The Voice inside My Head (5 page)

He turns to Tracy for confirmation and she gives a small nod.

“Where does Jamie live?” I demand.

“It’s a blue house up the hill from the fire station. Just ask for Miss Bertie — she’s his grandmother. Any local can direct
you. But there’s no point going until this evening. He works pretty much 24/7, and he’s a carpenter so he’s all over the island and the little cays. He won’t be home much before seven or eight.”

“Thanks,” I say more politely than I’m feeling and stalk out to the street. These two are so far off base about my sister, it’s laughable.

I check my watch and realize I have a few hours to kill while I wait for Pat’s boyfriend to come home. I could walk around seeing who else on this island knew her, but it’s been a long day and I have a sudden and overpowering need to get high. I know it’s the last thing I should be thinking about at a time like this, but Pat’s the responsible one in our family, not me. She took care of all of us, even more than Dad, sweet guy though he is. He’s a photographer, so he doesn’t make great money and often has to work long hours, which left Pat making sure dinner got made and Mom’s car keys were hidden when she’d had too much to drink, which was practically every night. Pat held it all together and was surprisingly good at making it all look easy.

I knew, though. Always having to be vigilant cost her, and sooner or later something was bound to go drastically wrong. The cracks were beginning to show, even before Mom did what she did and Pat took off to Honduras. I wasn’t expecting Pat to completely disappear off the radar, but for ages I’d been anticipating disaster, like a Mayan awaiting the apocalypse. Maybe that’s why I like to get high. When I’m stoned is about the only time I don’t feel scared. And right now, in this moment, when everything I hear about my sister makes
her sound like a stranger and no one can tell me where she is, the fear is suffocating.

I just need a couple of hours of peace. But where am I going to score weed on an island where I don’t know a soul?

And then it comes to me.

Zach.

“D
ude, are you sure they said Miss Bertie’s house?”

I slow down for a minute to tug on Zach, who’s stalled again in the middle of the road. We’ve passed out of the main part of town. It’s dark, with no streetlights, and the houses, crouching in overgrown yards, are dimly lit or shuttered and empty. Massive trees, with thick leafy branches and hanging vines, cast shadows that seem to move with a life of their own. Bats swoop overhead, and the occasional scuttling noises make us both jump; but something else, beyond the obvious creep factor, is freaking Zach out. He did try to explain when we were a few hours into the weed, but I couldn’t follow his logic then, and now I’m no longer interested. We’re going to find Miss Bertie’s house. End of story.

I stop in front of a white picket fence. I can see a blue wooden house behind it. These are the only two clues we have, beyond rambling directions from various locals. I look to Zach for confirmation.

“You said you’d know it when you see it, Zach. Is this it or not?”

“Oh, man.” He wraps his arms around his body and leans over like he’s going to puke.

“If you’re going to do it, buddy, now’s the time. Once we go through this gate, you’re just going to have to hold it in. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

He nods but doesn’t straighten up, so I lean on the gate and wait.

“That your gate?” a familiar voice bellows from the porch. “I’m thinking it must be, the way you’re lounging all over it.”

Since the fence is only four feet tall, I can comfortably look over to see who’s shouting, but I don’t need to. I lean forward and give Zach a jab in the ribs. “You could have warned me, man!”

“Reesie Greenfield lives here,” he whispers.

“Yeah? Thanks.”

I turn around, grateful it’s too dark for her to see my eyes, which are most likely bloodshot.

“Excuse me, miss.” I hope to God I’m not slurring my words. “I was wondering if Jamie Greenfield happened to be at home.”

“Well, I don’t know. He might be out hunting poison frogs. You know, we’ve got an invasion of ’em here on the island.”

I swing open the gate, march through and walk up her sand path until I’m right under where she’s standing on her broken-down porch. I look up into bottomless brown eyes.

“How fortunate we have you to help in their safe relocation.”

“My brother’s not here. What d’you want him for?”

Without waiting for an answer, she leans on the porch railing and hollers out to the street again. “That you out there, Zach O’Donell?”

Zach makes a strangled noise that’s hard to interpret. I turn to see that he’s standing upright now but staying well back from the gate.

“You bringing your stupid-ass drugs to my house?” demands Reesie.

Zach shakes his head, which would be hard to see in the darkness except that he throws his whole body into it, twisting vigorously from side to side.

“That boy is crazy,” Reesie mutters before bawling at him again. “You better stop lurking around out there or someone’s gonna think you’re a thief and take a shot at you!”

Zach doesn’t move.

“Get on in here!”

Zach walks slowly forward, opens the gate, lets himself into the yard and stops.

“Right here,” says Reesie, pointing to the empty air beside me. “I want to get a good look at you. Last time I saw you, you were lying in your own puke. Nice to see you up and around.”

“Cosmic,” says Zach, but you can tell he doesn’t mean it.

“Poison-frog boy and the pothead. Should have known you two would find each other.” She says it under her breath but loud enough for us to hear. “So you gonna introduce me to your new friend, Zach?”

“Luke, this is Reesie,” says Zach miserably. “She doesn’t like me,” he whispers.

“Not like you?” Reesie snorts. “Why would I not like you?

I just love cleaning up puke. And when you miss the toilet
and piss on the bathroom floor, I feel like opening a bottle of champagne, ’cause I get to clean that up, too.”

“Reesie works at Bluewater,” Zach explains, staring at his feet.

I wonder how old she is. Cleaning the dive hotels seems like a crappy job for a kid. No pun intended.

I give Zach a pat on the shoulder and try to steer the conversation back to the point. “We were hoping to speak to your brother.”

“Why?” She crosses her arms and gives me a hard look.

I debate telling her it’s none of her business, but it doesn’t seem worth the fight.

“I want to ask him about my sister.”

“Who’s your sister?”

“Patricia Carrington, the girl who disappeared.”

“I knew her,” she says in a softer tone, uncrossing her arms. “But I don’t know why you’d be wanting to speak to Jamie about her. I don’t believe he ever met her.”

I clear my throat. “I heard they were dating.”

“No,” says Reesie. “My brother knows better than to go out with crazy tourists.”

“Crazy?” I snap. “How well did you know my sister?”

“Look, I heard she drowned, and I’m really sorry about that. She seemed like a nice girl, but the tourist kids who come here are out of control, you know? I don’t know how they behave back home, but when they come here, they act like what they do doesn’t count. There’s some local boys will take advantage of that. But my brother’s not one of them.”

We all look over as we hear the gate open behind us. A tall thin guy steps into the porch light and walks up to where
we’re standing. He wearily rubs a hand across his eyes but smiles warmly at Zach.

“Hey, Zach,” he says, holding out his fist. Zach bangs it with his own and grins.

“This is Jamie,” Zach says, standing a little taller.

“What you boys be doing my way?” asks Jamie, looking at me intently.

“I wanted to ask you about my sister, Patricia.”

Jamie nods his head, like I’ve just solved a puzzle. “You take after her.”

“You knew her?” exclaims Reesie. “How’d you manage that? You hardly ever came around the Shark Center.”

Jamie looks past me to Zach, then glances at his sister. “I knew her,” he affirms softly, before leaning down to where a piece of siding has come loose under the porch. He reaches into his tool belt for his hammer and steadies the board as he taps the nail back in.

I turn to Zach, but he’s taking a sudden interest in the stars, gazing skyward like he’s expecting a celestial event.

“Were you going out with her?” I demand, turning back to Jamie.

“I already told you he wasn’t,” Reesie answers for him, but doubt has crept into her voice.

Jamie stands up slowly, turning his back to his sister. “I know how hard this must be for you,” he says. “Trish was …”

He hesitates, as if searching for the right word or the courage to say it, but in the end just crouches back down to the siding, pulling at another loose board. He wiggles it into place as Reesie tracks his every move.

“You best get on home,” she says finally. “We really are sorry for your loss.”

We all watch Jamie bang in another nail. There’s not a wasted movement as he methodically takes the broken pieces of his home and makes it whole.

“Well, if you think of anything …” I say.

Jamie stands up and steps toward me, meeting my eyes with a steady gaze. “I’m glad you came by, Luke. It was nice to meet you. I really wish there was something I could do.” He puts out his hand, taking mine and holding it for a moment. His hand is roughly callused yet weirdly comforting. I let go first.

“Drop around anytime,” Jamie calls out as we reach the gate. I turn to respond, but he’s already disappearing into his house. Reesie’s still on the porch, though, staring down at the siding that her brother was working on, lost in thought.

Zach and I walk down the hill in silence. There was something going on back there, but I don’t know if it had anything to do with Pat. It’s been a long day, and I can’t think straight — may have to lay off the drugs for a while.

“Do you think they were lying?” I ask. We’re close enough to the main street now to hear music blaring from the bars, and a few streetlights make the potholed road less treacherous. We speed up a little.

“Jamie’s solid,” says Zach.

“Yeah, but do you think Jamie was dating my sister?”

Zach exhales loudly. “He was with Tricia a lot, man, pretty much since she first arrived. That’s mostly how I know him, but he always said we couldn’t tell Reesie.”

I stop abruptly and turn to him. “Why didn’t you say anything before?” I demand.

Zach kicks a rotting mango to the other side of the road. I suddenly notice the air is rank with the smell of rotting fruit. It seems to be dropping off the trees faster than people can pick it. Zach takes off his flip-flop and examines mango chunks that have lodged in the strap. He tries to shake them off, but they’re stuck fast. Dropping down on one knee, he rubs his flip-flop against the pavement.

“You’re scared of Reesie?” I ask, though I know the answer.

Zach continues working away at the fruit, but he nods his head.

“It’s okay, man,” I say. I can feel the beginning of a headache pulsing behind my eyes. I press my fingers into my forehead and massage my temples. “I’ll sort it out tomorrow.”

He looks up at me, the streetlight skimming off his face like a halo. “You’re not angry?”

“You kidding?” I grin, shoving down my frustration. “That girl would spook a fully armed marine on steroids.”

Zach jumps up and throws his arms around me, his slimy sandal whacking me on the back.

I give him a one-armed hug before shoving him back and holding him firm so I can look him in the eye. “But you tell me everything from here on in. Right, buddy?”

“Brother from another mother!” crows Zach, holding out his hand for me to slap. He follows this with a complicated ritual of finger snapping, fist banging and more palm slapping, which he has to teach me because I didn’t grow up on a hippie commune in the sixties. I am
so
in over my head with this guy.

We amble on down to the junction at the bottom of the hill. The pier is straight ahead, and lights from fishing boats twinkle just beyond. If you didn’t know we were surrounded by billions of cubic feet of water, harboring every monster known to man and some we haven’t even discovered yet, it would be almost pretty. Music from a nearby bar is deafening, but it doesn’t drown out the occasional hoots from drunken patrons.

“Go for a beer?” asks Zach hopefully.

“Sorry, dude, I’m wiped.”

“It’s okay. See ya on the flip side.” He gives a little salute and heads into the nearest bar.

I try not to think about how I’m no closer to finding Pat as I trudge back to the Shark Center. Instead, I think about the last time I saw her. I’d refused to see her off at the airport when she left for Utila. I wanted her to think I was angry. I should have known Pat would never leave it at that. She came down to the basement, where I was hunched over on the sofa rolling a joint, a half-finished beer on the table beside me. Normally, seeing me like that would have earned me a twenty-minute tirade on my wasted potential. But Pat was in a hurry. She tousled my hair, something she hadn’t done in a long time.