Free Shadow of Doubt by Norah McClintock Page B

appreciatively and rubbed his hands together. I waited until my meal had been set down in front of me before I said, “Did the police find out who trashed Ms. Denholm’s car?”
    â€œNot that I’m aware of,” my father said.
    â€œYou keep saying that, Dad. You sound like a politician trying to distance himself from a scandal. What’s going on?”
    He shook out his linen napkin and laid it on his lap. Before he dove into his own meal, he looked at my plate and said, “That looks pretty good.” In other words, “End of conversation.”
    After we ate, we went back upstairs.
    â€œHow about a movie?” my father said.
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œI’ll make the popcorn.”
    â€œDad, we just ate.”
    â€œRobbie, you can’t watch a movie without popcorn. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
    There was no point in arguing. When it came to popcorn, I always lost.
    â€œWhile you’re doing that, I’m gonna check my messages,” I said. “Maybe Ben called.”
    I fished my smartphone out of my backpack, which was sitting near the front door where I had left it. Two messages. The first was from Ben. I listened to it as I went back into the living room. He had called to tell me where he’d meet me the next day. I didn’t recognize the second phone number on the screen. When I listened to the message, I felt as if the breath had been knocked out of me.
    It was Nick.
    â€œHey Robyn, you’re probably mad at me, which I guess is why I haven’t heard from you.”
    He
hadn’t heard from
me
? What was he talking about? I had no idea where he was.
    â€œI guess I don’t blame you,” the message continued. “I just, well, I—”
    I couldn’t make out most of the rest of his message—there was a roar in the background. It sounded like a gargantuan piece of machinery—maybe an airplane engine. Or maybe a crowd of people. “...coming back...love...” More noise. “...call...”
    End of message. I checked the number on the display again and pressed the call button. All I got was a recorded message: “The number you are calling cannot receive incoming calls.”
    I listened to Nick’s message again, and again I couldn’t make out what he had said. After two months with no word at all from him, of not even knowing where he was, Nick had called me, wondering why I hadn’t contacted
him
. He had said something about coming back (I think) and about loving me (I think) and had asked me to call (I think). But call him
where
? Had he given another phone number that had been drowned out by all that noise? If he didn’t hear from me, would he call again? Or would he assume that I didn’t want to speak to him? Knowing Nick—
    I don’t want to blame my father for what happened next. It wasn’t really his fault. I was the one who decided to listen to the message again on my way back to the sofa. I was the one so intent on trying to hear what Nick was saying under all that noise that I wasn’t watching where I was going. I didn’t see my dad sweep out of the kitchen carrying a bowl of popcorn. I guess he didn’t see me, either, until it was too late. We collided. I dropped my phone. When I bent to scoop it up, I must have hit the wrong button because I heard that robot-like voice say, “Message deleted.”
    No, no, NO!
I thought. I fumbled with the phone. I punched in my code to retrieve messages. The robotlike voice said, “You have no new messages. You have no saved messages.”
    I let out a howl.
    â€œRobbie?” My father sounded alarmed. “Robbie, everything okay?” Tears rolled down my cheeks as I stared at my phone. “What’s wrong?” my dad asked.
    â€œNick,” I said.
    My dad looked confused. He glanced around as if he expected to see Nick standing in the room with us. Then he zeroed in on my