The Release of Secrets_Littlest Sparrow Gone

by Megan Maguire

  “Be back to pick you up in two hours. Tell Joss … um … tell her I…”

  “I’ll tell her to just deal with it.”

  twenty-four

  “Hold on, Olls. Let me get Granddad’s letters.”

  I gather the letters from the coffee table next to the fireplace and follow Ollie into the kitchen. He sets a paw on the cabinet where I keep his food.

  “Not now.”

  He attempts to pry it open with his nose.

  “You had dinner at six, remember?” His ears perk up. His tongue rolls out in excitement. From the day I brought him home, he’s been killing me with cuteness.

  I set the letters on the counter, spotting my granddad’s handwriting on the back of the last one I read. It’s a P.S. I didn’t notice before. Ollie paws my leg, but selfishly, I make him wait.

  Grady, before I forget, you have that set of keys I gave you to the back door of the lodge? You never dropped by when Carol and I lived there. Always welcome, but never took me up on my offers. Now you’re a decade too late, my friend. Time to toss them.

  Tom asked if I’d handed any out to our friends, said he’s thinking about changing the lock. Why, Grady? My son thinks my friends are criminals? That I hang out with a bunch of hooligans? I told him not to touch that door. Keep Eli’s door intact.

  Back to the point, remind me to give you a new set for our mobile home, just in case we wake up one morning surrounded by gators. Carol’s still troubled by Annie Merchant’s horrible death down in Florida. Don’t laugh, Grady. It’s up to you to come and save us if the gators come. We’re counting on you. And don’t get any crazy ideas in your head about making a gator skeleton to leave in our yard, like the headless elves you left on our roof last Christmas. Some things just aren’t funny. No gators. You hear me?

  “Headless elves?” Ollie cocks his head. “Granddad kept the best secrets. I swear Olls, his letters shed light on Connor’s stash and the nature boxes, Grady’s bones, Virginia, and that the treasure hunt was to find Eli. Now the two nickel-plated keys and the headless boy. All answered thanks to Granddad Felix. Isn’t it bittersweet?”

  He lets out a whimper while pawing at the cabinet.

  “Whine at the front door when you need out to go potty, not at the food door for snacks.”

  He barks and paces in the hallway with a slow tail wag.

  “All right, if you’re not going to listen.” I pour a cup of food into his stainless-steel bowl, licked shiny clean from his last snack. “Chew it, Olls. Chew it.” He takes pleasure in a back scratch and a pat on his rump. “You want to chill out to some relaxing music?” I head to the living room, suffering an ultimate mega-blast to my ears when I turn on the sound system. “Remember to turn it down next time, bud,” I tease. The lowered music crosses the singing of a phantom door chime.

  Was that the music or the front door? Ollie has no visible reaction. Though, he should’ve. He should’ve reacted if it was the front door chime.

  “Hello?” I step into the hallway and listen. Check my cell. Eleven. Time to close for the night. I put my cell away and watch the light stream in from under the lobby door. No shadows. No movement. No one.

  Ding.

  Someone.

  Ollie lifts his head, has a hard decision to make. Eat or greet a guest.

  Ding-ding.

  He sticks his snout back in the bowl.

  Ding-ding-ding.

  Food wins.

  I start to move, but my chest cramps. I picture my feet trapped in concrete blocks. My mouth taped shut. Murmuring ensues on the opposite side of the door until the chime goes off again. Then. Silence falls.

  I keep my ears open. It’s times like this I wish I had a gun. My ex had a cabinet full … I just need one. One as I touch the door that leads to the lobby. One as I grip the cold handle. One as I swing it open to discover an empty room. I scan the lobby, the stairs, the balcony.

  I’m alone.

  No one is in view out the front window. No car within the circle of the porch light. But boot prints lead to the door and back out. Mine, Nate’s, Jim’s, I’m unable to tell them apart or if any are new. I turn the deadbolt and step back.

  “Virginia? You here?”

  The ringing in my ears steals the sound of silence. Without a fire, without any guests, without music or Joss, the lodge is too quiet, too ominous, and damn unsettling.

  I scan the room. Darkness taunts me. If Virginia’s here, she’s uncomfortably close, her eyes staring into mine, her compressed lips smiling. I blink to focus on the shadowy corners, see motion that isn’t there … a blur out the corner of my eye.

  There’s something behind the sitting room doors.

  I think curtains move.

  A creak.

  “Hello?”

  No one.

  Anxiety is like snow. Suffocating. Pervasive. My muscles constrict as my body turns cold. My arms and legs tingle with a numbing sensation. To be swallowed in anxiety is to inch closer to the edge of a cliff, the landscape a muddled haze below. Fear settles in soon after. Every minuscule sound magnified, every heartbeat felt. Not a drop of saliva remains in my mouth. I don’t remember walking behind the reception desk, checking the computer to see if I’d missed any reservations. Dissociation. I’m focused on dead air instead of business.

  Ollie’s paw tapping the lobby door pulls my wandering mind back to the present.

  “Just a sec, Olls.”

  He howls impatiently.

  “Okay, okay.”

  Ding.

  I jerk my head to the top of the desk. The bronze bell vibrates.

  “You won,” a child’s voice says from below.

  Tiny fingers hook the ledge, a tuft of midnight hair sprouts out of the darkness. A boy. The boy. The boy from the photos pulls himself up. He leans forward and balances his belly on the desk, his eyes the color of silverfish. In his hand is one of the sparrow keys, the leather cord circling his wrist.

  “You found me. You won.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

  “It’s your turn to hide.”

  I have no particular destination when I sprint out of the room. Air doesn’t come to me. Like a nightmare, I can’t scream, I just run. Go, Salem, go! My legs become jelly then take on weight. Go, Salem, go! I hustle down the hallway past Ollie, turn and hustle back.

  Slam the door to the lobby.

  Lock the door to the lobby.

  Never want to go back into the lobby.

  Ding.

  “Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!” My cell shakes in my hand. “Pick up. Pleeease, pick up.” Nate’s cell goes to voicemail.

  Ding-ding. “You found me. Come out and play.”

  “Pick up, Joss … Joss?”

  “What?” She’s short with me, angry still.

  “He’s here! Eli’s here. I swear to God. You gotta help me. I swear to you. He’s here!”

  “Salem … I’m fucking tired of this.”

  “HE’S HERE!” I stomp.

  She sighs. “What does he look like this time?”

  “He’s little. He’s four.”

  She hangs up.

  “Dammit.” I call Nate back. No answer.

  The chair from behind the reception desk drags across the hardwood floor, making a painful screech. The front door’s deadbolt is unlatched and the door opens. Heavy boots tread inside.

  “Ahem.” A suitcase drops.

  Ding.

  “I want to do it,” the boy says.

  Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding.

  “She found me and now she’s hiding.”

  Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding.

  “Anyone here?” A male voice that sounds like a warm, low-pitched cello burrows into my heart. Even in the night, if I were sound asleep, I’d wake and instantly recognize it.

  “Hello?”

  I make a choking sound as if I’ve been punched in the gut. “Connor,” I whisper. “That’s yo
ur voice.”

  “Where’d you get that cord on your wrist?” the man asks.

  “Over there.”

  “Put it back. It’s not yours.”

  Connor’s voice sounded just like that when he was older, low and masculine, but gentle, the sharp contrast of a grizzly bear to a lullaby. I open the door a crack and see the boy putting the key on the hook behind the desk. It dangles and clangs alongside the other two, tinkly as sleigh bells.

  A man with messy, black hair looks up when he hears me.

  “Hi.” He smiles, unzipping a down vest.

  “Hi,” the boy echoes, unzipping a blue puffer coat. “I see you. I found you. My turn to hide.”

  “We’re not playing hide-and-seek right now.” The man lifts the boy and puts his bottom on the desk. He licks a finger and cleans food off the side of the boy’s mouth. Same as my mom did when we were little. I open the door wider. His high cheekbones and thin, pointy nose match his tall and slim frame.

  They stare at me. Twin smiles grow. Their matching haircuts—tousled top and short sides—are striking, but it’s the icy-gray eyes and thick eyebrows that make every Whitfield stand out in a crowd.

  “I’m looking for my mother,” the man says. “Virginia Pullman. Is she here?”

  twenty-five

  Stay calm. Remember to breathe. Put the jumbled cartwheel of thoughts in order before sunlight comes through the front windows.

  Under the glare of Nate’s watchful eyes, I glance up at the quiet balcony and back down at my stirring feet. “I’m worried about you, Salem,” was what he said all night, and has continued to say into the morning hours. “He’s here,” has been my response.

  Nate reclines in one of the chairs next to the fire, lifting a fleece blanket for me to come back to him, back to the spot where I’ve stayed all night, the spot where I can keep the balcony under surveillance.

  “Please,” he says.

  But I don’t come.

  “She’s lost her mind,” Joss grumbles, her spicy temper rising with each step down the stairs. This is how she barged in last night, going up to her room without asking for an explanation. Livid. Cold. Hurt. “You’ve never left me stranded before. We had to walk two miles from the bar last night. Two miles! What the hell’s wrong with you? We couldn’t catch a ride because everyone at the bar was drunk. And I’m not getting in a car with a drunk.” She waves a hand in front of my face. “Hello?” She turns to Nate. “Has she moved since last night?”

  “She slept next to me in the chair, but not well. She insists Eli’s here.”

  “And supposedly he’s still four,” she says.

  “The boy is about four,” I argue.

  “And you gave a four-your-old a room?”

  “A man. A man came in looking for Virginia Pullman,” I say to them. “He got a room for the night. He’s up there. He’s here.”

  “So this man is Eli, but you didn’t say anything to him?”

  “He didn’t recognize me.”

  She laughs. “Of course he didn’t because it’s NOT him.”

  “I think it is.”

  “You think? And you thought the boy was him. And now they’re here, up there, but you’ve done nothing?”

  “What was I supposed to do?” I look her square in the eye. “Run up to him and say, Eli, Eli, it’s you! This isn’t a movie, Joss. I was completely tongue-tied.”

  She stands in front of me and cradles my cheeks. “Did you hit your head or are you on drugs?” She shakes me by my shoulders. “Are you in there?”

  “Stop it.” I push her hands away. “Don’t give me that condescending look, like I’m lying.”

  “Not lying, spinning tales.”

  “I’m not. His license says he’s twenty-five. He’s the spitting image of Connor and my dad. And his son looks exactly like Eli did when he was four.”

  “You say that about every guy and little boy you see. You’ve been doing this forever to get attention, admit it.”

  “What? Of all things, Joss.”

  “It’s true. Since the day we met, I knew you were like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Broken.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Quit it. You’re the worst of all of us. Even worse than Brad.”

  “That’s not true. I’m not entirely broken.”

  “Okay, if it will make you feel better, you’re only half-broken, babe. How’s that?”

  “Like I give a shit.”

  “You do. Giving a shit is what’s in your head morning, noon, and night. And still, you live in the past. Good for you, that’s great, but not great for me. I can’t do this anymore. Not until you move on,” she lashes out.

  “Hey, you don’t see me with my boobs slipping out of my shirt or peeing my pants and rolling in the snow. Move on? Who’s still stuck in the past acting like kids? Not me,” I hit back. “Talk about broken. You move on. I don’t need attention like everyone else.”

  “You need far more attention than the rest of us.”

  “Decompress, you two,” Nate cuts in.

  Joss throws him a look to stay out of it. “Whatever.” She flips her hair in confidence that she’s better than him. “I’m not putting you down, Salem. Your far-out stories are fun sometimes, but not when you leave us two miles away at the bar!”

  “This isn’t a story. This is my life! There’s a car out front on the other side of my Cherokee. Go look.” I point at the door and suck in a hot breath.

  “You’re ridiculous. You have a hunk sitting here who you probably didn’t even fuck last night. Face it. You don’t want to be happy. You’ll do everything possible to ruin a relationship because you’re afraid. Afraid of being abandoned, and afraid everyone’s gonna leave or get taken away from you. There’s no car out there.” She points. “I promise you that.”

  “Not true.”

  “It is true. You’re addicted to chaos because it’s all you’ve ever known. When life is good, you have to make some shit up and turn everything upside down. It’s the only way you know how to deal.” She puts her hands on her hips. “It’s better to push everyone away and stay holed up in your lodge than to have a good time with your friends for three freakin’ hours at a bar!”

  “That’s not true.”

  “I’m still here,” Nate says. “Salem and I are cool. We don’t have to fuck every night.”

  “See Joss, that’s what you don’t understand.” I puff my bangs away from my eyes, an alarming heat rising in my cheeks. “Real relationships aren’t based on spreading your legs. Nate and I talked all night. You know anything about that? When you can get close to a guy by talking, not by opening your vagina?”

  “I’ve been close to guys with my mouth.”

  “I’m sure.” I smirk.

  “Shut up, Salem.”

  “Don’t you have to go to work or something?” I ask.

  She turns a cold shoulder and crosses her arms.

  “Salem, you need to stuff a sock in it,” Jim calls down from the balcony. “Joss isn’t going to work. She got fired for taking off to help you out. That’s a good friend, so stop treating her like cow cud.”

  “She called in sick to spend time with you, not me.”

  “Excuse me?” Joss spins to face me. “What did you just say?”

  A door opens behind Jim. A blurry shape runs alongside the railing. I bite my inner lip, nipping at a piece of torn skin with my teeth. He’s coming. There’s the little one. Little Eli. He’s here.

  Joss gasps. “Who the fuck is that?” Her eyes grow to the size of the lake.

  The boy sprints down to the lobby in blue jeans and a bulky red sweater, holding a stuffed frog. “You swore,” he says to her. He kisses the frog’s head and holds him up to me. “He needs juice.”

  “That’s not how you ask.” A voice tumbles over the balcony. We look up, and Joss drops to her knees.

  “Dear Lord, what’s happening?
” she says.

  “Told you.” My smugness flattens her skepticism.

  “Can he have juice, please?” The boy asks, twisting back and forth. “He likes orange and apple. No pineapple. It makes him fart.” He looks up for approval and gets two thumbs up from the man on the balcony.

  I smile. “Orange. I have orange juice.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “What gives?” Jim says. “I thought this was a lodge. Since when do you give out anything besides cold tea and weak coffee? What do I have to do to get some juice around here?”

  “Time for you put a sock in it,” Nate says. He gets up and tells me to stay in the lobby, says he’ll get the juice.

  “Thanks,” I say softly.

  Joss greets the truth with desperate questions. “What’s your name? How old are you? Where’d you come from?”

  “Don’t scare him,” I whisper.

  “I’m three,” he says.

  “And very cute,” I add.

  “Is Nana here?”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure where.”

  “If you find her, she’ll give you a present. She gave me jelly beans last week.”

  “Finn, strangers don’t play Nana’s games with us.” The boy looks up at his dad, swinging his frog in rapid motion like a windmill.

  Strangers. Games. Finn. The maddening in my mind won’t allow me to fill in the blank spaces. The man walking down the stairs has to be Eli. He can’t be another Whitfield. The possibility of my dad or granddad sleeping with Virginia seems slim. They’d never … it’s not another Whitfield, not Eli’s age, not with his face.

  This is Eli.

  “Morning,” he says.

  He checked in as Ethan Pullman, age twenty-five, from Burlington, Vermont.

  “Good morning,” I say, because what else can I say? I’m your sister. Someone abducted you the summer you turned four. Welcome home!

  “This is Finn,” he says. The little boy blushes and hides his face behind his stuffed frog. “Trust me, he’s not shy.”

  “Hi!” Finn says with a contagious smile, his arms thrown high.

  Joss stands and slowly twists to face me. “Do something,” she says through her teeth.