Maybe it was for the best. Had she really expected one vacation to rebuild a relationship that had been eroding for years? She’d read an article about homes on the Atlantic coast that were slowly succumbing to the ocean as tides ate away at the cliffs they were built on. Owners were being forced to decide whether it was worth the money to move their homes back from the cliff or to just let them tumble into the ocean. At the time, Zadie had thought the decision was a no-brainer: move the house. Now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe that house belonged at the bottom of the ocean where it could start a new life as a hotel for fish.
The one thing she was certain of, however, was that Finn’s grand plan to reunite them with their mother was a bad one. Even if she set aside her personal feelings, the idea that they could somehow track her down using nothing but a series of memory fragmentswas ludicrous. If all Finn had wanted to know was what kind of sandwich their mom had eaten on a given day, maybe she’d have some luck, but reconstructing the days after her disappearance would require more than hearing Nora humming a song. It would be a huge investment of their time and energy, and at six weeks pregnant with a full-time job, Zadie had very little of either to spare.
Zadie’s suitcase sat expectantly by the front door, faintly smelling of coconut sunscreen. She picked it up with the intention of unpacking it, then stopped. Instead, she pulled one of her romance novels,The Fisherman’s Desire,from the side pocket. It featured a sea-drenched bearded man wearing an unbuttoned yellow rain slicker that exposed his bare chest. He was standing on the bow of a fishing boat forcefully pulling a rope that hung from overhead, which Zadie found odd, considering the craft he was on was clearly not a sailboat. This was an inaccuracy that she was willing to overlook, considering that there were more pressing matters at hand—namely, chiseled fisherman abs.
She settled back onto her spot on the couch and spent the next four hours devouring the story of a lonely fisherman trying to capture the heart (and body) of an aristocrat. Dustin had never understood how she could read a book cover to cover in one sitting. “Clearly you’ve never read a romance novel,” she had answered.
“Should I be jealous?” he’d joked. Only it wasn’t a joke. Dustin was so deeply insecure that he made the same comment every time he saw her reading anything with an attractive man on the cover. At least her wandering eyes—if you could call them that—were fictional. His ogled flesh-and-blood redheads while they were standing in line at coffee shops.
She tapped her smartphone and the screen lit up. It was midnight, an hour past when she usually turned in for the night, but she wasn’t tired. She was anxious; anxious that Finn hadn’t called her back; anxious that she had possibly messed up the only relationship that meant anything to her. Maybe she just should have agreedto Finn’s plan. Yes, she would have been disappointed when their search came up empty, but at least they’d get a few kitschy refrigerator magnets out of it.
Zadie picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts until she found Finn. It rang. One, two, five rings and no answer.I shouldn’t be calling this late,she thought.She’s probably asleep.
But something didn’t feel right. It wasn’t a premonition, just old-fashioned intuition that was telling her she needed to talk to Finn as soon as possible.
Zadie dialed again, but it went straight to voice mail:
Yo, it’s Finn. My mom taught me not to talk to strangers, so only leave a message if I know who you are or you’re calling to tell me I won a bunch of money.
She must have turned off her phone when she saw me calling,Zadie thought. In seventeen years, she’d never known Finn to hold a grudge. Zadie could think of only one other reason why she might decline her call.
She shoved her phone in her pocket, grabbed her suitcase, and let the door slam behind her.
The house was just as Zadie remembered it. Even in the dark, she could make out the same red shutters, the same aluminum mailbox, the same withered persimmon tree in the front lawn. And for a moment she was sixteen again, sneaking in after a night of watching friends set off firecrackers behind the quarry. Her mom had waited up for her and had been thoroughly unimpressed when Zadie had told her where she’d been. “Firecrackers? I’d assumed you’d be doing something fun.” She was right. It hadn’t been that fun, certainly not fun enough to justify the two-week grounding she got as a result.
These were exactly the kinds of memories Zadie had been hoping to avoid.
As she pulled closer, her headlights illuminated a hooded figure standing in the driveway. The person turned around and waved her arms frantically. She seemed to be mouthing, “Turn it off!”
Zadie turned off the engine and Finn marched up to her window and tapped on the glass. “What are you doing?” she hissed as the window rolled down.
“Me? What areyoudoing?”
“I told you I was going to do this with or without you. This is what ‘without you’ looks like.”
“Really? Because it kind of looks like trespassing.”
Finn glanced over her shoulder at the house. The windows were dark. “You’ve gotta get out of here. You’re going to blow my cover.”
“So were you just going to stand in this stranger’s driveway all night, waiting for an echo?”
“If necessary.”
“You’re lucky no one has called the police.”
“They don’t get up till six.”
“Wait… how many times have you done this?”
“Uh. Three.”
“You’ve been out here three nights in a row?!”
“Ssshhh!”
“And how many echoes have you had in that time, huh?”
Finn pursed her lips. “Will you just leave already? I can’t concentrate with you here.”