Hidden Pieces

by Paula Stokes

  He grins mischievously. “Not quite yet. I’ve got one more stop planned.”

  “You didn’t have to do all this.” My heart thrums in my chest. I get that weird trembly feeling like I get when Holden touches me, only this time it’s just from the look on his face. He looks so . . . happy.

  “I told you I had a surprise. Think of it as your Christmas present.”

  I bite at my lower lip. “But I didn’t get you anything.”

  He shrugs. “This is kind of my present too. I haven’t gone anywhere besides Portland in a while because of school and work. It was good to get away.”

  “It was,” I say. “Thank you.”

  The waitress drops off the bill, and I grab it before Holden can get his wallet out of his pants. “Let me pay. Since you drove and everything.”

  His smile dampens slightly. “No, I got it. I didn’t ask you out so that you could pay.”

  “This isn’t 1950,” I inform him. “Besides, think of it as your Christmas present.”

  “Fine. You can pay half if you really want to.”

  “Thank you.” I pull the money my mom gave me out of my purse.

  Holden takes the twenty-dollar bill from my outstretched hand and gives me a ten in return. We head up to the register to pay, and then he jogs back to the table to leave a few singles for a tip.

  I buckle back into the car and watch the scenery fly by, curious as to where Holden and I are going next. I roll down the car window so I can take some pictures of the town. The air outside is damp, but so far the clouds overhead haven’t done more than rumble threateningly.

  I’m surprised when Holden pulls into an opening for Ecola State Park. I’ve never been here, but most of the state parks on the coast are mainly for hiking and picnicking. We just ate, so . . . “Are we going hiking?” I ask. “I’m not sure how good I’ll do in these shoes.”

  “Very limited hiking,” Holden says. “You’ll do fine.” We drive past a set of restrooms and a couple of picnic shelters and park down in the far parking lot alongside several other cars.

  “Limited hiking is popular today, huh?”

  Holden smiles, but he doesn’t say anything. We both hop out of the car and I follow him down a short trail to a small fenced-in square platform. A family of four is standing at the railing. The sun is hidden behind thick clouds, but it’s still fairly bright outside, and the dad has one hand up, shielding his eyes from the glare. A girl about six years old is resting her chin on the top of the wooden fence while her older sister, maybe ten or twelve, is taking a picture with her phone.

  Holden steps to the opposite side of the platform and scans the horizon. I follow him, squinting out at the water. Below us, a pair of surfers in full-length wetsuits are paddling out into the ocean.

  “Are we watching surfers?” Occasionally there are surfers on Three Rocks Beach, though not usually in the winter because the water is so cold.

  Holden pulls a pair of binoculars from the pocket of his rain jacket and suddenly I realize why we’re here.

  “Whales?” I ask loudly.

  “Shh.” Holden smirks. “You’re gonna scare them away.”

  The six-year-old girl crosses the platform. She points out at the ocean, to what is approximately the eleven o’clock position. “My mommy said she saw a spout over there.”

  “The top of the whale’s head surfaced, actually,” the woman corrects. “Come over here, Serena. Don’t bother the nice couple.”

  My stomach gets a weird feeling at Holden and me being called a couple. Do I like it? Do I not like it? How do I not know? Oblivious to the warring feelings inside me, Holden hands me the binoculars. “Give it a try. Let me know if you see anything.”

  I peer out into the water, scanning systematically, top to bottom, left to right. I’m not used to using binoculars and I end up having to close my right eye to see clearly. For almost a whole minute, Holden and I are totally silent. I hear slight mutterings from the family of four, but I can’t make out any words. I’m too focused on the ocean, on examining every wave, every splash of water. I find seagulls bobbing on the surface and once the dark swirl of what I think is a sea lion moving around a formation of rocks. But no whales. I’m just about to hand the binoculars back to Holden when I see a puff of mist.

  “There!” I point. “Ten o’clock.” I watch the spot, waiting for the whale to show itself, to let its broad back break the surface of the water. But when it happens, it’s not the rounded crest of the whale’s back, it’s the tail fin, all fin-shaped and perfect, like childhood me used to dream about.

  Next to me, Holden’s breath is hot in my ear. “I saw it,” he says. “Wow. I think that’s the second-most beautiful thing I’ve seen all day.”

  I snort. “Oh yeah?”

  “Right behind the pecan pancakes I had for lunch.”

  “Ass,” I whisper.

  “What? First you had to be hotter than the Mona Lisa and now you want to be prettier than pancakes too? You’ve got a real problem with vanity, Embry Woods.”

  I bite back a smile. “You’re right. I’m being unreasonable. Those pancakes were exceptionally sexy.”

  He pulls me into a hug. “Luckily for you, I like vain, unreasonable girls.”

  I press my head against his chest. “Seriously, Holden. This has been the most amazing day. Thank you.”

  Holden leans down and kisses me on the cheek. “You’re welcome.”

  Warmth radiates through my body. For a few seconds, I think again about us being more than friends. The idea scares the hell out of me, but part of the reason I never thought about it is because I couldn’t imagine betraying Julia like that, at least not until after she left for college. And yeah, I know it’s stupid to be okay with betraying her privately and not publicly, but I wasn’t okay with betraying her privately either. I just did it, and then I was too much of a coward to find a way back from that until it was literally a matter of life and death.

  But now that I know Julia doesn’t have romantic feelings for Holden, it feels less impossible that he and I could actually be together, once I talk to Luke, of course.

  Holden drops me off at home around four p.m. He heads to the gas station, and Mom and I drive into Tillamook, where we get a large pizza from Upper Crust and a container of ice cream from the Tillamook Dairy.

  We take our treats back to the house and prepare for our Sunday night sundae party. Mom splays the pizza out on the coffee table after giving Betsy a stern warning. I fetch a couple of doggie treats from the kitchen cabinet so the dog doesn’t feel too left out. All three of us curl up in the living room and my mom starts the latest episode of Sexy Firefighting Models. This week, the fire lieutenants Zander and Gray (I’m still trying to figure out if those are their first names or last names) get into a fistfight at work over Alicia Ramos, one of the firehouse’s paramedics. This complicates matters when both firefighters then have to work together to rescue a car that’s slid half off a bridge and is in danger of plummeting into a freezing river. Ramos stands off to the side next to a gurney as Zander and Gray stabilize the car with ropes and pulleys, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders in a style I’m pretty sure most paramedics would find inconvenient for work.

  “Who are you rooting for?” I ask Mom. “Team Zander or Team Gray?”

  Mom clucks her tongue. “I’m rooting for Alicia. You know she wants to go to medical school, right? She doesn’t have time for either of those guys.”

  “Good for her,” I say. Even fictional people have more concrete goals for the future than I do.

  After the TV shows ends, Mom puts in Ladder 49, which I’m pretty sure was not Betsy’s movie of choice. Halfway though, my phone buzzes with a text.

  I smile to myself as I reach for it. I don’t know what I’m hoping for exactly. Maybe a sweet text from Holden telling me he’s still thinking about me, or a coolly polite message from Julia saying she thinks we should talk. What I get is another message from Unknown, and this time they want me to s
teal a gun.

  Twenty-Six

  I STARE AT THE WORDS, unblinking.

  Unknown: It’s time for your next choice. Shouldn’t be a tough one since you’re so good under pressure.

  Unknown: A. Steal the handgun from Katrina Jensen’s glove compartment and leave it in the Pot Hole. Her car is in the Fintastic parking lot.

  B. If you don’t do this, I’ll kill someone you love. And this time I promise you won’t be around to save the day.

  Unknown: You have 2 hours. Choose wisely.

  I read the message again. Why does Unknown seem to create tasks for me that involve people I’m with or have been with recently? I was shopping with Julia when I got the message to steal her purse. And now, two days after confronting Katrina at Fintastic, I’m being told to steal her gun?

  “Hon. You okay?” my mom asks. “You’re white as a sheet.”

  “Huh?” I look up from the screen. “No, I’m fine. I just . . . need a little air. I think I’m going to take Betsy for a quick walk.”

  Mom frowns. “It’s awfully dark outside. Be careful.”

  “I am. I mean, I will.” I suck in a sharp breath of air. My lungs feel swollen, or maybe shriveled—whatever lungs do that makes it hard to breathe. Why the hell would Unknown want me to steal a gun? Is Julia right? Are they going to ask me to shoot someone? And who are they going to go after if I say no?

  Mom pulls off the purple head wrap she wears around the house. “My hair is finally starting to grow back,” she says proudly, running one hand over her scalp.

  “That’s . . .” My mind completely blanks out on the word I want. “Super,” I finish. Mom gives me another strange look. I have to get out of here before I lose it.

  I tuck my phone into my pocket and grab my jacket from where it’s sitting on the back of the sofa. “Betsy,” I call. “Want to go out?”

  As far as getting a dog’s attention, “Want to go out?” is second only to “Want a treat?” Betsy’s collar jingles as she stands up from her bed and hurries across the living room. She skids to a stop in front of me and sits back on her haunches.

  “Good girl.” I grab the leash from a hook on the wall and attach it to her collar. “We’ll be back,” I tell my mom. Before she can even reply, I head out into the cold, letting the door slam shut behind me.

  My heart beats three times for every step I take, and thanks to Betsy I’m practically running. I have to go to the cops now—there’s no question. Stealing Julia’s purse was one thing. I’m not breaking into any cars. I wouldn’t even know how to. But Holden would, a little voice whispers. I don’t care. I’m not messing around with any guns. Enough people have gotten hurt. There’s no reason to believe Unknown won’t try to kill someone even if I follow their instructions.

  I pull out my phone and start to send Holden a message, but then I stop. Every time I told him I wanted to go to the police he tried to talk me out of it. He was right at first—neither of us knew whether the initial message was just a dumb prank. But I should have confessed everything instead of stealing Julia’s purse. I need to figure everything out in my head before I bring Holden back into this. That way he won’t be able to talk me out of it.

  I try to figure out exactly what I’m going to say to the police as Betsy and I walk along the main street of town, past the post office, Tacos & Burgers, the ice-cream shop, and the Oregon Coast Café. The coffee shop looks so sad with the lights off, the tiny chalkboard that reads CLOSED hung on the door.

  We keep walking. I watch dead leaves turn end over end as they tumble across the cobblestones. Ocean waves crash in the distance. A tang of salt hangs in the air.

  We pause at the far end of the street. Betsy tugs hard on the leash. She wants to go down to the beach. She thinks she wants to go in the water, but that’s only because she doesn’t remember how freezing it is.

  “All right, all right,” I grumble as she tries to yank my arm out of its socket. We take the paved path from the parking lot down onto the sand. Betsy starts to run and I do my best to keep up with her. We make it all the way down to the cliff wall and then turn around and run back toward the parking lot. Betsy paws at something in the sand and suddenly starts to dig. Sand flies everywhere. “Hey, stop it!” I tell her.

  She proudly unearths her treasure—a dead crab—and picks it up in her mouth.

  “No, gross.” I wrench the crab from her teeth and she turns her head out toward the water hopefully, like she thinks we’re going to play a game of catch.

  “Not today, friend.” I fling the crab into the water but keep a tight hold on Betsy’s leash. I tug her over to a big driftwood log set back from the water’s edge. “Let’s chill for a few minutes.”

  I plunk down on the log. Betsy lies down by my feet, her warm chin right on my boots. I lean over, rest my forearms on my thighs, rub my temples with my fingertips. “I just want this to be over,” I mumble. But that’s not true. I want to know who Unknown is—I want to understand why they’re doing this to me. I just can’t believe someone I know would ask me to steal a gun or threaten to kill someone.

  But if it’s not someone I know, then who could it be? The only other person who comes to mind is the mysterious guy in the baseball cap and brown leather jacket who’s been lurking around town. But I don’t even know who he is. Like my mom said, that could all have been a coincidence. Maybe that wasn’t even him walking through my neighborhood that night. What motive would a total stranger have to hurt me?

  The tears come from out of nowhere—quiet at first and then big racking sobs. So many tears for so many reasons, because of Luke and Holden and Julia and the fire. Because of Unknown and the things I’ve done. Because I am completely terrified at the thought of turning myself in, and crushed at the thought of having to implicate Holden too.

  But I’m going to do it. I have to do it. No more excuses.

  Pulling out my phone, I send Holden a quick text:

  Me: Meet me tonight? Usual place?

  Holden: I have to run a quick errand after work. 10 pm ok?

  Me: Yeah.

  Holden: You ok?

  Me: No. I got another message. It’s messed up.

  Holden: Oh. Sorry. I’ll be there at 10.

  Me: See you then.

  I start to slip my phone into my pocket, when I hear a noise behind me. Footsteps. Soft and slow, like someone is trying to sneak up on me. I glance down at Betsy. She’s resting her chin on her paws, oblivious. Holding up my phone like I’m snapping a picture of the moon, I flip to reverse camera so I can see behind me. Sure enough, there’s a man on the path down from the parking area. My blood chills as I realize he’s got a pair of binoculars and they’re trained on Betsy and me.

  My heart stops when I focus in on what he’s wearing—a baseball cap and a brown jacket.

  Twenty-Seven

  I’M NOT SURE WHAT TO DO. Part of me wants to turn around and chase him, catch up with him and demand to know why he’s been following me. The rest of me wants to pretend like I don’t see him, sit quietly, hopefully lure him closer. If I can get a picture of him, I might be able to plug it into a Google image search and figure out who he is. Maybe he’s some sort of insurance investigator for the Sea Cliff or something.

  Betsy ends up making this decision for me. As the man inches closer to me on the path, she lifts up her head. I zoom in my camera, but I still can’t make out any of his features. Betsy hops to all fours and starts barking. She vaults over the log and starts running in the direction of the path.

  The man turns and flees. Betsy and I run after him. “Wait!” I shout. “Who are you?”

  The man turns the corner onto Main Street and disappears into an alley on the other side of the market. The next building is the Three Rocks Motel. He’s probably staying there, but there’s no way they’re going to give me the names of their guests.

  I start to turn away when I notice who’s behind the check-in desk. It’s my neighbor Cori Ernest. She’s probably not going to help me, but it’s wo
rth a try.

  I secure Betsy’s leash to the metal pole of a no-parking sign and duck inside the lobby of the motel. Cori is sipping from a paper cup with a lid on it.

  I stride up to her. “Hey, I need your help.”

  She looks up at me, one eyebrow arched in curiosity. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m looking for a man,” I say. “Brown leather jacket, baseball cap. Is he staying here?”

  “Hon, even if I knew what sort of coats the guests were wearing, which I don’t, I wouldn’t be able to give out that information.”

  “Please,” I say. “I’m in trouble. I think that man has been following my mom and me. I just want to know his name. Can you do that much? I promise I won’t tell anyone that you told me.”

  Cori’s lips tighten into a hard line. “If someone has been following you then you need to tell the police about it. Have them come down here and I’ll give them all the information they want.”

  I start to protest, but then I realize she’s not going to budge. It was probably stupid of me to even ask. The clock behind the check-in counter reads 9:40. I should bring Betsy home before I go meet Holden because it’s not safe for her to walk across the slippery rocks by the Pot Hole.

  “Okay. Sorry to bother you. Thanks anyway.”

  I leave the motel and let Betsy pull me into a jog down Main Street. We reduce our speed when we get to Highway W. I coil her leash around my palm a few times so she can’t run out into the street if something scares her. The Christmas lights strung along the edge of the cemetery bathe the whole area in a ghostly hue. I try not to think about my mom ending up there if her cancer comes back. She believes that she beat it. I should have the same faith.

  I slip back into the house with Betsy, closing the door softly behind me. I free the dog from her leash and pour her an extra bowl of food. Then I return to the beach. Halfway there, it starts raining again. I pick my way carefully along the rocks and pebbles, hurrying toward the Pot Hole, a few minutes behind schedule.

  Out closer to the waves, I see two people walking along the sand. They’re heading toward town. I squint, trying to see who it is, but thick clouds are blotting out most of the moonlight and I can’t make out anything beyond their shadows.