“Why don’t you come back to my house?” I asked. “You can take a shower, maybe eat something.”
“I look like shit, don’t I?” He stared at me, searching for the truth. Others might lie to him, thinking it was in his best interest, but not me. In this situation he needed someone to be straight with him.
“You’ve looked better.”
Dare’s shoulders slumped in surrender. “All right. Let me find my folks.”
Dare handed Joey his keys—they must have driven here together. Joey gave him a bro-hug, and Dare kissed his cheek. Then Dare went over to where his parents were interfacing with Lieutenant Hartsfield. He seemed to have taken on the task of handling Dare’s parents so my mom could get some work done. Just from my limited interaction with the Chalmerses, I didn’t envy Hartsfield one bit.
Dare’s mother barely acknowledged him, and I recalled what my mom had said about the comparisons taking place in the household. I wondered if his parents were just focused on finding Mason or if their interaction spoke to a larger pattern of behavior.
Dare followed me back to my car. He was a physical person—both the brothers were—but with Dare his movements reflected his mood. When he was joking around with friends or performing on stage, his posture was expansive, and he gestured grandly with his arms, his face always miming for laughs or tears. Now, as we walked along the road’s shoulder to where my car was parked, his back was hunched and he rubbed along the outside of his jeans almost compulsively. His attention alternated between jumping at any little noise and long stretches of silence. The leaves crunched under our feet like potato chips. It hadn’t rained in a few days and the weather was dry, which meant whatever evidence was out there was still fresh. We arrived at my car, and I opened the door for him. It wasn’t chivalry; he hadn’t slept in more than forty-eight hours, and he wasn’t processing correctly.
“You want to talk about it?” I asked once he was seated in my decades-old Acura. It smelled like Boots. There was always a fine layer of dog hair on the upholstery and my clothes as well—the downside of having a dog as your literal best friend. I didn’t expect Dare to share anything with me, but I wanted him to know he could talk if he felt like it.
“The cops keep telling us he’s probably fine, blowing off steam or whatever, but I know Mason. He wouldn’t cut me out like this. He’d never just… leave me. Without even a text….”
I nodded; I’d assumed the same. “You think he’s in trouble?”
“I spent all night looking for him. It wasn’t even that cold outside, but I shivered the whole night through. And even now….” Dare gripped his upper arms, which were covered in goose bumps, the fine blond hairs standing at a slant.
What an odd thing to say. “What do you think it means, Dare?”
“Mason is cold. Freezing cold.” His hooded eyes searched the landscape outside my windshield while his mouth twisted up in anguish, as though he were trying not to bawl. “I don’t think he’s in trouble, Charlie. I think it’s already too late.”
Chapter 4
I DIDN’T necessarily believe in ghosts, but when Dare said those words to me, I felt a chill race up my spine and settle like icy fingers on the back of my neck. I reached over and grabbed hold of his hand. It was slow to warm. I reminded myself this was not a romantic gesture but one of comfort.
“You’re not alone in this, Dare.”
He nodded and rubbed at his eyes again, as though embarrassed by his emotions.
Once at my house, Boots greeted us both with ample tail wagging and sloppy kisses. I rarely brought friends over anymore, so Boots was a little overwhelmed with whom to adore first. Dare solved Boots’s conundrum by dropping to his knees so he could be properly venerated.
“I’ve always wanted a dog,” Dare said, scratching Boots’s back and turning his face so Boots could lick one cheek and then the other as though it were a slobbery shave. I let Boots love on him a bit more, then called him off.
“Your parents aren’t dog people?” I asked.
“No, it’s not that. Mason’s allergic.”
“Any other allergies?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant about it.
“No, I’m the one with the bad allergy—stinging insects.”
“Do you go into anaphylactic shock?”
“Yeah. I have to keep my EpiPen on me all the time.” He patted his jeans where there was a special pocket that ran along the outside of the regular one, long and narrow, one I hadn’t noticed before. He must have had a tailor sew the pocket special into his pants.
“Not many people know about it. I got stung once when we were ten….” He stopped as though remembering. “Mason and I were out in the woods. He had to carry me home.”
“You’re lucky he was there.”
“Yeah, he saved my life. After that our parents got us tested. Mason’s allergy was dander, but he only gets congested and sometimes breaks out in a rash. That’s probably why I went into theater after that, to stay indoors.”
There was a far better chance of not getting stung by a wasp inside an auditorium than on a playing field. It was interesting to consider how something as arbitrary as an allergy might steer a person toward one passion or another.
“You were really good as the Phantom,” I said, finally voicing the admiration I’d held on to for months now.
He mustered up a wry grin. “Thanks, Charlie.”
I hoped desperately in that moment for Mason to return home safely. Dare’s spirit would be irrevocably changed if he lost his brother. I should know. Losing my dad crushed mine.
Dare wanted to shower, so I showed him to the bathroom and gave him a fresh towel and a change of clothes. I told him to take his time, but he was in there so long I started to worry he might have fallen asleep and hit his head or something. I knocked on the door, and he said he’d be out in a minute.
He came out wearing my sweats and a T-shirt. His dirty clothes were rolled up in a tight ball. My pants were slung low on his slim hips, which caught my attention. His ankles were peeking out the bottom. I asked him if he wanted anything to eat, and he said he’d rather lie down if that was all right with me.
“Can you hang with me?” he asked, like a little kid who didn’t want to be left alone in the dark. He stretched out on the couch, then curled around an afghan my grandmother had crocheted for us a long time ago. Boots settled in beside him, and Dare scooted backward to make room. I put on a PBS documentary about the Vietnam War and sat at the other end of the couch. Dare dug his toes into the outside of my thigh—I don’t think he realized he was doing it. Ten minutes into the program, he was asleep.
I didn’t want to disturb him, so I did some googling on my phone to see if the media had reported on Mason’s disappearance. The Gainesville Sun had a story, which described the Chalmerses as a well-known and prominent local family. It went into the background about their large land holdings, including the spring they leased to Nestlé, a water bottling company, much to the ire of local environmentalists. The story mentioned past legal action taken against the Chalmerses regarding the effects of the water withdrawals on surrounding springs.
The reporter also dug up the fact that the brothers had recently been awarded access to their trusts and said the circumstances surrounding Mason’s disappearance were suspicious. There was a quote from Mason’s father saying they were focused on finding Mason and bringing him home safely, and another from Lieutenant Hartsfield asking anyone who had information to call the tip line. I thought again about Mason’s trips to Café Risqué. Maybe he was cheating on Daniela, or maybe he was mixed up in something criminal. It couldn’t hurt to go check it out for myself.
While the documentary explained the chemical origins of Agent Orange, I stole glances at Dare to make sure he was resting comfortably and allowed myself the simple pleasure of admiring him while he slept. His long eyelashes curled over the apples of his cheeks, and his wide mouth pouted a little while he slept. His fingers curled in the stitches of the afghan, and
the way he clutched the blanket made him look so hopelessly vulnerable. When the next episode began, I left the TV on as background noise and went out to the kitchen to see what we had for dinner. Ground beef, refried beans, taco shells… it looked like tacos to me.
I’d just finishing sautéing the meat when Dare appeared in the doorway, one elbow crooked on the doorframe, the other absently rubbing his sleek belly. With his bedhead and sleepy eyes, I could easily imagine what he’d look like waking up in the morning, and it stirred a lust that was entirely inappropriate for our current situation. I concentrated on chopping lettuce rather than mentally undressing him.
“Smells good, Charlie,” he said in a husky voice, sitting heavily at our kitchen table and propping himself up with his elbows. His hair was in such disarray that I wanted to reach over and comb it out of his eyes, but of course, I didn’t.
I opened the fridge and asked him what he wanted to drink. “We’ve got milk, orange juice, cream soda….” And a bottle of whisky, but I wasn’t going to offer that.
“Water’s fine.”
I poured him a glass from the filtered jug. We didn’t keep bottled water in the house. We were in the camp of the environmentalists who despised the bottling company. Their overpumping was killing our springs—that was undeniable—but Dare’s family was only partly at fault. It was the politicians who refused to regulate the permitting who deserved most of the blame.
Dare’s eyes alighted on the refrigerator door.
“That’s your dad.” He was looking at an old picture of my mom, my dad, and me at the Hoggetowne Medieval Faire. My mom had a wreath of flowers in her hair, and I was holding a wooden sword and shield. I was eight at the time.
“Yep, that’s him.” We still had a lot of pictures of him scattered around the house. It took us a while to clear out my dad’s belongings, and most of his stuff we never got rid of, just stored his clothes and things in the garage to be decided upon at a later date. I wouldn’t want Dare to have to go through the pain of packing away his brother’s belongings into boxes and bins. It was an admission the person was never coming back.
“You look like him,” Dare said. “So serious.”
I glanced over to see if he was mocking me, but it didn’t seem that way. I had my dad’s square face, deep-set brown eyes, and pensive expression. My dad’s hair had been much darker and thinning, while mine was curly on top and in need of a trim. In the summer my hair turned lighter than it was normally.
Dare was right in that my dad had always been a serious kind of guy. He was a visiting professor of criminology and sociology at the University of Florida when he met my mother. She’d taken one of his advanced classes in criminal profiling. He encouraged her to apply to the FBI, but my mother grew up in Gainesville and liked working in the community. That was one of the things that became a conflict later in their marriage. Dad wanted to move to a bigger city, and Mom didn’t.
In any case, my dad loved a good debate, and from a young age, he always told me to “question everything.” He really drilled that into me. That, along with my mother’s ethic of only trusting hard evidence, made me a pretty big skeptic.
“I miss him,” Dare said dejectedly, and it took me a moment to remember that we were talking about Mason. “And it’s not like when he’s away at camp. It’s like this deep hollow pit, and I’m standing on the edge of it. If I look down, I get terrified I’m never going to see him again.”
I couldn’t promise Dare his brother would come back, so I walked over and squeezed his shoulders lightly. I didn’t know where my confidence to touch him came from; it just seemed like the right thing to do. Dare melted in my hands, leaned back into his chair and sighed deeply. I brushed the long sweep of hair out of his eyes and imagined kissing him there on his forehead, a tender kiss, like you’d give to a child. Then I caught myself and slowly backed away. His eyes followed me, a curious expression on his face.
“Do you want to make your own taco, or you want me to make it for you?” I asked, somewhat stiffly.
“You make it. I’m not picky.”
I had a moment of doubt, worrying I was going to give him something he detested, but the ingredients were all pretty mild, except for the jarred salsa, which I just put on the table for him to add if he wanted it. I prepared three tacos for him, thinking even if he didn’t eat them all, he still had the option. I made the same for myself, even though I’d filled up on pizza not too long ago. I didn’t want Dare to feel awkward about eating alone. Dare pretty much zoned out while we ate. He put food in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed robotically and didn’t seem to give much thought to the act itself.
“This is good,” he said as an afterthought.
“Thanks.”
He glanced up at me. “Please don’t judge me by my manners these past couple days, Charlie.”
I smiled wanly. “You don’t have to be polite for me, Dare, or anyone else. Just deal with this in whatever way feels right.”
Dare sighed, shoulders caving inward a little. “You’re better than my therapist.”
“Maybe you should see my doctor.” I had a great therapist. I’d seen Dr. Rangala every other week for the past five years. I’d cried in his office more times than I could count. I even developed a mild crush on him for about a year. It didn’t matter that he was straight and married and much older and not at all interested. Thankfully, those feelings passed.
“I’m here for you, Dare. Whatever you need.”
His gray-green eyes searched mine. He set his remaining taco to the side and wiped his hands on the cloth napkin I provided him. “Thank you, Charlie.”
The way he said it, the seriousness of his tone, and his somber demeanor made me pause. “Of course.”
He licked his lips and studied me. “There is something I’d like your help with,” he said, as though testing my offer.
“Anything,” I said, leaning closer.
“Do you think you could….” He glanced around the kitchen to make sure we were alone, which of course we were. “Do you think you could investigate this?”
It seemed premature and yet, I also had a really bad feeling. Mason had no reason to run off like that, and even if he did, maybe I could find out where he went.
The worst feeling was the not knowing.
I started to answer when Boots gave a one-bark salute, followed by the jingle of keys at the front door. My mom came into the kitchen a minute later and stopped when she saw Dare sitting at our kitchen table. He stood quickly, the chair legs squealing against the linoleum. He seemed nervous, which was unusual. I’d never seen Dare nervous in my life.
“Hello again, Detective,” Dare said with a deferent nod in Mom’s direction. His eyes darted around the kitchen, like a marsh bird’s zigzagging trajectory, before landing on me.
“How are you doing, Dare?” Mom’s tone conveyed compassion. She cared; she really did.
“Oh, you know… as well as can be, I guess. Find anything?” he asked hopefully. I held my breath.
“We didn’t find Mason’s cell phone. The lab is running tests on some of the other objects we found, but there’s nothing yet that links us to Mason.”
“Oh,” he said. “Is that a good thing?”
She maintained a soft smile. “I think so.”
Dare sighed and tugged at his shirt as though just realizing he was wearing different clothing. “I should go.” He picked up his bundle of clothes. “I’ll give these back to you tomorrow, Charlie.”
“I’ll give you a ride home.” I stood.
“No, it’s okay. I feel like walking.”
“You sure?” I didn’t want Dare walking home alone, even though he’d probably argue he was perfectly capable of defending himself against an attacker. But what if there was a serial killer on the hunt, targeting teenaged boys when they were alone and vulnerable?
“I can walk you home, then.” I whistled for Boots, who was licking his empty food bowl as if that would deliver him seconds.
“
No, it’s fine. I need some time to think.” He glanced again at my mother. “Thanks again for having me over, or… you know.”
“You’re welcome, Dare.”
I walked him out to the end of the driveway. Boots ran off to chase squirrels in the neighbor’s yard. It was a communal kind of neighborhood where kids and pets ran wild. The sun was starting to set behind the pines, its warm golden glow dissected by the tall, reedy trees. The pines were at times comforting, like wise old friends, and at other times ominous and brooding. I supposed it depended on your mood.
I wanted Dare to start home so he’d get there before it was completely dark. I gave him another hug. Overall, he seemed a little better off than when I’d found him earlier that day, so in that way, I’d done my job. I hadn’t given him an answer yet on whether I’d investigate his brother’s disappearance. I hoped Mason would be waiting for him when he got home.
“Thanks for taking care of me today,” Dare said, running a hand through his hair as though he was shy all of a sudden.
“You’re welcome here anytime.” I meant it.
As if knowing this was goodbye, Boots bounded over and planted his front paws on Dare’s thighs.
“Boots, down.” He only wagged his tail more furiously. The dog had selective hearing.
“One more kiss goodbye.” Dare leaned down so Boots could lick his chin, which he did with enthusiasm. I called Boots over to me; I’d not have him make a spectacle of himself.
“Take care, Charlie,” Dare said with a little wave.
“You too, Dare.”
He ambled down the road, the late-afternoon light shining on his chestnut-colored hair, his head hanging low, his clothes tucked up under his arm. He gait was a bit uneven, like that old nursery rhyme about the crooked man who walked a crooked mile. I’d text him in a few minutes to make sure he got home safely. For now I geared myself up for another round of cat and mouse with my mother.
In the Pines Page 4