d leaped out of bed and legged it to the front door, my feet pounding over the bare living room floorboards. Despite being dressed only in a pair of boxer shorts, I yanked the door open just in time to see a dark shape disappear behind the trees and out of sight.
I sprinted inside, grabbed my keys and cut the alarm, pulled on my jeans and sneakers, and ran back outside. Freezing drops of rain thudded onto my torso, the smell of wet forest filling the air. The light from the cabin cast eerie shadows while I stood perfectly still, my chest heaving as I strained to listen for something, someone, scrambling over roots, tripping over rocks. The only sounds were muffled thunder in the distance, the raindrops hitting the leaves and the swish of the trees as they bent in the wind.
Ignoring the frigid downpour, I checked the truck and walked around the cabin, found everything as it had been before I’d gone to bed. I told myself an animal had bumped into the truck, setting off the alarm, or the local teens had paid me a visit, curious to see if the newcomer had anything interesting to steal. When I went back inside, I grabbed a towel, then wedged the back of a chair under the door handle.
Only eleven thirty yet it could have been the depths of the night. I stretched out on the bed in the darkness, my mind going b
ack to Felicia’s glass, which I’d sealed in a plastic bag and hidden behind the coffeepot in the kitchen. In under twenty-four hours I’d give it to Lisa, and if I could manage to get my hands on a sample from Emily in the morning, I’d be able to return to Albany for good. The thought of not seeing Emily again stung more than I expected, so I pushed it away, but it refused to leave as I replayed our phone conversation, and wondered if there was another reason she wanted me to come over so early. I told myself to stop being ridiculous. This wasn’t high school; there were no mixed signals. There was a problem with the sprinklers and she wanted to discuss the yard plans. End of story. I had to get a grip before I lost it completely.
Maybe Lisa and Ivan had been right; I should’ve left things alone. Spent all this time concentrating on how to get my hands on a fake birth certificate to secure both Logan’s and my future. I tossed and turned some more, the damp sheets a cold squid wrapping around me as I realized I’d all but forgotten how to have a normal life, couldn’t imagine it ever feeling normal again, whatever happened with Logan.
I still couldn’t bring myself to believe he was one of the Faycrest boys, but even once we had confirmation I wasn’t sure I could keep my promise to Lisa and stop looking. Alex’s and Hunter’s disappearances had shaken the town—and that of the people in it—to their very core, changing lives forever. They all deserved to know what had happened to those boys, just like whoever Logan’s real parents were deserved to know where he was, too.
Admittedly, it wasn’t quite the same, but I couldn’t imagine my need to learn who Logan was, or that the thirst to understand what Grace had done, and why, would ever go away, either. Without that knowledge I’d never be able to make sense of who Grace truly had been. The question still remained what I would do once I’d discovered her secrets, and after another hour of endless roundabout debates in my head, it was a relief when I fell asleep again for a few hours, escaping from reality for a while.
The rain had stopped when dawn finally came, although the sky still billowed with clouds, the air colder than it had been all week. After a cup of strong tea I threw my tools in the truck, made sure my research file and Felicia’s glass were locked safely in the glove compartment, and set off.
My heart beat a steady rhythm until I got to Emily’s house. At that point it practically bounced out of my chest and fled down the street when I spotted her ancient Toyota parked in front of the garage, Tyler’s flashy Mercedes nowhere to be seen.
After not getting an answer when I knocked on the door, I walked around to the back. Emily stood in the middle of the yard, what had once been a tartan pattern on her rubber boots now a sludgy, muddy mess, and her blue shorts and green sweatshirt were caked with dirt, too. I forced my gaze away from her tanned legs and up to her face.
“Hi, Emily.”
“Fuck.” She spun around, narrowly avoiding my knees with her shovel, and put a hand to her throat. “Heck, you spooked me. And I said fuck. Twice.” Her laugh and the sparkle in her eyes made my stomach flip as my mind headed straight back to places it had no business being.
“What are you doing out here?” I said, looking around, anywhere but directly at her.
“Getting a head start. I think I found the problem.” She pointed to the holes in the grass. “The pipe is broken over there, and there, too.”
“How long have you been out here?”
“Awhile.” Emily grinned. “That’s what happens when your husband leaves the house at five thirty and you can’t get back to sleep.”
“That’s an early start,” I said, taking the shovel from her. “Is he on a trip?”
“No, he’s at the gym. He was supposed to go to Boston this week, but it got canceled, I think. I lose track to be honest.”
“He travels a lot then?” I said.
“Boston, New York and Portland most of the time, although he went to Florida in the spring. Actually, he’s been to Albany a few times. That’s where you’re from, isn’t it?”
I looked at her, shifted my feet. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Anyway, the best invitation he ever got was a speaking engagement in Hawaii.”
“Lucky you. How was it? Did you get to see much?”
“Oh, no, I didn’t go. I rarely travel with him. I had a commission to finish.”
“You chose painting over sandy beaches? Spoken like a true artist.” When Emily’s only reply was a tight smile, I looked around the yard. “Thanks for doing most of the work for me. The rest won’t take long to fix. I’ll patch up the grass for you, too.”
“Great. I hope the weather holds for you. There’s more rain in the forecast. The weekend is supposed to be terrible, too. If you’ll excuse me, I’d better go and clean up. People won’t be impressed to find a mud monster in the studio.”
“Tell them you’re trying something new. You could say you’re the latest Salvador Dali.”
Emily held out a foot, turning it from side to side, and laughed. “Surrealist rubber boots? Hmm... I think I’d better stick with my trees.”
Thirty minutes later I’d replaced the parts, patched up the grass as best I could and texted Bill about getting a roll of sod to finish the job. As I packed up my tools, Emily reappeared, dressed in a long white skirt and silky teal blouse, accentuating her eyes, her hair still damp, smelling of strawberries.
“You’re done already?” she said. “Can I get you some water, or that cup of tea I promised? I’ve got time if you want to go over the designs, too?”
“I’d love a tea,” I said. “But do you mind if I wash my hands first?”
“The bathroom is through the kitchen and the hallway, first door on your right.”
I took as much time as I dared walking through the house, surprised at how different it looked from what I’d imagined. I’d thought the place would be warm and inviting, the same as Emily’s personality, but it was the complete opposite. Save for a few monochromatic photographs of moody, barren landscapes, the stark white living room walls were almost bare, the pristine, cream leather sofa cried out I’m uncomfortable and the spotless black granite countertop in the open-plan kitchen appeared practically unused.
Moving through the hallway, I took in another gloomy piece of abstract artwork—an oil painting this time—that I knew was Emily’s because of the signature in the bottom right corner. It had none of the colors, none of the pure joy the tree paintings at Ethel’s conveyed. While expertly done, it looked soulless, as if all the happiness had slid off the canvas, or had never been there at all.
Three other pictures adorned the walls. The first was a photograph from Emily and Tyler’s wedding day—bride and groom complete with deliriously happy smiles—the second, more recent, taken somewhere warm. A third photo stopped my feet moving all together. A picture of a newborn, Hunter; it had to be. My throat dried up as I peered at the baby’s fluffy head and blue eyes. This had to have been taken a few days, weeks at most, before he’d disappeared. I shuddered. How his parents had functioned, held it together and continued for over seven years without knowing what had become of their boy, where he was, whether he was even alive, was anybody’s guess.
I used the bathroom and washed my hands while staring at my reflection in the mirror. The late nights had caught up with me, the dark circles under my eyes the color of bruises, and I could have sworn my temples had turned a shade grayer since I’d arrived in town. Deceit had never felt or looked good on me.
When I heard the coffee machine running, I softly opened the bathroom cabinet, searched for a toothbrush, hairbrush or anything else that might belong to Emily. Other than a few rolls of tissue, some pills and a pair of tweezers, there was nothing useful, and I reluctantly moved on.
Back in the hallway I spotted Emily sitting in a chair on the deck with her book in her hands, two mugs in front of her. I figured I had another minute before she’d wonder where I’d got to, and the opportunity to
check the room directly opposite was too good to miss. The door was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open slowly, ready to stop if it creaked.
The first thing to hit me was the light streaming into the room from the floor-to-ceiling windows, the next, the colors—yellows, purples, greens, oranges and blues, splashes and dots on abstract paintings lighting up the room, a hundred fireworks going off at the same time. There was something about how the colors merged, the way the kaleidoscopic patterns swirled, that made me feel six years old again, standing in front of Mrs. Button’s sweetshop. When my eyes landed on a row of paintings hanging on the right wall, my excitement disappeared.
There were seven separate portraits of a child. Hunter, no doubt, and they all had the same date in the bottom right corner: October fifth. In the first one the swaddled baby slept in a crib, in the next he lay on a teddy bear blanket and in the third he knelt in the grass, blowing on a fluffy dandelion, the seeds carried away in the wind. As the paintings became more recent, he appeared bigger, older, his face changing and growing from baby, to toddler, to young boy.
They didn’t resemble Tyler’s composite pictures, neither did they look much like Logan, save for the shade of his hair, which was spot-on. Hunter’s eyes were blue, not Logan’s deep shade of green, weren’t enough of an almond shape, either, and his face was too round.
“What are you doing?” Emily’s voice made me jump, and I almost lost my footing as I spun around, immediately taking in her clenched jaw, her hands in fists by her side. “The bathroom is on the right,” she said. “This room is private. Nobody comes in here.” She grabbed hold of the doorknob, her eyes narrowed. “Nobody.”
I mumbled an apology and walked past, kept my head down as I disappeared back into the bathroom, where I splashed my face with cold water, cursing myself for being nosy. When I found the courage to emerge, Emily sat on the deck again, staring out toward the tree line. I headed outside, wishing I hadn’t been so stupid, gave myself an even harder time when I realized what bothered me the most wasn’t that I’d no doubt blown my chances to get her DNA, but what she might think of me.
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