We also haven’t really considered what to do if the phone actually rings. We can’t exactly answer it with the family around, but they’re sticking to us pretty tight. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know this is a good thing—I come from a close-knit family and usually I like it—but right now, it really sucks.
None of this seems to faze Charlie; he just keeps busy. After returning from the phone drop, he decides to chop wood for the firepit, even though Dad points out that we still have plenty. After lunch, he cracks open his collection of Hemingway short stories and hangs out at the dock, but I can’t tell if he has the phone with him and there’s no way to ask since Heather is sunbathing out there too. At supper, he’s helping Mom and Dad get food ready and I can’t get him alone to find out where he left the cell until we’re prepping the firepit.
“Relax. I’ve got us covered.”
“What are you talking about?”
He points. “See that rock over there? No signal. Then that tree stump? That’s about where we get two bars. As long we keep the phone somewhere around there, we’re all good.”
“You left it lying out there? Dude, that’s my phone!”
He ignores my dismay. “I’m also known for borrowing stuff that doesn’t belong to me.” When he realizes I’m not impressed, he adds, “Chill. I stuck it under a piece of wood—it’ll stay dry.”
I shake my head. “Tell me you don’t plan on leaving it out there tonight?”
“No, we’ll bring it in.”
“And? What happens if they call and we don’t answer?”
He runs his hands through his shaggy hair. “Hopefully, they’ll leave a message.”
chapter 97
Thursday rolls around and the phone still hasn’t rung. We walk down to the water to check again. No missed calls or new messages. I can tell Charlie’s a little disappointed.
Someone’s behind us. We turn around to find Heather standing there. “Hey, do you guys want to go over to the resort?”
Charlie glances at me. “Sure.” He seems enthusiastic and I’m guessing he’s thinking there’ll be better reception.
Unfortunately, Mom and Dad decide to tag along. I have nothing against them participating in our day at the beach, but it definitely complicates things.
I watch the bars drop to nothing as we travel away from our cabin toward the main road. I look out the window to divert attention from my phone, but Charlie’s rocking out to Dad’s musical selection.
“ ‘This Town Ain’t Big Enough for Both of Us’? Classic!” he yells over the singer’s high-pitched voice.
Dad peers into the rearview mirror. “You actually recognize this?”
“Absolutely! Sparks, 1970, right?”
“ ’74. Charles, you never cease to amaze me.”
Dad cranks it up and the two of them sing the rest of the way to the resort.
We draw people’s attention at the beach. No matter where we go, Mom and Dad always get at least one person staring at them since Dad is as white as they come. Heather and I usually attract the least notice, but with Charlie trailing along as our newest shaggy-haired blond relative, onlookers can’t quite put all the pieces together.
We set up near the water. Mom stretches out on the blanket beside Heather, but Dad is eager to get into the water.
‘Don’t forget your sunscreen, hon,” Mom warns him.
“I’ll do it when I come out of the water.”
“You say that now, but do I need to remind you—”
He knows she’s going to keep bugging him until he follows orders.
“And just because it says it’s waterproof, doesn’t mean you don’t add more later,” she lectures.
“Yeah, yeah…”
Charlie and I make sure the phone is turned on with the volume up and that it’s safely stowed in my bag before we wade out to play paddle-ball. Once he’s followed Mom’s rules, Dad joins in to persuade us into deeper waters.
“If we go out a little further, we can dive for some shots.”
I love that Dad acts like a teen sometimes, but right now Charlie and I need to stay close to shore—and the phone.
“Nah, Dad. This is good.”
“You playing it safe?” he chides me. “Can’t stand the challenge?”
I recover a hard spike from him and he has to hustle. “I think it’s the other way around, old man.”
He catches the ball with the tip of his paddle and lobs it high in the air. I have plenty of time to get under it and send it back to him, but he’s ready and swings hard and I don’t have enough time to catch it.
“Man, Shepherd, your dad’s got you going in circles,” says Charlie.
I glare at him as I grab the ball. “Well, once I lose, I’ll let him kick your butt instead.”
Charlie grins. “Sounds good.”
“All right, let’s finish this,” Dad calls out.
“Settle down,” I say, nodding toward Mom further up on the beach and raising my voice a bit so she can hear me, “your lady doesn’t need you showing off—”
Charlie jumps in. “Maybe he’s just worried he’ll burn if he doesn’t get more suntan lotion on soon?”
“Hey!” Dad sputters, “it was one time—”
“Only one time this year,” Mom says, “then there was the year before that.”
Dad catches Charlie laughing and points at him. “Hey, just because we let you out on good behaviour doesn’t mean I won’t find cruel and unusual punishments for you.”
“All right, Shepherd,” Charlie calls, “can you please hurry up and lose so I can have a crack at trouncing this”—he catches Dad’s scowl—“this very fine and distinguished gentleman.”
“Don’t expect mercy just because you didn’t call me old.’ ”
“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Charlie taunts.
Dad and I play a little longer, but he destroys me, then beats Charlie seven-three. After a particularly rough dive into shallow water, Charlie throws in the towel. “I give up. Your years of experience upon this earth have bested me.”
Dad shakes his head as Heather wades over. “He does that, doesn’t he? Never shuts up, then annoys you with one of his back-handed compliments.”
Charlie pulls himself up and we all go back up the beach to Mom. “Well, then, I offer ice cream to everyone as a truce.”
Mom seems honestly surprised by Charlie’s offer. “You know you don’t need to, Charles.”
“Mrs. S., after all you’ve done for me, it’s the least I can do.”
She smiles. “Well, that’s very kind. All right, but I’ll take an iced coffee instead of ice cream.”
“Awesome.” As he reaches down to toss me my bag for safekeeping, he looks over at Heather. “Coming, sis?”
She dusts sand off her legs. “Sure, so long as you never call me that again.”
“Fair enough.”
chapter 98
Charlie takes the lead at the ice cream shack. “I’ll take an iced coffee, a small saskatoon berry cone, a small mint chocolate chip, a small black cherry pie, and lastly, one cone with a scoop of chocolate fudge brownie, a scoop of banana pineapple, and a scoop of maple bacon, dipped in chocolate with sprinkles.”
Charlie catches sight of our expressions. “What? I never really ate breakfast.”
Mom shakes her head, but Heather and I laugh out loud.
Ring ring.
Charlie and I glance at each other. I dig into my bag and find the phone. The call display says sergeant pepper—it’s definitely an incoming call from Charlie’s phone. I step away from the group to answer it.
“Hello?”
I hear a sort of scrabbling in the receiver, like someone’s covering the mouthpiece. Then silence, then nothing.
“Hello?” I ask again, but when no one speaks, I pull the phone away from my ear.
call ended, it says.
I walk back to my family.
Although I’m sure Charlie wants to know, it’s Mom who asks, “Who was it?”
“Don’t know. Wrong number, I guess.”
This is good enough for Mom, whose drink has just appeared at the takeout window, but I catch Charlie’s scrutiny. I shrug. We’ll talk later.
Our ice cream cones are ready, and Dad grabs his mint chocolate and Heather’s saskatoon berry, while I grab mine. Charlie’s monstrosity comes out last.
I watch as he digs into it. “Damn, that actually looks good.”
He grins. “I know, right?”
We make our way back down the hill to the beach, but Charlie and I hang back a bit.
“What happened with the call?”
“Nothing. No one was there.”
“No one?”
“Well, someone, but they didn’t speak.”
“Makes sense. Cell phones might be totally new to them if they’ve been stuck in the woods since the ’70s.”
“Think they’ll call back?”
“I hope so—”
Ring ring.
Here we go again. I answer. “Hello?”
Silence, followed by the same muffled sound, the scratch of rough skin against the edges of the speaker, then more silence.
“Hello?” I say again.
A tiny voice whispers, “Hello?”
Charlie and I slow to a stop and thankfully my family doesn’t notice. Charlie turns his back to them for cover and I switch the audio to speakerphone.
“Who am I talking to?” I ask.
More shuffling. Finally, “Tasha.”
We look at each other. This wasn’t the name we were expecting.
Charlie urges me to talk. “Hello, Tasha, my name is Tony.”
“Tohhhny,” she repeats, rolling through the middle vowel slowly.
“And I’m here with my friend, Charlie.”
“Ch…ar…lie?” she says, reciting his name carefully despite the fumbling, scratchy sound. “Are you on the radio?”
“Pardon?”
“This is like the radio, but you’re talking to me.”
Everything she says is a small window into her world.
“Yeah. It’s called a cell phone.”
There’s a long silence and we keep checking to make sure she hasn’t hung up on us.
Charlie leans in. “Was it you who helped us in the woods?”
She answers his question with her own: “Was that you under the tree?”
“Yes.”
“The two boys with the canoe?”
“Yes, that was us. And that was you?”
Another pause. “Uh-huh. I wanted you to stay.”
I continue, “Tasha, do you live in the woods?”
“Are you the ones with the blue walls?”
I look at Charlie and he shrugs. “What do you mean?” I ask.
“When I close my eyes, I see… blue…”
I consider what she’s saying. Is it possible she’s Joanna, the girl who went missing in the ’90s. “Were they your blue walls?” I ask.
“I think so.”
“And you miss them?” I go on.
“Yes.”
Charlie and I stare at each other.
I push on. “Do you live by yourself out there?”
“No.”
“You live with someone else?”
“Yes. My sister.”
Again, something new. “How old is your sister?”
“Younger.”
Our minds buzz with possibilities—where did the other girl come from?
“Is it just your sister and you?” I ask.
“No.”
“Who else?”
“Mommy.” If this is Joanna, then “Mommy” must be the hippy woman.
Charlie asks, “Has she always been your mother?”
We get only silence and I worry Charlie’s question has scared her off.
I try to move on. “Your mommy looks after you?”
There’s another long silence before we hear a faint “Yes.”
“And she keeps you safe?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“In the woods?”
“Yes.”
Charlie pushes it again. “Does she ever let you leave?”
She doesn’t answer and I toss him a look of annoyance. I try to pick up the conversation again, to keep her talking. “Is she the one who gave you The Great Gatsby?”
“Yes. She has many books.’
Charlie leans in. “Tasha, would you like to meet us?”
“I can’t.”
“Doesn’t your mother let you leave?”
“I should go now.”
“Does she keep you there?”
“I mustn’t—”
“Does she hurt you?” Charlie blurts out and I punch him.
“No!” she cries.
I can tell he’s pissed with me, but he still has the presence of mind to take advantage of her answer. “Has she ever hurt anyone else?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Would you—?”
“I can’t—”
“Do you want to—?”
“No.”
There’s a clunk and I think she’s set the phone down.
“Tasha?!” Charlie says loudly into the speaker, “Tasha?”
Silence.
When we don’t hear anything further, I check the phone. Although she hasn’t hung up, she’s definitely no longer on the other end. After a few more seconds, we hang up.
We stand there, the disconnected phone between us.
“The phone will likely lose power soon if she doesn’t hang it up,” Charlie finally says.
“What should we do?”
“Not much unless we go get it.”
“No, not the phone. Tasha?”
“What do you mean?”
“She might be the girl who’s been missing for twenty years.”
“Joanna Grassing?”
I nod.
“We don’t know that, Shepherd.”
“I know, but—”
“She might also be the person who murdered Terry and Rita.”
“You seemed pretty convinced that it was her mother just now.”
He shrugs. “Could also be her sister. We can’t rule anything out yet.”
I think about this. “We need to take what we know and let the police deal with it.”
“And what are they going to do?”
“Go in and save her.”
“How? We don’t even know where she is.”
“If we tell the authorities, they can bring in planes and search helicopters, maybe track her down while the phone still has a signal—”
“That girl and her family have stayed hidden this long. What makes you think anyone can find her now?”
I hate to admit it, but he’s right. “So what do you suggest?”
“I think we need to find her ourselves.”
I should’ve known. “Didn’t you just tell me that any of them could be a murderer?”
Charlie grins. “That’s why we’ll do it all real careful-like.”
“And just how do you plan on finding her?”
“The way she talked about the blue walls? I’m thinking Tasha wants to be found. I know I would.”
chapter 99
Charlie and I don’t talk much as we walk back down to the beach, but I can’t help worrying about the whole situation. Our search to find the truth about Terry’s death has only grown more convoluted. We’ve got another possible death—the missing photographer, Rita—and now suspect t
here’s a girl missing since 1996 out in the woods. There are absolutely no guarantees that Tasha really is Joanna Grassing, and her sister may or may not be someone else’s lost child. We also don’t know if either of these two things is connected to the couple in the van. Worst of all, we don’t know who Terry’s murderer is.
Mom and Dad decide to stay around the resort until evening and this only raises my anxiety level. By the time we’re eating supper at the local fish and chips place, both Charlie and I are far too distracted to enjoy the meal.
“Don’t tell me I broke your spirits with paddle-ball?” Dad asks.
I glance up. Mom, Dad, and Heather all staring at us, so I force a smile and mumble, “No,” but Charlie dives in headfirst.
“Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. S., it’s my fault. I’ve been thinking about Sheri.”
Her name coming out of Charlie’s mouth captures the table’s attention.
“How long do you think I’ll feel this much?”
“I don’t understand, Charles, what do you mean?” Mom asks.
“Well, I didn’t know her as well as you guys or Tony, but after spending the time looking for her, I got attached.”
He picks up a fry, munching it before continuing, “I mean, I was pretty sure we wouldn’t find her in time, but you know, I hoped that I’d be wrong.” He takes a moment. “I guess what I’m asking is, how long do we keep thinking about those who are absent from our lives?”
I remember my earlier suspicion that Charlie has lost someone in his past and I’m guessing Mom and Dad are thinking it too.
“Charles…” I’m surprised that Mom doesn’t have an answer right away.
Dad speaks up,“The closer we are to people, the longer we try to hold onto them.”
That rings true to me; it feels like some of my memories of Sheri will never fade.
Dad goes on, “You know, I was never close with my father while he was alive. I didn’t understand him and he didn’t understand me. It wasn’t until after he died that I began to grasp what he meant to my life. Now, I barely remember how he looked. His face, his features—when I try really hard, they all seem to slip away. But then I’ll have these moments when I catch myself in the mirror… and suddenly, there he is, because I see him in me.”
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