Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
One glass of wine became two. The bottle emptied, but thankfully I had more.
Before I went to the grocery store in Lawton, I stopped by St. Julian Winery.
As the sky darkened and it grew later, sleep eluded me.
My mind filled with thoughts about whatever was happening at the bonfire.
I told myself it was silly to worry—Julie functioned without me for six years.
Why would this night be any different?
Throughout the night, the seven girls at the park continued to appear in my thoughts. Senior year is an important time. I couldn’t help but wonder why Julie changed her college plans and what it was like for them, and the boys too, to lose a teacher and coach right before graduation.
The more wine I consumed, the more I saw his death from their perspective.
Teenagers are selfish by nature. It isn’t their fault, as much as life and biology.
I remember thinking I was grown up, but as time moves on, I realize that eighteen is far from mature.
This is supposed to be their time, pomp and circumstance and all of that.
And now, it will forever be marred by the accidental death of their coach.
Perhaps it was the multitude of questions that continued to cloud my thoughts.
Or it was the time difference between the West Coast and Michigan that had finally caught up with me.
Whatever the reason, the last time I looked at the clock in the bedroom before I finally fell asleep, the time began with a three.
The banging on the cottage door begins in my dream.
It rattles my reality until the dream disappears, and the banging pulls me from my slumber.
Lifting my phone, my eyes squint as I look for the time.
Peering at the screen, I notice that I’ve missed multiple calls. Before I can check to see who called, I read the time. It’s after twelve. “Shit,” I mumble as the banging resumes.
My disorientation fades like the dispersing fog over Stark Lake. Standing in only a camisole and panties, I wrap the blanket around myself and head toward the back door.
With each step anticipation builds. There’s a person behind the sheer curtain.
Pushing the curtain to the side, I find Becky standing outside, fidgeting as she waits to knock again.
A twist of the deadbolt, and I pull the door inward.
She already has the screen door open. “Jesus, Jillian, answer your damn phone.”
I look past her to the parking area where a black truck with large tires speckled in mud is running. I spot the driver through the windshield as the diesel exhaust makes its way to the open door.
“Hank is here?” I ask as Becky enters.
“He drove me.”
Pulling the blanket tighter around myself, I ask, “What’s going on?”
“Well, it’s afternoon and no one could reach you. Your mom called me in a state of semi-panic.”
I purse my lips. “My mom wouldn’t panic about me.” And then it hits me. “Shit, this is Sunday. I told her I’d go to church.” I spin around taking in the empty wine bottles still littering the countertop. “I had a bit to drink last night.”
Becky picks up one of the bottles and examines the label. It’s one of the bottles that I picked up from St. Julian. “At least you drank good stuff.” She shakes her head as she puts it back on the counter. “Church isn’t why your mom has called. It’s Julie.”
My pulse immediately kicks up to double-time, and a sense of urgency prickles my skin. “What about Julie?”
“She told Shannon that she was spending the night at her friend Marty’s house. Marty said she was at Julie’s...you know the routine?”
I nod. Becky and I did the same thing when we were their age.
“Marty’s mom, Maggie Thompson, called Shannon this morning.”
“Oh shit.”
“Yeah, between Shannon and Maggie they’ve called all of Julie and Marty’s friends. No one knows for sure what happened to them.”
“Both of them?” I ask, stunned.
“Both. They were both seen last night by multiple people at a party out at the McKenna farm.”
“Shit. Shit,” I say as I begin to pace about the kitchen. “I knew about the party. Julie told me yesterday.”
“She did?”
“I saw her at the park. She first asked if she could tell Mom she was staying with me—her and six others. When I said no, she invited me to the bonfire.”
“Well, Sheriff Manes is looking for any information. Did you go there?”
“I drove over in the afternoon after I left the park.”
“Why?”
I let out a breath. “I don’t know. I was concerned, but I called Liv and we both thought it was better to stay away from underage consumption.”
“Well, Blue Gil isn’t taking another missing person lightly—or two. Church services were canceled at all three churches. Those people too old to search stayed and prayed. Everyone else is out looking.”
It’s then I turn toward the front windows. The blue sky of yesterday is filled with shades of gray, the trees are blowing in the wind, and it looks as if it could begin to rain any minute. I turn back; Becky has on a jacket, jeans, and cowboy boots. “Have you been searching?”
“Not yet. We were at home when Shannon called.”
“Hank?” I ask, lifting my chin and peering out to the parking area.
“I told him you’re here, that I gave you a key the other night.”
“And?”
“He said we all should help search.”
That wasn’t the answer I expected.
“I-I,” I stutter as I tug the blanket away and look down at my camisole. “I’m not dressed and probably smell like—”
“Wine, you do,” Beck says. “Hank and I will check out the grounds here. I know you and Julie aren’t close, but do you have any ideas where she might be?”
New tears sting the back of my eyes. “No. Shitty big sister here.” I recall my conversation with my other sister. “Liv said it’s been a rough year for Julie. She and her boyfriend broke up.”
“Austin. He’s a good guy. When he isn’t at football practice, he works for Hank on the farm. Hank says he’s a hard worker. Austin doesn’t want to admit it, but finding Coach Gilbert messed him up.”
My nose scrunches. “Does he know anything about Julie or where she is?”
Becky shakes her head. “According to your mom, Austin told Sheriff Manes he went to the party but left early. Julie was there with her friends.”
I recall the park. “There were seven of them. Which one is Marty?”
“Loud,” Becky answers. “Jet-black hair.”
I remember the girl with raven black hair who did more talking than the others. “And she’s missing too?”
Becky nods. “Neither one can be located right now. It seems their phones are off or dead.”
“Oh my God. I should call Mom.” I leave Becky and go back into the bedroom, retrieving my phone. Walking back to the kitchen, I bring the screen back to life. “I have so many missed calls.”
I hit the icon. The calls began after seven this morning. There is one every ten minutes for the first hour alternating from both my mother and father. I also missed two from Liv and two from Becky.
I look back at her. “I had the ringer off. I need to get to Mom.”
Becky nods. “Do you want a ride?”
“With Hank?”
“It’s been six years, Jillian. He accepts that you and I are still friends. Maybe you could accept that he and I are married.”
“You’re right.” I feign a smile. “Water under the bridge.”
“Right.”
“Okay. I do accept that.” I reach out and take her hand. “Please keep me updated. You search, and I’ll call Mom. After I shower, I’ll go wherever she wants me to go.” I stare into Becky’s eyes. “The McKenna barn is gone. Where do kids go nowadays?”
“It depends on weather,” she replies thoughtfully. “Have you heard of phrogging?”
“In theory.” It’s the sneaking into a house and living among the dwellers without their knowledge. It’s usually done in innocent fun. However, it can take a dangerous turn. “We did a show about it once.”
“Well, here, it’s not really phrogging in the sense of the word because that would require the residents to be home.
Here, it’s a thing throughout the colder months.
Teenagers break into cottages or even the big houses, mostly the empty ones on the lakes.
They party. Usually, they clean up before they leave.
Most of the time, the owners never know.
It’s gotten more difficult with security systems.”
“The big houses would definitely have them, but what about the cottages?” I ask.
“Yeah. The smaller older ones are better possibilities.” Becky nods.
I walk over to the large windows and scan the water of Stark Lake. “There are so many lakes around here.”
Becky is now beside me. “Yeah, I know.”
“Why would Julie and Marty go off alone? Did they drive?”
“Julie’s car is still at the McKenna farm.”
“Marty’s?”
“According to her mother, Julie picked Marty up.”
“Then how did they get...?” I don’t finish the sentence.
“No one knows.” Becky reaches out and gives my shoulder a squeeze.
Unlike the hug from Julie yesterday, this one feels warm and reassuring.
“That’s probably all this is. They’re sleeping it off in someone’s house, someone who won’t be here for another two weeks.
The rumor is that there were outsiders and past graduates at the party.
Sheriff Manes is trying to compile a list of names.
More than likely, the girls forgot to plug in their phones—or turned off their ringers—and that’s all there is. ”
“Yeah. Because nothing bad happens in Blue Gil, right?”
“Right.”
“Do you want us to wait?” Becky asks.
I look up from the screen of my phone after touching my mother’s name. “No. But tell Hank I said thanks. You two know the area better. It’s been a long time for me. Please look everywhere and anywhere. I’ll find out what my mom wants.”
We turn to the back of the cottage as the screen door opens.
Hank Harrison was always a prime example of farm-grown, rugged handsomeness. With the passing of time, that quality has become even more so. Even in his mid-twenties, he has an outdoorsman’s face, one that has seen more sun and wind than any of the actors I’m used to dealing with in California.
The physical nature of his work has also given him bulk. Beneath his flannel shirt covering a black t-shirt, his shoulders are broad and his arms thick. His green eyes move from Becky to me to the counter of wine bottles and back to me. “Jillian,” he says with a nod.
“Hank,” I manage, “thank you for helping to find my sister.”
His gaze goes back to Becky as his voice seems deeper. “Sheriff Manes wants anyone willing to search to meet out at the McKenna farm.” He looks at his wrist and back up. “At one.”
“Do you think there’s news?” I ask.
Hank’s lips form a straight line as his boots move across the tile and his stance widens. “I figure the girls are sleeping off a night of partying, and this town is just jumpy after Coach. But that doesn’t mean we should ignore it. That didn’t work with Coach.”
The way he mentions Craig Gilbert reminds me that Hank played under Craig’s coaching for two years.
I wave my hands. “You two go. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Jillian,” Becky says as she reaches Hank. “I’m glad you’re here for Shannon.”
I nod.
Hurrying to the bathroom, I turn the knob in the shower and wait for water to heat.