I’m not sure if I’m speaking to a woman or a man. A woman, I think. She has one of those deep, androgynous voices and she sounds sort of breathless.
“I placed the order with Amanda,” I say. “Can you put her on the phone?”
“Amanda’s not here right now. It’s not her fault, but somehow your order didn’t get transferred over. I’m so sorry. Do you have your copy of the order so you can fax it to us again?”
“Somewhere,” I say. “But I want to be moved up in your queue. You owe me that.”
“Oh, of course,” the woman agrees. “And that five percent discount, too. Fax the information over to us right now. We’re putting together our order for this week and we don’t want to hold yours up any longer.”
“I’ll have to find it,” I say, getting to my feet and heading for the hallway and my office.
“That’s fine. I’ll keep an eye out for it.” And with that, she hangs up.
I shake my head in annoyance as I walk into my office. My desk is piled high with dozens of receipts related to the house. I peek out the window to check on Rainie, but I can’t see the part of the deck where she’s playing. Sitting down at the desk, I start working my way through the stack of receipts.
It takes me forever to find the information. There are pages of it—measurements and prices and treatment choices for nearly every window in the house. Who am I supposed to fax the information to? I pick up the phone again and tap the woman’s number, but it only rings and rings and rings. I roll my eyes. I should go tell Rainie I’ll be a little while longer, but I just want to get this done, so I sort through the pages of information until I find the shop’s fax number. I jot a handwritten note to Amanda, asking her to be sure my order goes out today. Then I set the stack of papers in my multi-use printer and hit fax.
When I’m finished, I’m in a grisly mood—not at all in the mood for a walk through the woods past “Little Hell Lake.” I shut my eyes. Fold my hands in my lap. You are incredibly lucky to live in a beautiful house with enough money to buy window coverings for fifty windows, I remind myself. In a moment, I feel better. Not exactly peaceful, but I’m pretty sure my blood pressure’s back in the normal range. I take the papers from the machine, set them on the desk, and head downstairs and out to the deck.
Rainie’s not there.
“Rainie?” I call. Her doll is gone too. Could she have headed down the trail without me?
I take off at a jog, calling her name. I trip over one of the roots and scrape my knee and my palms. Getting to my feet again, I brush my stinging hands together to get rid of the dirt. I call her again and listen, but hear nothing other than birdsong. I jog back to the house and head up the south side of the trail, but there’s no sign of her there either, and I start to cry, panic mounting, as I pull my phone from the pocket of my shorts.
I call my father, who says he’ll be right over. Before he hangs up, he tells me to call the police. “Better to overreact than not,” he says, and for the second time this week, I dial 911.
Chapter 32
ELLIE
1965
The doctor in the emergency room was the same man who’d been on duty when I came to the ER after the Klan rally. He remembered me. Mr. Hunt and little Benny stayed in the waiting room, while Miss Georgia and I each held one of DeeDee’s hands as the doctor stitched her cheek. She was a little trouper, holding still, eyes squeezed shut. She would have a scar on her pretty face. That broke my heart and when I looked up at Miss Georgia’s tear-filled eyes, I knew it broke hers as well.
We rode home in the Hunts’ truck, DeeDee and her parents in the cab, Benny and me cuddled together between bales of hay in the bed. We stared up at the full silver moon and the blanket of stars above us. Benny fell asleep against me, wiped out from the events of the night.
The doctor had given DeeDee something to help her sleep, and she was already conked out by the time Miss Georgia tucked her into bed, while I read to Benny in his room. I left him asleep and was about to go to bed myself when I heard the light tap on the screen door and found Win on the front porch.
“How is she?” he whispered.
I stepped onto the porch, shutting the screen door behind me. “She’s going to have a reminder of tonight for the rest of her life, I’m afraid,” I said, running my finger down my own cheek.
He looked at me grimly. “In more ways than one, most likely.” He nodded toward the steps. “Wanna sit?” he asked. “You can see the moon from here.”