Maggie Conlin. May I help you?
Its me.
Jake? Where are you?
Baltimore. Are you working all day today?
Yes. When do you expect to get home?
Ill be back in California by the weekend. Hows Logan?
He misses you.
I miss him, too. Big-time. Ill take care of things when I get home.
I miss you, too, Jake.
Listen, Ive got to go.
I love you.
He didnt respond, and in the long-distance silence, Maggie knew that Jake still clung to the untruth that shed cheated on him while he was in Iraq. Standing there at the kiosk of a suburban bookstore, she ached for the man she fell in love with to return to her. Ached to have their lives back. I love you and I miss you, Jake.
Ive got to go.
Twice that afternoon, Maggie stole away to the stores restroom, where she sat in a stall, pressing tissue to her eyes.
After work, Maggie made good time with the traffic on her way to Logans school. The last buses were lum bering off when she arrived.
Maggie signed in at the main office then went to the classroom designated for pickups. Eloise Pearce, the teacher in charge, had two boys and two girls waiting with her. Logan was not among them. Maybe he was in the washroom?
Mrs. Conlin? Eloise smiled. Goodness, why are you here? Logans gone.
Hes gone? What do you mean, hes gone?
He got picked up earlier today.
No, thats wrong!
Eloise said Logans sign-out was done that morning at the main office. Maggie hurried back there and smacked the counter bell loud enough for a secretary and Terry Martens, the vice-principal, to emerge.
Where is my son? Where is Logan Conlin?
Mrs. Conlin. The vice-principal slid the days sign-out book to Maggie. Mr. Conlin picked up Logan this morning.
But Jakes in Baltimore. I spoke to him on the phone a few hours ago.
But Jakes in Baltimore. I spoke to him on the phone a few hours ago.
Terry Martens and the secretary traded glances.
He was here this morning, Mrs. Conlin, the viceprincipal said. He said something unexpected had come up and you couldnt make it to the school.
What?
Is everything all right?
Maggies breathing quickened as she called Jakes cell phone while hurrying to her car. She got several static-filled rings before his voice mail kicked in.
Jake, please call me and tell me whats going on! Please!
Each red light took forever as Maggie drove through traffic. She called her home number, got her machine and left another message for Jake. Wheeling into her neighborhood, Maggie considered calling 911.
And what would I say?
Better to get home. Figure this out. Maybe shed misunderstood and the guys were at home right now. Was Jake actually in Blue Rose Creek? Why would he tell her he was in Baltimore? Why would he lie?
Turning onto her street, Maggie expected to see Jakes rig parked in its place next to their bungalow.
It wasnt there.
The brakes on her Ford screeched as she roared into her driveway, trotted to the door, jammed her key in the lock.
Logan!
No sign of Logans pack at the door. Maggie went to his room. No sign of Logan or his pack there. She hurried from room to room, searching in vain.
Jake! Logan!
She called Jakes cell again.
And she kept calling.
Then she called Logans teacher, then Logans friends. No one knew, or had heard anything. She ran next door to Mr. Millers house, but the retired plumber said he hadnt been home all day. She called Logans swim coach. She called the yard where Jake got his rig serviced.
No one had heard anything.
Was she crazy? You cant drive from Baltimore to California in half a day. Jake said he was in Baltimore.
She rifled through Jakes desk not knowing what she was looking for. She called the cell-phone company to see if billing could confirm where Jake was when he made the call. It took some choice words before they checked, only to tell her that there was no record of calls being placed on Jakes cell phone for the past two days.
By early evening she phoned police.
The dispatcher tried to calm Maggie. Maam, well put out a description of the truck and plate. Well check for any traffic accidents. Thats all we can do for now.
As night fell, Maggie lost track of time and the calls shed made. Clutching her cordless phone, she jumped to her window each time a vehicle passed her house as Logans words haunted the darkness that swallowed her.
something bad is going to happen
2
Five months later
Fausts Fork, near Banff, Alberta, Canada
Haruki Ito was alone, hiking along the river when he stopped dead.
He raised his Nikon to his face, rolled his long lens until the bear in the distance filled his viewfinder. A grizzly sow, stalking trout on the bank of the wild Faust River in the Rocky Mountains.
Photographing the grizzly was a dream come true for Ito, on vacation from his job as a news photographer with The Yomiuri Shimbun, one of Tokyos largest news papers. As he took a picture then refocused for another, something blurred in his periphery.
He focused and shot it- a small hand rising from the rushing current.
Ito hurried along the bank to offer help, struggling through dense forests and over the mist-slicked rocks while glimpsing the hand, then an arm, then a head in the water before the river released its victim into an eddy nearby.