Part 21 (1/2)
”Yeah,” she said, her voice tentative. ”That sounds good.”
Fletcher pulled into a parking spot and Avery kicked open the door, squinting up at the sky. The blue had turned to a flat gray, wisps of fog starting to blot out the sun.
”Looks like it might rain later,” she said. ”We should probably be pretty quick out here.”
Fletcher didn't answer.
There was only one car in the parking lot-a busted-up VW van covered in b.u.mper stickers and in dire need of a wash.
”There was a car in the lot when you and Adam came too, right?”
Fletcher nodded, his eyes flicking over the bus. ”Yeah, but it was a different car.”
”What kind was it?”
He shouldered a backpack from his trunk. She wasn't sure what he had in it, but it looked heavy. ”I don't think I remember.”
Avery stepped close enough to him that she could smell the clean scent of detergent on his navy-blue Henley. ”Think.”
He grimaced with annoyance, but Fletcher obliged, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. ”I think it was red. No, maroon. A sedan. Not a van.”
Avery pulled a notebook from her own backpack and scrawled ”maroon” and ”sedan.”
”Nice notepad, detective.”
It was one of her father's that she had pilfered from his office. She smiled and shrugged. ”My dad's the chief, but I can't have a 'get out of jail free' card. I figured a free notebook was an acceptable door prize. Anything else you remember about the car?”
Fletcher huffed and Avery wasn't sure if it was from the weight of his pack or because he was tired of her questions.
”No.” He shook his head. ”Nothing.”
”Okay.” She slid the notebook into the pocket of her orange search-and-rescue jacket. ”You said Adam threw out some trash before you hit the trail.”
”I did?”
”Uh-huh. He said that people were jerks, picked up some trash, and then threw it away. Don't you remember telling me that?”
”Sure. Yeah. Of course I do.”
Avery turned toward the mouth of the trail. She found Fletcher's hand and squeezed it before letting it go. ”Are you sure about this?”
”Yeah, why not?”
”Well, if at any time being here gets to be too much for you, promise me you'll let me know. If you feel uncomfortable, we'll turn around.”
Fletcher's nostrils flared. ”I said I'm fine, okay? G.o.d! It's not like I'm going to snap or anything!”
Avery stared, openmouthed. She couldn't remember ever hearing Fletch raise his voice, let alone yell at her. Now he was huffing, little bits of spittle forming at the corners of his mouth.
”Okay.” She instinctively took a step back, wanting to put a little distance between them. ”I didn't mean anything by it. I just wanted to let you know that it's cool-”
”I know,” Fletcher said, his voice lowered but still agitated. ”I know it's cool. Can we just get on with it?”
”Sure.” Avery glanced up over his shoulder and Fletcher spun around.
”Is someone behind me?”
She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. ”No.”
Avery knew that returning to the woods would be traumatic, but why was Fletcher behaving so erratically? He had a sheen of sweat on his forehead even though they hadn't yet taken a single step on the trail.
Give him a break, she said, calming herself. This has to be hard for him. Think about... She tried to shut down her mind, but the image was already there. Her father, holding her hand over the center console, the vibration from the engine quaking up her arm.
”Are you sure you want to do this, Avery?”
”Dad, watch the road.”
He sighed, his attention focused on his driving. ”I know Dr. Rickson thinks this is a good idea, but I'm not so sure.”
”You drive this road every day.”
She saw the muscle jump against his jaw.
”I don't like it,” he said, his voice gravelly.
”You can't keep avoiding it every time I'm in the car.”
”I don't mind, Avy.”
”I do mind.”
Her stomach quivered. It wasn't b.u.t.terflies; b.u.t.terflies were too nice for what she was feeling. It was more like bat wings flapping or spider feet stomping.
Her father cracked a window and the heady scent of pine filled the car. It was fresh and spicy, a scent that Avery and her mother used to love. They would tromp through the forest and her mother would throw back her head, open her arms and yell, ”Can you smell that, Avs? That's the smell of heaven!”
Heaven. The word stuck in her throat.
”We're almost to the bend,” her dad said, slowing the GMC to a crawl, then a stop. When he pulled the keys from the ignition, the silence was overwhelming. She was relieved when the tick-tick-tick of the cooling engine started.
”Do you want to go closer or stay here?” her father asked gently.
Avery's eyes were already fixed. She slid out of the car without answering. With each step she took, she felt like the vise on her heart was squeezing tighter. The scar on the tree was unmistakable. A huge branch had ripped from the trunk, exposing the yellow-white flesh of the tree beneath its bark.
Avery sucked in a shaky breath. Taking another step closer caused physical pain.