Back to Blue

by Dillon Watson

  “Well!”

  “Nine times nine is eighty-one. I’m sure of it.”

  “You think that’s funny? You think you can stand there and make fun of me?”

  “I…” Summer broke off, looked at the floor. Looked at anything but the anger and accusation in Marcia’s eyes. “All I did was what you told me to do,” she finally said quietly. “That’s all. That’s all.”

  “Then why was Ms. Know-It-All in here?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know,” she said, thinking feverishly that twelve times twelve was one hundred and forty-four and how badly she wanted to be away from here.

  “I doubt that. What I think is that the two of you are working to get me fired. She never liked me. Never liked the way Gar and the rest of the guys around here look at me.”

  “What?” Summer’s head jerked up. Fifteen times fifteen got lost as her brain rejected what Marcia was implying.

  Marcia’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I’ve been here longer than either of you. I’ll be here after you’re gone. Best you remember that the next time you try to make trouble for me with Gar or Kevin.”

  “But I didn’t. I haven’t.”

  Marcia held out her hand, palm first. “Stop already. Don’t try that lost child look on me. That ‘I’m so pitiful, feel sorry for me’ crap. Seems I’m the only one around here who can see through your act. You be careful because you don’t fool me one bit. I have my eye on you.”

  “For what? I come to work, I do my job. Liz came looking for me. I didn’t call her.”

  “Don’t lie. Don’t you stand there in front of me and lie. Oh, I forgot. You got bags of money on both sides of the family. Bet your parents raised you to lie.”

  A memory tried to surface and Summer strained to bring it into focus. Someone else had berated her this way—full of hate and disdain. But who? It wasn’t Renny. Renny hadn’t been this bad. She swallowed hard, pressing a hand against her stomach. How had a simple conversation with Liz turned the day to black?

  “Talking to you…” Marcia poked her arm, turning the memory to smoke, but igniting an anger intense enough to break through Summer’s fear.

  “You have no cause to talk to me like that. I spent the whole day following your orders, Marcia. That’s all I did. That’s all I was supposed to do. You want to pretend I took it upon myself to clean this filthy room, then that’s on you.” She pushed past Marcia, determined to get away before the tears started. She stopped in the filing room, grabbed her things and hurried down the stairs, her eyes glistening with tears.

  The tears didn’t fall until she was on her bike and on the road. She let the brisk, cold wind dry them as she peddled furiously, trying to outrun the hate and the deep-seated fear it brought. Hate that had been there from the beginning. Hate she couldn’t understand, let alone know how to deal with.

  Without conscious thought, she took a right instead of a left and made the thirty-minute ride to what Seneca called Central Park. By the time she arrived, the sky had darkened and filled with dirty gray clouds. Clouds which might herald rain. Just perfect, she thought, hooking her helmet onto the end of a handlebar. The cold, stormy day was in keeping with her mood. In keeping with her view of Marcia Meachem.

  Summer eyed the empty playground equipment and kicked at the ground. This was where she belonged. She was a freak, a two-year-old in a thirty-three-year-old body. A freak who was a failure at everything from going out to breakfast to talking with authors to cleaning up a storage room. A freak who obviously belonged in her mother’s house, away from situations where she could upset other people. No. Upset was too mild a word. Her superpower seemed to be making people hate and despise her. All she needed was a catchy name.

  The tears returned and she wiped at them, annoyed at their presence, annoyed at the world. If she were a two-year-old, she decided, she should do what they did. She settled into a swing, and pushed off. Somehow her body knew what to do as she pumped her legs, swinging higher and higher until a feeling of euphoria balanced the darkness and her spirits lifted.

  “I won’t let her get to me,” she screamed and pumped her legs harder, going so high she felt giddy. “I’m a survivor!” Without warning—

  she wasn’t swinging anymore. She was just sitting on the swing, kicking the ground and mad at the whole world. It’s the stupid baby’s fault, she thought, wiping away tears. Everything was all about him now. Couldn’t do this, couldn’t do that and all because of him. She hadn’t wanted some snot-nosed brother anyway. He was supposed to be a girl. A girl she could play with and share her dolls with. All he did was drool on everything and try to put her dolls in his icky mouth. That wasn’t her fault, but she sure got the blame.

  She lifted her head as she heard the excited barks of a puppy. He was so cute. Brown and cuddly-looking as he nipped at her feet. She forgot her mother’s warning about touching strange dogs and slid down onto the ground beside him. She laughed in delight when he licked her face as his tail wagged hard.

  “What’s your name?” She dodged his kisses while trying to read his tag. “‘Brownie.’ That’s a good name for a brown dog.” She pulled him close and squeezed until he squirmed. “I wish I could take you home with me. You’re ten times better than a stinky baby brother.”

  “There you are, Brownie. Didn’t I tell you to stay put?”

  She let go of the puppy and scrambled to her feet. She hadn’t heard the red-faced man come up. He looked funny with his long beard and short hair. “Is he yours?”

  “Sure is.” He bent over to stroke Brownie’s head. “He has a sister who needs a good home. You know anyone looking for a dog?”

  She felt a spurt of joy. “I am,” she blurted out, then frowned. “But my mom won’t let me have one because of the baby.” She sighed, watching Brownie chase his tail.

  “That’s too bad since I can only keep one. You sure you don’t know any other kid who might like a puppy? She’s very sweet.”

  “Can I…Can I see her?” If she was as sweet and as cute as Brownie maybe her mom might say yes.

  “Where are your parents?”

  “Home. They let me come here by myself because I’m seven,” she lied, playing with her ash-blonde ponytail. “I’m a big girl.”

  “Okay, big girl. But you just get to look unless your parents say you can keep her.” He clipped the leash onto Brownie’s collar. “You want to walk him?”

  “Can I? I’ve never walked a dog before.” She giggled as Brownie pulled her across the playground to the man’s white van. “Heating and Air,” she said, reading the sign on the side of the van.

  “You’re a good reader for a seven-year-old. What’s your name?” he asked as he opened the back doors of the van.

  She ignored the question and scrambled around him, wanting desperately to see the puppy she just knew she could talk her mother into letting her have. The inside of the van was empty. “Hey. Where’s the puppy?”

  “Good question, kid,” the man said.

  Suddenly his voice didn’t sound so friendly. The warning her mother had given her about talking to strangers came back loud and clear. “I have to go.” She fought him when he grabbed her arm and squeezed tight. She managed one scream before a rag was shoved into her face. Then she felt nothing…

  As abruptly as the vision had begun, it ended. Summer was surprised to find herself still soaring through the air, her legs pumping rhythmically. She dragged her feet until she slowed to a stop. What was she supposed to do now? Go to the police and tell them some white guy with a long beard and a buzz cut had kidnapped a little girl? Pressing her palms against her eyes, she became aware of the pounding behind her eyes and the soreness in her throat. She must have cried out, tried to stop the girl from going with the man. Tried to tell the girl to run.

  Whatever had happened, she was here and the girl was not. That meant something had to be done. But what? She couldn’t go to the police. They weren’t going to believe some story about a, for lack of a better word, out-of-body e
xperience. She wasn’t sure she believed it herself. What she’d experienced could have been a flashback from a movie or any one of the numerous books she’d read.

  But what if it was real? Summer took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then repeated the process until her heartbeat slowed and the throbbing in her head was bearable. Now she could think. The first thing was verifying the kidnapping. If there was any validity to her mystery novels, some sort of alert would have been released by now. To find that, she needed to get home and watch the local news or, better yet, search the Internet. Once she’d determined that a kidnapping had occurred she could somehow let the police know about the man and the white van without mentioning how she came by the information.

  Her legs were shaky, but she made good time getting across town to her condo. She wasn’t sure how she felt when her search of the Internet came up empty. There were no alerts or reports about a missing seven-year-old girl. No reports of a missing white girl with long, ash-blonde hair and a stinky baby brother. There hadn’t been an alert issued in Seneca for the past ten months. And the one that had been issued was for a teenager who turned out not to be missing.

  She stared at her laptop and wondered if she’d made it up, if it was a product of her anger and lingering damage from the brain scramble. But what if the parents had been too enthralled with the new baby to notice their daughter was missing? What if they didn’t care?

  “No.” She quickly dismissed that thought. If the girl lied about being able to be in the park by herself, it was because her parents had set rules. Parents who didn’t care wouldn’t bother to set rules. “They also don’t warn their kids about not talking to strangers.” She breathed a sigh of relief. If the girl was missing, it would be in the news. What she’d experienced in the park wasn’t real. Couldn’t have been real.

  Then why didn’t she believe that?

  Summer closed her eyes and replayed the scene, keying in on the man’s appearance and his van. His hands had seemed large to the girl when he petted the puppy. And maybe his pants had been brown and his shoes black and scruffy looking. And hadn’t she seen the girl’s jeans and red sneakers when she looked down at the puppy? There’d been no rings or bracelets on either the girl or the man.

  Summer opened her eyes, set her laptop aside and grabbed a pad. She wrote down the descriptions of the man, his dog and the girl. There wasn’t much to say about the van beyond its color and the Heating and Air sign. The girl had never looked at the license plate, being too eager to see the nonexistent puppy. But the inside of the van had looked too clean for something used to haul around tools or equipment. It was probably part of the disguise, like the beard.

  Satisfied that she had done all she could, she painstakingly typed her notes and saved the file. Keile had kids. Maybe she should talk to her, see if she knew anything about a missing girl. And maybe she should expand the time frame to a year and the location to anywhere in north Georgia. She quickly scratched that thought. If it happened, it was in Central Park. How else would she have established the connection? There was no other way, because anything else would be too scary.

  “No coats,” she all but sang triumphantly. Neither of them had been wearing a coat. The girl’s arms had been bare and the man had worn a long-sleeved dark blue work shirt to go with his brown pants.

  Summer keyed in the information, then jumped up when she heard a key strike the lock on the front door. Fear that the kidnapper had somehow found her had her looking around the living room for a weapon, a hiding space. She darted to the coat closet in the short hallway leading to the kitchen. Once inside it, she ran through the multiplication table, her method of prayer.

  “Summer? Summer? Are you here?”

  The sound of her mother’s frantic voice had her bolting from the closet as quickly as she’d entered it. “Mom? What are you doing here?”

  Sandra Baxby put a hand to her heart and exhaled loudly. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you for hours. Do you know what time it is?”

  Summer took a furtive glance at the antique mantel clock. “Almost nine?”

  “Exactly.” Sandra smoothed back wavy brown hair, which hung halfway down her back. She was an unashamedly throw-back hippie with pots and pots of family money. Today she was wearing an ankle-length full skirt and Birkenstocks with thick black socks. “What have you been doing?” She unzipped her thick coat as she crossed the room to lay a hand on Summer’s forehead. “Have you been sick? I should have gotten you a landline. I’ll take care of that tomorrow.”

  Seeing the worry on her mother’s still youthful-looking face brought on the guilt. “Oh, Mom, I’m sorry I worried you yet again.” She leaned into her mother’s touch. “I got caught up on the Internet. My phone must be set on buzz from work.”

  “You’re okay and that’s all that matters.”

  “No. I was selfish. I should remember by now you’ll call to check on me. You always do.”

  Sandra kissed Summer’s forehead and then unknowingly letting Summer know how worried she was, ran her fingers along the white stripe in her hair. “Maybe I should stop. Give you some space, the freedom to check in when you want to.”

  “I don’t mind. Really, I don’t. It’s just I switch my phone to buzz at work and I forgot to switch it back when I left.” Another strike against Marcia, she thought darkly. This one was by far the worst. “I’ll pay better attention from now on. I promise.”

  “Then you’re forgiven, despite the fact I’ll never get back those years you cost me tonight.” She grabbed Summer’s chin and looked at her closely. “Did something happen at work today? Have you had a setback you’re afraid to tell me about?”

  Summer battled the desire to look away and won. “Work stuff. A personality thing. I can handle it.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Good. Now tell me again all about meeting Renny Jamison.” Sandra shrugged off her coat and threw it over a chair. Grabbing Summer’s hand, she led her to the sofa.

  Thankful for the change of subject, Summer gladly gave her a carefully doctored version of meeting the famous author.

  Chapter Eight

  Summer jerked herself out of a nightmare the next morning only to discover she’d slept through her alarm. She had just twenty minutes to get to work on time. Of course this was the morning she was missing a matching sock, out of Toaster Strudel and in an incredible grumpy mood.

  With a minute to spare, she squeezed onto a crowded elevator at work and dared it to malfunction. Secure in the power of her unspoken threat, she tried to relax and concentrate on blocking out the other occupants. In her frazzled state it would be easy to hop into someone else’s head, see their darkest hour. She didn’t need that this morning. Not when the nightmare was fresh in her mind.

  The elevator stopped on every floor, of course, so it was three minutes past eight thirty when she walked into the suite.

  “The big man is here,” Fiona whispered.

  Summer assumed the big man was Kevin Tathum, the owner and a college pal of her dad. “Thanks.” After a moment’s hesitation, she stopped by Marcia’s office.

  “You’re three minutes late,” Marcia said, looking at her watch. “Since you left fifteen minutes early yesterday, I expect you to make up those eighteen minutes this afternoon. You’re on file duty today. Is that clear enough for you, Princess?”

  “If I’m the princess, does that make you the evil stepmother or one of the ugly sisters?” She kept her tone sickly sweet. “Just saying.” She left the office without offering Marcia the one-finger salute. Considering her mood, she thought that should have earned her sainthood status or at the very least a boatload of points—the positive karma kind.

  In her office, she had a chuckle over her clever comeback, then fell into her filing rhythm. By the time she heard the telltale sound of heels slapping against the floor, her mood had improved so much she couldn’t even work up a decent frown.

  “Mr. Tathum would li
ke to see you in his office now.” Marcia snapped her fingers like she was trying to hail a cab.

  Summer hoped one day she could look back on this time and have a good laugh. She was smart enough to know that would be a day far in the future.

  Kevin Tathum stood when they entered his office. He was tall, befitting the power forward he’d been in college. He and Summer’s dad had a regular date to down a few beers and brag about glory days. These days he was carrying a little more weight. His hair still hung to his shoulders but now was liberally sprinkled with gray. “Summer, great to see you again. Have a seat. That’s all for now, Marcia.” He perched on the edge of his desk once they were alone. “You’re looking much better.”

  “I feel like it. I guess I should call you Mr. Tathum in the office.”

  “You should know by now we go by first names around here. Even for me. Kevin or the Big Guy work fine,” he added with a wink.

  “Now that I’ve been working, I want to thank you again for giving me this job. It’s what I needed. I, well, I hope it doesn’t cause you any problems with the staff.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I brought you in at the bottom. Everybody here knows no one got stepped on or shoved aside to make room for you.”

  She was certain that “everybody” did not include Marcia. “Good to know.”

  “How have things been going for you around here?”

  “Okay.” She gave him a pained smile. “Is this about yesterday?”

  He patted her shoulder. “You have the same look you used to get as a kid when you thought you were going to be punished.”

  “I just…I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I don’t want any special favors. Other than that you created this job for me, that is.”

  “I don’t consider it a favor to intervene in work-related matters when it’s needed.” Kevin held up his hand when Summer opened her mouth. “Let me explain. I pay good money for a cleaning service. If they aren’t doing their job I want to hear about it. What I don’t want to hear is that one of my employees is doing that job because it means I’m paying for it twice. That doesn’t make good business sense. Now Gar and I talked this out, and I expect you to go to him if you’re given another dustrag. And since Marcia seems to be having trouble finding something for you to do, he and I decided to rotate your services among the teams. See what they can come up with.”