by Kasi Blake
* * *
“Jason here,” came his greeting as I headed toward Central Turnpike, and I found myself blushing for no reason at all. His voice sounded comforting and strong, like my thick, navy-blue robe I pulled around my shoulders when climbing out of bed on a wintry morning. It was a moment before I could answer.
“It … it’s Morgan.”
He gave a sound of surprised welcome. “Oh! It’s good to hear from you. How can I help you?”
“Did they find the bullet?” I blurted out.
There was a pause, and his voice was more careful when it came. “No, they did not,” he stated. “We have had good weather these past two days, but there is no trace of it anywhere.”
“And the M.E., is he sure it was the same kind of bullet that the hunter’s gun shot?”
This time I definitely heard the concern in his voice. “I really should not be discussing the details –”
“I was there,” I argued, my heart suddenly pounding, and I gave myself a shake, taking the left onto Central Turnpike, focusing on the road for a minute. My emotions were wild, untethered, like a five-year-old on a post-Halloween sugar high.
His voice was low and soothing. “I know you were.”
“I just … I feel like I need to know the truth.” I took in a deep breath, marshaling my thoughts. I could still see John’s eyes, glassy, staring up into the firmament as if caught by surprise. Overlaid were the images from my nightmares, of his eyes gazing into mine with serious attention, as if he were relying on me for something.
Jason’s voice came through my musings. “The M.E. has not issued his final report.”
“What do you think it will say?” For some reason hearing his answer was suddenly all-important to me.
I came to the four-way intersection by the burnt-out husk of the Blue Jay Restaurant. I had gone there, back when it was whole, a comfortable family-style place with friendly staff and down-home food on the menu. Then it was gone in a burst of flame and falling timbers, and years had passed while its rotting shell fell in on itself. Now only the foundation remained. The owners had given up on finding a suitable buyer for it and had at last agreed to sell it to the town.
Given up. A tragedy, a violent loss, and then people simply gave up.
Jason’s voice was cautious. “I don’t know if I should –”
“But I found him!” I shouted into the phone, as if that made all the difference in the world. “I am the one who came to him, and now he comes to me, and I have to make it right. Something happened out there, and I don’t know what, and it feels like –”
The road dipped down toward the soccer fields, there was a clicking in my ear, and the phone went dead.
I swore in fury, knowing my emotions were wildly out of kilter and not caring in the least. I flung the phone down onto the passenger seat, speeding up to get through the dead zone. In the past it had merely baffled me. How could Sutton set up kids’ soccer fields - a full-contact sport if ever there was one - in a location where cell phones died like mayflies on a summer evening? Now the silent stretch of space edged me to a roiling boil.
I was back up the other side of the hill approaching 146 when my phone rang to life. I grabbed it.
Jason’s voice crackled with worry. “Morgan! Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes,” I half-growled. “Just the cell phone company trying to teach me lessons in patience.”
Jason’s voice eased into relief. “That’s good,” he breathed.
I drew my lips into a line, letting out a sigh. Jason had been kind to me; he did not deserve to be in the path of my lava flow. “Anyway, I’m sorry for –”
“No apologies needed,” demurred Jason, his voice brooking no argument. “And you are right. You found him. You deserve to know what’s going on. I will let you know as soon as I hear from the M.E.”
A ripple moved through my heart, and I hadn’t realized how tense my shoulders were until the knots loosened even slightly. “Thank you.”
I let out a breath. “I should be going. I appreciate your …” I paused, and my cheeks flushed. “Your being patient with me.”
“Any time.”
For some reason I had the sense that he meant it.
