Page 1 of Whistle

Prologue

Christmas 2001

It was starting to look like Santa hadn’t come through for Jeremy. All the presents that had been placed under the tree had been unwrapped and there was no PlayStation.

Goddamn, he thought.

Jeremy was only seven and shouldn’t have been using words like that, even when it was only in his head and not out loud, but his older sister, Glynis, who was nine, had brought him up to speed on forbidden vocabulary. Not that he didn’t already know most of the words. He’d heard kids using them on the school grounds. He could have thought something much worse thangoddamn.

He also knew it wasn’t Santa Claus who’d failed him; it was Mom and Dad. Glynis had set him straight on this score, too. “There is no Santa,” she’d told him while he was sitting in the basement watching an episode ofBob the Builder. “There’s no guy at the North Pole who’s going around on a magic sleigh to every house in the world, in one night, delivering presents. What kind of baby believes in stuff like that? And while we’re on the subject, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny are bullshit, too.”

Glynis not only knew all the swear words, she knew how to use them effectively. And she knew other stuff, mostly from watchingSex and the Cityat her friend Sally’s house because they had it on VHS. Sally’s aunt lived in Boston and had HBO and taped the episodes for Sally’s mom. If Jeremy’s parents knew Glynis was up to speed on the sexual antics of Carrie Bradshaw and her friends, they’d have a double stroke.

Jeremy knew his sister was less interested in his knowing the truth than she was delighted to shatter his most treasured illusions. If there was something she relished more than tormenting her little brother, he couldn’t think what it was.

This particular Christmas morning, in a year when it was hard to imagine that anything good could happen, Glynis had done quite well. New clothes, new shoes, and one of those Bratz dolls, kind of like if Barbie went full Goth. And, sure, Jeremy got a Lego set based on Harry Potter stuff, and he supposed that was okay, but it sure was no PlayStation.

But then Jeremy’s father said, “Wait right there. There’s one more thing. Didn’t have a chance to wrap it.”

Oh yes!This had to be it. Dad was saving the PlayStation for last.Well played, Father. Just when Jeremy thought it was game over, no pun intended, Dad was coming through.

Jeremy’s father slipped out of the living room, went out the front door without bothering to close it, allowing a wintry wind to blow into the house. There was the sound of a car trunk slamming shut, and seconds later, Dad was back, nudging the door shut with his body because his arms were full.

He was carrying a cardboard box large enough that his chin was resting on the top. Printed boldly on the side of the box was the wordtide.

Was this some sort of joke?

Had Dad bought him a year’s supply of detergent? This was no PlayStation box, that was for sure. But Jeremy continued to hold outhope that there might be such a boxwithinthe Tide box. Dad was trying to fake him out here.

His father leaned over, set the box on the floor, and let out a long, exhausted breath. “Lotta stuff in there.” He got down to unfold the cardboard flaps, but then motioned for Jeremy to scoot over and do it himself.

“Go for it,” Dad said.

Jeremy did, feverishly. He pulled back the four cardboard flaps and before he saw what was inside said, “I knew you’d get it! I knew you’d get me the Play—”

He stopped.

There was no video game system in this box. What would Glynis say right about now if she were him?What the fuck?The box was filled with...

Trains. Stupid, dumb toy trains.

Jeremy looked into his father’s face, unable to disguise his disappointment.

“No, no, you’re gonna love this,” his father said quickly because the kid looked like he was on the verge of tears. “This is way better than some stupid video game system. Tons more fun, believe me. I had trains when I was a kid, Lionel and American Flyer, and they’re still making this stuff, and—”

“Trains are lame,” Jeremy said.

The words were a dagger to his father’s heart. “Give it a chance. Look what we’ve got here.”

He pulled out a boxcar and then a caboose and then a heavy black metal steam locomotive. None of the pieces was in its original packaging, but carefully wrapped in newspaper. One shred of masthead—showing theBurlington FreePr—offered a hint of where these trains had come from.

“It’s allusedstuff,” Glynis said derisively.

“Where did you get all this?” Jeremy’s mother asked her husband.

As Jeremy continued to bring out more cars and accessories—a tanker car, a flatcar with a helicopter perched on it, a train station, a water tower—his father said, “You know that new guy at work? Wendell? Wendell Comstock? Met him the other day at the Tops?”

She tried to remember, and when she did, her face fell. “Is that the poor man who just moved here? Where was he from?”

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