Lost and Wanted(97)

Terrence turned sharply to face me. “We met her at the coffee place. We chatted. She offered to babysit. Do you need any more information?”

“Sorry. It’s just—she was wearing your sweatshirt.”

Terrence sighed. “Look, I can’t help whatever trip she’s on. We’ve hung out once or twice. Sometimes it’s nice to talk to someone who just keeps it light, you know?”

I felt stung by this comment, and also reassured.

Terrence modulated his voice a little for the kids. “We left Addie’s because I couldn’t deal with her questions, okay? I can’t stay here either, if you’re going to be investigating me.”

The children had found an old Wiffle bat and were, for some reason, taking turns banging it against the brick wall. The sky was gray and heavy; it looked like it was going to snow.

“Sorry,” I said again.

“It’s fine,” Terrence said tightly.

We were silent for a moment. This wasn’t the scenario in which I’d imagined telling him about the phone, but it would be worse the longer I waited. I sat down on the porch railing.

“I think I figured out the mystery of the phone.” It felt wrong, too casual, possibly because I was attempting to sound like someone who could keep it light.

“Charlie’s phone?”

“I’ve been getting more messages.”

“What?”

“I mean, not many. A couple.”

Terrence was squinting at me, his lips drawn in, as if he suspected some brutal joke.

“Since it happened,” I continued nervously. “Or since we talked about it.”

“What did they say?”

    “Random stuff. About science mostly. But then—last night—I got a picture of me and Charlie. A picture of a picture really, of me and her. And then that rhyme—‘Cottleston Pie.’?”

Terrence was startled. We both turned at the same moment to look at the children, who were crouching down now, their heads together, examining something in the dirt.

“Sims,” he said quietly, almost as if he were talking to her.

“I didn’t understand it was her—until last night.”

“You didn’t tell me?” Terrence spoke in a lower register than normal, as if he were trying to control himself.

“I didn’t know! And then I came down to tell you—” And Nicki was here, I was about to say. “And you were out.”

Terrence shook his head. “I mean, about the messages before that.”

“I did! You told me it was a spammer.”

Terrence closed his eyes for a moment. “Okay—that first one. But after that?”

“I thought it would—be painful for you.”

Terrence gave me a look, and I hurried on. “And you guys were moving in—I mean, I wanted you to,” I admitted. “And what would have been the point? You weren’t going to report it.”

“I might have, if I thought someone was using it.”

“I thought of that. But I mean, the police don’t get people’s phones back. And I thought maybe I could convince the person—before I knew who it was.”

“You thought you’d do a better job than the police.”

“Well—maybe. I would definitely be more focused on it.”

Terrence shook his head: “You guys are really something.”

Did he mean me and Jack, or me and the Boyces? Or people like me in general—people who thought they were smart?

The children had stood up, and were cupping something in their palms.

“Look,” Jack called. He held out his hand, but I couldn’t see anything at this distance. “Roly polys!”

“He calls them roly polys, but in L.A. we say pill bugs,” Simmi added. “Right, Daddy?”

“My sister and I used to say ‘potato bugs,’?” I told her. “I think they go by a lot of different names.” I started down the steps to join them, mostly to separate myself from Terrence, but he stopped me. We were so close that I could see the gray flecks in his eyes. His irises had dark rings around them.

    “Hey,” he said. “Where is it?”

I shook my head.

He looked toward the door. “But it’s here.”

It was as if the phone’s full potential was hitting him only now, as if the months it had been missing had somehow decreased the possibility of finding it: he couldn’t quite believe it was really happening. The letter that promised to vindicate him with Charlie’s parents wasn’t even the majority of the device’s significance. It was instead the simple fact that those words she’d written had to be close, steps from where he was standing. The essence of magical thinking, that it could be stripped of its magic—that this time, the beloved will actually walk in the door—was visible on Terrence’s face. It was almost as if he and Charlie had a future together again, of whatever brief duration.

He turned back to me reluctantly. “She must’ve hidden it in the play kitchen. Right?”

The oven, I thought—of course that was the oven Simmi had meant. I looked at him. “How would you know that?”

Terrence stepped back, and smiled faintly. “If I’d known she had it, I would have found it right away,” he said. “It’s not rocket science.”