Daniel Weaver heard the toy phone ringing just as he was leaving the house. On an ordinary day he would already have been at kindergarten, but he had a dental appointment on this particular morning and so had been permitted to sleep a little later than usual. His grandfather was waiting for him by the front door, as his mother couldn’t afford to take time off work.
Daniel had sensed a certain new tension between his mother and grandfather since the latter’s recent return, although he was unable to ascribe any particular cause to it. This fractiousness did not trouble him greatly because his mother and grandfather often needled each other, mostly in an unserious way but occasionally in a more grievous manner that might cause them to be at odds for days on end.
‘Your grandfather is a stubborn man,’ his mother would offer by way of explanation, which Daniel found funny because, with only two words changed, it was exactly what his grandfather said about Daniel’s mother. Daniel loved them both, though a dad would have been nice. ‘He went away, and then he died,’ was all his mother would ever tell Daniel about his father.
‘Did he know about me?’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he left before anyone was even aware that you were growing inside me.’
‘What was he like?’
‘He was like you.’
‘Is that why you and I look so different?’
‘Yes, I guess it is.’
Now here was Daniel’s grandfather instead, big and strong, with his long, prematurely white hair, tattoos on his arms – pictures and words, Daniel’s name among them – and a piercing in his left ear. He wore faded denim jeans, big steel-toed boots, and a black coat that hung to the middle of his thighs. Nobody else’s grandfather looked like Grandpa Owen. Daniel liked that about him. Grandpa Owen was cooler than any other grandpa, cooler even than most kids’ fathers.
‘You ready to go, scout?’ said Grandpa Owen.
‘Yes.’
‘That tooth hurt much?’
‘A bit.’
‘Want me to take it out for you, save you a trip to the sawbones?’
‘No.’
‘You sure? Only requires a piece of string. I tie one end to the tooth, the other to my rig, and – bang! – it’ll all be over before you know it, and without an injection either.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Your choice. I’d do it for ten bucks.’
‘Nope.’
‘How about we split it? Five for you, five for me.’
‘Nope.’
‘You’re no fun. Say, is that a telephone I hear?’
‘It’s a toy one.’
‘Why is it ringing?’
Daniel shrugged.
‘Dunno.’
‘Want to answer it before we leave?’
Grandpa Owen was joking, but Daniel didn’t take it that way. No, he most certainly did not want to answer it. He wanted the telephone to stop ringing. The lady named Karis was growing more insistent with every call. She kept asking Daniel to come find her. She wanted him to join her in the woods, but he didn’t want to go. Karis frightened him. Daniel didn’t have the vocabulary to explain why exactly, but he thought the closest word he could come up with was ‘hungry.’ Karis was hungry: not for food, but for something else. Company, maybe.
Him.
‘If it’s broken, you ought to get rid of it,’ said Grandpa Owen. ‘You don’t want it waking you in the night.’
I want to get rid of it, Daniel thought. I’d really like that, but I’m scared. I’m afraid that if I throw it away, Karis will come to find out why I’m not answering.
She’ll come, and I’ll see her face.
She’ll take me into the forest.
And no one will ever be able to find me.
29
Parker left the church at the final blessing, trailed by the rest of a congregation consisting mostly of those older than himself. He hadn’t managed to bring the average age down by much, just enough to make a statistical difference.
He decided not to go straight home but instead headed to the parking lot at Ferry Beach, where he left his car and walked on the sand, enjoying the solitude and the sound of breaking waves. He found himself returning to something Louis had said, about how the apartment seemed smaller, not larger, with Angel in the hospital. It might have appeared counterintuitive, but Parker thought he understood what Louis meant. Loneliness could cause walls to close in – that was certainly true – but the absence of a loved one brought with it a sense of greater restriction, of possibilities denied. Parker had lost two women under very different circumstances: the first, Susan, to blood and rage; and the second, Rachel, to the disintegration of their relationship. In the aftermath of each severing, he became aware of conversations he could no longer have, of questions that were answered by ghost cadences. Some words can only be spoken to those for whom we feel passionately and deeply, just as some silences can only be shared by lovers. It was one of the elements that made the thought of starting again so hard: that which was most missed could only come with time, and he had more days behind him than ahead.
Man, he really needed to get another dog.
Parker returned to his car, mentally arranging his current caseload in order of importance. A couple of matters required his ongoing attention, but they were mostly minor. It was the so-called ‘Woman in the Woods’, and the whereabouts of her child, that intrigued him. He planned to travel to Piscataquis and view the area of woodland in which the body had been discovered. He could always make a call to Walsh and ask him to smooth the way, or see if he could skate by on charm alone once he arrived. After all, a man could hope. He wanted to examine the site, not because he imagined he might spot something that the police had missed, but because it was necessary for his own process of engagement with the case, a delicate balance of distance and immersion.
As he neared home, he saw a truck parked by the entrance to his property. It was a Chevy Silverado, but a few years older than the one to which Louis had put paid, and, as far as Parker could tell, apparently unadorned by flags of the Confederacy. Parker turned into his driveway, and moments later the truck followed, maintaining a respectful distance but still leaving Parker uneasy about its presence and annoyed at the intrusion upon his property. He wasn’t armed, finding no good reason for carrying on his way to church. And despite Louis’s advice to the contrary, he no longer kept a gun in his vehicle. If the car was stolen, and the gun was stored in the glove compartment, then a court could find him in violation of firearm statutes; and if he kept it in a locked box in the trunk, it wouldn’t be much use to him if he needed it in a hurry.
He checked his rearview mirror. He could see only one figure – the driver, an older man – in the cab of the truck. The bed was uncovered and empty. Parker pulled up by the house and waited. The truck came to a halt while it was still some distance away. The driver got out, his hands held out from his sides to show he was unarmed. He was in his sixties, and small but stocky. He looked like a man who had known hard physical labor in his time, and probably enjoyed most of it. His hair was entirely white, and cut in a military flattop, while the face beneath was ruddy and lined, weathered by decades of exposure to summer sun and cold winters. Parker recognized him, even before he introduced himself.
‘Mr Parker? My name is Bobby Stonehurst.’
‘I know who you are,’ said Parker.
Bobby Stonehurst – or Bobby Ocean, sire to Billy, the country’s northernmost Confederate. Silently, Parker cursed Louis and his inability to turn the other cheek, but his anger was only momentary. Parker wasn’t a black man forced to deal with the prejudices of others on a daily basis. Neither was he himself any particular model of restraint.
‘I apologize for entering your property without invitation or prior arrangement,’ said Stonehurst. ‘It was a spur of the moment decision. I was hoping you might grant me the courtesy of a short conversation.’
‘About what, Mr Stonehurst?’
‘Nobody calls me Mr Stonehurst. It’s Bobby, or sometimes Bobby Ocean. That particular nomenclature appears to have stuck. Doesn’t bother me.’