* * *

Went to store. Back at 10. Was what the note said. I had been feeling much better after a good night’s sleep, but now this. Uncle Gerry just shrugged when he saw it and returned to the screaming pages of his morning newspaper.

  “Why would she go to the store this early?” I asked, suspicious from the start.

  “She probably knew we needed milk and bread.” He glanced up at me from under his square, lawyer-like spectacles and raised his brow at me. “What makes you so motherish this morning?”

I looked away, not wanting to seem over-protective or jealous of Madelene. I didn’t trust her or her friends, or even her brother now, but I didn’t want Marti’s dad thinking I was some immature shadow of Marti’s. I couldn’t tell him about the party, and how weird Marti had acted last night.

  “No reason.” I fumbled with the corner of page 431 in my book, wishing he’d stop staring me down like that. Uncle Gerry had never specifically told me what he did for a living, and Marti never mentioned it, but I always suspected that it was something involving interrogation. No one could survive for long under that dark brown and critical gaze.

I sipped my coffee and added a dash of cream. I could feel his stare sink into my bent forehead searching for the truth.

  “Is something wrong with Marti?”

I looked up again, surprised. He suddenly looked worried too, which unnerved me to a whole new level. I’d never seen Uncle Gerry worried.

All of a sudden my throat went dry and my hands clammed up, and all I could think about was Marti.

  Uncle Gerry put down his paper as I reached for my cell.

I saw his face and remembered the last time I’d seen it that way. I’d only been eleven, but I remembered it like yesterday. Uncle Gerry was remembering too.

I dialed.

It rang.

It rang again.

And again.

Uncle Gerry stood up.

“Hi you’ve reached Marti’s cell. Leave a message… IF YOU DARE!” I could hear my own laughter in the background as Marti’s voice shrieked the last few words. The computer voice came on, giving me instructions I had no time for.

At the tone, record your message or press one for more options. To leave a call-back number press five.

Would that idiotic voice never shut up?

Beep.
At last.

“Hi Marti, it’s Meg. Call back as soon as you get this, ok?” I licked my lips and hung up. But I couldn’t let it go.

I dialed again.

And again, it rang.

“Shhhh.” Uncle Gerry whispered. He tilted his head and we listened. I hear Marti’s muffled ringer echoing distantly from down the hall.