by Gregg Olsen
“Yeah, she hit the pavement and splattered like a melon,” she said, adding a description that she knew he’d like.
“Watermelon?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Casaba.”
“Nice, Hayley.”
She hugged her dad before leaving him to do his work. She’d lied to him, but she’d made him smile too. She could tell that he loved the melon visual. She expected that he’d use that the next time he had the occasion to write about a jumper.
The body hit the asphalt and splattered like a melon… er… like a casaba.
Chapter Thirty
People in Port Gamble knew the death of the Berkleys’ daughter would make it nearly impossible for Harper and Sandra to survive what many already knew firsthand was a marriage on mudflat footing. Kim Lee told her daughter, Beth, that she’d seen Harper eating alone in a restaurant in Kingston. At first, she thought he’d been scoping the competition, though the concept of that endeavor so soon after his family tragedy seemed peculiar. When she saw him a second time sitting on one of the benches overlooking Puget Sound to Edmonds, at the landing of the Kingston ferry crossing, she had a better idea what he was up to.
He was staying away from Sandra.
“You know I’m not one to gossip,” Kim said, as usual when gossiping, “but I have seen Sandra a few times in town and she looks terrible. I hate to say this, but I think she might be drinking heavily.”
Sitting next to her mother on the sofa after dinner, Beth texted the info to Hayley and Taylor while promising complete discretion.
“Yeah, I don’t like to gossip, either, Mom,” she said, her thumbs still jabbing the message:
Sandra B is a drunk. Mr. B hates her.
Of course, Sandra Berkley knew what everyone thought of her. Her mother, Nancy, had made it abundantly clear the morning of Katelyn’s funeral service.
“If you’d kept your hands out of the liquor cabinet, our only grandchild might still be alive,” she had said.
Sandra could accept some blame but not all of it. She could also fire it back at her mom, telling her that if she hadn’t squandered her granddaughter’s college fund on a wine fridge, Katelyn might still be alive.
But she didn’t. Sandra didn’t say a word. She just pulled hermit-crab tight into herself. She no longer cared if she lived or died. And yes, she had a drinking problem, but right then drinking actually seemed to be helping. Feeling numb was better than feeling the sharp pain of regret and loss.
She sat on Katelyn’s bed, a drink in her hand and tears streaming from her eyes. All around her were the memories of the daughter whom she’d lost long before Christmas night. How was it that they’d been so close once and then, nothing? Sandra loved her little girl. She had been the Girl Scout Daisy Troop leader only because she couldn’t bear another woman taking the job and taking away time that she’d have with her little girl.
She’d taken Katelyn to every class, school function or retreat that was preceded by a school permission slip. They’d been two peas in a pod. Inseparable. As she sat there sobbing, it was hard to pin down just what it was that had caused the tectonic rift between the two of them. It could well have been her drinking. It could have been the fact that she and Harper weren’t getting along. The restaurant was making money, but not enough to fuel the dreams Sandra had for herself.
For herself. For her family.
Sandra sipped her drink—rum, whiskey or vodka, whatever she had in the house. She no longer even bothered with mixers. As she tried to steady herself, her eyes landed on the laptop sitting on Katelyn’s nightstand, a garage-sale discovery transformed with six coats of spray paint into a shabby chic table. She recalled how Hayley and Taylor Ryan had been standing over it the day they came to bring those awful cookies. She set her drink down and pulled the laptop closer. She plunked her shaky fingers against the keys, but when the window opened it revealed the need for a password.
Password? What in the world was Katelyn’s password?
Suddenly, her heart rate accelerated. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up, trying feverishly to come up with her dead daughter’s password. She hadn’t a clue. KATIEBUG, a nickname Harper had called Katelyn when she was young? SKATELYN, another she had in elementary school when she rollerbladed everywhere in Port Gamble?
Nothing.
They never had any animals, so there was no obvious pet name to try.
Sandra pushed the laptop aside, took a big gulp from her drink and began to cry. Hard. A veritable river of tears. She rested her puffy, red face in her hands and let out a guttural scream. At that moment, she realized that she was, now and forever, alone. She dropped her hands, which were clenched hard against the comforter.
“Katie! Why did you do this? Why?”
Of course there was no answer, and as drunk as she was, Sandra Berkley knew there couldn’t be one. As she picked up her glass for the last swallow, something caught her attention. It was on the floor, next to the bed. For a second, Sandra thought it was the handle of a toothbrush.
No, maybe a digital thermometer.
She dried her eyes on the sleeve of her blouse and extended her arm to reach it.
Her heart started to race faster.
What was that doing in Katelyn’s room?
She held it close to her blurry eyes to make sure she was seeing correctly.
And she was.
It was a pregnancy test wand. Sandra couldn’t believe her eyes. Maybe it wasn’t a freak accident after all? Had Katelyn killed herself because she was pregnant? Sandra was reeling by then. She wondered why her daughter hadn’t come to her, hadn’t asked her for help. She clutched the wand like she could choke it away in her fingers. It was so unreal. So unexpected. So very, very shocking. She didn’t even know Katelyn was having sex.
She was only fifteen! What is the matter with these kids today? Can’t they wait to have sex until they get their driver’s license and can go somewhere? Like what Harper and I did when we were sixteen?
Chapter Thirty-One
Hayley Ryan and Colton James were in his bedroom—with the door open—as the teenager with a mass of dark hair proudly demonstrated an app that he’d finished programming the night before. Although Colton had been up all night, his energy level was completely unfettered. The app might not be a million-dollar idea, but it was definitely a viable one. He was hoping to make enough to buy a new car. Maybe he could convince his mom that the car she never drove could be traded in too. He was thinking big, and Hayley was suitably impressed.
“It is a simple idea,” he said, “using existing police-scanner information that’s already out there on the Net. I had to link up with a bunch of guys with servers in their basements. That was kind of tough, but I managed. I think they think I’m a lot older than I am.”
Hayley sat on a stool next to Colton’s ginormous computer screen. She inched herself a little closer than necessary to see, but that was only so she could be close to him. He smelled delicious. Like Colton.
“How does it work?” she asked, brushing a stray blonde lock from her forehead as she leaned a smidgen closer—close enough to brush against him a little. Sure they were dating, but nothing other than a once-a-week make-out session had transpired between the pair. She wanted to go further—not as far as they could go—but it just didn’t seem like they were there yet. She liked everything about Colton, but she wasn’t convinced she was in love with him.
Hayley wasn’t sure what that real love really felt like. She tried to dissect it in the analytical way that she did with a lot of things. She tried to measure her feelings for Colton against the feelings she had for her mother, father and sister. Of course, those feelings weren’t the same kind of love, and she accepted that she’d know when the time was right and if the feelings she had were of the depth needed for the most intimate experience she could imagine. She’d dreamed about it more than once, especially after they’d kissed the first time behind the twin 50,000-gallon water towers on the edg
e of Port Gamble’s business district. She could still feel his lips on her from that encounter. All other kisses would be measured by the first one. She was glad Colton had been the boy of her dreams.
Colton flashed a big, white smile. “Users select the location that they want to keep tabs on. It allows them to listen in as the police, fire and other emergency responders chat in a monotone about people and their messed-up lives. I’m not kidding about messed up. Seriously messed up.”
Hayley was interested. “Like what?”
“Like a guy was in trouble because his wife or girlfriend kicked him out of the house with nothing but his cell phone.”
“So what’s the big deal?” she asked.
“I mean nothing,” he said, laughing. “Dude was butt naked.”
Hayley laughed too. “Okay, that is messed up.”
Colton’s mom, Shania, appeared in the doorway. She was a pretty woman with dark hair like her son and the S’Klallam lineage that she could trace back to the days before Port Gamble was known as Memalucet. Though she seldom left the house, she never failed to dress up for the day as if she was going to the office or even a casual lunch out. Her clothes were almost all in earth tones. The only concession to glitz was the entwined ropes of liquid silver that wrapped around her neck. Colton confided to Hayley it was to hide a jagged scar, something his mom never, ever talked about.
“Colton?” she asked, her dark eyes heavy with concern. “Katelyn’s mom is here. She wants to talk to you.”
Hayley’s mind stumbled a little on what Shania James just said. It was true that Sandra Berkley was Katelyn’s mom, but, she wondered, if there was no daughter anymore, was she still a mom?
Colton and Hayley followed his mother down the hallway.
Shania lasered her eyes on her son and in mime-fashion mouthed the words: “She’s been drinking.”
Duh.
Sandra was a disheveled mess plunked down on the sofa in the front room. Her hair needed brushing, maybe even washing. She wore skinny jeans and a black cardigan sweater. On her feet were slippers, not shoes.
Yet it was what was sitting in her lap, gripped tightly by her chewed-to-the-nub fingertips, that commanded Hayley’s full attention.
Katelyn’s laptop.
“Hi, Mrs. Berkley,” Colton said.
“Hi,” Hayley echoed.
Sandra glanced up at the teenagers, then back down at the laptop. She locked eyes with Hayley briefly.
Hayley recalled the incident in Katelyn’s bedroom. She felt uneasy.
“Hayley?” Sandra asked, never sure which girl it was and in that moment not really caring. “Colton. I’m sorry, Colton,” she said, her voice soft and a little unsteady. “I know this will sound stupid.”
The teakettle whistled from the kitchen.
Shania looked at Sandra with the compassionate eyes of someone who’d seen her own share of pain.
“Sugar and milk, if I remember?” Shania asked, turning to leave her son and his girlfriend alone with the mess of a woman who’d come calling.
“Yes,” Sandra said, managing something of a smile.
That Shania recalled how Sandra liked her tea was a reminder of how they’d been close once, when their children were babies, and before the incident at the Safeway.
Shania left the room and Sandra held up the laptop.
“Colton, I want to know what’s inside this thing,” she said.
“What do you mean?” he asked, though he knew the answer. Her daughter was dead and she wanted to know more about the child that she’d lost. Most parents would probably do the same thing.
“I don’t think I could do that,” he said. “It seems kind of private.”
“I don’t want you to read what’s in her laptop. I want to do that. I want to know everything I can, but I don’t…” She trailed off, trying her best not to cry.
Her obvious pain made Colton feel uncomfortable. He hated seeing anyone cry, especially another kid’s mom.
“You need the password, right?”
Sandra nodded. “That’s right.”
“You want me to hack it?” Colton said. “Seems kind of wrong to me.”
“What’s wrong is that Katelyn’s dead,” she said.
Shania returned with a couple of teacups on a tray. The smell of chai perfumed the air.
“You two want anything?”
“No, thanks, Mrs. James,” Hayley said. “I’m heading home now.”
Colton took the laptop and followed Hayley to the back door as she slipped on her jacket and they went outside. Though he was barefoot and wore only jeans and a Green Day T-shirt, he didn’t seem to mind the chill. Hayley pulled her zipper up to her neck, bracing herself for the onslaught of the cold winter air.
“Okay,” he said. “That was weird.”
“Yeah, she looks terrible.”
“I’m not really a hacker, you know that, right? People think because I’m playing with my computer all night that I could crack the da Vinci Code.”
“You’ll figure it out,” she said.
“I guess I can try.”
A large flock of Canada geese flew overhead, honking as they headed away from Port Gamble. Hayley wondered for only a second if Katelyn was somewhere up there too, watching, hoping, urging someone to tell her story.
Hayley looked around before planting a kiss on Colton’s cheek.
“I have faith in you,” she said.
“Nothing like a little pressure.”
She waved at him and walked across the now snow-crunchy yard between their houses. Hayley knew Katelyn’s password, but to say so would be too hard to explain to the boy she really, really liked.
No one, certainly no teenager, was normal or felt they were. Everyone wore a kind of mask that kept people from really seeing what—or who—was inside. Katelyn did. Starla did. And as she walked to her own back porch, Hayley Ryan knew that she and her sister kept things secret too. She didn’t grasp all that they were or what they could do. She knew that even people she cared about—her father, her mother, Colton James—probably never could comprehend it.
After all, it happened to her and her sister, and they couldn’t understand it.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Colton James’s bedroom was one of three in house number 17, a light-yellow one-story with a low roofline that might have had one of the best views of the bay in Port Gamble, but otherwise was not so special. The house wasn’t even really that old, having been barged over by the lumber company from Port Ludlow in the 1920s. His parents had the largest room, the one closest to the only full bathroom in the house. The other bedroom was used by his mom as an office. It had floor-to-ceiling shelving overloaded with catalogs that she’d collected in the years before the Internet became her lifeline to the outside world. Shania James, not surprisingly, did most of her shopping via catalogs. The UPS man and the FedEx lady had made so many trips to the James’ house that both had been to Colton’s birthday parties, family barbecues and other gatherings.
If one hadn’t noticed that Shania James stayed in the house ninety-nine percent of the time, they’d never have thought there was anything strange about her.
Colton’s own room was organized chaos. His often-away fisherman father had installed pegboard above the teenager’s desk. Wires were coiled on hooks, and jars of teeny, tiny computer components hung above the workspace. Colton seldom used those things anymore; they were left over from the days when he built his own computers.
That was then. Now he was all about apps. He focused on coding, design work and learning the business of being an entrepreneur at age fifteen.
To see him hunched over his computer at night, Coke can at the ready, Cheese Nips open and available for serial consumption, was to witness a boy’s true intensity. Code was beautiful to Colton. It was elegant. It was nearly a living, breathing thing.
And yet, Colton James was no geek. He was fit, handsome and could actually talk to adults while looking into their eyes. None of that “are yo
u talking to me or the floor?” for Colton.
Colton’s screen saver was a picture of him and Hayley that Taylor took on her phone when the three of them were out on his father’s boat, the Wanderlust. The quality wasn’t the best, but the look in Hayley’s eyes was priceless to him. It was, he was sure, the look of a girl who really got him.
He scooted his keyboard aside and set Katelyn’s laptop on the desk. He was plugging in the power cord when his phone buzzed.
Hayley: Break the da vinci code yet?
Colton: Just started. Give me 10 secs.
Hayley: ):
Katelyn’s laptop whirred on and Colton put on some music while he waited for the log-on window to pop open. Colton didn’t like the idea of cracking Katelyn’s password so her mother could do some postmortem eavesdropping on her life. Yet, he’d seen the tears in Sandra’s eyes, the longing she had for what was never coming back, and he knew he had no choice. Password cracking was never really that easy. He knew a kid in school who used jailbreak software to crack his mother’s password so he could get into the system and disable the Net Nanny tool that he’d found so humiliating.
“I’m not doing anything that bad,” the kid had said. “Looking at porn is normal. It isn’t like I’m paying for it on their credit card. It’s free. They’re like porn Nazis.”
Colton thought about the last time he’d seen Katelyn. It was in the school cafeteria. She was sitting alone, looking over at the group of Buccaneers cheerleaders and the second-string players who couldn’t manage a ride off campus. Starla was there, the center of it all.
“Hey,” he had said to Katelyn on his way to the trash can.
She nodded.
“You got plans for the holidays?” he asked.
When he played back the conversation he knew that it was a lame attempt to engage someone he no longer really knew.
“Grandparents are coming over. Nothing great. You?”