Chapter 23
The bad thing about FaceTiming your boyfriend at one o’clock in the morning is that with the lights off, you look like a raccoon.
It took a while to calm down after Dr Davis left, but I finally convinced my parents that I was fine and perfectly comfortable sleeping by myself. Believe me, this was what I wanted more than anything while I was stuck in that cave. Mom and Dad follow me in, though, to make sure I’m tucked in good and tight.
As soon as they leave, I slide out of bed, tippy-toeing toward my desk to grab my laptop. Some floorboards are a little creaky, but there’s a certain zigzag of a path where if I’m careful, I can make it there and back without alerting anyone in the house. The glow of the computer is bright against the darkened room, so I slip it under my covers and call Stuart.
On the fourth ring, he finally picks up. “Darcie! I’ve been waiting for hours.” He presses his thumb into his temple, like he’s rebooting his brain.
“Obviously. You must have been sitting on top of the computer. It only took four rings.” I hide my smile behind my hand.
“I must have dozed off. What took you so long? I—” A yawn hijacks his words before he can finish them.
“We had a visitor—”
He blinks, then suddenly sits up straighter. “Oh—wait. No. I actually found something.”
“What kind of something?” I push the blanket off my face.
“I got a look at his file.” He winces when my eyes widen. “What? The nurse had it open and stepped away when I asked for some ice for my grandfather.”
I cover my face with both hands. “Stuart! I always thought you were such a rule-follower.”
He laughs. “Look, if we’re going to help Grover, we can’t be picky about how.” He drags a hand through his hair, and it stands straight up.
And I was worried about how I looked. “And?”
“And Grover isn’t even his name.” He reaches for a paper, nearly knocking something over. “Hold on—can you see this?” He holds it up too close to the camera.
“Nope. Blurry. Wait—how’d you get a copy of it?”
“I took pictures. You know, with my phone, like Enola Holmes.” He pulls the page back. “William. His name is William Glenn Daniels.”
“William?” I rub the back of my neck. “Why does he go by Grover?”
“Right? That’s what I said.”
“Maybe it’s a nickname thing.” I add.
“Maybe. But listen—this is where it gets weird.” His voice drops a little. “There was no next of kin listed.”
“None?” I sit up. “What about his adoptive family?”
“Nope.”
“Hmmm.”
“That’s all you have to say? Hmmm?” He glares at me.
“Sorry. But did you hear me say we had a visitor?” The blanket sags in front of my face, and I throw off the covers. “Amelia’s dad stopped by tonight.”
“Why?”
“He wanted to ask about Grover. He’s convinced Grover’s real target was Amelia.”
His back straightens. “There is a connection!”
“Apparently, but not really to Amelia. To her mom.”
He leans in, “What kind of connection?”
I shrug, “Dunno. But they grew up together. I guess they went to school together or something.”
“This changes everything,” he says. “You know that.”
Suddenly, the floorboards in the hallway groan and I hold my finger to my lips. My parent’s hushed voices are right outside my door. “Gotta go.” Closing my laptop, I slide it under my pillow and pull the covers up to my chin just as the door cracks open. “I’m awake.” I scoot over so Mom can sit.
She runs her hand over my head, gliding her thumb across my forehead. “Can’t sleep?”
“No. I’m okay. It feels good to be home. It’s just—I’m trying to sort out everything—Grover, Amelia. And if she doesn’t tell the truth, will people even believe me?”
The ticking of my bedside clock echoes in the silence as Mom strokes my face, and even though I’m really too old for this, I let her, and soon I fall asleep for real.
I sleep deeper than I have in days. The ticking follows me into my dreams—until it fades into the sharp sizzle of bacon that has me smiling before I even open my eyes.
There’s something about sleeping in your own bed that makes everything better. I fling the covers aside and slide off the bed. The popping of the grease is the only sound in the house as I make my way down the stairs. “Morning.”
Dad stands at the stove dressed in his typical ranger garb and apron. “I knew the bacon would raise my hibernating bear cub. You want eggs or pancakes?”
The memory of our family breakfast with the bear-shaped pancakes hovers in my mind. “Eggs, please. You know what I like.” I slide into a chair at the breakfast table. “Where’s everyone else?” I ask, yawning and stretching out my arms.
“Mom had an early class. She took Andrew with her—not ready to let you two get too far away.”
“Yeah.” I lower my head. “I’m sorry I did that to her—to you.”
“Enough of that talk. You are Ozzie the Great, and we love you no matter what.” He splits a piece of bacon with me. “Umm.”
“Am I going to school today?” I say, savoring the salty goodness.
“School day’s half over. It’s already noon.”
“Noon? You actually let me sleep till noon?”
He shrugs just as the doorbell rings. “Oh. Yeah. Stuart’s on his way. That might be him.”
“Stuart? I’ll be right back.” I bolt up the stairs, two at a time, running into the bathroom and slamming the door. What is Stuart doing here? Why isn’t he at school?
The image in the mirror is actually not that bad. My hair curls around my face now instead of puffing out everywhere, though the shaved spot by the stitches definitely isn’t cute. Still, the short hair kind of works. And without the broken glasses, I look…different. Not gorgeous or anything. Just less awkward. Maybe I’ll try contacts. I splash cold water on my face, then change into jeans and finally settle on a sweatshirt that says, “Home is Where the Bears Are.”
I bounce down the stairs expecting Stuart to be standing there waiting for me, but he’s in the kitchen with Dad, pouring orange juice and working the toaster and talking about the paparazzi hanging out by the street.
“Hey.” I slip in beside him. Maybe I should have brushed my teeth. “They’re out there again?”
“Hey,” he smiles. “Love the sweatshirt. And yeah. I had to fight my way through the cameras and microphones. I didn’t say a word. Just kept my head down and jogged toward the door.”
“Sorry about that. Why aren’t you at school?”
He shifts his eyes to Dad. “Uh...”
Dad holds up both hands. “I don’t want to know. I’m officially not listening to your conversation.” He switches on the radio and flips the eggs.
“We’ve got work to do.”
“We do?”
“Every minute we’re standing here is a minute we’re not helping Grover.”
Dad piles our plates full and hands them to us. Stuart adds some toast, and we sit side by side at the table.
“I’ve got some work to do out back. That is, if those varmints will leave me alone.” Dad says, running water in the pan and setting it in the sink. “You two go ahead.” He ruffles my hair as he passes and exits through the sliding door.
“Those reporters are really stressing him out. All of us, really.”
Our forks scrape across our plates as we sit in silence. Then, taking a bite, I ask, “What about our civics class?”
Stuart leans closer, lowering his voice even though Dad’s outside. “Wait—what are you thinking?”
“I don’t know. Public pressure—we’re the public, right?”
The loud hum of the chainsaw outside makes us pick up our plates and move to the living room.
“Public pressure? Like protests?” He stuffs an entire strip of meat into his mouth, talking with his mouth full.
“Exactly. Or petitions. Or just…getting people to care.” My hands shake a little. “Everybody’s already obsessed with the Shadow Man—I mean, it won’t take much to get their attention.” The chainsaw stops, so I lower my voice. “The only thing is…Amelia.” I hesitate. “She’s not telling the truth. About any of it.”
He swipes at the air, “Forget about her. I told Ms. Kendrick about it already.” He holds my gaze. “She believes it.”
“She does?” I swallow.
He grins. “In fact, we can give our presentation on Friday—if you’re ready. That’s why I skipped school today.”
Egg yolk pools on my plate, and I run my toast through it. “We need to change it, though.” I pop the entire thing into my mouth. “The whole Shadow Man presentation—it’s all wrong. If we keep calling him that, nobody’s gonna listen. He’s not some creepy guy in the woods. He’s just…a guy. And his mom…everything that happened to them is so messed up. We need to add that in."
After we finish eating, we carry our plates to the kitchen and load the dishwasher. Then we lay out our project board. The dining room table quickly fills with papers and pictures.
“What if we move these around like this?” I shift the pictures of the woman by the cabin to the top. “And completely scrap this part?”
We work a full two hours going over every picture, document, and our manuscript. By the time we pin the last picture to the display, Stuart stands back to evaluate. “So, whadda you think?”
I move beside him, and he laces his fingers in mine. “The changes make a huge difference.” I say. “This might just work.”
He squeezes my hand. “Shifting the focus to him as a boy was brilliant.”
I smile up at him. Our heads lean in, and everything else just kind of disappears as our lips touch.
The front door bangs open, and we jerk apart as voices call in the distance.
“Dr. Reynolds, how does it feel to have your children back?”
“Can you give us a statement?”
“Mr. Reynolds, what are—”
Dad kicks the door shut, and Andrew comes zipping in at a full run. “Stuart!” He wraps himself around Stuart’s legs and sits on his feet, grinning up at me. “Hi Ozzie.”
Mom enters, arms full of books. “Those people! How do they think I feel about having my children back, for heaven’s sake?”
Dad’s right behind her, carrying a big box. He clears his throat the way he does when he’s annoyed. “They’re reporters. They don’t so much care about the answer; they just want the quote.”
Mom glances around the room. “Looks like the table is out of the question. How about the kitchen counter, Marcum?” She points over our heads. “And hello you two. Seems a little early for you to be here, Stuart. Darcie usually doesn’t get home until at least three fifteen.” She cocks her head, eyebrows raised.
“What time is it?” Stuart lifts Andrew off his legs and hurries to his computer. “I gotta go. I need to make it home by my normal time, or Mom’s gonna know I skipped school today.”
Dad hums louder as he unpacks the box, and Mom kisses him on the cheek. Then she turns to Stuart. “We can drop you by the house. Darcie has an eye appointment for new glasses. We can get you there in ten minutes. But we might have to run over a cameraman or two.” She gives Dad a hip bump.
I race upstairs for my shoes and take a quick peek in the mirror. Yeah. Definitely getting contacts. This version of me is staying. Between Friday’s presentation, helping Grover stay out of jail, and figuring out what’s really going on with Amelia, confidence isn’t exactly optional anymore.