This Side of Salvation

CHAPTER 5

NOW

My phone still lies on my nightstand, undisturbed. I left it there on purpose before going to Stephen’s after-prom party so my parents couldn’t use it to track my location.

Mara’s phone has no tracker app, since they trust her. Trusted her— past tense now, I guess.

There’s only one text, from Kane, from ten minutes ago: Home yet? In huge trouble?

I reply: Home. Yeah, don’t call. If he heard my voice he’d know something was up. Instinct tells me to keep Mom and Dad’s disappearance secret for now. Bailey ok?

No answer comes. Since Kane hadn’t been drinking, he had no reason to run away, so right now he’s probably following the cops, taking notes. He’s wanted to be an FBI agent since he went to the bureau’s headquarters on a sixth-grade field trip, and he’s pretty much memorized every crime show in the history of television.

I toss the phone on my bed, following it with clean boxer shorts, sweatpants, and a T-shirt from my dresser. I use a stray towel to wipe the accumulated grime off my chest and arms, knowing I should shower but not wanting to miss Kane’s reply, or a call or message from Bailey.

Naturally, I think of her as I strip off the swim trunks. Was it only two hours ago we were alone together for the first time in weeks? Those minutes in the pool house feel like a lightning flash in the middle of a long, dark storm. In those minutes, I could see, with blinding clarity, who I was and what I wanted.

Once dressed, I sit on the bed and stare at my phone’s empty screen. We haven’t found Mom’s phone yet. Mara ran around the house, listening for our mother’s goofy ringtone of the week, while I collected the shrapnel of Dad’s BlackBerry, wishing my pitching coach could see the dent it left in the wall.

At the thought of calling Bailey, my head gets light and swimmy, as if that one swig of Jack Daniel’s in the hot tub was an entire bottle. Are we back together now? Maybe our time at the party was just a fun good-bye. I never figured out how to ask, “Are you my girlfriend again?” without sounding clueless. Obviously I didn’t anticipate the night getting cut short by cops.

Time to man up.

I dial her number and immediately reach voice mail: “Hey, it’s Bailey. Leave a message and I’ll call you back. Leave a creative message and I’ll call you back faster.”

Her voice calms my racing pulse enough for me to speak. “It’s David. I know it’s”—I look at the clock—“oh, wow, four a.m. Sorry.

And I’m sorry I ran out on you at Stephen’s. I had to get Mara away from the police. You saw how she was.” Getting off topic. Reel it in. “Anyway, I hope you’re okay. Let me know as soon as you can. I, uh, I’m worried. About you. About a lot of things. Also, I realized I never said I was sorry about what happened last month. It was my fault too. Probably mostly my fault. Maybe totally.” After an awkward pause, I add, “I love you.”

I hang up and head downstairs. In the event Bailey calls back tonight, I’ll sound a lot less crazy if Mara and I can figure out what’s going on.

I find my sister in the kitchen, yanking open the junk drawer. She’s wearing pajamas and glasses now, but her hair is still pinned up in the straggly remnants of her trip to the salon.

“What are you looking for?”

“Mom’s phone.” She slams the drawer shut. “Since we couldn’t hear it ring, I thought maybe she stuck it in a drawer and the battery ran out.”

“Are their phone chargers here?”

“Dad’s is on the table, can’t find Mom’s.”

I spy the leftover pizza I left on the counter and pick it up. “Laptops?”

“Check their room. Did you search the cars?”

“For what?”

“Duh. Clues!” Mara flaps her hand at me. “How can you eat at a time like this?”

On the countertop, her cell phone bleeps with a text. She grabs it, hands shaking, but her face falls when she sees the screen. “It’s just Sam. ‘Home safe. How about you?’ That’s nice of him to check in.” “Told you he was a good guy.”

“I’ll say I’m home, but I’m grounded and can’t see him this week.” She started thumbing in a message. “No one can know Mom and Dad are gone until we figure out where and why.”

I take the pizza upstairs to the master bedroom. Both laptop cases sit against the wall beside the dresser, with the computers inside them.

Mom’s browser window is open to the website of Sophia Visser, the preacher who convinced my parents that Jesus was returning to “Rush” His beloved followers to heaven. At the center of the page is the animated countdown clock that was scheduled to turn to zero about an hour ago, signaling His coming. The clock currently show’s “-4:05:32,” which would’ve been about eleven p.m., when Mom and Dad went to bed.

As the laptop connects to the wireless network, the animation on Sophia’s website automatically updates before my eyes. The clock slowly dissolves, replaced by six words stretching across the screen:. . . like a thief in the night . . .