by David Lewis
“I didn’t have a clue what Larry was doing.”
He harrumphed. “I don’t care about that stuff, and if you do know anything, don’t say a word. I don’t even want to know about it.”
“They want the money.”
He laughed. “Don’t we all?”
When he asked to talk to someone in charge, I extended the phone to Jake who sneered with delight.
CHAPTER THIRTY - TWO
It was midnight when a sheriff ’s deputy, no older than his early twenties, drove me home. Before I was released, they’d given me my personal effects in a large envelope and made me sign a form.
In the backseat of the car, and like a thirsty man in the middle of the Sahara, I pulled out my cell phone, noted Sara’s number on the ID and redialed it. Apparently, Alycia had borrowed it for the evening.
The voice mail service clicked in immediately.
I tried again.
Nothing. I dialed Donna’s number and Sally answered. I asked for Alycia. After a long wait, Donna got on the phone, her voice sleepy. “What is it, Stephen?”
“Where is Alycia?” I asked.
Donna was confused. “Why … sleeping, I’m sure. Why are you calling?”
I resisted the relief that easily could have washed over me. “Please check on her.”
I waited as Donna walked across the apartment, then I heard her gasp. When she spoke into the receiver again, her tone bordered on panic. “Oh, Stephen—she’s not here!”
The deputy dropped me off at the sidewalk in front of my house, and I ran to the front door. Considering the damage, getting in wasn’t difficult. In the kitchen, the main phone blinked to a staccato rhythm. I grabbed the receiver, dialed the voice-mail number, and listened. My mind raced. My throat went dry, and my heart beat violently. I punched in the retrieval code, got it wrong, cursed in frustration, and started over. I tried again and again, until finally I got it right.
I shoved the phone to my left ear. You have three unheard messages … first message … left 8:20. It was Alycia. “Dad, why aren’t you answering your cell phone? Call Sara’s number.”
The phone beeped.
Next message, left … 8:31.
Alycia again, same number, her voice high-pitched and desperate. “Are you there? I think someone else has your cell phone.”
Silence. The phone chirped again. The recorded voice continued again, Next message, left twenty minutes earlier …
Twenty minutes earlier! Hope burst through my veins. I pressed the button. Alycia again. Her voice was calm. I sighed in relief. Whatever her problem was, she had solved it without me. “I love you, Dad. It’s okay. I forgive you. Tell Mom I’m sorry.”
I felt my body decompress. She was safe. I dialed her number. But what did she mean? Tell Mom I’m sorry?
One ring. Two rings. Three rings.
No answer. I dialed again.
Panic consumed me.
“You two are communicating on a deeper level than the rest of us,” Donna had once told me.
I punched in Alycia’s friend’s cell number again and waited.
Same response. The party you have called is unavailable at this time…
I hung up and tried again. One ring. Two rings. Three rings.
Again: no answer. Had she shut off the phone?
I lurched around the room looking for my keys. When I found them, I staggered to the front door, then remembered the cell phone I’d left on the couch. I changed course, lost my balance, nearly falling into the couch. Grasping the phone, I headed for the door again.
Once I reached my car, I tried, in vain, to fit the key into the ignition with my shaking hand. My cell phone rang.
Please let it be her, I whispered.
“Stephen? Did you find her?”
The car roared to life.
“Where does he live?” I demanded.
“Who?” Donna asked.
I was already speeding down the street when she sighed with anguish. “Oh no…” She hesitated, then whispered the words. “On Merton, I think … uh … end of the block … uh … white house, black shutters.”
“Okay …”
“Stephen?
“Yes?”
“Please don’t hang up.”
We continued to compare notes about her recent behavior until Donna asked me the question I’d feared. “Did she call you?”
I told her everything as I sped down the back streets of Aberdeen. Well, nearly everything…
She was dumbfounded about the office disaster. “Our Larry?”
Yes, I thought. Our Larry.
“They think you have his money?”
“Yes,” I replied without elaborating.
“Where are you now?” she asked.
I was one block away from the address she had given me. The moon flickered through the bare trees, and in my state of mind, they looked like skeletal monsters. I parked in front of the house and jumped out of the car. The lower window was brightly lit. I mentioned this to Donna.
“Good!” she whispered. “Maybe she’s there!”
Without ending the call, I put the phone in my pocket, pounded on the door, then rang the doorbell.
Lights flashed all over the house. I heard footsteps from within. The door curtain slid open, revealing the face of a startled man whom I took to be the boy’s father. I forced a smile and tried to appear harmless.
The man opened the door.
“Where is your son?” I asked.
The man frowned. “What—?”
I gasped out an explanation. “I’m looking … I’m looking for my daughter …”
“Well … Sean’s in his room … downstairs.”
I prevailed upon him to let me in. Together we descended the steps to the basement, crossed the darkened cement floor to a room with bright light leaking below the door.
The father knocked on the door, “Sean!”
Sean opened the door, looking bewildered and wide-eyed.
“Where’s Alycia?” I asked, peering around to his bed. By now, I’d assumed the worst, but Alycia wasn’t there. Which meant something even worse.
Sean didn’t even try to lie. He’d taken Alycia to Melgaard Park hours earlier—several blocks away—and then she’d jumped out of the car.
“Jumped out?”
“It wasn’t moving,” he shrugged. “She was ticked.”
I asked him what they’d talked about, but he only shrugged. “Just … stuff.”
He was holding back. I could tell by the look in his eyes something very serious had happened.
“What did she tell you?” I asked. He looked away, his face suddenly pale.
I didn’t have time for his guilt excursion. “Where did you see her last?”
“She kept running,” he said. “She wouldn’t let me take her home.”
I gave his white T-shirt a quick tug, and he and his father followed me upstairs.
“Find the girl,” the father demanded, handing him a coat. Sean shoved on a pair of tennis shoes and followed me outside. I was ten paces ahead of him.
Getting into my car again, I reached over to unlock his door and realized the cell phone was still in my pocket. Donna would have heard everything.
“Are you there?”
“Stephen, please…”
“I’m on my way,” I assured her.
Sean jumped into the passenger side of the car, slamming the door shut.
“Take me where she got out,” I demanded, and his chin stutter- nodded, his eyes glassy with fear.
Donna spoke into my ear. “Sally’s been calling Alycia’s friends on the other line. Sara hasn’t seen her.”
I raced to Melgaard Park. When Sean guided me to the exact spot where he’d last seen her, I shoved the gear into park and got out. A thick new blanket of snow had covered the area, but I was able to make out some tennis shoe tracks. Maybe they were hers, maybe not. I followed them for a block until they led back to the road.
Best guess, Alycia had begun
walking home. It wasn’t far, less than a mile. So where was she?
I turned around and took in the recent snow. It reminded me of Alycia’s love of blankets. She liked to bury herself under layers of warmth. She liked to be warm. She liked to be covered. That’s why she always took baths: She loved the warmth of the water covering her.
A gasp escaped me, and my body shuddered, as if I already knew. I spoke into the phone, “Donna, have you been to the bathroom?”
“What do you mean?” She paused. “Wait. No. Not the main bathroom…”
The sound of her breathing increased—the unmistakable sound of rising panic—as I heard her race across the apartment floor.
Why hadn’t I thought of this? I thought. Maybe I could have saved her….
I was still staring out over the landscape of frozen snow when the phone clattered and Donna screamed.
CHAPTER THIRTY - THREE
I went insane.
I had a vague sense of what had happened, but I was drunk with grief, utterly incapable of grasping reality. My brain became a broken record, the same thoughts playing repeatedly. That superstition about “threes” had lodged in my brain, and I couldn’t give it up. Someone’s lying. This makes four, I thought. And four is one more than three. Therefore, Alycia was alive. Case closed. Any moment she would call, “Hey, Dad. What’s a girl have to do to get ice cream?”
I awakened that afternoon in the living room, peaceful in my delusions. I sat up on the couch, breathing in, breathing out. My brain was on the fritz, but, as usual, my body knew something was wrong. I trembled uncontrollably as if standing outside in subzero temperatures.
Bits and pieces came back to me. I’d raced to Donna’s apartment. The police and an ambulance were already there. Flashing lights reflected off the houses of the entire neighborhood. Families huddled together in their doorways. My car had squealed to a stop in the middle of the street, and I’d barely pushed the gear into park. It thunked into place.
Maybe it’s not too late!
I leapt out of the car, sprinted for the ambulance, but someone grabbed me just as they were rolling the gurney up to its open doors. I reached for Alycia, but they pulled me back. “Can’t let you do that, man!”
When I saw that her face was covered, I staggered and groaned.
She’s just cold, right?
I tried to reach her again without success. I began yelling, Alycia! Alycia! I’m here, sweetie. I’m late, but I’m here….
They held me back, and I fell to the ground, kneeling in the snow. I felt hands underneath my armpits, helping me to my feet.
Someone’s voice, “Mr. Whitaker?”
I tried to speak, but my throat had closed.
“We’re sorry, but she was gone when we arrived.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was gone, sir.”
I grasped hope. Gone isn’t dead, is it?
I must have blacked out, because I couldn’t remember anything after that, not even how I’d gotten back home.
Now sitting on the couch, I clasped my hands.
Where is Larry? Normally, he’d be with me now.
Gone.
And Paul?
A flutter like birds’ wings passed through my imagination. I was driving back from Milbank. I threw the papers into the wind because I’d memorized the password and account number. And now they came back to me, every number, and every syllable.
I shuddered. I truly was insane.
The phone rang. I examined the Caller ID, and my heart leapt.
It’s Alycia, I thought. It was just a joke. She’s teaching me a lesson. Good one, sweetie.
I grinned through the tears. Got me good. Frantically, I grabbed the phone. The voice on the other end felt like a thud against my soul. It was Sally.
“The funeral is Tuesday, Stephen.”
Funeral? Why?
She gave me further details, but none of it registered. She hung up without saying good-bye.
The phone rang again. I wouldn’t have answered it, except I thought Sally was calling back. But it was Susan who sounded frantic. “Oh, Stephen, I just heard. I’m just back from Minnesota. Are you okay? You’re not alone, are you?”
I mumbled something incoherent.
“You are alone?” she asked. “Do you want me to come over?”
Why bother? I thought.
When I hung up, I closed my eyes and tried to remember what I’d said. I then shut off all phones in the house, including the cell.
Finally a sliver of reality broke through. Alycia was dead. I was never going to see her again. She was dead, and it was all my fault. I’d reached for the money and cut her off the face of the earth. I’d killed her as if I’d slit her wrists myself.
What now?
My mind lurched at the money again, and my soul filled with disgust. Two point five. A pile of dust in the wind. I couldn’t even give it to Donna. Too many Feds wearing blue ties. Too many Feds holding cell phones. I thought of Jake and my blood boiled.
Larry was right. Good ol’ steak ’n’ potatoes Larry. “Next thing you know you’ll be trying to start a car in a closed garage.”
It suddenly dawned on me. Why not?
I’d been required by a court order to maintain a hefty insurance policy to the tune of half a million dollars. Donna was still the named beneficiary, and by now the suicide clause would have passed the required time limit.
“You’re worth more dead than alive,” evil Potter had told George Bailey.
I closed my eyes. No.
I’d caused it, and I wouldn’t take the coward’s way out. For the rest of my life, I would face my mistakes, and pay for it through sheer regret.
Alycia’s voice whispered in my ear, “You saved my life! I’m serious!”
Just before she’d left our home, Donna had stood in the hallway, taking one last look at what had been—what might have been. I went to the hallway, steeling myself. My favorite isn’t up here anymore, she’d said.
I removed Alycia’s nine-year-old photo from the wall.
See? She’s alive.
Clutching the photo in my hands, I descended the steps, gripping the railing tightly, heading to my office. The phone rang, but I ignored it.
Inside, I sank into the couch and peered at my daughter—she was full of hope, and fully alive. Memories of our life flew tumbled through my mind, and I remembered the day I’d met Donna at the airport. At the time, we’d been grieving for Alice, devastated by her loss.
I thought of Donna’s love of literature, especially the tragedies I remembered kidding her about it. She’d smiled wryly. “I love tragedies because I never stop believing that somehow everything can be solved. Even at the worst of moments, I imagine the characters finally coming to their senses, imploring God to save them from their foolish thoughts and choices, and then I imagine God … in His brilliant power and majesty snapping His fingers and … Poof! All solved!”
Alycia’s picture slipped between my fingers to the floor, and I buried my head in my hands. Donna’s words continued echoing in my mind: “God can do anything.”
Looking up again, I caught a glimpse of the Clock Tower photo on the desk, remembering a time when our lives literally dripped with hope. Donna wearing her white corsage. Alice wearing her own white corsage. And me in a black tux.
My head grew more fuzzy.
Give me a second chance, I whispered, a foolish prayer indeed.
I reached for the Clock Tower photo and gazed at the past. Let it go. I turned the photo over on the desk and sank back into the couch.
“You can save me, Dad!” came her familiar voice.
Something wasn’t right.
The door bell rang.
I considered ignoring it, but then wondered if maybe Susan had dropped by as promised. I rushed upstairs to the front door and opened it, only to find Mrs. Saabe, the elderly white-haired neighbor from across the street.
She stepped in closer. “Stephen, I just heard about Alycia. Oh,
you poor dear … you and Donna!”
I opened my arms and allowed her to hug me.
“What a wonderful girl she was,” she said, sadly. “What a terrible tragedy!”
I nodded into her shoulder and released her, but she held on to my arm.
“If you need anything, you let me know,” she said. “I’m just across the street.”
I forced a smile. “That’s very kind of you.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Perhaps later?”
“Good!” She finally released my arm. “I’ll go fix you something.”
“Uh, thanks, that would be nice,” I said.
She trotted back across the street. I watched her for a moment, and then it hit me.
White roses.
Impossible, I thought.
I descended the steps again, nearly bumping my head on the stairwell ceiling. In my office, I placed the photo under the light, and studied the tiny corsages.
White.
I blinked rapidly, clearing my vision, and pushed my nose to within centimeters of the photo. No question about it. The corsages were white miniature roses. Could they have lost color with age? But the rest of the photo, including the girls’ gowns, was color perfect.
You ran out of time, remember?
“That was just a dream,” I whispered. “That’s not what really happened.”
Look at the photo, ol’ sport. You never gave her the blue rose. You ran out of time. You even forgot which flower store. You went to Petal Pushin’ instead.
“That was a dream,” I whispered again.
The cell phone was lying on the couch. Donna would remember for sure. No, I thought. I can’t call her about this.
Ignoring my better judgment, I picked up the phone, turned it on, and dialed Sally’s number. A very testy voice said “Hello?” like a question.
“May I speak to Donna?”
“Oh, Stephen…” Sally muttered.
“I won’t say anything to upset her,” I promised.
“You will upset her.”
I hesitated and considered a white lie. “I just remembered something she’d want to know.”
“She’s grieving, Stephen! What could she possibly want to know?”
“Please put her on, Sally.”