by Paula Stokes
The mom orders a triple-layer peanut butter fudge brownie to share with the kids, and Katrina sashays off toward the service station to put in the order. She taps quickly at the computer screen and then tosses a glance over her shoulder. Her face hardens into a glare when she sees I haven’t moved. “Go away,” she mouths at me before heading into the kitchen.
I’m filled with conflicting emotions as I watch her disappear. She honestly did seem surprised to learn I was the girl in the video with Holden. And if she’s the one who poisoned Julia and asked me to steal her purse, she played that off like a pro. But then I think of the way she checked in with her table, the kindness in her voice, most likely manufactured to encourage maximum tipping. Maybe she’s just good at being fake.
Katrina returns in a few minutes with a single plate and four spoons. She sets the brownie in the middle of the table and leaves a small leather book with the bill in it next to the dessert. Then she stalks back over to where I’m standing.
“Please go, Embry,” she says. “I don’t know who’s been spreading lies about me, but that’s all they are—lies.”
“I found a boot print at the Sea Cliff Inn where the person stood to record Holden and me,” I admit. “It was a Rendon hiking boot. I know you have a pair.”
“So what?” Katrina says. “That’s your big evidence? Half the kids at school own Rendon boots. Even your precious bestie probably has a pair.”
“I have reason to believe Julia’s allergy attack at school wasn’t an accident,” I say. “And Julia didn’t poison herself.”
“You sure about that?” Katrina asks. “She got an awful lot of attention, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, but other stuff has happened,” I say. “And I know things about Julia that you don’t. She wouldn’t have spread that video of Holden and me around, especially not considering most people thought the girl was her.” Then again, if she didn’t want people to know she was gay, spreading that video would have been a great way to hide the truth. I tell my inner voice to shush. Julia is my friend. She is not Unknown. Katrina is just messing with my head.
“Maybe she plans on telling everyone it’s you at some point. Or maybe she just wanted to scare you.” Katrina grabs the last of her salt and pepper shakers. “People like her aren’t friends with people like us unless there’s a reason.”
“You’re wrong,” I say. “Julia has been my friend for years.”
“She uses you. You’re just some sidekick she drags around so she can feel better about herself in comparison.”
“Wrong again,” I say, my voice wavering slightly. “If anything, I’ve been using her.”
“Whatever you say.” Katrina balances her tray of salt and pepper shakers on her arm and slides past me. “We’re done here. Don’t bother waiting around for me, because I’ll be in the kitchen for about thirty minutes, and if you’re still here I’ll go out the back way.”
Katrina disappears and I turn toward the front door. I don’t know whether to believe her. I guess it was dumb to think she’d confess to multiple crimes in the middle of Fintastic, but I hoped I’d be able to tell in my gut if she was Unknown.
Frannie looks up from the hostess stand as I pass. “What was that about?”
“Nothing important.” I glance around the restaurant. “Did your family all take the night off without you?”
She laughs lightly. “Something like that. I don’t mind, though. Sometimes it’s nice to be away from them, you know?”
“Yeah, I guess you don’t get much of that when you live and work with the same people.”
“You sure don’t.” She smiles. “I hope you have a good Christmas, Embry.”
“You too.” I reach out and give her an impulsive hug. I’m not sure if she and I will be as close after she finds out I broke up with her brother, but I hope she doesn’t take it too hard.
I send Holden a quick text and then head to the gas station to pick him up. I pull into a parking spot behind the pumps and replay the conversation with Katrina in my head as I wait for him to finish up.
When he slides into the passenger seat, I give him a quick recap of everything that happened. Then I pull out of the lot and head for his apartment.
“Katrina’s right,” he says. “A lot of people at school probably do have a pair of Rendon boots.”
“Yeah, but she’s not right about Julia,” I say. “She likes attention, but not that much.”
Holden nods. “I agree. Julia might have been really angry at you for lying, but she wouldn’t try to get me in trouble after I did her a favor.”
I sigh as I pull my mom’s car into a parking spot outside Holden’s building. “It’s frustrating. Julia and Luke are the two people with real motivation to be angry at me, but there’s no way either one of them could be Unknown.”
“How did that go with Luke anyway?” Holden asks. “Did you finish your letter?”
“I did. I sent it last night, but I haven’t gotten a response yet.”
“You think he’ll call you when he gets it?”
“I hope so.” I get nauseated every time I imagine Luke reading that email. “How’s your leg doing?” I ask, eager to change the subject.
“I’ll live.” Holden yawns. “It looks ugly, but the liquid Band-Aid held through the night and it hurts less today.”
“I’m glad something is doing better,” I mumble. “I feel like I’ve made no progress figuring out who Unknown is at all.”
“Maybe your brain just needs to take the weekend off,” Holden says. “When you get too immersed in stuff, it’s hard to see the whole picture.”
“Maybe,” I say. But inside I’m not so sure I have time to take the weekend off. Unknown is still out there, and who knows what they’re planning next.
Twenty-Five
December 23
SUNDAY MORNING ROLLS AROUND and I haven’t received any new messages from Unknown. I also still haven’t gotten a reply from Luke. He’s either too upset to talk to me or still out on his mission. I’m hoping it’s the latter.
My mom is on the sofa, watching that TV show where Gordon Ramsay visits failing restaurants and helps them turn things around. I wonder if she’s trying to pick up some tips for the Oregon Coast Café. Through our front window, I see Holden pull his mom’s car onto the driveway.
“Where are you off to?” Mom asks, as I head for the front door.
“Holden and I are going to check out a photography exhibit at an art gallery in Cannon Beach,” I say.
“Like a date?” Mom cocks her head to the side, a smile playing at her lips.
My stomach flops around at the thought. “Nah, just friends.”
She grabs her purse from and pulls a twenty-dollar bill out of it. “Just in case you need to pay for something. I know I owe you for last week’s shifts at the café.”
I start to tell her I can use the money my father sent, but then I remember I gave the rest of it to Sam. “Okay, thanks. And I’ll be home in time for our usual.”
Mom reaches out to ruffle my hair. “Honey, you don’t have to spend every Sunday night with me. Hang out with your friend. Live a little. Have fun.”
“Sunday night sundae parties are fun,” I inform her. “And anyway, Holden has to work later, so don’t think you can weasel out of our date.”
“All right. I’ll pick out a movie while you’re gone.”
“Please don’t.”
Mom laughs. “Just for that, I’m going to let Betsy pick out the movie.”
The dog is in the kitchen crunching down a bowl of kibble. When she hears her name, she stops eating long enough to woof in agreement.
Rolling my eyes, I open the door. Holden is standing on the porch in jeans and a black rain jacket, his normally unruly hair tucked behind his ears. A set of car keys dangles from one hand.
Mom hops up from where she’s sitting. “Hi, Holden,” she says, nodding when she sees the car. “No motorcycle?”
Holden looks up at the sky. “Well, the forecast
is a little dicey. We’re going to be driving for over an hour each way. I don’t mind the bike in the rain, but I’m not trying to give Embry pneumonia or anything.”
“Smart boy,” Mom says. “Have a good time and drive safe. Call me if you need me, Emb. I’ve got two cookie orders I need to bake for a couple last-minute customers, but I think I’ll just go in early tomorrow and knock them out.”
“Good idea. Remember, your doctors said it was important for you to take at least one day off a week.” I lean in to give my mom a quick hug. Then I follow Holden out the door and into a brisk, overcast day. “Your mom didn’t need her car?” I ask.
“Not until tonight.” Holden opens the passenger door for me and then jogs around to the driver’s side. He turns the key in the ignition and the engine purrs to life.
I click my seat belt and recline the seat slightly as he backs down the driveway.
Holden drives to the end of my street and turns onto Highway W. We follow the winding highway past Fintastic and out of town, this time turning north toward Washington State rather than south toward the outlet mall.
We hit a clearing and then pass a logging field littered with stumps and dead branches. A painted sign reads: PLANTED 2017. I can just barely see tiny saplings poking out of the ground. I fumble for my camera, but by the time I get my phone out of my purse the field is long gone.
“Is it weird that I find deforestation beautiful?” Holden asks.
“Kind of.” I slide my phone back into my purse. “But there is something majestic about a big swath of open land cut out of the middle of the woods, especially when it’s been replanted.”
“Right,” Holden says. “It’s reforestation, not deforestation. New baby trees sprouting from the remains of their elders.”
“I like that,” I say. “Hope for the future.”
Cannon Beach is a small town that has only a handful of streets running through it. Holden and I find the Dragon Fire Gallery on Hemlock Street, across from the Cannon Beach Cooking School. He pulls into a parking spot and we both hop out of the car. He takes my hand as we walk toward the front of the building, a gesture that’s both comforting and confusing. Holden is not my boyfriend, so why is he acting like it so much lately?
That troubling question is quickly washed away as I step into the warm, cozy gallery. I take a deep breath and inhale the scent of cinnamon and cardamom. This is my happy place, surrounded by beautiful artwork. The walls are painted vibrant colors and the hardwood floor under my boots is gleaming. Glass display cases hold small sculptures and handmade jewelry. A recording of what sounds like monks singing and chanting plays quietly in the background.
“Welcome!” Holden and I are greeted by a bubbly woman in a flowered dress. Her jet-black hair hangs to the middle of her back. “I’m Anaba,” she says. “Here’s a pamphlet that explains the art for sale and our current installation. Let me know if you have questions about any of the works.”
“Thank you,” I tell her. I fold open the glossy brochure. Most of the artwork in the gallery is by artists from the Pacific Northwest, several of whom are Native American. A circular cutout in one wall leads into a second room where the photography exhibition is being held. Photos hang on all four walls, as well as on triangular display columns interspersed throughout the room.
I knew the exhibition was called Sea and Sky, but I didn’t realize the details of the photographer’s work. She’s created a collection of photographs of beaches and rocky coastlines at different times of the day. Each location has photos showing sunrise, afternoon, sunset, and the middle of the night. The first few displays are locations close to home—I even find a set for Three Rocks—but as Holden and I move deeper into the room, I find photographs of coastlines from different states and even different countries.
I stand in front of a photo of New Zealand fjords for a long time. “Can you imagine?” I ask Holden. “Can you imagine what it would be like to travel to the other side of the world?”
“Sure,” he says. “And someday you won’t have to imagine. You’ll be able to go anywhere you want, take the same kind of photographs. And if you need an assistant . . . this guy.” He pats himself on the chest.
I smile at him. “You are such a good friend.”
“Friend . . . right,” Holden says, his voice light. “Does that mean you’re done figuring out your feelings?”
“Well, you know. Given the circumstances, I never really considered that the two of us could be more than friends.”
“And now that the circumstances have changed?”
“I still have to talk to Luke,” I remind Holden. “I’m hoping he’ll call me soon.”
“And after you guys talk?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Part of me thinks that if we were in a relationship I might push you away, the way I did with Luke. Maybe it’s better to stay friends than to risk losing yet another person I care about.”
“Maybe we’re already more than friends and you just don’t want to admit it because it scares you.” Holden arches an eyebrow.
I poke him in the ribs. “One of the things I’ve always liked best about you is the way you never pressure me.”
“Ouch,” he says. “All right. I’ll back off so you can enjoy the exhibit. But think about it later, okay?”
Holden lapses into silence, but he continues to follow me from display to display. It should bother me, but it doesn’t. I like having him close. I wonder what it’d be like to be his girlfriend. Would it stay like this—easy and relaxed? Or would it change things? Just because our parents’ relationships didn’t work out doesn’t mean we’d be doomed to fail, does it?
I try to imagine my future without Holden, and I can’t. I’m not talking about marrying him or anything—I just mean next semester, a year from now. No matter what I envision, Holden is there. We’re studying together and going for rides on his motorcycle, finding places to hook up when our moms aren’t around. We’re talking and laughing and being ourselves, no hidden pieces required. Maybe that is love. It occurs to me I don’t actually know any people in love, not since my grandparents died. There’s Julia’s parents, I guess, but their relationship has always felt more like a business to me.
Holy shit. Am I in love with Holden? I knew my feelings were intensifying, but I guess I thought at some point I’d be able to make a choice, to love him or not love him. I didn’t expect things to sneak up on me.
“You okay?” he asks. “You’re looking a little flushed.”
“Fine,” I say quickly, moving to the next display. “It’s just a little warm in here.”
When we reach the final display in the room, it’s a set of four photographs taken in India, a stone temple located on a beach. In the foreground of the sunrise and afternoon photographs, fishermen cast nets from long-tail boats while women and children dig for clams in the sand.
“What does this one make you feel?” he asks.
“Like it’s happening in another world, at an earlier time,” I say. “I should feel sad. The people, even the kids, are working hard. But everyone seems so happy.”
“I love the midnight picture.” Holden points to the lower-left corner. “Look, there are a couple of seabirds who have come out now that the humans are gone.”
Sure enough, if I squint I can make out the tiny silhouettes in the dark photo. I might have missed them completely if Holden hadn’t pointed them out.
We head back into the main room of the gallery, where Anaba is explaining some jewelry in a display case to an older couple. I wait until she’s finished and ask her if I’m allowed to take photographs.
“Absolutely,” she says. “We just ask that you refrain from using your flash and that anything you post online you be sure to give credit to the artist.”
I nod. I don’t want to post of any of this. I just want a few snaps to keep for myself so I never forget this day.
After we leave the gallery, Holden and I grab some lunch at a place called the Perfect Pancake
. They serve all kinds of breakfast foods, including thirty-five types of pancakes, as well as sandwiches for lunch. It makes me think of the big brunches my grandma used to make for Mom and me when I was little.
The waitress seats us in a booth next to a window that looks out on the parking lot. I order red velvet pancakes that come with cream cheese frosting, and Holden gets vegan pecan pancakes with real maple syrup. We eat mostly in silence. I keep thinking about the gallery exhibit, about how Holden saw things in some of the photos that I missed completely. Maybe there are clues to the identity of Unknown that I’ve missed somehow. I call up the messages on my phone and read through all the texts.
“Everything okay?” Holden soaks up some syrup on his plate with the last bite of pancake.
“Yeah, I was just rereading the messages from Unknown. I can’t help but feel like I’m missing something—some basic piece of information that would make all the other clues fall into place.”
“It’s not usually that easy,” he says.
“I know. I just keep thinking that if Unknown had actually wanted Julia’s purse, we would have caught him or her fishing it out of the trash. Then this would all be over.”
“True.” Holden pops the last bite of pancake into his mouth. He chews thoughtfully. “Maybe the next message will give us a better chance to set a trap.”
“I hope so.” As much as I hate the thought of more messages, I like the thought of setting a trap.
A black BMW pulls into the restarant parking lot. My heart skips a beat until I see the driver is a woman. It’s not the same car I’ve been seeing around Three Rocks.
“Hey, did you have any luck with that license plate?” I ask Holden.
“Shit. I forgot all about that. I’ve got it written down on a piece of paper in my room. I’ll call my friend when we get back, I promise.”
“Cool. I don’t see how some middle-aged dude in a BMW could be related to all this, but if I can figure out who he is, at least maybe I can rule him out.” I glance at the time as I slip my phone back into my purse. It’s a little after one p.m. “Time to head back?”