Track 13

“Don’t Ask”

Present Day

“There you are!” With impeccable timing, Aunt Carole bursts into the corridor. The musky fragrance she liberally douses herself with every hour on the hour wafts in around me.

Involuntarily, I cough.

“Are you coming down with something?” Aunt Carole presses the back of her hand to my forehead. She’s very aware that coughs aren’t caused by dust mites here, so naturally she assumes I’m sick.

“Oh, just a mild inferiority complex,” I mutter. I’m Hayden’s worst nightmare? Granted, he merely said my lookalike was in his nightmare. But his opportunity to elaborate just vanished in a cloud of perfume. In a louder voice, I say, “It’s nothing. Do you need me?”

“Can I borrow our newest employee for a few minutes?” she asks. “I just found a key I’ve been looking for. I need help moving archive boxes from one of Charlie’s old storage rooms. It’s being detail cleaned tonight.”

“On it.” Hayden practically clicks his heels. I’m surprised he doesn’t salute.

“Hey, I can do that for you,” I protest. “I’ve been carting boxes from place to place for weeks. My biceps are phenomenal.” I note that Hayden makes a concerted attempt to not check out my arms. He focuses on tying a shoelace that was already knotted into a perfect bow.

“Yes, they are, dear.” Aunt Carole grins. “But I figure I’ll give you some time to let those paper cuts you’ve been moaning about heal. Could you look after the front desk while we’re gone?”

“Sure,” I say, feeling a breeze as Hayden bolts to Aunt Carole’s side like he can’t get away from my riveting office tour fast enough. “Oh, and if you see any archive boxes from 1984 to 1986, can you please bring them out for me?”

“Will do,” Hayden says. This time he does salute. A small, respectful gesture, not a defiant two-fingered one.

As I man the front desk, thumping sounds as well as exclamations of “Oof” and “Arrhhh” from Aunt Carole float out from the back offices. Seems the task is going to take eons or longer.

Which gives me time to do a little more trawling of the net in search of anything to do with Jane Flanagan. I bookmarked a trove of 1980s newspaper archives and was hoping to find a few more witnesses’ names or connections. No doubt some, maybe all, of those people might be dead by now. But who knows? They might have talked to friends or family members who are still around.

I wake up the reception desk’s computer. Numerous tabs are open on the internet browser—hilarious cat vids, recipe sites, celebrity gossip news. One shows a tabloid site’s screaming headline: Aliens Among Arizonians.

“Oh, Aunt Carole. Can’t resist click bait, can you?” I lean my elbows on the desk and continue reading. Because I also can’t resist click bait.

Residents of Phoenix are no strangers to unidentified flying objects. In 1997, and in the years since, thousands of witnesses from all walks of life have reported seeing lights on a large “ship” unlike any other in the skies above the city. Now one woman says the ship has not only landed, but also its occupants have walked among us.

“They can take on any form they want,” claimed the forty-three-year-old former RN, who now runs a UFO research—

“And…we’re back,” Aunt Carole says, rounding the desk. “Thank you for filling in for me.”

“No problem,” I say absently, still reading the article.

Aunt Carole reaches into her bag and applies two more squirts of Tabu. It’s all I can do not to pinch my nostrils shut.

Hayden rolls in a chrome cart that’s filled with a grand total of two archive boxes and stops by the water cooler. He fills two cups and hands them to us before pouring a third for himself.

“Good workout lifting all those boxes?” I ask him. My eyes want to stray to his biceps, see how they’re faring, but I rein myself in.

“These are heavier than they look,” he says before draining his cup. “And in my defense, I had to move twenty-one boxes in order to get to those two babies.”

“Huh. What a nightmare,” I say without thinking. Then I catch Hayden’s barely perceptible frown and remember what he was trying to tell me earlier. His nightmares about me. Or rather, about someone who looks kind of like me. It makes me super curious. Who’s the girl? Why did he look so haunted? She must’ve meant a lot to him if she’s still on his subconscious brain.

He gestures at the monitor. “What were you grinning at earlier? Cat GIFs?”

“Yup, and UFOs.”

Hayden shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Oh.”

Aunt Carole taps me on the arm with a golden nail. “Wasn’t that article amazing?”

“Amazing isn’t the word that came to mind,” I scoff.

“You sound like a nonbeliever,” Hayden says.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Aunt Carole scrolls through the story. “It says they’re seven feet tall, but they disguise themselves as basketball players.”

I look over her shoulder. If my ex-boyfriend Sean turns out to be an alien, that would explain so much about him. “Riiiight. I didn’t read that far. Do they speak our language?”

“Yes, English, but a witness said they had a European accent.”

Turning to Hayden, I watch him carefully. “Do you believe in this stuff?”

Hayden takes one slow step at a time, his face a jumble of fascination and…fear? The fear makes sense if he feels like his brain will melt from being forced to read this garbage. His lips purse as he looks at the screen.

Actually, no. He’s staring into deep space.

I wave my hand in front of his face. “Hayden?”

He snaps out of his trance. “It’s kind of arrogant to think we’re alone in the universe. Or that our universe is the only universe. There’s got to be other life-forms out there. Like our teacher said in class the other day.”

“Yeah, but she was talking about bacteria.”

Aunt Carole elbows me. “I pulled up a sighting on YouTube. Hayden, come on back here.”

She plays a blurry clip of a shiny silver object hovering behind a brick house in Maryland. People in the background chant “Oh my God!” over and over.

“Look at how out of proportion that thing is.” I smirk. “That’s a lampshade, not a freakin’ UFO.”

Rolling her eyes, Aunt Carole finds another video. “These are the Phoenix Lights, the ones from the article.”

Hayden enlarges the video window and leans in for a closer look. It’s not going to do him any good; the image is fuzzy.

The “footage” shows a series of steady amber lights aligned in a V-shape. They hover over the mountain range bordering the city.

“How do you explain that?” Aunt Carole asks. “Even the mayor and military people swear they saw this ship.”

Hayden squints at the clip. “It’s pretty compelling.”

“But is it real or fake footage? Anyone could doctor it.” I wave my hand dismissively at the screen. “Besides, why can’t anyone get clear video or pics of a UFO? Every woman and her dog have a camera in their pockets these days.”

Hayden’s jaw clenches. He’s taking this way too seriously—they both are. “Maybe because people report their equipment failing when UFOs are close,” he says.

“Yes!” Aunt Carole clicks her fingers emphatically. “That happened in a movie I saw.”

“Uh, you’re citing proof of UFOs from a movie?” Aunt Carole is at the front line of a firm that deals in facts and evidence. What the hell? “Until I see one for myself, UFOs and aliens don’t exist. Now, let’s start scanning these files”—my lips twitch—“before Darth Vader comes down and slices us in half with a lightsaber.”

After work, I toss my bag in the back seat of my car. “Do you really believe in UFOs?”

“I’m open to it,” Hayden replies. But his tone sounds defensive.

I offered to drive him home because his dad needed his truck and had dropped him off earlier. I punch his address into my navigation app, then give him a reassuring smile and say, “I don’t think any less of you for it. But I’d be careful about broadcasting that to the world.”

Hayden swivels in his seat to face me. “See, this is what bugs me. There’s no definitive proof that a god exists, and no one cares if you worship one. But are you automatically labeled cuckoo because of your belief in a god? No, because it’s all about faith. I don’t see belief in aliens as any different.”

He makes an interesting point. But that doesn’t mean I’m convinced.

I stop at an intersection. The bright neon lights of the thirty-two-flavor ice-cream parlor wash pink and yellow hues all over Hayden’s face, making his cheekbones stand out in a way that’d make a catwalk model jealous. “Is that why there’s a religion based on the Jedi knights from Star Wars?”

“What? There is?”

“Yeah. Twenty thousand members in New Zealand alone.”

“Wow.” He sits back in his seat, looking thoughtfully at the dash.

I keep one eye on the traffic signals. “Tell me you’re not actually thinking of joining.”

His head lolls toward me, and a swath of hair falls over one eye. He pushes it back, but not before a thought flits across my mind. Hayden is Hot. Capital H.

I shelve the thought immediately. If we’re going to work together, I need to keep it professional. He blasted through digitizing five boxes of files in less than two hours, though. All with zero paper cuts and minimal wrinkles to that starched shirt. So at this rate, the project would be done within a couple of weeks. Unless, of course, Aunt Carole discovers a warehouse full of old files.

“Worship fictional characters? What’s wrong with that?” He winks.

Exhaling loudly, I say, “Thank Jedi. You were joking.”

It’s great to see Hayden has a sense of humor underneath that too-serious exterior. The traffic signals change, and I step lightly on the gas.

“People should be open to unknown things, like UFOs and stuff,” Hayden continues. “Do you know some governments are declassifying documents about UFOs?”

“For real?”

“Yes, for real!” He turns in his seat, growing animated and gesturing as he speaks. “Sooner or later, this world will acknowledge that we’re not the only intelligent life in the universe. We already know there are other universes, other Earth-like planets. We need to be careful—” He claps his mouth shut like he’s said too much. Or he’s embarrassed he said anything at all.

At first I thought Hayden was just humoring Aunt Carole, but now it seems he literally got brainwashed by the likes of Inquiring Minds magazine. “Careful about what? Being abducted by aliens? According to those UFO stories, you don’t get much choice.”

Hayden turns his face to the window. Finally, he laughs. But it sounds forced. Hollow. He checks his phone and fires off a quick text.

My own urge to laugh dies in my throat. I’ve definitely hit a nerve. Feeling awkwardness stretch between us, I switch from the GPS navigation to a playlist.

“The Whole of the Moon” by The Waterboys starts, filling the silence.

“Great song,” Hayden says after the first chorus.

“Yeah, my mom said it was a big hit when she was a kid.” I drum my fingers on the steering wheel in time to the staccato beat. “She put together this playlist of her favorite songs, and told me I need to listen not just to the melodies but to the lyrics. Find meaning in them.”

He tilts his head toward the speaker. “And what does this song mean to you?”

“My interpretation? Seeing the whole picture and not taking things on face value. There’s always more to every story. Like, with the moon, some people see a crescent. And others see—”

“The whole moon,” he finishes.

“Right. How about you? Big music fan?” As I accelerate around a corner, I suddenly remember what Mabel Parkes said about the logo on the van. The moon phases. Is that why Mom put this song on the playlist? Because she’d found the clue? Maybe she pursued that line and it turned out to be yet another dead end. After all, if it was the van involved in Jane’s disappearance, that could have broken the case. And she wouldn’t be stuck in Eden Estate right now.

I wish I could access Mom’s notes. Better yet, talk to her about Jane again. But if I ask her, I’m afraid she’ll snap. I can’t take that risk. She’s still fragile.

“I’m sure I could play if I put my mind to it.” Hayden mimes playing keyboard chords. “What I’m really into is flying.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I got my pilot’s license as soon as I turned sixteen. But I have to give it up.” He shakes his head. “Flying is an expensive hobby. And to be completely honest? I’m waiting for teleporting to be a thing again.”

“Again?” I throw him a puzzled look. “I wasn’t aware there was ever a teleporting thing outside of movies.”

Hayden coughs and clears his throat repeatedly. “Yeah, uh, I got my tech screwed up. I meant to say supersonic jets. Like the Concorde. Those things flew at twice the speed of sound.”

“Sounds awesome. Promise you’ll take me for a ride if you ever get your hands on one.”

“Deal,” he says, grinning.

I approach the final kinks in the road to his cul-de-sac. It’s not hard to figure out which of the almost identical craftsman-style houses is casa McGraw. There’s only one house on the block with lights blazing. The other two-story homes are dark. Silent.

Eerie.

Like all the others, Hayden’s is made of engineered timber, with a faux stone chimney facade. The portico is topped by “wood” shingles. A curtain in a front window swishes, and a short, silhouetted figure presses against the glass.

He peers at the house, lips twisting as if he’s trying to make a decision. At last he says, “Are you hungry? I’m pretty sure my family would love you to stay for dinner.”

“Pretty sure, huh?” I grin. My stomach rumbles at the thought of food. Dad’s gone out with a client to dinner. I had firm plans to devour a pint of ice cream and study old newspapers. On the one hand, I didn’t want to lose any more research time. But on the other hand, Hot-with-a-capital-H Hayden McGraw is inviting me into his house. I could spare an hour. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Good,” he says. “I’ve told them all about you.”

A huge, unappetizing lump lodges in the pit of my stomach. A meet-the-parents moment already? I mean, it’s not like we’re dating, but still… I squirm. “Um, what have you told them?”

And…why has he told them all about me?

“That you’re the first real person I’ve met in Dawson.” He gives me a tight grin and opens the passenger-side door.

“Ah, so you figured it out. All the kids at school are cyborgs.”

“Not all. Just the ones in the Calculus Club.” He moves his head and arms jerkily like a robot, making me snort-laugh. He opens the door and steps aside. “Come on in.”

Right away, the intoxicating smell of stewed tomatoes and roasted garlic hits me, making me forget the anxiety of meeting my new not-boyfriend’s parents. Two minimally furnished rooms open up on either side of a double-height foyer, but there’s no one in either of them. The sound of crockery rattling comes from the rear of the house; the kitchen, I assume. A golden retriever puppy scrambles down a polished timber hallway and barrels into Hayden’s shins.

“Yoda!” He kneels, and the dog jumps into his arms. Standing up, he holds Yoda at my eye level. The puppy’s pink tongue unfurls and almost hits my nose. Its yips echo around the room.

I scratch Yoda behind the ears, and he bats my arm with the pads of his fluffy feet. Laughing, I say to Hayden, “You really are a Star Wars fan.”

He shrugs. “It’s the greatest story ever told. That and Close Encounters of the Third Kind.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ve never heard of Close Encounters?” Wide-eyed, he puts Yoda on the floor, and the puppy sits with his back legs splayed under his chubby body. “We’ll have to fix this. Soon.”

Elsewhere in the house, something heavy crashes to the floor and an obscenity rings out. Hayden reddens and shrugs it off. He leads me forward, until we reach a swinging door at the end of the hall, then he pauses.

“I need to warn you about something.” Hayden draws in a deep breath.

My heart stutters. “Yes?”

“My folks are normal humanoids,” he says. “But my little sister—”

A bright white light hits me right in the eyeballs. I shield my face and squeeze my eyelids shut. “Hey!”

“Trudy-Rudy!” Hayden exclaims in an exasperated tone. “Put that flashlight away.”

“But I was conducting an experiment,” a little girl’s voice whines. “You can open your eyes now. It’s safe.”

“Phew.” I sigh in mock relief and blink to adjust my vision. All I can see at first are giant transparent yellowish orbs. Then I look down to find the girl’s impish face staring up at me. She’s maybe five years old, and her dimpled cheeks put her on a level of cuteness with Yoda the dog. I try to recall whether I could perfectly pronounce words like conducting and experiment at her age, let alone know how to use them in a sentence. She clutches a small Kermit-green Maglite to her puffed-up chest. “You must be Trudy,” I say. “What’s the experiment?”

Hayden gently reefs the flashlight from Trudy’s hands. He throws an “I tried to warn you about my sister” eye-roll.

Trudy scowls at him, then cranes her neck to gaze up at me. In a sweet voice to match her sweet face, she says, “To see if you’re an alien, too.”