First Girl Gone(7)
She pulled into the Wendy’s drive-thru on the way, ordering a Spicy Chicken Sandwich, French fries, and a Dr. Pepper.
“Nothing for you?” Allie asked. “You know how Uncle Frank is about his food. He’ll take off a finger if he catches you bogarting his fries.”
“I’m not hungry,” Charlie said.
“Oh, right. Your hospital phobia. Time for some real talk, sis. You need to get over that.”
That was easy for Allie to say. She hadn’t been there to witness the way their father had withered away after his stroke, rapidly losing every physical, mental, and bodily function, one by one. Hadn’t had to deal with their mother’s neuroses on top of everything else—every time one of the doctors came into the room, her mother had a new ailment of her own to complain about. “I think I’m having heart palpitations,” or, “I was looking in the mirror this morning, and I’m sure this mole on my shoulder didn’t look like this before.” Or Charlie’s personal favorite, “What are the symptoms of Lyme disease, because I think I might have it.”
Hospitals made Charlie uneasy now. The smell. The noises. All of it gave her a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. But this particular hospital was the very one where she’d watched her father die. So Allie could take her “real talk” and shove it up her non-corporeal ass.
The line of cars moved along in the drive-thru until Charlie was at the window. The girl who passed her the food looked like she was probably in high school, and that brought Kara Dawkins back into the forefront of Charlie’s thoughts.
Where are you, Kara?
Frank’s house was a small white cottage on the tip of a peninsula that jutted into the St. Clair River. Gravel crunched under the tires of the Focus as Charlie rolled down the driveway and parked next to the garage.
He’d lived here as long as Charlie could remember. When they were kids, she and Allie used to ride their bikes over here almost every day in the summer. They’d swim off Frank’s dock all morning until he called them in to eat lunch, and then they’d go right back into the water, cramps be damned.
Charlie knocked on the door and waited for Frank to let her in. Salem Island was a small town, the kind of place where everyone knew their neighbors. Most people left their doors unlocked when they were at home. But not Frank.
“A little bit of paranoia goes a long way,” he always said.
When Frank opened the door, she again found herself surprised by his appearance: no hair, no eyebrows. She thought it was the latter she couldn’t get used to. He gave Charlie a squeeze and took the proffered bag of food.
“Oh, baby. Am I glad to see you,” Frank said, eyes sparkling.
“It’s good to see you too,” Charlie said.
Frank raised a nonexistent eyebrow.
“I was talking to the food.”
A classic Uncle Frank joke, and Charlie was stuck between amusement and annoyance that she’d fallen for it yet again.
While Frank dug in, Charlie sat on the plaid couch that had been in his living room for decades. There was a good chance it was older than she was.
“How’s the cheating spouse racket going?” Frank asked before shoving a handful of French fries into his mouth.
“Fine,” Charlie said. “Actually, we got a new case today. Something different.”
“Wait, wait. Let me guess.” Frank screwed up his face like he was really thinking it over. “Missing pet. But not a cat or a dog. Too obvious. I got hired to hunt down a missing cockatoo once. You lookin’ for a bird?”
“No. This is the real deal. An old friend of mine from high school came in. Misty Dawkins. Her daughter is missing.”
Frank nodded.
“See? I know there are people who look down on what we do, think we’re just a bunch of paid snoops. But what we do has value. It’s important to people. Even the missing cockatoos.” He aimed a ketchup-stained finger at her. “Never forget the human side of these cases. Whether the case is big or small, it matters to someone.”
Frank knew Charlie had mixed feelings about trading the more upscale cases she’d worked at the law firm for the domestic cases that made up the bulk of his work on Salem Island.
“I know,” she said, bobbing her head up and down.
But Frank was on a roll now.
“It’s the damn truth. Sure, sometimes things have a tendency to lean toward the sordid, but our ultimate goal is truth and justice. People need that. Society needs that. Heck, if the chemo hadn’t knocked me on my ass, that’s what I’d be doing right this minute. Fighting for another little piece of truth for someone. What else am I gonna do, watch Ricki Lake?”
“Ricki Lake hasn’t been on TV for years.”
Frank waved this away.
“You know what I mean.” He took a bite of his sandwich and followed it immediately with a long pull on his drink.
Charlie gazed out the windows that looked over the small backyard, which sloped down to the water. She could see two yellow kayaks and an old metal canoe overturned on the shore for the winter. Beyond that was the giant willow tree with a rope swing hanging down from its branches. She wondered how many times she and Allie had swung out on that rope and let themselves drop into the water. How many afternoons had they sprawled on the L-shaped dock, sunning themselves on top of their towels, hair tangled in wet ropes after their morning swim? She remembered doing underwater handstands, pretending they were synchronized swimmers. Contests to see who could hold their breath the longest. A lump formed in Charlie’s throat.