Page 91 of The Guests on South Battery
“I don’t know what to do,” I said. I blinked twice, wondering whyshe was so blurry. Grabbing my arm, she pulled me off Broad and onto Church Street. The store on the corner wasn’t open yet and there was very little pedestrian traffic, which made it easy for me to press my forehead against the cool stone of the building, pushing against it until my head hurt.
“Well, you have a few options—all of which involve you talking with Jack and getting all this out in the open. And don’t forget about the rest of the stuff Rebecca told you—about Button and your mother forgiving her, and the thing Hasell showed her was hidden in the steps. And listening to Sarah.”
I turned around, recalling something else, too. “She said that Jack had a great book idea, but that he couldn’t do anything until he’d spoken with the people involved. That it might hurt people he loved.” I stuck my hair behind my ears with agitation. “Jack’s been trying to talk with my mother, but I wouldn’t let him.” I stared at her in horror. “What if I’ve been making everything worse?”
She smiled ruefully. “That certainly wouldn’t be the first time. And I doubt it will be the last. But as long as you’re willing, it’s always fixable.”
“Are you sure?”
She put her arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “Just as sure as I know we will never have a date night with Rebecca and Marc.”
CHAPTER 32
Ilistened to my phone call go directly to Jack’s voice mail for about the fifth time that day. Despite it being nearly six o’clock and growing dark outside, I had yet to get anything accomplished at work even though I hadn’t left my desk all day. The air sat heavy and full, unrelated to the torrential downpour and accompanying thunder and lightning. Or the dark clouds that added another layer of gloom to an already charged atmosphere.
I dialed again, listening to it ring and then cut off with Jack’s voice telling me that he’d get back to me as soon as he could. I was sure it was my imagination, but there was something in the dial tone that didn’t sound authentic. As if something were mimicking it but falling short of an accurate imitation. Like listening to a favorite song sung by a cover band.
I called Nola and she picked up on the second ring. “Hi, Melanie.”
“I’m glad you picked up—I thought something was wrong with my phone. Is your dad home?” I held my breath.
“No. And I’m beginning to get worried. He’s usually home by now, but I haven’t heard from him. Mrs. Houlihan hasn’t heard from him, either.”
“Have you tried calling him?”
“It goes straight to voice mail.” She paused. “It sounded weird. And my phone is showing the wrong time.”
I stilled. “Ten minutes after four?”
“Yeah—how did you know?”
I pulled the phone from my ear and looked at the screen before speaking again. “Because my phone is doing the same thing. We shouldn’t be on our cell phones during a storm, so I’m going to hang up. But please have your dad call me when he gets home. Tell him I’ll pick up and that I unblocked his number.”
“You blocked his number?”
“I know, I know. Please don’t say anything, Nola. I don’t think I could handle being scolded by a fifteen-year-old right now.”
“Sure.”
I was about to say good-bye when she spoke again. “Melanie?”
“Yes?”
“Why did you text that photo of the broken snow globes?”
“Excuse me?”
“You sent me a photo of the broken snow globes laid out in a line on the nursery’s dresser. I was wondering if it was some sort of code you wanted me to figure out or something.”
I placed my hand on the back of my neck, feeling pinpricks of fear beginning to sprout. “I didn’t. I’d actually forgotten that I had it on my phone. I meant to send it to your dad.”
There was a slight pause before she spoke. “Maybe you hit my name instead so it was sent to me.”
I almost agreed with her. Because that would have been the easiest thing, to pretend that there was an obvious explanation to everything. But we both knew there wasn’t.
“No,” I said. “I know I didn’t.”
“Then who did?”
