Page 107 of Cold, Cold Bones
By six, we were all tired, and cold, and discouraged. Except for Vera. Though her tongue was hanging a bit lower, she was still as gung ho as at the outset.
When the pink lights began their nightly vigil, we decided to call it a day.
On the way home, I picked up far too much sushi and shared it with Birdie. We were both in bed by ten.
Despite my fatigue, I slept poorly. People I knew gamboled with unrecognizable phantoms in a ghostly performance without theme. Katy marched in a parade of faceless soldiers. Ryan sat with a woman on the deck of a boat, a tangerine sun dropping behind them. Slidellchased Henry into an abandoned building whose walls were covered with saintly images. A menacing figure stalked me on the grounds of Sharon Hall, its face obscured by darkness. And finally there was a twist on the culminatingThelma and Louisescene. In this one Daddy drives his car off a cliff and disappears into the ocean.
I woke many times, finally gave up and rose at seven. Birdie looked at me as if I’d cut off an ear.
The headache was gone, but my mood was similar to the day before. Inadequacy vied with melancholy for control of my emotions.
Was that mix a downgrade or an upgrade?
It was now a full week since I’d heard from Katy.
Burning with parental guilt, I reached for my mobile.
Damn!
Vowing to rectify the phone situation, I threw on sweats, clomped downstairs, and dialed on the landline. Katy’s voice mail was still rejecting messages.
Call Pete? I knew what my ex would say. A variation on what Ryan had said. Katy’s not a kid. She’s an adult returning to civilian life after eight years in the army. She probably needs space to work through re-integration issues.
Why hadn’t Pete noticed Katy’s uncharacteristic silence? Right. He was in the Seychelles with his current squeeze.
Ryan. Damn him. Valentine’s Day and nary a word. Big score for the melancholy team.
Screw chocolates and flowers and lacy hearts. Who needs that crap?
I opened my laptop and googled Roof Above. Checked the website, then punched in its number.
The lady who answered hadn’t seen Katy in a while. Believed she’d chosen to take time off. Volunteers could do that, of course. Yes, she would ask around. Yes, she would deliver my message. The conversation was an M. Zucker reboot.
I stood staring at the back door. Saw Katy coming through it in her Virginia sweatshirt and jeans. Saw her on the day she completedbasic training. Saw her at age fourteen at Camp Seafarer, her long blond hair damp with salt water and sweat as she reeled in and secured a jib. My sister Harry and I had gone to visit her one weekend. Upon seeing us, Katy had hopped onto the dock and run to throw her arms around me. We’d been so close in those days. What had happened? Why was she so unhappy now? Was it partly my fault?
I remembered a time following her graduation from university that Katy had disappeared for a week. I was crazy with worry. Turned out she and her roommate had gone spur of the moment to Yosemite.
But what if Katy hasn’t taken time off? What if she’s in trouble? What if she needs me?
Holy shit.
What if she’s trying to reach me on my cell?
Racing upstairs, I threw on clothes and bolted.
I go to great lengths to avoid malls. Shopping is not my jam.
That said, SouthPark is a splendiferous consumer experience. Its vendors include Louis Vuitton, Coach, Tiffany’s, Boss, Burberry, Neiman Marcus, and Gucci. And a billion other merchants targeting the less affluent.
The Apple store was crowded. Of course, it was. Apple stores are always crowded. I added my name to the queue and wandered, impatiently eyeing the iPhones, iPads, Air Pods, Apple Watches, and Macs. I was considering a remote that could probably operate my washer/dryer and Crock-Pot when my turn finally came. I bought a phone and left.
First Carlos, now Apple. I might have to look for a part-time job.
Figuring someone could help me configure my magnificent new device, I went directly to the MCME. Good call. It took a twenty-something tech named Xander all of fifteen minutes before he handed the thing back, connected and fully loaded with all my personal data. God bless the cloud. And Xander.
The phone icon showed seven recent calls. I had three voice-mail messages.
My mother had rung. She’d been “powerful blue” on the anniversary of her husband’s death. I feel you, Mama.
