At the Quiet Edge(42)

Tiffany Miller. She’d been included on the board of missing women, but there had been no accompanying newspaper article. Even online, there was hardly anything. The girl had just vanished from the world sometime in 2000. Maybe she’d only run off from a bad situation.

Or maybe Alex Bennick knew something no one else did.

When the apartment door swung quickly open, Everett jumped, convinced for half a second that the cops were here.

“We’re doing a tour of the facilities,” his mom said. “Just call my cell if you need me.”

“Sure,” he answered, doing his best not to reach guiltily for the mouse to minimize the window. She couldn’t see the monitor from there, and she was already closing the door anyway. When he heard the office door open and both voices fade, he relaxed and started searching for Tiffany Miller online again, just in case he’d missed something the first time he’d looked. But the name was way too common. Maybe she was just one of the Tiffanys living in Minnesota or Iowa. He forced himself to look a bit more carefully just in case, studying pictures and birthdays.

When the phone in his mom’s bedroom rang, he ignored it until it stopped. Then it rang again.

On the third round of ringing, it occurred to him that it could be his mom trying to reach him. Maybe she was on the far side of the complex and needed something? Still anxious about how his own behavior could’ve caused her harm, he walked into her room. The ringing stopped. Then it started a fourth time.

Everett finally reached for the phone. “Hello?” he said, then thought better of that and tried again. “Hi, this is Neighborhood Storage.” He’d heard his mom on the phone often enough.

“Everett?” a voice asked after a long pause. Not his mom. A man, his tone deep and hushed.

“Yes?” Everett responded.

“Everett! Wow. It’s your dad.”

For a moment the words meant nothing. How could they? This wasn’t his dad, because he didn’t have a dad anymore. Then his brain ticked through a few notches of thought, and he realized it was a stupid prank call. “Yeah right,” he snapped.

“Everett, I’m serious. It’s your dad. I’ve been trying to reach you for days. Well, for months, really. How are you, little man?”

Little man.

That struck something that rang through his mind like a bell. Little man. Hadn’t his dad always called him that? The words were more solid than a memory. They were buried too deep to actually recall, but he could feel them trembling through his muscles, his bones.

And who would prank call a business line? Who would try to reach him there? “Dad?” he croaked, as the possibility expanded inside him, pressing too hard against his heart and throat.

The man laughed. Or . . . his dad laughed. “Jesus, I’ve missed you! You’re twelve now, right? You’re probably almost as tall as me!”

Everett shook his head and whispered, “Dad?” again.

“It’s really me. I’ve been hoping you would answer the phone, Ev. I wanted to hear your voice. I mean, jeez, what I really want is to see you, but that’s a bit harder to arrange.”

His eyes fluttered in blinks so rapid his vision looked like a stop-action film, so Everett turned his head away from the hard sunlight streaming past his mom’s bedroom curtains. It didn’t help. He still felt dizzy.

“My God, Son, I can’t believe I’m finally talking to you. I’ve wanted to. I’ve tried.”

“You did?”

“Every time I try to call, I think . . . Well, I don’t know. Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

Everett’s body felt strange. Limbs heavy but also tingling and numb. His chest felt constricted, as if he were strapped down. He couldn’t think, and his throat had squeezed itself shut. He closed his eyes and heard a slow sigh in his ear.

“You probably don’t even want to talk to me.”

“No,” Everett rasped. The tight knot of his heart eased a bit, though it hurt more now, as if the lightened pressure had let pain in. “I do want to talk to you.”

“You know that means you can’t tell anyone, right? It’s a big secret for a twelve-year-old. I’m still . . . Well, I did some bad stuff, and I guess you’ve heard all about it.”

“Yeah.” His dad was on the phone, and Everett felt like all he could get out were caveman grunts. But he’d never thought about what he might say if they talked, because he never thought he’d have the chance. It seemed . . . not real. Like a dream where something weird happened and everyone carried on like it wasn’t weird. Including Everett.

“I’m sorry, little man. Though I guess you’re not so little anymore.”

Everett’s eyes started blinking again, this time to stop the burning of tears. “Dad, where are you?”

“I can’t really talk about that. But maybe you could tell me about your life. Do you like school?”

“It’s fine.” He couldn’t believe they were finally speaking and they were talking about school. He didn’t care about school. He wanted to know a hundred things about his dad. Wanted to know everything. Yet he couldn’t think of one single question.

“Play any sports?” his dad asked. “Do you still have that glove I got you?”

“Yes. I have it,” Everett said quietly. “It’s too small.”