Читать книгу What We Remember - Michael Thomas Ford - Страница 7

1991

“They found him.”

“Found who?” James McCloud mumbled. Jarred awake by the shrill voice of the phone, he had answered it instinctively. The voice on the other end of the line was vaguely familiar, but sleep tempted him back into its arms, and the question of who had awakened him seemed ridiculously unimportant.

“Dad,” the voice answered.

James sat up, suddenly very much alert. “Celeste?” he said.

“They found Dad,” his sister repeated.

“When?” asked James.

“Last night,” Celeste answered. “Nate waited to tell me until they were sure. I just found out a few minutes ago.”

A soft murmur distracted James, and he glanced at the sleeping form next to him. Charly had turned her head and appeared to be looking right at him. Her lips were slightly parted, and one delicate hand lay across her breast. He started to tell her who was on the phone, but a soft snore revealed that she still slept.

After slipping out of bed, James left the bedroom, shutting the door softy behind him, and walked to the kitchen, where he could speak at a normal volume.

“Where did they find him?” he asked Celeste.

“In the woods,” his sister informed him.

James leaned against the counter. Dressed only in boxer shorts, he shivered in the chill of the apartment. The tile floor was cold beneath his bare feet, and he wished he’d grabbed his robe before leaving the bedroom. A glance at the microwave’s clock revealed that it was nearly five. In a few minutes the alarm clock on his bedside table would give its electronic caw and Charly would reach across where he would normally be lying, looking for the snooze button.

“James?” Celeste’s voice brought him back to the moment.

“Seven years,” he said, still not quite believing the news his sister had just delivered. “It’s been seven years, and all of a sudden he turns up?”

“Nicky Turner was digging a foundation for a new cabin,” Celeste explained. “That’s how they found him.”

“Does Mom know?” James asked.

“No,” said Celeste. “I don’t think I can tell her.”

James sighed. “What about Billy?”

Celeste gave a short laugh. “Who knows?” she answered. “Probably drunk somewhere, or high. I haven’t seen him in a couple of days.”

A flash of anger at his younger brother rose up in James’s thoughts, but he blocked it out. Being upset with Billy wouldn’t help. Not now.

“James,” Celeste said. “There’s something else.”

James waited for her to continue. It was a long moment before she did. “He was buried,” she said.

“What do you mean?” James asked. From the bedroom came the harsh beep-beep-beep of the alarm clock. He heard Charly’s muttered curses, followed by a crash as she found the clock and knocked it to the floor. Its voice was choked off.

“I mean someone buried him,” Celeste told her brother.

“That’s impossible,” said James. “He killed—”

“He was in a box,” Celeste interrupted. “Someone buried him in a box.”

James felt his breath leave him, and for a moment he could do nothing but stare at the window above the sink. Raindrops dotted the glass, forming thin trickles that ran down and disappeared over the edge of the sill. He heard the sound of footsteps, and a moment later Charly appeared in the doorway. Her long brown hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and she had put on James’s Yankees sweatshirt. The too-long sleeves covered her hands, which she rubbed against her bare thighs.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked, rubbing an eye and pushing her hair away from her face.

“I’ll come up,” James said to Celeste, holding up a finger to let Charly know he was almost finished. “Don’t say anything to Mom until I get there, okay?”

“Yeah,” Celeste replied. “I guess I can put it off for a few hours. But don’t be too long. This is a small town, remember?”

“How could I forget?” said James. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He hung up and looked at Charly, who was now eyeing him quizzically.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I have to go home,” said James.

“Why?”

“Just some family stuff,” James answered.

Charly crossed her arms over her chest and gave him the look he’d come to realize meant that she didn’t believe for one second that he was telling the truth. Although he hated that she could see through him better than anyone he’d ever met, he also found her insightfulness arousing. For a second he thought about taking her back to bed. Then his sister’s words came back to him. Someone buried him.

“Really,” he said. “It’s no big deal. But I have to go up there and deal with my mother. Celeste thinks she may have early Alzheimer’s or something.”

“Your mother?” said Charly. “Early Alzheimer’s? You mean the woman who remembers my birthday even though I’ve never met her? The woman who once recited her grandmother’s recipe for peanut butter fudge to me over the phone from memory after I told her how good it was? That mother?”

James nodded. “I guess she’s been forgetting a lot of things lately. Anyway, Celeste thinks I should come up and talk to her about maybe getting herself checked out. It’s not a big deal.”

Charly continued to stare at him. James met her gaze, smiling and forcing himself not to blink. Finally Charly nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I guess you’ll tell me when you’re ready. Go run off to the hinterlands. I’ll be fine.”

James stepped forward and drew her to him. He slid a hand beneath the sweatshirt, feeling her warm, smooth skin beneath his fingers. Bending down, he kissed her lightly on the mouth.

“It should just take a day or two,” he said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

He was relieved that she couldn’t see his face as he spoke.