Hidden Pieces

by Paula Stokes

I watch the screen for about thirty seconds and then set my phone on my nightstand. “If Luke’s really back here, why wouldn’t he have already called me?”

  “Well, you did break up with him in an email, right?”

  “Yeah, but it was a good letter. Honest. Apologetic. If he had read it, I know he would have called me. I’m almost positive . . .”

  “Maybe you don’t know Luke as well as you think you do,” Holden says.

  I bite my lip. “What are you trying to say—that he could be Unknown? As in Luke shot my mom? Hurt Julia? No. No way.”

  But then I think back to the times I saw Luke get angry at a car for cutting him off, or depressed when one of his sports teams lost. If he somehow found out I was hooking up with Holden before I wrote him that email, could it have made him snap to a degree where he would go after innocent people just to hurt me? It doesn’t seem possible, but I know that sometimes combat changes people. Also, Holden said he saw Frannie buying weed, and that never seemed possible to me either.

  I decide to text Frannie too.

  Me: Odd question, but Luke didn’t figure out a way to come home after all, did he? A friend thought they saw his car in town. Is he still overseas?

  I wait a few minutes, but she doesn’t reply either. “I should go by the O’Riley house, just to see if Luke’s really back in town. Make sure he’s okay.”

  “They’re probably all still asleep,” Holden says. “Like you should be. Luke’s a big boy. He can take care of himself. Let’s rest for a couple of hours. Maybe by the time we wake up he’ll have texted you back. Maybe the cops will also have the security footage.”

  “I guess you’re right,” I say. “But there’s no way Luke is Unknown. He would never hurt me like that. Never.”

  I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince—Holden or myself.

  Thirty-Two

  TRUE TO HIS WORD, Holden wakes me up right at ten. The first thing I do is check my phone. There’s still no reply from Luke or Frannie. I call my mom to check on her, but she doesn’t answer. I call the nurses’ station, and the nurse assigned to her tells me that she’s napping right now but she’s doing fine.

  I head into the coffee shop, passing the area where my mom was shot on the way. The police didn’t want to block traffic on Main Street, but they’ve strung caution tape along the shoulder of the road and several yards out into the grass. I wonder if they found any evidence, if they have any idea who the shooter might have been. Hopefully when they get that camera footage from the community college everything will fall into place.

  Matt and Kendra are working at the café. They’ve both heard about my mom going to the ER and ply me with questions about what happened. I tell them she’s okay, but that the police don’t have much information yet. Then I get to work on furiously baking, frosting, and boxing up the rest of the cookie orders.

  Around noon, Matt asks me if I’ll cover the back for a few minutes so he can go out for a smoke.

  “Sure,” I say. I still feel a little bad about snapping on him the last time he asked me out. He grabs his coat and heads out the back door, to the delivery area where he and a couple others on the staff sometimes smoke. As the door starts to fall shut, I notice there’s a girl out there waiting for him. Good, I think. And then she turns and I catch a glimpse of her face. It’s Julia.

  My heart accelerates in my chest. What is Julia doing with Matt?

  Kendra calls back an order for two Raymond Carvers, and I quickly lay out sourdough bread and top it with sliced roast beef, Swiss cheese, and spicy brown mustard. I put the sandwiches on the panini press to toast. Then I scurry to the back of the coffee shop and press my ear to the door. But it’s a metal door and I can’t hear anything through it. Cutting into the storeroom, I stand on a small step stool and peek out of a smudgy window close to the ceiling. The glass is thinner and I can hear snatches of conversation. It sounds like they’re arguing. “You said you’d have it by tonight,” she says.

  “I said maybe. You didn’t pay for expedited shipping.”

  Julia opens her purse and pulls out a small wad of bills. “Here.”

  Matt pockets the money. “I’ll try, but this ain’t Amazon.” He drops his cigarette butt to the asphalt and grinds it out under his boot. He turns back toward the door to the coffee shop.

  I hop down from the step stool and hurry back to the kitchen area, plating up the Raymond Carver sandwiches and garnishing them with pickle spears. I hand them through a pass-through window to Kendra, who looks at me a little strangely.

  “Are you burning cookies?” she asks.

  “Shit.” I completely forgot I had two pans of cookies in the oven before Matt went on his break. I pull open the oven doors, and the smell of burned cookies fills the kitchen.

  “Gross.” Matt rounds the corner into the prep area, reeking of cigarette smoke. “Can’t you do two things at one time without fucking one of them up?”

  Ignoring his insult, I throw the burned cookies in the trash and pull the bag out of the can. “Hey, did I see Julia Worthington out there with you?” I ask.

  “Maybe. You jealous?”

  “Hardly.” I scoff. “It looked like you guys were arguing. What was that about?”

  “Relax, Woods, I’m not harassing your little friends. We were talking business.”

  “What kind of business?” I tie a loose knot in the top of the trash bag.

  He clears his throat. “I don’t ask you about your business, now do I?”

  “Stay away from Julia,” I say. “And don’t conduct business out of my mom’s coffee shop. This is the only thing she has. If someone gets caught with drugs here, she could get in trouble.”

  “I’m not dealing drugs here.”

  “I’ve heard otherwise,” I say, my voice laced with scorn.

  “Well, you’ve heard wrong,” Matt says. “If you must know, I sold your friend some diet pills, but not anything illegal. You can buy them over the internet. She was just worried that her parents might snoop through her mail if she ordered them herself.”

  I swear under my breath. Julia and her obsession with looking perfect in her New Year’s Eve dress. I hope she’s not taking some kind of toxic herbs from some shady website. How can someone so smart be so dumb about certain things? I guess we’ve all got problems.

  “What about Frannie O’Riley?” I ask. “Someone told me they saw the two of you together.”

  Matt smirks. “If she’s buying anything from me, I assure you it’s not here at the café.”

  “She’s a good kid,” I say. “You shouldn’t be selling her anything.”

  Matt shrugs. “I’m in no position to judge.” He turns his attention to Kendra as she calls back an order for two more sandwiches. I head to the back with the trash bag.

  I hate the thought of Frannie using drugs, but I know enough about human nature to know that telling someone not to do something will just make most people want to do it more. Still, I’m going to ask her about it the next time I see her. If she gets caught with drugs, it could end up on her permanent record, which could mess up her whole future.

  I don’t want her to feel the way I do right now, like I made a mistake I’m going to pay for the rest of my life.

  Thinking about Frannie makes me wonder about Luke again. Holden had to be mistaken about seeing his car. There’s no way Luke would come home and not tell me. I dump the burned cookies in the Dumpster and then check my phone. Sure enough, Frannie has replied.

  Frannie: He’s not here. I drove his car a couple of times with my dad. I just got my permit.

  That makes sense. I send Holden a quick text saying that he probably saw Frannie driving Luke’s car and then start remaking the cookies I just burned.

  By one-thirty, I’ve got all the cookies frosted and just need to box them up.

  I tell Matt I’m going on break and make myself a Sally Struthers—three types of locally produced Tillamook cheese on fresh-baked Texas toast. He watches me fix the sandwich but doesn’
t say anything. When the cheese is melted and the outside of the bread is golden brown, I slide it onto a plate and get myself a cup of water to go with it. I take a seat at an empty table out front.

  After I finish eating, I box up the last few orders and call the customers to let them know their cookies are ready for pickup. I start cleaning up the back while Kendra handles a few more walk-in customers and rings out the people who arrive for their cookies. At three-thirty, I give my mom a call and let her know that all the orders are out except for one.

  “You’re the best, Emb,” she says. “Literally.” And then, after a moment, “The doctors said the bleeding stopped and I can take oral antibiotics, so I can go home whenever you’re able to come pick me up. Have you thought about what you’re going to wear tonight?”

  “Oh, Mom. Forget the dumb holiday party. I would much rather just have a quiet Christmas Eve with you.”

  “But I assured the mayor you’d be there. It would be rude to stand him up.”

  “He’s just an old retired guy who plays mayor for free. He won’t care.”

  “We’re going,” Mom says. “We can sneak out before the nativity play, if you want, but we can’t skip you being honored.”

  “The play is the best part,” I mumble, thinking about how Frannie said her mom was trying to recruit an infant from Tillamook to play Baby Jesus. “Fine. I’ll pick you up at like five-fifteen. I think I’m going to let Matt and Kendra go home. It’s totally dead in here right now. I’ll hang out until this last cookie order is picked up.”

  “Good idea,” Mom says. “I’m sure they both have places they’d rather be on Christmas Eve. No need for them to stay until close if you’re sure you don’t need either one of them.”

  I hang up the phone and give Matt and Kendra the good news.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind staying by yourself?” Kendra nibbles at the end of one of her manicured nails. “My mom doesn’t get off at the dairy until six, so I can stay if you need.”

  “It’s fine,” I say. “Go home and start celebrating early.”

  Matt and Kendra quickly finish their closing duties and grab their stuff from the back.

  “Remember what I said,” I mutter as Matt heads for the door, his car keys dangling from his hand.

  “Mellow out, Woods. It’s Christmas,” he says. “Try to have a little fun, okay? You’re like seventeen going on seventy.”

  “Whatever. Drive safe.” The last thing I want is for anyone else I know to end up in the Tillamook ER.

  “Happy holidays!” Kendra gives me a hug and then ducks out into the street, the bells above her head jingling as the door swings shut.

  I finish cleaning up the kitchen, running my dirty dishes through the dish machine and wiping down the counters. The door jingles again and I figure it’s probably my last cookie customer. I head out front to find an older couple standing at the counter. I’ve seen them around before—I think they moved into a house on Julia’s street earlier this year.

  “We’re here to pick up our holiday cookies,” the woman says. “The name is Kriss.”

  I put their box of cookies into a paper bag with handles. The man orders a hot chocolate to go. I mix steamed milk and melted dark chocolate in a cup and top the drink with a generous amount of whipped cream. He leaves me a five-dollar tip.

  As the man and his wife head back out into the cold, my phone buzzes in the pocket of my apron. I pull it out. There’s a text.

  Unknown: You should have done what I asked you to do. Now someone is dead and it’s your fault.

  You wish, I think, saying a silent thank-you prayer just in case God is listening. I start to shove my phone back into my purse, but then I stop. Maybe if I can get Unknown talking they’ll slip up and say something I can use to identify them.

  Me: I hate to break it to you, but Julia is fine and so is my mom. You’re not very good at killing people.

  Unknown: I’m not talking about Julia or your mom.

  Before I can reply, my phone buzzes again. Another message. This one includes an image—a picture of military dog tags with blood smeared on them.

  My hand shakes so badly that the phone slips from my grasp and clatters to the floor. This can’t be what I think it is. I scoop up the phone and enlarge the picture until I can read the name on the small metal plates: Lucas O’Riley.

  “No,” I whisper. “Not possible.” It’s fake it’s fake it has to be fake. Unknown can’t possibly have gotten to Luke. Frannie just told me he’s still in Afghanistan. He’s thousands of miles away. Whoever this is, they’re just messing with me.

  I flip over to my address book and call Luke. He doesn’t answer. I hang up and try Frannie. She doesn’t answer either. I try her a second time. Come on, goddamnit. Someone needs to pick up.

  On the third try, Frannie answers.

  “Embry?” Her voice is wavering, uncertain, like for some reason she thinks someone else might be calling her from my phone.

  “Yeah, it’s me. Sorry for all the calls, but I need you to tell me that Luke’s okay.”

  “I. Wait. What? The army people just showed up. How could you possibly have heard already?” Her voice breaks into pieces, and I realize she wasn’t uncertain when she said my name—she was distraught.

  “Heard what, Fran? He’s fine, right?” I say hoarsely. “I mean, maybe you haven’t talked to him, but that’s because he’s been on a mission or something. It doesn’t mean anything is wrong, does it? You would know if something . . . had happened.”

  “Embry,” Frannie says, “I don’t want to lie to you, but my mom said not to tell anyone, not on Christmas Eve. She said to wait until after the holidays, until we had all the information—”

  “Information about what?” I am almost yelling now.

  “It’s like the most horrible thing ever and if I don’t tell you I’m afraid you’re going to find out some other way and—” Frannie gasps for breath. “But I don’t want you to feel the way I feel right now because I don’t even know what I’m going to do and—”

  “Slow down, Fran,” I say. “Just tell me. What happened?”

  “He’s gone,” she whispers. “Luke is dead.”

  Thirty-Three

  I RAISE A HAND to my chest. “When? How?”

  Frannie sucks in a sharp breath. “I don’t know the details yet. There’s someone from the army talking to my parents right now, but they kicked me out of the room and . . .” Her words disintegrate into sobbing.

  Tears well in my eyes. It has to be a mistake. Surely Unknown couldn’t get to Luke stationed halfway across the world. Unless of course he really did come home to surprise everyone like Holden thought.

  “Are you absolutely sure about what you heard? There’s no way you misunderstood?” My brain can’t process the idea that Lucas O’Riley, town hero, army medic, boy who offered to marry me just so my mom and I could have an easier life, is dead.

  “Embry, they brought my parents a folded flag.”

  I swallow back a mouthful of bile as I sink into a chair to keep from collapsing. The clock on the wall ticks like thunder. The inside of the café goes a little blurry.

  “Embry? You there?”

  “Sorry. I’m here. I’m just in shock. Look, can I come over? I’m at work, but I can close up early. No one is here anyway.”

  “I don’t know.” Frannie sniffles. “My family is going to need time to deal with the news. I’m not sure coming by tonight is a good idea.”

  “Oh, okay.” My legs are trembling now too. My whole body is basically shaking. I squeeze my eyes shut and open them. Still here. I bite down hard on my lower lip. Nope, not a dream.

  “I’ll call you once I have more information. In the meantime, please keep this between us. My parents aren’t going to inform the town until after Christmas. They don’t want to put a damper on anyone’s holidays.”

  “Yeah, sure.” I taste salt. I must have bit my lip so hard I drew blood. “Call me anytime, day or night. For anything,” I t
ack on.

  She sniffles again. “Thanks, Embry.”

  “I love you, okay? I’ll be thinking of you.”

  “Yeah. Same.” Frannie hangs up and I stare at the screen of my phone for a few minutes. I always knew when Luke went into the military there was a chance he could die, but I never really thought it would happen, especially not now. I flip the OPEN sign to CLOSED on the coffee shop door and return to my seat.

  My stomach is roiling and my chest aches. I bend over, rest my head on the table, and let the tears come. They’re silent at first—tears of shock—but as the minutes pass they go from shock to grief to a hot and ugly anger. Unknown did this, somehow, for some fucked-up reason that I still don’t understand.

  My heart feels like it’s being squeezed by a boa constrictor. I want to lash out, hurt something. I grab my phone and rattle off a text:

  Me: How could you? Julia, my mom, and now Luke? Why would you go after them? They are some of the best people I know.

  Unknown: And yet, you lied to all of them, didn’t you?

  I don’t respond right away. I might not technically have lied, but I definitely hid the truth.

  Unknown: I told you someone had to die.

  Me: But why?

  Unknown: So you would realize actions have consequences.

  Me: But why Luke? How did you even get to him?

  I’m praying the answer won’t be sufficient. Frannie has been acting weird lately. If she’s really buying drugs from Matt, then maybe she’s wrong about this. Maybe it’s all a horrible misunderstanding.

  Unknown: I can get to everyone.

  “Son of a bitch.” I pound my fist on the tabletop. A dull pain arcs through my arms. I pound the wood again and again. I imagine sitting here until my hands are bloodied and the table is a pile of shrapnel.

  Unknown: Stop acting like a child. This isn’t over.

  Gaping at the screen, I leap up from my chair and rip open the door to the coffee shop. The street is empty except for an older couple ducking out of the motel next to the market. They give me a strange look before hurrying down the sidewalk. I can only imagine what I look like right now.