Page 10 of Raise Up, Heart
“The man who pushed me. He…sounded like Damon. Helookedlike Damon.” Cole says.
“It was dark,” Dad says. “There was probably just a resemblance. And you saw what you wanted to see.”
Cole picks up a stone from the ground beside him and throws it into the water swirling beneath the falls, anger ripping through him. “Why would I want to see that?” he demands.
“You loved him,” Dad says. “You still grieve for him. Part of you will always want to see him.”
“Stop,” Cole says, his chest aching so much that he feels like he will break if the sobs he’s holding in start to come up.
Dad puts his arm around Cole’s shoulder, and when he draws Cole to him, Cole starts to shake. It’s been a long time since it’s been this bad, so much sadness that he can’t at least pretend in front of other people, so much that he dissolves into the pain heedless of a witness.
There’s no choice. He lets his father hold him as he cries.
Climbing the stairsto the guest room in his dad’s mountain cabin that night, Cole is worn through. He feels translucent in his exhaustion. All he can think of is getting into bed, and he prays he won’t dream. The door to his room is half open, and he frowns. He usually leaves it closed, if only to discourage his father’s three cats from getting in. And there they are in the middle of this bed, cute and sweet but shedding onto the comforter. Cole’s highly allergic to their fur. He tries not to be annoyed.
He peels his clothes off and pulls a soft pair of sweats and an old X-Men T-shirt from the dresser drawer. He runs his hand over the front of it, remembering when his dad gave it to him as a surprise gift one day, “Just for being you.” Cole smiles. His father gets him.
Cole turns to the bed to change the sheets and feels his blood run cold.
There, on his pillow, is the rock. Heart-shaped. The exact one that had been in his pocket. Cole approaches it like it’s a bomb, and he sees that beneath the rock is a piece of paper. A note. In tiny, perfect letters. Written in black ink.
Cole picks up the rock, clenches it in his fist. He takes the paper between his thumb and forefinger.
This belongs to you.
Cole sits on his bed and stares at the wall. His blood is roaring in his ears, and his heart is thumping wildly in his chest. He says softly, “No. This belongs to you.”
“Sheriff Hunt,” Colesays, standing in front of her desk, his hands stuffed into his pants pockets and with what he hopes is a sweet grin on his face. He knows that Sheriff Tanya Hunt goes a little soft for that smile. He used to flash it at her back when she was his babysitter many years ago. “I know it’s unusual, but it would really help me to…understand.”
Sheriff Hunt doesn’t want to let him hear the tape. He can see that clearly. But he has to listen for himself.
“Cole,” she says. “I don’t know what to tell you. Normally, I wouldn’t hesitate. I just don’t want you fooling yourself, honey.”
The Maryville police station is bustling, and Cole has to move aside as they drag a guy past in handcuffs. Sheriff Hunt rolls her eyes at the guy and says, “I’ll seeyoulater. I’ll be hoping for more cooperation next time.”
Cole smiles, close mouthed, and then says, “I’m not fooling myself. So, the recording?”
“Cole…” she says, and gives him her patented discouraging look.
Cole doesn’t have time to wonder who has told Sheriff Hunt about his ravings to the EMTs. Maryville is a small town. People know each other, especially the long-time locals. Word spreads quickly. What he needs to do now is convince her that he’s not insane, and that he has the right to hear the recording. It’s public record, after all. She can’t actually deny him.
“Sheriff Hunt,” he says, smiling and shaking his head. “You don’t need to worry. I had a concussion. I was confused. I just want to hear the recording so that I can…see if there’s any information that can help me track down the guy. I want to thank him.”
Sheriff Hunt gives him the look that means she knows he’s full of shit, and she says, “I don’t think he wants to be thanked. Or he would have stuck around. Call it a good citizen doing a good deed. Some people don’t want the attention.”
“Exactly. That doesn’t mean that I don’t have a right to investigate my rescuer. Or at least attempt to thank him, anyway.”
Sheriff Hunt’s phone rings and she picks it up, turning her back to him. Whatever the call is about, it’s clear that Sheriff Hunt has no more time for him, and she waves over an officer who’s wandering past her desk.
Putting her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, Sheriff Hunt says, “Get Cole Hart here what he wants.”
Cole grins and gives Sheriff Hunt a thumbs up. “Thank you!” he mouths.
She narrows her eyes and says, “Don’t make me regret this,” before turning back to her call.
An hour later, Cole has listened to the call fifty times. He’s sweaty, and shivering, and the officer has checked on him twice, asking if he’s okay.
“Sure. Of course,” he says. “Can I get a copy of this?”
