“You always say turn off your phone when you’re driving Momma,” he said.
“I know it. Has he called you?”
“No Momma.”
Jeff began banging on something under the Impala, banging away until whatever it was fell clattering to the concrete, and she didn’t speak again until the noise had ended.
“If he calls you,” she said, “will you tell him to call me, please?”
“Yes Momma.”
“I’m serious, Marky. I need to talk to him.”
“I know Momma I’ll tell him.”
2:15 AND HE didn’t call.
2:45 and he didn’t.
At 3:05 Mr. Wabash drove off in the wrecker and at 3:35 a white four-door pulled into the lot, and Marky watched through the windows in the bay doors as a girl got out of the car and walked toward the office, and he said, “Jeff.”
“What.”
“Customer in the office.”
“So go talk to him.”
“It’s a her Jeff.”
“So go talk to her, man, I’m kinda up to my elbows here.”
“OK Jeff.”
She was standing at the counter and when she saw him she smiled and he knew who she was—he’d seen her picture on the news, hers and her friend’s, after they went into the river. She was the old sheriff’s daughter and her name was Audrey and his heart began to pound again, and the girl looked at his chest, at his pounding heart and said, “Are you Marky Young?”
It was the name patch she looked at, that was all.
“Yes ma’am that’s me.”
“My name is Audrey Sutter,” she said and put out her hand for shaking, but there was a purple cast on it and he held up his own hand to show her the oil stains and she said, “I don’t care about that,” and she held the cast out and finally he took it and gave it a shake, and it felt funny in his hand.
“Yes ma’am I saw you on the news you and your friend Caroline,” he said, and he watched her face to see had he said it all right or would she make the face of not understanding and start looking around for someone else who could speak to her like a normal person. But she did not make the face.
“Yes,” she said. “That was me.”
“I was sorry about her,” he said, “I was sorry about Caroline.”
“Thank you, Marky.” She stood looking at him, her eyes so blue and so light, and finally he looked away, toward the parking lot beyond her, toward the white four-door in the sunlight.
“Two thousand five Ford Taurus,” he said, and she turned to look, and turned back again.
“Good call,” she said.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. Well, probably all kinds of things. But that’s not why I’m here.”
“You’re here about Danny,” he said, and she nodded.
“Your mother called you?” she said.
“Yes ma’am she called me a while ago.”
“And told you I talked to her?”
“No ma’am she didn’t say anything about you.”
The girl looked at him. Her eyes moving around his face like something was flying in front of it. Then she said, “Marky, I was hoping…” and stopped, and he waited while she got the words together in her head. “I guess I was hoping you might tell me where your brother went. If you knew where he was heading. I need to talk to him about something and I don’t have his number and your mother…”
He waited again.
“I don’t think your mother wants me to talk to him, not before she does anyway, and that’s fine, I understand that. But really, Marky, I just need to let him know that I need to talk to him, and then if he wants to talk to me, if he wants to hear what I have to say, then we can just go from there. I know how vague that all sounds but… Am I making any sense?”
“Yes ma’am but I don’t know where Danny is he didn’t say he just went.”
“So you talked to him—before he left?”
“He woke me up but it was just to say good-bye that’s all,” Marky said, and the girl stood watching him, and he saw suddenly how young she was—young like Katie Goss had been back then. Young like Holly Burke had been before she went into the river. Young like Danny and Jeff and himself and even Wyatt had been, before Holly Burke went into the river and nobody was the same anymore.
“And you don’t know where he was going?” the girl, Audrey, said, and Marky shook his head, and she stood watching him again. In that silence he heard the wrecker first, then looked beyond her again to see Mr. Wabash pulling into the lot towing a green Toyota Camry with a smashed front end. The girl looked too, then turned back to Marky.
“OK, well…” she said. And Marky said, “But he’s going to call me today and tell me and then I can tell him something if you want me to.”
“He’s going to call you today?”
“Yes just to say he’s OK.”
“That he’s OK?”
“Yes.”
There was the beeping of the wrecker backing up, and the girl turned again, and when she turned back she said, “Marky, you remember Sheriff Sutter, who was the sheriff ten years ago?”
“I remember Sheriff Sutter he went and got Danny at the cabin and then he let him go. I saw him on the news too.”
“You did?”
“Yes,” Marky said. “My poppa died when we were just little boys Danny and me.”
She looked at him with her blue eyes. “I’m so sorry, Marky.”
“He smoked too many cigarettes.”
“Yes. Mine did too.”
The beeping stopped and Mr. Wabash stepped out of the wrecker in his black jacket and began working the levers, lowering the Camry.
The girl was watching Marky. “Marky,” she said.
“Yes?”
“My dad let Danny go because he knew he didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Holly Burke.”
“Danny didn’t have nothing to do with that.”
“I know. That’s why I need to talk to him. I think I can help him.” She waited, like he was supposed to say something, but he didn’t know what to say. Finally she picked up a pen from the counter and began to write on one of the Wabash Auto notepads. “I’m writing my name and phone number,” she said. “Your mom already has it, on the machine, but I’m giving it to you too.”
Mr. Wabash was walking toward the office.
“All I’m asking is that you give it to Danny when he calls and tell him what I told you, about helping him. You don’t have any reason to trust me or believe me, but I hope you’ll just give Danny my name and number. Is that OK?”
“That’s OK,” Marky said, “I’ll give it to him when he calls,” and he stripped the paper from the pad and folded it once and tucked it into the breast pocket of his shirt just as the glass door swung open and Mr. Wabash walked in.
“Thank you, Marky,” the girl said.
“You’re welcome.”
Mr. Wabash stepped behind the counter. He gave Marky a look and turned to the girl. “Is there something I can help you with, miss?”
“No, thank you. I’m all set.”
“Something wrong with your car, there?”
“No, sir. I just came in to talk to Marky.”
“Talk to Marky.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What for?”
“Sorry?”
“What did you need to talk to my employee for?”
“I’m sorry—I think that’s between him and me.”
Mr. Wabash looked at her. He ran his finger over his mustache like a comb. “Then maybe you shouldn’t be talking to him on my time, hey?”
“Sir?”
“I pay my guys to work on cars, not stand around answering your questions. Like this boy could tell you anything anyhow.”
She looked at Marky and he saw that she felt bad that she’d come in, saw that she wanted to tell him how sorry she was to get him into trouble, and he wanted to tell her it was OK, but he couldn’t say anything as long as Mr. Wabash was standing there.