Sign Here(90)

“Good.”

“Why?”

I walked over to the old man in the bed.

“General,” I said, and he flinched. I leaned down and took his face in one hand, drool sticking to my thumb. “When did you leave the barracks?”

“In 1935,” Cal said.

“Where did you go?” I dropped his face from my grip, and he winced, spitting blood in a glob that landed on the linoleum like a translucent insect. “Come on, big man, take us on your journey.”

“North Carolina,” he said finally. “Silver Shirts in Asheville.”

“Are you fucking kidding—”

“Until when?”

“Till 1943. We kept it running, despite what they say.” Was there a hint of pride in his voice? I gave him a swift chop to the Adam’s apple just in case.

“Cal, is there anything that only you would know about back then? Not something that happened to you, but something only you had, or thought about? Something so personal that if someone were to say it or show it to you back then, you would know you could believe them?”

“You’ve already got it,” she said, nodding to my chest. I reached into my shirt and pulled out the soda-tab necklace.

“The whole time I was on the road, I was looking for those. But outside of the barracks, I never found one.”

“Okay,” I said, letting the aluminum fall back against my chest. “This just might work. But you’re going to have to do something you don’t like.”

She frowned at me. “What?”

I picked up the notebook from the floor and put it back in the lockbox with the reels of film, which I then tucked under my arm. My tablet beeped again, and I checked the screen.

It wasn’t just one of the Harrisons. It was Mickey.

I took one look at her, facedown in the water, her spine floating higher than the rest of her, as if it were the only buoyant thing left inside, and clicked Confirm.

“You’re going to have to leave with me, right now. Time is of the essence here. And even worse, you’re going to have to trust me.”





SILAS





“OH MY GOD, MR. HARRISON,” Ruth shrieked, dipping her shoulders back under the water. “You scared me! How long have you been here?”

Silas stared without answering. He wasn’t ready to give up how it felt before he recognized her for who she really was. The relief of the impossible was that sweet.

“Mr. Harrison?” Ruth said again, cowering so her shoulders stayed under the water The only thing that made Silas answer her, that made him give up that sweetness, was how scared she sounded. How unlike Sarah.

“Geez,” he said, rubbing sand through his hair. “Ruth. I was not expecting you. Where did you just come from?” His Dad-brain kicked into gear, taking the reins from the wild rest. “Come on,” he said, holding out his hand. “Get out of there.”

Ruth stayed in the water. “Can you . . .”

Silas waited for her to finish, and, when she didn’t, he slapped a hand over his eyes.

“Jesus,” he said as Ruth’s wet fingers gripped his. “Is Mickey out there too?”

He felt Ruth step past him and reach for a branch, freeing a towel. “No,” she answered. “She’s up at the Watersons’.” There was a spray of water followed by a few more sounds, and then she spoke again. “You can open your eyes now.”

Silas opened his eyes to find Ruth standing on the bank, wrapped in a big beach towel he didn’t recognize.

“What in the world are you doing swimming right now?” he asked, shifting his eyes off her and back to the water. It wasn’t fair to her, how disappointed he was that she wasn’t someone else.

“It was a dare,” she said, pulling the towel tighter. “It was stupid.”

“There are definitely better dares out there.” Even with his Dad-brain in charge, the night kept spinning. He sat and patted the ground next to him.

“Come here,” he said. “I want to talk to you for a minute.”

“To me?” She seemed smaller than usual, like she was holding herself at a new, constricted angle.

“Yeah,” he said, trying to clip the slur in his words. “Just for a second.”

Ruth sat down in the sand next to him, her legs out toward the water. Her hair was heavy and wet. He could see where the ends dripped over her collarbone and down her chest, turning her towel dark. Before he could think, he leaned over and took a strand in his fingers.

“Are you having fun, at least?” he asked. “Mickey and Sean being nice to you?”

“Yes,” she answered, nodding. But she didn’t have that same grin she always had. Sarah’s grin.

Silas squeezed the strand of her hair and spread it thin against his fingers, moonlight catching the red and playing it against the dark, like animal fur or a precious rock.

“Ruth,” Silas started as he tucked the strand behind her ear. “There is someone I used to know, and you really—”

But then Ruth wrapped her skinny arms around her knees, and Silas saw something he hadn’t noticed before. Fine lines along the inside of each, tight and unnatural, like too-often-repaired seams.

“What happened?” he asked, interrupting himself.