Page 81 of Fragments of the Lost
“Yes, I’m done,” I say. I remember that Hailey’s address was written on Eve’s papers, and I want to cut the conversation short, keep her safe and at a distance.
And then Brandon from the cross-country team leans over and says, “Are they having a garage sale or something?”
I’m not sure whether they’re having a garage sale, or selling things online or through a secondhand store. But his interest, the way he’s practically salivating, is off-putting.
“I assume she’s selling some stuff. I don’t know how,though.”
“Do you think you could put something on hold for me?” he asks. People are jerks, I decide. Or their memories are short-lived.
“No,” I say, the venom rising in my voice. Apparently his good looks have kept him relatively protected from any requirement of manners. He bats his eyelashes once, pouts.
He pouts.
Ugh. I don’t understand his appeal at all.
Then he puts his hands up toward me, palms out, as if I am an animal about to pounce, and maybe I am. I certainly feel like I am. “Okay, okay,” he says. “I’d pay good money for the camping gear, is all I’m saying.”
I go through the contents of his room in my mind once more. “His boots?” I ask. I knew they were expensive, but I doubted Brandon couldn’t have just bought himself a pair if he wanted.
“No, the sleeping bag. It’s pretty sick, all-weather. They cost a fortune, though, and my parents think it’s unnecessary.”
I think again, shake my head. I run through the list of things found in his closet. Under his bed. “There’s no bag,” I say.
“Check the closet,” he says with a shrug. “It’s the type you’d want to keep hanging up. All-down filling, you know? Like I said, pretty sick.”
Something hanging. Something large.
The sound of the hanger swinging in the attic makes me sit straighter.
“How do you know he has this?” I ask.
He takes a bite of his food, talks around it. God, how does anyone find him attractive, honestly? “Ran into him at the outdoors store,” he says. “My dad and I were getting some fishing poles. He was in the camping section checkout line. Had that sleeping bag, one of those waterproof duffel bags, too. Shame if he never got to use them.”
The spot on the attic floor, empty of dust.
I grab his wrist, and he looks startled. “When?” I say.
Brandon shakes free of my grip, makes his eyes go wide and looks around the table to see if anyone else is watching. There’s no need.Everyoneelse is watching. Jessa Whitworth is losing her mind. But I don’t care. I prefer this Jessa to the one who disappeared along with Caleb.
He rubs his wrist, making a big show of it. “I don’t know. End of the summer sometime? Geez, Jessa. Sorry. It was just an idea.”
I push back from the table in a rush, off to find Max. But he’s nowhere to be found. He has class this period. Lab, I think. But I’m not sure of his schedule, and as I race through the halls, peering in the class windows, I don’t see him anywhere.
I send him a text:I know what was in the attic.
I get no response.
—
Instead, I race for my car, alone. Bailing on my afternoon classes. I picture Caleb again that day at my race. Standing there, watching us. The rain coming down, faster, heavier.Now,he thinks.
How long had Caleb waited, before seizing the perfect opportunity? What was he waiting for?
The flood, yes. But if he wanted to run, he could’ve justrun.
All these memories, slowly taking shape.
And I remember that there’s one more place I might find answers left behind.
