Suddenly, Trish doesn’t know what to answer. She suspects she should have thought this out, far more, before making the call.
To tell Matty the truth will make Trish’s family seem as kooky as they are. To tell him the truth will reveal her parents as the liars they are. To tell him the truth will violate her parents’ trust in having specifically told her not to tell anyone where they were headed, and where they are now.
Not to tell Matty the truth, though, will endanger Trish and his relationship. From the get-go, they have promised each other that they will never lie to one another. Both have seen the disastrous results of lying on other relationships. They’re determined that won’t happen to theirs.
“Briana James said your grandmother died,” Matty says into the silence.
“Not quite so dire,” Trish says, figuring that’s the truth for sure. “It’s a family thing. Hopefully, I’ll be back in school soon, maybe even tomorrow.” If wishes were gold and pigs could fly.
“You’re still in town, then?”
“Between Flicker and Seattle,” Trish says. She didn’t add — out in the scrubland, having hiked in, having pitched a tent, having sat around staring at candle light and trying to figure out some meaning to her little sister’s dream of a blue candle and a blue-robed girl.
“Glad you’re okay,” Matty says. “Glad your grandmother didn’t die. I still miss mine.”
“I just didn’t want you to worry,” Trish continues with the truth as she can reveal it. “It was all kind of sudden, and I knew you’d wonder what happened.”
“You got that right.”
“Anyway, I …”
Trish stops talking, listens. She has heard something, and not on the phone, but what? Have her parents detected the light in the tent? Have they come to find out what mischief their elder daughter is up to?“What?” Matty asks from the other end.
“Shhhhhh,” Trish insists.
After a minute, she decides she’s imagined hearing anything at all. She doesn’t remember Dry Wash Gulch being nearly as creepy the last time around.
“Thought I heard someone,” she apologizes. “You know how parents don’t like us talking when we should be sleeping. As if we’re conspiring to do something they know they’ll be dead-set against.”
“Don’t I, though,” Matty said. Why else is his phone nightly under his pillow, on vibrate?
“So, just don’t worry, and I’ll be back soon.” Certainly Trish hopes she’ll be back soon. She doesn’t know how much longer she can take of all this getting-creepier-by-the-minute nonsense. “If there’s too much of a delay, I’ll call you again.” Anyway, she’ll “try” to call him again.
“Love you,” she says and makes kissing sounds into the phone’s mouthpiece, by way of fond farewell.
She breaks their tele-connection before Matty asks or says something that will make Trish tell an out-and-out-lie — or not tell an out and out lie and end up in major hot water as far as her parents are concerned.She’s tucking the phone back into the concealment of her pocket, when…
She does hear something. This time, she’s certain it comes from just outside the tent.
Like a turtle, she slides her head out of her sleeping bag shell and into the darkness held, like her, imprisoned within the enclosing canvas.
She listens.
There is someone or something definitely out there.
“Dad?” she asks. Can she actually see her breath gone misty against the dark, or does she only imagine the air gone icier?
It’s as if someone or something is sniffing or breathing heavily along the tent’s perimeter.
“Dad?” she repeats.
“Noooooooooooooooooo, not dad,” comes a whispered and hissed reply.
Copyright 2009 W. MALTESE
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