Page 55 of The Witch's Orchard
And then the crow opens its mouth and a hard buzzing comes out. Like a thousand bees, it vibrates through my teeth and into my brain and, finally, I open my eyes.
“Dream,” I whisper, groggy. “Just a dream.”
And yet the buzzing continues. I look to my left.
My phone is vibrating, wiggling itself to the edge of the nightstand.
I pick up, answer, put it on speaker.
“Annie,” Leo says. “You okay? I’ve been calling you the last twenty minutes.”
“It’s…” I look at the window.
It’s already past dawn. I rub my eyes and sit up in bed and say, “I was dreaming. I… I guess I was dreaming.”
“You gotta get out of that hick-ass town, Annie. That shit is crazy. I saw they found your girl.”
“Yeah,” I say. I don’t remember telling him the name of the town I was in but I’m not surprised he knows, not surprised he checked the news. “I found her yesterday morning.”
I sit up and discover that I’m wobbly, still tired, still half in the dream. Outside, it’s raining. It’s a cold, foggy, pelting rain. I yank on my tennis shoes regardless.
“You okay?” Leo asks again. The worry in his voice startles me, and I realize I must sound as bad as I feel.
“Yeah,” I say. Carrying my phone, I stumble into the bathroom, where I splash my face, pee, wash my hands, hold my mouth under the spigot. “Yeah. I’m okay. But… Leo, that girl was probably here the whole time.”
“Yeah,” Leo says. “Or else someone went to a whole lot of trouble to bring her out there just for someone to find.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Me.”
I pull on my leggings and try to focus on the feel of the fabric against my skin, the tight laces of my shoes, the too-bright light of the phone.
“Are you still in… wherever you are?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Leo says. “Just about done. We’ve got some loose ends to tie up—I’ve got to track down some stuff, get things…”
“Tied up,” I say. My eyes are closed.
I sit on the edge of the bed and listen to the rustle of the breath in my chest and think about how much I just want to crawl back under the covers and how much I have to get up and get moving.
“Tell me what you ate for breakfast,” I say. It’s an old trick. Something Leo started and neither of us ever put into words. It was, like so many things between us, simply understood. A place to steer a conversation when you want to admit you’re a raw nerve but not in a place—either physical or emotional—that you can have a soul-bearing discussion.
Translation: I am in a bad way, but there’s nothing I can do about it and I need to hear the sound of your voice.
“I had these chicken coconut noodles,” Leo answers, no hesitation. “They came in this yellow fish sauce. I think turmeric, probably. Lots of garlic. Two boiled eggs in there, nice and soft. They were small eggs, too. Not like you get back in the States. Velvety.” There’s a pause and then, “Hey, you ever had Velveeta?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“I should think it’s nasty but I don’t,” Leo says. “Always have a special place in my heart for Velveeta.”
My mouth breaks into a smile. In the end, it’s the sound of Leo’s voice that brings me back to reality, brings me back to myself. I pad into the kitchen, get a glass of water, take a few sips.
“Hey, listen,” Leo says. “I’ve got a guy looking into your Bob Ziegler.”
“Okay.”
“Should know something later.”
“All right. Let me know.”
