Unscheduled Departure Page 3

  "I had two midterms today and I just— I'm so sorry Ro."

  "It's okay, Linds. He didn't go."

  I heard a noise over the phone, could picture Lindsay stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, mouth dropped open in shock. "He what?"

  "Changed his mind." I shrugged, even though I knew she couldn't see it. "He said he didn't want to leave me."

  Lindsay laughed, full-bodied and loud. "Well, the guy sure has the romantic hero thing down. It's like a friggin' Kate Hudson movie."

  I snorted.

  "So, you're okay then?" she asked, tentative.

  "Yeah." I didn’t even convince myself.

  "Ro?"

  I sighed. "I don't know, Linds. Something's up with Finn. I don't know if I'm imagining it or what, but . . ."

  "But what?"

  And that was the rub. I had no idea.

  "That settles it," Lindsay said after I'd been quiet for too long. "I'm picking up takeout and I'll be there in twenty minutes. We're going to eat Chinese and have girl talk and—I don't know, hell, bake cookies and do our nails or something."

  "Girl talk?"

  "Shut up. I can totally do girl talk," she said. "I'll girl talk the heck out of you and we'll figure out all your boy troubles."

  "I don't have—"

  "Twenty minutes." Lindsay hung up and I closed my mouth when I realized it was still hanging open. Lindsay was a force of nature, but she was also a good friend and maybe . . . maybe I needed to talk to someone about the whole Finn-weirdness that was going on. Someone who'd assure me that I wasn't crazy, but who could give me a rational explanation for everything that had happened.

  Someone who could give me a reason that didn't include Finn lying to me.

  Finn.

  I thumbed through my contacts to his name again, and didn't hesitate to press the call button.

  He answered on the second ring. "Hey."

  "Hey." I swallowed, nervous, although I knew I shouldn't be. "I, uh. Got your call?"

  "Hmm?" He seemed distracted.

  "Finn?"

  He cleared his throat. "Sorry. Working on a letter to the admissions office. I'm hoping I'll be able to come back next quarter." I heard a couple of clicks, probably his computer keyboard. "What did you say?"

  "Um . . . nothing, really. I just got your call, and . . . I thought you were tired?" My heart thumped in my chest, palms sweaty as I waited for his response.

  "Kind of," he replied. "But I really wanted to get this letter off. I'm supposed to meet the guys for din—"

  "But you're tired. You said you were wiped." I felt my voice rising with my agitation.

  "What are you talking about? I'm not that tired."

  "You called me. From the private number—"

  "Ro—"

  "The connection was bad, but you said you were tired. You said you'd call me tomorrow." I forced the words out, even and firm. He had to remember. He had to. "You said you loved me."

  "Ro, I told you that wasn't me. I didn't call you."

  "Not this morning," I snapped. "Just now. You called me just now!"

  "It wasn't me. I swear, Ro, I've been working on this letter for an hour." He sounded worried, his voice soothing, like he was . . . like he was talking down a crazy person. "Babe, are you okay?"

  "I—" I twisted my fingers in my hair. "But you did. I heard you."

  "I'm coming over."

  "No!" Panic seized me. I didn't know why, but I needed to figure this out myself. If Finn were there, I'd only get more confused. "No, it's okay," I said, forcing myself to sound calm, even. "It's probably some kids playing a prank or something."

  "I can tell the guys I'm busy."

  "No, Finn, it's fine, really." I laughed, the sound harsh and tinny to my own ears. "Lindsay's coming over for a girl's night. We're going to hang out and watch a movie or something."

  Finn was silent for a moment. "You sure?"

  "Yeah, yeah, of course. Like I said, it's probably just a stupid prank."

  "Well, if they call back, you should call the cops or something. They can trace it and get the little monsters to leave you alone."

  I let out another short laugh. "Well, I don't think it'll come to that. I'll just ignore the calls from now on."

  "Good idea." I heard a rustle of fabric. "You sure you're okay?"

  I let out a quiet breath.

  No.

  "I'm fine," I said. "Have fun tonight and I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

  "Yeah, okay. Love you."

  I swallowed, a dry gulp, and my words came out choked. "Love you, too."

  I hung up and set the phone down next to me on the bed. I'd lied to Finn. Lied when I said I was fine. Lied when I said I thought the calls were a prank.

  Because I knew they weren't. I knew Finn's voice and—bad connection or not—I'd recognize it anywhere. It had been Finn who called me. But I also couldn't believe he'd lie to me about it. Couldn't understand why he would.

  I was still sitting there, my mind on an endless loop, when a knock sounded at my front door. I got up to answer it, leaving the phone behind, and found Lindsay standing in the hall, tapping her foot impatiently.

  "They were out of pancakes for the Moo Shu, so we'll just have to make do," she said as she pushed by me, plastic bags dangling from her fingers. Her colorful skirt swirled around her, the familiar scent of patchouli oil wafting in her wake.

  "I brought wine," she said as she set the bags on the kitchen table. "Where's your corkscrew?"

  "Top drawer."

  "Sit," she ordered, jerking her head toward the couch.

  "Linds, I'm fine."

  Her eyes narrowed and she took two steps toward me. "Your aura's all muddy, brown at the edges. You are not all right." She waved her hands as if to encompass all my not-all-rightness, then pointed to the couch. "Sit. I'm pouring wine. We're eating. Then you're going to tell me what's going on."

  With a heavy sigh, I flopped onto the couch, my head dropping back into the soft cushions as I closed my eyes. Lindsay pressed a glass into my hand and I took an obedient sip of wine before digging into the plate she set before me.

  I ate on autopilot, feeling Lindsay's concerned eyes on me. True to her word, though, she kept the conversation light— talking about classes and her job at a New Age book store— until I pushed my empty plate away and swallowed the last of my wine.

  "Okay," she said, waving her hands in a "come on" gesture. "Spill."

  I collapsed back against the couch and rubbed my hands over my face. "I don't know where to start."

  "Start with Finn."

  I glanced at her from between my fingers. Sometimes I thought Lindsay was a little bit flaky, despite the fact that she was my best friend. Other times, she was startlingly intuitive. I sighed.

  "There's something . . . wrong with Finn."

  She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Wrong how?"

  I threw up my hands. "I don't know. That's the problem."

  "Okay . . . okay." She got up and moved beside me on the couch, grabbing my hand. "Take a breath and clear your mind, and then tell me what you mean."

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, my mind flitting over the events of the day.

  "I'm not sure exactly what it is," I said, finally. "There's just been all this strange stuff happening today. I mean, maybe it's nothing and I'm just imagining things." I glanced at Lindsay and she nodded in encouragement.

  "Okay," I said. "It started this morning, after we got back from the airport.” I told her about the phone calls, showed her the Private Number in my call history.

  She examined the phone then handed back. "And you're sure it was Finn."

  "I know his voice, Linds. It was him."

  Lindsay frowned. "But why? Why would he call you from some blocked number and then say he didn't?"

  I collapsed in on myself, clutching my arms across the growing queasiness in my stomach. "I don't know. It doesn't make any sense. I know it sounds crazy—"

  "You are not
crazy," she said firmly. And that pretty much summed up our friendship. No matter what, Lindsay had my back.

  "There's more," I said slowly. "Finn seems . . . weird. Off, somehow. Different. I can't explain it. I keep thinking I'm imagining things— it's Finn, you know?"

  Lindsay nodded, although I was sure she had no idea.

  "But then, a couple of times today . . . " I considered my words carefully. "He'd do something or say something and it just seemed like he was . . . different. It was like he wasn't . . . " I swallowed. "Finn."

  Lindsay's eyes widened. "Okay, that's just creepy."

  "I know—"

  "Like some Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Exorcist kind of stuff." She shuddered.

  "I know!" I stood up and crossed to the window, turned and paced back. "I know how it sounds, and I can't explain it. But I know Finn, and something is wrong, Linds. I don't know what it is, but something's wrong."

  She shot to her feet and pulled me into a hug. "It's okay," she said quietly as I let out a shaky breath. "We're going to figure this out."

  I pulled back to look into her eyes. "How?"

  "Maybe you should talk to him."

  "I tried," I said.

  "Maybe you should try again."

  I turned away, tugging at my hair. "I . . . don't think that'll help, Linds. I really don't."

  She was quiet and when I looked back at her, she frowned and nodded. "Okay, then. I think I need to see Finn."

  "You think that'll help?"

  She shrugged. "Well, it couldn't hurt. Maybe I'll get a read on him and it'll help us get some answers."

  "You going to read his aura?"

  Lindsay glared at me. "I know you think it's BS, but you have to admit I'm right more than I'm wrong."

  I sighed. "Yeah. Okay. But isn't he going to think it's weird?"

  "Sheesh, Ro, I'm not going to walk up to the guy and ask him if he's an alien. What do you take me for? I can be discreet."

  I raised a disbelieving brow.

  "I can!" she protested. "I went this whole time without telling you you look like crap, didn't I?"

  I burst out laughing, suddenly feeling not quite so alone.

  6:03 PM

  "I'm not so sure about this," I told Lindsay as we peered through the window into the pizza place. "I feel like a stalker."

  Lindsay gripped my arm and pulled me flat against the brick wall. "Try and act casual. We just happened to want pizza. Finn just happened to be here."

  I gave her an unimpressed look. "It's where he and his friends always go. He's going to know it's not a coincidence."

  She rolled her eyes. "Then, you missed him and wanted to see him. He's your boyfriend, Ro. It's not unheard of. Come on, work with me here."

  I nodded. Reluctantly. "Can you see him? Can you tell anything from here?"

  Lindsay turned to look through the window. "No, not really. They're all the way in the back. We need to go in."

  I sighed heavily. "Okay. But we just stopped in to say hi on the way to the movies. We're not staying. I'm not the weirdo stalker girlfriend."

  "That's the spirit." Lindsay bumped my shoulder and I followed her through the glass door into the restaurant's dim interior.

  The scent of garlic and spices enveloped me as we made our way to the back of the restaurant, where Finn and his friends stood around one of the pool tables. A couple of large pizzas and half-empty pitchers of beer sat on the counter that ran along the wall, and Finn leaned his cue against one of the stools so he could grab a slice and take a large bite. He spotted me and started to smile, then apparently realized how gross that would be with a mouthful of pepperoni. He set down the rest of his pizza and swallowed before leaning down to kiss me.

  "Hey," he said, nodding at Lindsay. "What are you guys doing here?"

  "Heading to a movie and we just stopped in to say hello. We're not staying," Lindsay said quickly.

  Discreet. Right.

  "Okay," Finn said slowly. "You want some pizza?"

  "No," I replied, smiling at him. "Really, we were just passing by."

  "Are you sure . . .?" Finn glanced up at Lindsay, then pulled me aside, lowering his voice. "Are you sure you're okay? You sounded really upset on the phone."

  I forced myself to smile wider. "Yeah, I'm fine. Really."

  "How are you, Finn?" Lindsay asked, eyeing him closely. "You feeling okay?"

  "Uh, yeah." Finn glanced at me sideways. He generally thought Lindsay was weird. This wasn't helping.

  "No blackouts?" she asked. "Memory loss? Finding yourself someplace without realizing how you got there?"

  "Lindsay," I groaned.

  "What is this about?" Finn asked, and I heard the edge of irritation in his voice.

  "Nothing!" I grabbed Lindsay to pull her from the room. "We've got to go if we're going to make the movie on time."

  "But—"

  "Linds," I muttered. "Let's. Go." I waved at Finn. "Talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

  Finn lifted a hand to wave back, and he looked more than a little dazed. I couldn't say I blamed him.

  When we got out onto the sidewalk, I kept walking until we were out of sight of the pizza place, then sat on a bench outside a small cafe. Lindsey sat down next to me and gave me a sheepish grin.

  "Discreet, huh?" I poked her shoulder.

  "Hey— I tried," she exclaimed. "But I wasn't getting anything, so I thought maybe if I prodded him a little, got a response . . ."

  "And?"

  "And . . ." she sighed. "And nothing."

  "Nothing?"

  She shook her head. "He looks the same to me. His aura's blue with a little purple and green— like always. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Sorry."

  I slumped. "No, it's okay." I wasn't sure what I expected. What I wanted. "Maybe I am imagining all of this."

  Lindsay nudged me with her shoulder and somehow it was comforting. We sat in silence for a while, lost in our own thoughts, then Lindsay nudged me again.

  "Maybe we need to look at this logically, methodically," she said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "You know what they say. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." Lindsay nodded sagely.

  "Oh my god, are you quoting Sherlock Holmes to me?"

  She blinked. "That was Mr. Spock."

  "Pretty sure Spock was quoting Sherlock Holmes."

  "Whatever." She waved a hand, a wave of patchouli hitting me with the movement. "The point is, we need to look at this like Spock, or Sherlock— " She gave me an indulgent nod. "—would. Logically. Methodically. We go through all this weird stuff that's been going on, make a list of possible explanations, eliminate the impossible. And whatever's left. . ." She shrugged.

  "Must be the truth," I murmured.

  "That's what I'm saying." She fumbled in her bag and pulled out an old receipt and a pen. "So, we have the phone calls, and you said he seems different," she said, scribbling on the paper. "How do you mean? Can you be more specific?"

  I chewed on my lip. "His hair looks different. I don't know how that could be, but I think it's shorter maybe?"

  Lindsay frowned, but added it to the list. "Tell me about the calls," she said. "What exactly did he say?"

  "Let me think," I replied. "Okay, the first time—"

  "What time was that?"

  "Ummm . . ." I pulled out my phone and thumbed through the received call. "The first call was at 9:57. Then 12:06. Last one at . . . 3:25."

  Lindsay wrote it all down. "Okay— what did he say the first time? Try to remember exactly, if you can."

  I searched my memory. "Not much, really. At least not much I could understand. The connection was really bad and it kept cutting out." I thought for a moment. "There was noise in the background. I remember thinking it was a loudspeaker, maybe? But that doesn't make any sense."

  "Loudspeaker. Okay," Lindsay said. "Then what?"

  "Next was the voice mail I accidentally deleted," I repl
ied, still frustrated by that fact. "He said he loved me and that we could make it through this."

  Lindsay sat up a little. "Through what?"

  "I don't know."

  She hummed. "Anything else?"

  I shrugged. "It was a bad connection again. He said the service was bad wherever he was. Right before he hung up he said, 'They're calling my...' something. I couldn't make it out."

  Lindsay sat back and stared out across the street, pondering that. "Calling my name? Calling my number? Maybe he was at a bank?"

  "Or a post office. Or a deli. Or the doctor's office." I threw up my hands. "This isn't getting us anywhere."

  "Don't give up now," she said, turning back to her list. "What about the last call?"

  I narrowed my eyes as I tried to focus on that call, Finn's voice. "It was a bad connection again."

  "Seems to be a theme." I glanced at her and she shrugged. "It might be important. He must have been in a bad coverage area. We're not ruling anything out, right?"

  I nodded. "Okay. So, yeah, it was a bad connection, and I could hear him, but he couldn't hear me. Umm, he said he was tired and was going to get some sleep and he'd call me tomorrow."

  "But we just saw him. He didn't seem tired at all."

  "That's what I'm saying! Ugh!" I threw up my hands.

  "Okay, okay." Lindsay tapped the pen against her lips. "Anything else?"

  "I don't think so," I replied. "He asked if I could hear him. I said I could, but he couldn't hear me. Then he said . . ." I closed my eyes and tilted my head back as I remembered his words. "He said, 'If you can hear me, I just wanted to let you know I'm here.'"

  "I'm here?" Lindsay murmured. "Like— 'I'm here for you' kind of here?"

  "No. I think . . . " I said slowly, rolling the words around in my mouth, in my mind, before speaking them out loud. "That's not how he said it. It was more like . . . like 'I've arrived.'"

  "Arrived where?"

  "I have no idea."

  "So . . ." Lindsay doodled on a corner of the paper, thinking for a moment. "I'm here. I love you. We can make it through this. It's almost like—" She sat up a little. "You're sure these calls all came in after Finn had decided not to go home?"

  "Well, yeah. I mean, according to my phone."

  Lindsay held up a finger. "So, theory number one: Your phone is screwed up. Or the calls were delayed? Maybe he placed them earlier, before he changed his mind about leaving?"