Chapter 6 - My Father Took The Call
My mother answered on the first ring.
“Emma?”
“Did Ava call Dad after she disappeared?”
Silence.
The service alley smelled like detergent and rain.
I leaned against the brick wall.
“Mom.”
“Where are you?”
“Answer.”
Her voice changed.
“Who told you?”
“Mason.”
“Oh, God.”
Not denial.
I closed my eyes.
“You knew.”
“No.”
That came fast.
“I knew about a call.”
“Same sentence.”
“No.”
Claire Carter had spent five years learning how to speak carefully about Ava.
I had never noticed because I spoke the same way.
“What call?”
“Your father said somebody called pretending to be her.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“A few months after she disappeared.”
“What did he say happened?”
“He said the woman asked about some belongings.”
“Her bag.”
“I didn't know.”
“You didn't ask?”
“Of course I asked.”
Mom's voice sharpened.
“He said police warned families about hoax calls.”
“Did police?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you hear the caller?”
“No.”
“Did Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Did he believe it was Ava?”
“He said no.”
Mason said otherwise.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“Dad told Mason it was Ava.”
Silence.
Then something fell in her kitchen.
Metal.
Probably a spoon.
Ordinary sound.
I suddenly pictured my childhood house.
Dad standing by the counter.
Phone pressed to his ear.
Ava alive somewhere.
“What did he do with her training bag?”
“I don't know.”
“He brought it home.”
“No.”
“Did you see it?”
“No.”
“Her wallet?”
“No.”
“Phone?”
“No.”
Claire's breathing changed.
“Emma.”
“What?”
“There was a phone.”
My pulse spiked.
“When?”
“After Daniel died.”
Dad had died two years after Ava vanished.
Stroke.
Fast.
We went through his things together.
Or I thought we had.
“Where?”
“Garage.”
“What phone?”
“Old cracked one. I assumed it was his.”
“Did you turn it on?”
“No charger.”
“What happened to it?”
Mom was quiet.
“Your uncle cleared the garage.”
My jaw tightened.
“Do you still have boxes?”
“Yes.”
“Don't touch anything.”
“Emma—”
“Please.”
She stopped.
“Okay.”
I ended the call.
Mason stood ten feet away.
“What?”
“Dad told Mom the call was fake.”
His face changed.
“He didn't tell me that.”
“Of course not.”
Walter had been silent.
Then:
“Nora.”
I looked at him.
“If Ava called Daniel because she wanted her bag back, Nora may know what happened next.”
“Where is she?”
Walter hesitated.
I nearly laughed.
“Seriously?”
“I haven't spoken to her in four years.”
“Number.”
“I don't know if it's current.”
“Give it to me.”
He did.
I called.
Disconnected.
Mason said:
“She used to work at a legal clinic.”
Walter looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“She came back once.”
Another layer.
“When?”
I asked.
Mason looked uncomfortable.
“About eight months after Ava disappeared.”
“Why?”
“To talk to Walter.”
Walter stared at him.
“She never spoke to me.”
“I know.”
“What happened?”
Mason was alone at the dojo when Nora arrived.
She asked whether Daniel still came around.
Mason said no.
Then she asked something stranger:
“Does Emma still train?”
I stared.
“What did you say?”
“That you quit after Ava disappeared.”
True.
I had.
I couldn't enter a gym without thinking of posters.
“And?”
“Nora left.”
“Did she mention Ava?”
“No.”
“Did you ask?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Mason took time.
“That Ava was alive the last time she saw her.”
My throat tightened.
“When was that?”
“She wouldn't tell me.”
“So eight months after the disappearance, Nora knew Ava had been alive recently.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told police.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought Nora was protecting her.”
“You were right.”
“That doesn't make me right.”
Good.
Walter sat on the concrete step.
He looked suddenly older.
“I spent five years thinking the service door was the last mistake.”
I stared.
“What does that mean?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I knew Ava left with Nora.”
“What?”
Mason looked at him too.
Walter continued:
“I didn't see the car. But Nora had arranged to come.”
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You told police Ava left alone.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Ava had asked me not to tell her father anything.”
“Police are not her father.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I blurred the two because telling police meant police telling Daniel.”
I was too angry to speak.
Walter continued:
“I thought I was protecting one night of distance.”
“Then?”
“The next day became harder to explain.”
A week.
A month.
Five years.
Everybody in this story seemed to understand how time worked only after enough of it had passed.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message.
STOP CALLING NORA’S OLD NUMBER.
I stared.
Then another.
SHE DOESN’T USE IT ANYMORE.
My hands started shaking.
I typed:
WHO IS THIS?
Three dots appeared.
Then vanished.
A final message arrived.
ASK WALTER WHY AVA WROTE YOUR NAME UNDER THE STAIRS.
I looked through the open service door.
May you like
Walter was already watching my face.
Whatever he saw there frightened him.
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