He Started It(81)

You know that because you know me. You get me.

When I read through this journal, I can hear Nikki saying these words. It keeps her here, with me, right where she should be. Always.

After tomorrow, I won’t need it anymore.





The Pine Cone Motel used to have a bank of pay phones in the parking lot. I go out to check if they’re still here and—surprise surprise—they are, though in varying degrees of usability. Of the four, two have been removed, one has no receiver, and the fourth looks to be the only one in working condition. I wipe the whole thing down with an antibacterial wet wipe before testing it. The habit is left over from Felix, though I might keep it for myself.

We used one of these same phones last time, when we called Mom and Dad. No one knew it was our last call to them. To us, it was just our nightly duty. The thing that kept them from calling the police or the FBI or the National Guard.

Now that Grandpa was back in control, he dialed the number. “Don’t mention Calvin Bingham. Don’t mention Nikki,” he said to me. Only to me. “Or else I’ll tie you up the way I tied up your sister.”

Calvin, for the record, was staying at our motel. He followed us all the way from that gas station. If I could have found a way to get to him, I would’ve told him everything. Maybe even about Nikki being pregnant.

I just couldn’t get away.

“Yes, yes, everything’s fine,” Grandpa said into the phone. He said that every night. “The kids are really enjoying this. They’re seeing things they didn’t know existed . . . Yes . . . Yes, yes, they’re eating well.” He looked at Eddie and winked. By the time Grandpa handed him the phone, Eddie was smiling and had his boyish chest all puffed out.

“Hi,” he said. “Yes, everything’s fine. We’re fine. We’ll be back soon . . . real soon . . . Of course we’re having fun, why wouldn’t we be? . . . Yes, we’re eating pretty good . . . I promise . . . Okay, here she is.”

Eddie glared at me as he handed over the phone. A threat, I knew. He had been threatening me with looks and words ever since Calvin started following us.

“Hi,” I said.

“Baby,” Mom said. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, I keep telling you that.”

“You know I have to ask that, I’m your mother,” she said, her voice hard. “I just miss you so much.”

“I miss you. Dad, you there?”

“I’m here.”

That’s how our calls went every night, both of them on the phone, each on different extensions. Sometimes both talked at once.

“Are you getting enough sleep?” Dad said.

“Plenty. We sleep in the car all the time.”

“And your sister? How’s Nikki doing all cooped up like that?”

“Nikki?” I said, looking at Grandpa. He glared at me. “Oh, you know how she is. Half the time she can’t stop moving and the other half she’s asleep. A bomb wouldn’t wake her up.”

“Is she awake now?” Mom said.

“No, she’s been asleep since we ate dinner.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sure she’ll be awake tomorrow when we call,” I said.

“I hope so.”

I wanted to blurt out everything, to tell them what had happened. To tell them about Nikki being pregnant. And I almost did, except Grandpa grabbed the phone out of my hand. “You know how teenagers are—they sleep like the dead. Portia really wants to talk to you, though.” He held the phone against Portia’s ear, always ready to grab it away.

“Mommy!” Portia yelled. She did this every night.

Grandpa continued to glare at me, and it was a lot scarier now that Nikki was gone. More like a monster than a man.

My fault, my fault, my fault.

Every time I found myself getting mad at Nikki for running away, I remembered it was me who helped her. I also couldn’t blame her. If someone were keeping me tied up, I’d run, too.

“Everything’s fun,” Portia said into the phone, just as she was coached to do. Grandpa took the phone as she yelled, “Bye-bye!”

“See, everything’s fine,” Grandpa said. “The kids are safe and sound and having the time of their lives . . . Well, of course not. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt these kids. You know how much I love my grandchildren . . . Have some faith in your old dad, for goodness’ sake . . . All right, yes, I will call tomorrow. As always.”

He hung up the phone gently, like he was handling a kitten. He gave me one final glare before walking back across the parking lot to our room.

“Go,” Eddie said, pushing me in the same direction. He had become Grandpa’s little guard.

No one is pushing me around now, though.

I’m out here by myself, standing by this old bank of phones, and they’re covered in so much graffiti I can’t see the original paint. The phones make me want to call someone, but I have no idea who. There’s no one left.





LAST DAY


Everyone is alive in the morning, including me, and we still have Grandpa’s ashes. An auspicious start to our final day. On the downside, Portia overslept and looks hung over.

Breakfast is at Starbucks, which really does exist everywhere. As we sit down at a table in the corner, Eddie brings up today like he’s not afraid to jinx it.