Bette snatched up the receiver and punched in the phone number.
After three rings, the answering machine picked up.
“Hi, you’ve reached the phone of Weston Meeks. I’m currently unavailable. Please leave your name and phone number and I’ll call you at my earliest convenience.”
“Weston, this is Bette Childs, Crystal’s sister. Crystal is missing. I need you to call me as soon as possible at 517-676-4037.”
She hung up.
“Let’s go back to your house and send Mr. Meeks an email at the University,” her dad said.
Weston Meeks didn’t call back until the following evening.
“Bette, this is Wes calling. I just got back into town and listened to your message. Have you found her?” he sounded agitated, scared even.
“She’s not with you?” Bette demanded, planting a hand on the wall as a dizzying sense of falling coursed through her. “When’s the last time you saw her?”
“On Wednesday,” Weston admitted. “I haven’t seen her since then. I had to go back to Traverse City to teach on Thursday and then I got sick.”
Homer stopped next to Bette and held out his hand.
She gave him the phone.
“Weston Meeks?” Homer asked in his usual dry tone. “This is Crystal’s father, Homer. Bette and I would like to speak to you in person. Can you meet us in one hour?”
No answer. Finally, the voice returned.
“Sure, yeah.”
“We’ll meet you at Captain Mike’s in Old Town. In one hour, which is,” Homer lifted his wrist and gazed at his watch, “six-seventeen.”
He hung up the phone and looked at Bette, his forehead wrinkled with worry.
7
Then
Crystal parked her VW bug and climbed out.
Thick gray clouds muted the light of the day. A thin drizzle fell, and she tilted her face up, allowing the rain to wet her cheeks. It had been an unseasonably warm few days in Michigan, and much of the snow, piling in drifts since January, had melted. As March came to a close, she imagined the spring. The return of green, of flowers and sunny skies.
The Crow Thieves were doing an unplugged show at a coffee-shop pub combined that served the best Aztec hot chocolate, something she had first discovered in California and been delighted to find in Michigan.
As she hurried down the alley and into the parking lot behind the pub, she spotted a familiar figure jogging from the other direction.
Weston Meeks.
He didn’t notice her.
She slowed, watching him.
He wore ripped jeans and an itchy-looking wool sweater. He’d tied his shoulder-length hair back. His beard and mustache looked recently trimmed.
Weston stopped at the door and pulled the handle. It didn’t open. He leaned in, reading a white sign plastered to the glass.
Crystal started walking again.
He looked up, surprised as she approached.
“Hi.” He grinned.
“Hi,” she laughed. “Small world.”
“Are you here to see the Crow Thieves?”
She nodded.
“Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but they canceled the show because of a power outage in the building.” He tapped on the door where the taped sign hung.
“Bummer,” she admitted as a crack of thunder split the sky and stole her comment.
As if summoned by the thunder, the drizzle turned into a downpour.
“Whoa,” Weston yelled, but she barely heard him as rain pelted the street and buildings around them.
In seconds they were both soaked.
Crystal regretted the too-thin jacket she’d chosen based on the warmer temperatures as the cold rain saturated it and the shirt beneath.
Weston cupped a hand over his eyes.
“I walked from campus,” he yelled.
“I’m parked over there,” she shouted back. “I’ll give you a ride.”
They ran through the rain thundering onto the pavement. It hit the hard surface and splashed up, soaking their shoes and pant legs.
When they reached Crystal’s car, she grabbed the door handle and yanked. The door didn’t open.
“Oh shit,” she whispered, leaning close and spotting her keys still dangling from the ignition.
Weston had wrenched up his sweater to create a small and ineffective cover for his head.
He recognized the look on her face and laughed.
“Locked out?” he yelled.
She nodded.
“My office is two blocks that way.” He pointed towards the Michigan State University campus. “Let’s make a run for it.”
He offered his hand, and she grabbed it, not thinking about the stares if anyone spotted a professor and student running hand in hand through the wet grounds. Who would see them anyway? The street was empty; the campus deserted at five o’clock on a Sunday afternoon.
As they ran, Crystal’s hands slid inside Weston’s. It was a raw, exhilarating sensation. The wetness threatened to separate them, but she held on, refusing to let her fingers slip from his.
He ran up the cement steps to the huge brick building that served as the offices for most of the English staff at MSU.
They pushed through the door, and as it closed behind them, the roar of the storm died.
Inside, the long, high-ceilinged corridor was dim and quiet. Only a single lamp illuminated the hall.
“I’m on the second floor,” Wes explained, heading toward a wide staircase with a bit of threadbare carpet running down the center.
They still held hands, and the electric buzzing between their palms seemed to intensify in the hushed space of the building’s interior.
She swallowed the lump of nervous excitement lodged in her throat.
When they reached a door in the second-floor hallway, he pulled his hand from hers, reaching into his pocket for a keyring.
She held her hand in the air for a moment longer, the space where his had been empty and cold.
“Come on in,” he told her, pushing into the office, and laughed. “Welcome to my cave.”
The space was small, made smaller by the bookshelves on either wall crammed with books and binders. A desk sat in the back of the little office, a brown leather chair behind it. Much of the desk’s surface was consumed by a large desktop computer. A leather couch faced the desk. Behind the chair, a window looked over the sodden campus.
“I’ve got a space heater,” he told her, reaching behind his desk and pulling out a small black box.
He plugged it in and set it on top of his desk, directing the blasts of warm air towards Crystal.
“Mmm, that’s perfect. Thank you,” she said, shivering.
She hadn’t noticed the cold until he took his hand from hers. Now her teeth chattered, and her wet clothes felt like ice blankets draped over her goose-pimpled flesh.
He wheeled his chair from behind his desk, placing it near the corner of the couch.
“I think I have…” he mumbled, digging around in a duffel bag in the room’s corner, “…extra shirts!” He held up two MSU Spartans sweatshirts. “They give these to the staff as Christmas gifts every year. I don’t even take them home anymore. I just drop them at the thrift store or give them to students.”
“Thank you,” she told him, pulling her coat away from her skin and fanning it in front of the heater.
“There’s a bathroom down the hall,” he told her, watching as she peeled off her soaked jacket. “Or I can just turn around.”
She saw the blush rising up his neck. Her own blood coursed hot and close to the surface of her skin.