But as much as she wanted to deny it, what would stand out most in her mind in thinking back on that week were the phone calls. The two calls late on Friday night. On Saturday, there were two more. On Sunday, the phone rang four times, and on Monday it was five, but on those two days, Mike had stepped out of the house for a moment and she’d been the one to answer. On Tuesday, after she’d gone to bed-Mike had gone back to his place for the night-there were four calls before she’d finally unplugged the phone. And on Wednesday, when she stepped into the kitchen after a day at work, she noticed her answering machine was full.
She remembered hitting the button for the first call, then skipping to the next message. Then the next. One right after another, the calls had come. The recorder had noted the time; each new call had been placed the moment the previous call had been disconnected. On the fourth message, her breath quickened; by the ninth, her eyes had begun to well with tears. By the twelfth, she was hitting the delete button almost as fast as she was hitting the play button, in an almost frantic attempt to stop what was happening.
When she’d finished, she sat at the table trembling.
All in all, twenty calls had been made to her machine that day, each lasting two minutes.
In none of them did the caller say anything.
And on Thursday and Friday, there were no calls at all.
Twenty-five
The Guardian
“It sounds to me like everything’s going great,” Emma said on Saturday.
Earlier that day, Mike and Julie had met Henry and Emma at the boat launch on Harker’s Island. They’d loaded the boat with coolers of food and beer, sunscreen, towels and hats, tubs of ice, and enough fishing gear to hook anything that might happen to cross the stern, including Moby Dick, Orca, and Jaws himself. By midmorning, in the sound near Cape Lookout, Mike and Henry were standing next to each other, reels in hand, engaged in a competition that could only be described as profoundly juvenile. Every time either one of them caught a fish, he’d get to shake a bottle of beer and point it at the other. One of the tubs was already filled with enough mackerel and flounder to feed a waddling army of starving seals, and both men had removed their beer-soaked shirts and hung them on the rail to dry.
Julie and Emma were sitting in small lawn chairs near the cabin, acting a little more grown-up. The sun beat down on them steadily. Because it wasn’t yet summer, the humidity was bearable, though their cans of beer were coated in condensation.
“It is,” Julie agreed. “Better than great, actually. This last week makes me wonder what I was so afraid of all this time.”
The way she said it made Emma pause.
“But?”
“But what?”
“There’s something bothering you, isn’t there.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“No. But it doesn’t need to be obvious. I’ve known you long enough to recognize the signs. So what is it? Something to do with Mike?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Do you love him?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Then what is it?”
Julie cautiously set her beer on the deck. “I’ve been getting some strange phone calls lately.”
“From whom?”
“I don’t know. No one ever says anything on the other end.”
“Heavy breathers?”
“No, not even that. No sound at all.”
“And you don’t know who they’re from?”
“No. When I dialed star sixty-nine, the recording said it was a private number, so I called the phone company. All they can tell me is that the calls are coming from a cellular phone. But the number isn’t registered, so they can’t trace it.”
“How is that possible?”
“I have no idea. They explained it, but I wasn’t really listening. After they said they couldn’t help me, I sort of tuned out.”
“Do you have an idea who they might be from?”
Julie turned and watched Mike cast his line again. “I think it might be Richard. I can’t prove it, but it’s just a feeling I get.”
“Why?”
“The timing, I guess. I mean, I can’t think of anyone else it could be. I haven’t met anyone new besides him and . . . I don’t know . . . I just think he’s the one. The way he acted when I told him it was over, the way he keeps popping into my life.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just little things. I bumped into him in the grocery store, then he came into the salon for another haircut. And whenever we do see each other, it’s like he’s trying to find out how he can have another chance with me.”
Emma looked at her. “What does Mike think?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t told him yet.”
“Why not?”
Julie shrugged. “What’s he going to do? Go after the guy? Like I said, I don’t even know for sure that Richard’s the one who’s calling.”
“Well, how many calls have there been?”
Julie closed her eyes for a moment. “On Wednesday, there were twenty messages on the machine.”
Emma sat up. “Oh, my God. Have you told the police about this?”
“No,” Julie said. “It wasn’t until then that I even admitted what was happening. I guess I was just hoping that it was a mistake of some kind, like some sort of computer malfunction with the phone company. I was just hoping it would stop. And maybe it has. My phone hasn’t rung at all the last two days.”
Emma reached for Julie’s hand. “People like that don’t stop. You read about this kind of stuff in the papers all the time: Ex-boyfriend wanders in and settles the score. This is stalker kind of stuff. Don’t you realize that?”
“Of course I do. And I’ve thought about it. But, again, what am I going to say to the police? I can’t prove it’s Richard calling and neither can the phone company. He hasn’t threatened me. I haven’t seen his car parked on my street or near the salon. He hasn’t been anything but polite when we do run into each other, and even then, there have always been other people around. All he’d have to do is deny it.” She made the points like a lawyer summing up a case. “And besides,” she said, “like I told you, I don’t know for sure that it’s him. It could be Bob for all I know. Or someone I don’t even know.”
Emma watched her before squeezing her hand.
“But you’re ninety-nine percent certain it was Richard.”
After a moment, Julie nodded.
“And no calls last night? Or the night before? When Mike was there?”
“No. It was quiet. I guess he stopped.”
Emma frowned, thinking about it.
Or wanted her to believe that he’d stopped?
She wasn’t about to say that. “Strange,” she said instead. “And kind of scary. It gives me the creeps just thinking about it.”
“Me too.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Julie shook her head. “I have no idea.”
The Guardian
An hour later, Julie was standing at the bow when she felt Mike slip his arms around her and nuzzle her neck. She leaned into his grip, feeling strangely comforted as he moved to stand beside her.
“Hey there,” she said.
“Hi. You looked lonely up here.”
“No. Just enjoying the breeze. I was getting kind of hot in the sun.”
“Me too. I think I got sunburned. The beer must have washed off my sunscreen.”
“So did you win?”
“I don’t want to brag, but let’s just say he got a lot more sun than I did.”
She smiled. “So what’s Henry doing now?”
“Probably pouting.”
She glanced behind her. Henry was leaning over the side, beer can in hand, filling it with seawater. When he saw Julie looking, he stood and brought a finger to his lips, begging for silence.
“So, are you ready for tonight?” she asked. “At the Clipper?”
“Yeah. I knew most of the songs already.”
“What are you gonna wear?”
“Probably just jeans this time. I think I’m getting a little old to dress like a kid.”
“And you’re just realizing this now?”
“Sometimes it takes me a while.”
She leaned into him. “Like with me?”
“Yeah, like with you, too.”
In the distance, assorted boats had dropped anchor near the beach at Cape Lookout. On the first warm weekend of the year, it was crowded with families. Kids splashed and shrieked in the water, parents sprawled on towels. Behind the crowd, the lighthouse rose eighty feet into the air; painted white with black diamonds, it looked like a folded checkerboard stood on end.
“You’ve been kind of quiet today,” Mike said, squeezing her.
“Just thinking.”
“About something Emma said?”
“No. Just the opposite. It’s something I mentioned to her.”
Mike could feel the wisps of her hair as they feathered his face. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Julie took a deep breath before recounting the things she’d told Emma. As he listened, Mike’s expression shifted from confusion to concern, then finally to anger. When she was finished, he reached for her hand and turned her around.
“So you think it was him when I answered the phone that night?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“There wasn’t anything to tell. Not until a couple of days ago, anyway.”
Mike glanced away, frowning, then looked back at Julie. “Well, if it happens again, I’m gonna put a stop to it.”
Julie seemed to study him, then slowly broke into a smile. “You have that sexy look in your eyes again.”
“Don’t try to change the subject,” he said. “This is serious. Remember what we talked about in Tizzy’s?”
“Yeah,” she said, “I remember.” Her voice was flat. “It’s just the way I deal with things when I’m upset. Try to joke my way out of things. Old habit, you know?”
After a long moment, Mike put his arms around her again. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
The Guardian
Lunch was an informal affair-sandwiches and chips and a deli container of potato salad. Having told Mike and Emma, and with a full stomach, Julie felt a little better. She drew some comfort from the fact that both had taken what was happening as seriously as she did.
She even began to relax and let herself have fun. Though she could see in Mike’s face that he hadn’t forgotten what she’d said, Mike was Mike, and he could stay serious for only so long, especially with Henry egging him on. At one point, Henry offered Mike the beer he’d filled earlier and Mike took a drink before choking in midswallow and spraying it overboard. Henry roared, Emma giggled, and after Mike wiped his chin, he laughed as well. But he didn’t forget. Later, he grabbed a flounder and used it to flavor one of Henry’s sandwiches by running the fish over the bread.
Henry turned green as he gagged, then threw the sandwich at Mike. Mike retaliated by launching a spoonful of potato salad at his brother.
While all this was going on, Emma leaned close to Julie. “Imbeciles,” she whispered into Julie’s ear. “Never forget that men are imbeciles.”
It was because of the phone calls, however, that Julie had one beer more than she usually did. It was exactly what she needed today, she thought, and with the hazy logic of someone whose world is slightly spinning, she tried to force her fears away. Maybe the calls were Richard’s version of a temper tantrum. Maybe he was mad because of the way she’d talked to him when he’d called about his sunglasses. She remembered that she had been pretty rough on him. Granted, he’d deserved it, but it couldn’t have been easy for him to hear. But because he hadn’t shown up yet to pick them up from the salon, she guessed she’d been right in thinking that the whole thing had been a ruse to see her again. The phone calls were his way of letting her know he was upset that his plan hadn’t worked out.
And, she reminded herself again, the calls had stopped two days ago. Not a long hiatus, but then they hadn’t been going on that long in the first place. It was probably over, she thought, as if trying to reassure herself. Despite what Emma might think, she was taking this seriously. Being homeless as a teenager, however briefly, had left her with a healthy sense of paranoia. Until she was certain the calls had really stopped, she wasn’t going to do anything stupid: no late evening walks alone, she’d keep the doors locked, she’d keep Singer in the bedroom with her on those nights that Mike wasn’t there. She’d be careful.
Julie crossed her arms and listened to the water as it rushed beneath the bow.
No, it wouldn’t get any worse, she told herself. There was no chance of that at all.
The Guardian
By midafternoon, Emma had slipped in a Jimmy Buffet CD and the music was playing loud; they’d lifted anchor and were passing Cape Lookout as they headed back toward Harker’s Island. The boat was moving in rhythm with the gentle swells, and Emma was cuddling up with Henry as he steered, nibbling occasionally at his ear.
Mike was cleaning up at the stern, putting the tackle back in the box and making sure the reels were secured. Julie stood near the bow again, feeling the wind move her hair. Like Mike, she’d burned a little, and the skin on her shoulders was tender to the touch. So were the various other parts she’d missed when applying the sunscreen: the top of her left ear, her forehead near the hairline, a swath along her thigh, and another on her shin. Amazing, she thought, how the sun had found those spots and taken its revenge. I look like a pink-spotted cheetah.
Though the weather remained glorious, it was time to head home. Emma and Henry had faced a small mutiny earlier that morning, complete with tears and screams, because their kids couldn’t understand why they weren’t invited. Feeling somewhat guilty, they’d promised to take them out later for pizza and a movie. Mike had to be at the Clipper by eight to start setting up with the band. Julie didn’t plan on heading in to see him play until around ten or so, and she wanted to take a nap before then. She was bushed. The beer and sun had made her woozy.