One Tiny Secret

Chapter Twenty One

Buzz…Buzz…Buzz…Buzz.

That’s all I’ve heard today at work. My dad has been blowing up my phone for the past couple of hours, and all I’m trying to do is occupy my mind with a book while we’re having a slow day. He’s left, like, four voicemails, but I don’t care. I need my me time. He’s probably just making sure I’m coming home right after we close. It’s annoying to say the least, especially since I’m at work. I’m surprised he hasn’t called the front desk to get to me.

“Dani, phone’s for you. It’s your father,” Joan calls out into the aisles.

Spoke too soon.

“Tell him I’ll call him on my break,” I reply.

“He said it’s urgent.”

Pulling my nose out from the book I’m reading, I roll my eyes and groan. “He’s so incorrigible sometimes,” I murmur while standing up.

I pick up the phone and place it to my ear. “Hello, Dad.”

“Why haven’t you answered your phone or returned any of my calls?” he asks, but doesn’t sound mad at all. Actually, he sounds more sad than anything.

“I’m kind of at work right now. I was planning on calling you back during my break,” I lie, but I think it sounded convincing. “Well, what’s up? I’ve got to get back to stocking the shelves, and I’m getting the eye from Joan.”

“So you haven’t listened to any of my messages, either?” he asks, sounding even more somber than before.

“Like I said, I’m at work. I haven’t really had the time to check. Why, what’s wrong?”

I hear his deep sigh come through the phone and suddenly fear the worst. A number of things run through my mind and I hope not one of them comes out of his mouth.

“I have some bad news.” He leaves me hanging on his words when he pauses. His hesitation is killing me, and I’m not sure I even want to hear what he has to say next.

“What is it, Dad?”

“It’s your teacher—Mr. Whitman. I’m so sorry, Dani, but he’s dead.”

“Wait, what? He’s dead?” I hope I didn’t hear him right.

“Yes.”

Pain surges through my chest as I stand there trying to comprehend that simple answer. The only other time I remember a “yes” hurting this much, was after I asked my parents if they were getting a divorce.

“How?” I whisper into the phone, still stunned.

“His wife found his body when she came home from work. He suffocated in the garage with the car running. He must’ve fallen asleep at the wheel and never opened the door. According to Mrs. Whitman, he had been having trouble sleeping. It appears to have been an accident.”

For a split second I actually think that maybe it was an accident. Mr. Whitman was really tired yesterday. Then Unknown enters my mind and squashes that thought. “Do you really believe it was an accident?” I ask, snapping out of my paralyzed state.

“Dani, don’t start. We’ve already been over this. Gunnar’s death was an accident, and so is Mr. Whitman’s. These things happen, that’s life. It sucks, but it’s true. There doesn’t seem to be any foul play involved whatsoever with either case.”

“I’ve got to go,” I reply in a calm tone, even though I want to scream at the top of my lungs that these weren’t accidents.

“Are you going to be all right?” he asks in a concerned tone.

“Yeah, as all right as I can be, I guess.”

“We’ll talk more tonight when I get home, okay?”

“Uh-huh,” I reply, and hang up the phone.

I feel a hand touch my shoulder and turn to see Joan standing next to me. She flashes me a sad smile, clearly noticing how distraught I look.

“You okay? What’s wrong?”

“My teacher passed away,” I say, feeling every syllable roll off my tongue. I still can’t believe I’m saying it.

“Oh, no. What happened?” she asks, pulling me in for a hug.

“It was an accident apparently. Don’t really know the details,” I answer, not really wanting to talk or think about it.

“I’m so sorry. Do you need to go home early?”

“No, I should keep working. Keep my mind busy, you know?”

“All right, but the moment you need to leave, just let me know,” she says, pulling me in for another hug. “Maybe you should go take a break in the back office. Clear your head a bit.”

“Yeah, I think I might do that if you don’t mind,” I reply with an empty smile.

“Take all the time you need. We aren’t really busy today anyway,” she says with a soft laugh while gesturing to the store floor, which is pretty empty.

Sitting in the back office, I regret not taking my boss up on the whole leaving early thing. Back here, I’m all alone with my thoughts, and they’re not being too kind at the moment. I have my phone out on the desk, anticipating a text any minute now from Unknown, taking responsibility for Mr. Whitman’s death. No matter how many times I think it or say it, I never get used to the idea of him being gone.

My thoughts are interrupted by Joan calling into the back office through the P.A. system. “I know you’re probably not up to this right now, but I thought I’d ask. There’s a customer inquiring about Edgar Allan Poe, and I figured with you being an expert, you might be able to help him out.”

“Be right up,” I reply after pressing the button on the intercom.

When I reach the front desk, there isn’t any sign of a customer or my boss. There are only a few people milling about in the café area, and a guy sifting through the bargain bin of mystery paperbacks near the entrance of the store. I finally spot Joan emerging from the stacks and she sends me a wave to come over.

“He’s back there. I thought maybe I could help him, but he’s asking very specific questions,” she says with a snicker. “Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders.

“Thank you.” She moves past me toward the front counter. “One moment, sir,” I hear her call out behind me as I move into the aisles.

When I reach the section containing the works of Edgar Allan Poe, I see a man standing there, thumbing through a book with his back to me. His clothes make me think he’s probably in college or a little bit older. I’d probably call his style hipster chic.

“Excuse me, sir? I heard you had some questions about Poe?”

“No, not really. I just wanted to get you alone so we could talk,” he replies and turns around to face me.

“Seriously, Parker? You have the worse timing ever for joking around,” I scold him and begin to storm off, but feel his hand grab my arm. Shaking free of his grip, I whip back around to look at him with a glare. “Mr. Whitman’s dead,” I blurt out.

“What?”

“So forgive me if I’m not in the mood right now to have an existential conversation regarding where the two of us stand relationship-wise.”

I see the surprise register on his face as it pans down to the ground. The look gradually turns into sorrow as his eyes once again meet mine. Seeing his reaction, I feel bad for the way I broke the news to him.

“I can’t believe...Mr. Whitman…How did it happen?”

“You’ll probably hear all about it on the news. The shitty part is that everyone, including my father, thinks it was an accident, but I know better.”

“Did Unknown send you another text?” he whispers in an urgent tone.

“Doesn’t have to. This has ‘Unknown’ written all over it.”

“But you never got a text? Are you sure this wasn’t an accident?” he asks, seeming flustered.

“You’re beginning to sound like my dad,” I respond indignantly, which lands me on the receiving end of a scowl.

“I’m serious, Dani. Why do you think Unknown did this?”

“I don’t want to talk about it here. Can we go somewhere else?” I ask, looking around and making sure there are no eavesdroppers.

“Sure,” he says as he combs his hand through his hair. He looks stressed out. He’s clearly still trying to process that Mr. Whitman’s gone. “I know a place where no one will bother us. Larry’s. I could really use a drink right now, anyway.”

“Larry’s? You mean that skeevy bar at the edge of town? My dad and his deputies break up bar fights there nightly. Not to mention I’ve met Larry in town before and he kind of gives me the wiggins.”

“Do you have a better idea?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“I guess not.”

“Larry’s it is, then.”

Walking back up to the front counter, I hear the door chime as Parker exits the store. “I’m cutting out early, Joan. I thought work would be the best thing for me, but I think I’m just too overwhelmed right now to even think.”

“I completely understand, Dani. You don’t have to explain. See you Sunday?” she asks.

“Most likely,” I reply.