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Jarret
Jarret took a few steps down the trail, glanced to make sure no one saw him, and then slipped into the woods. He leaned against a tree with a thick, knotted trunk and lit up. Taking a long drag off the cigarette, he began to relax. He exhaled and watched the smoke billow into a beam of sunlight and dissipate.
Camping no longer seemed like such a lame idea. A change of environment. A whole lot of girls. A way to keep his mind off Keefe playing it up in Italy. And something to do until he could get his first car. He hated waiting. But if he had to wait, he might as well have a distraction.
Too bad Keefe couldn’t be with him. It felt wrong, them being apart. It really felt wrong, Keefe experiencing something he wouldn’t experience for a long time. If ever. He should’ve been the one to go to Italy. If only Jarret’s plan had worked.
His body tensed. He took another slow drag off the cigarette and let the smoke seep out his mouth and nose the way he’d seen it done in old movies. Then he shifted to a more comfortable spot on the tree trunk and stuck a thumb in his belt. His fingers brushed his cell phone.
What was Keefe doing now? Had he gotten the Italian shirt for him? He’d better have. Jarret flicked his cigarette to the ground, snuffed it out with the toe of his boot, and pulled up Keefe’s number. The phone rang five times before Keefe answered.
“Hey.” Jarret tried to sound indifferent though it made him jealous to hear the street sounds in the background.
“Hey, Jarret. What’s up? Are you at the campground?”
“Yeah, yeah, I took your advice and I’m here. I didn’t tell Roland I changed my mind until this morning. I banged on his bedroom door, all ready to go. I think I woke him out of a dead sleep.” He laughed, remembering the stunned look on Roland’s face. He’d been so flustered he didn’t even shower, just dressed and jumped in the car, probably afraid Jarret would change his mind.
“Mr. Digby sure was annoyed.”
Keefe laughed. “Mr. Digby? Why should he care?”
“Ah, he’d been carrying our camping gear back and forth from the basement to the car all day.”
Keefe laughed again. “Poor old Mr. Digby. You ought to treat him better. But I’m glad you’re there instead of all alone in the house. So how’s it going?”
Someone off to the right called Toby’s name.
Jarret slunk around to the left side of the tree. “It’s all right. A lot of hot girls here.” Maybe that would make Keefe jealous.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, and I’m really into one of them. I think she likes me, too.” Girls liked him. Keefe knew it. The fact had made him envious on more than a few occasions in the past. Being identical twins did not make them equally appealing to girls. “Who knows? Maybe me and her will get together, you know, maybe she’ll be my first.” That would make Keefe mad, make him wish he were here.
“Your first? What do you mean by that?” Keefe sounded worried.
Jarret grinned, pleased with himself. Yeah, Keefe was wishing he were here, wishing he could talk him out of the idea. “You know what I mean.”
“I hope you don’t mean what I think you mean.”
Jarret twisted the toe of his boot on the cigarette butt, grinding it apart. His twin knew him well enough. He wouldn’t be able to think of anything else. He would just keep wishing he hadn’t gone to Italy, wishing he could be here to stop him.
“Jarret?” Keefe paused. “Don’t go doing anything stupid. Don’t go doing anything you’d be sorry for.”
“Why would I be sorry for that?”
Keefe huffed into the phone, the way he did when something annoyed him and he didn’t know what to say about it. “So what’s everybody doing right now?”
“Nothing much. Some kid went missing. Everyone’s looking for him.”
“Wow. Who?”
“I don’t know. Peter Brandt’s little brother. I guess he’s autistic and likes to wander.”
“Aren’t you looking for him, too?”
“No.”
“Why not?” he shouted, making Jarret pull the phone from his ear. “Jarret, go look for that kid.”
“More than two dozen people are looking for him. They don’t need me.”
“Yes, they do. Now go.” A muffled sound came over the phone, as if Keefe had covered the phone to talk to someone. “Look, I gotta go. Let’s talk again. I’ll call you later. Help find that kid.”
Jarret gritted his teeth as he ended the call. But he pushed off the tree and cut over to the trail, having in mind to do what Keefe commanded. Keefe was right. He should’ve been helping.
Distant voices sounded to either side. “Toe-bee . . . Toe-bee!” So Jarret strode down the path behind the campsites, the path that led to the river. It would’ve been one of the first places anyone would’ve thought to look, but at least he could say he made an effort.
Not being one to drag his feet, he strutted along at a good pace, fondling his pack of cigarettes as he neared the river. He’d wait until he got to the bank before he actually lit up, a reward for forcing himself to do something he didn’t want to do.
Reaching the riverbank, he tapped a cigarette from the pack and dug the lighter from the pocket of his hoodie. No sooner had he lit up and exhaled a puff of smoke, when he glimpsed something strange on the rocks in the middle of the river.
The river was wide, a good forty feet across, and deep in places, at least according to Peter. Boulders peppered it. Water rippled in patterns around the largest boulder, a long and lumpy thing in the middle of the river. Something hung low off one side, something resembling a . . . shoe?
The cigarette slipped from Jarret’s hand. Dread filled him. He crept to the edge of the riverbank, squinting to get a better look.
The strange object was gray and shaped sort of like a tennis shoe. It hung near the surface of the water, so it might have been something the river dragged up onto a jagged edge of the boulder. It could’ve easily been a trash bag or other piece of garbage. A good-sized branch stuck out the other side of the boulder, so things obviously caught on it.
Jarret sighed. He had no need to suspect the worst. For all he knew, someone could’ve found the boy already. Then again . . .
He scanned the area, finding himself alone at the river. He had no one to get a second opinion from, no one to advise him, and no one to go into the river and check in his place. If he didn’t check, no one would.
“Hey!” he shouted, cupping a hand to the side of his mouth, “Hey, kid! Toby!”
The shoes, or whatever they were, didn’t move.
“Toby! Is that you? You out there?” Feeling stupid for shouting at a boulder, he scanned the area again. He saw no one. If he was really going to do this, he should hurry: find a way out there, take a peek, and get back before anyone came around.
Other boulders littered the river, smaller ones that he could possibly use like a bridge to get out there. Chances were he’d end up wet. He glanced down at his new black Dupree boots and sighed, disgusted.
He snatched his cell phone, wallet, pack of cigarettes, and lighter from his belt and pockets. “If that’s you, Toby . . .” He set his possessions on a dry rock. “. . . and you’re making me come out there and get you . . .” He stepped onto the rock closest to the river’s edge. “. . . you’re gonna be in a heap of trouble.”
A good leap got him to the next rock. Six more rocks would get him to the boulder in the middle of the river. Three jumps later, halfway to his destination, he saw the object clearly. Dirty, gray tennis shoes and—
His gut turned.
Skin. Ankles stuck out of the shoes, and the shoes hadn’t moved at all. How would the kid have gotten out there? What could’ve happened to him?
Jarret attempted to glimpse the riverbank, but the rock under his feet shifted. If only someone else would come by. The last thing he wanted to do was find a-a-a body.
Teetering, he threw out his arms for balance. His gaze latched onto the ripples in the river.
Up and down. Rolling, rolling. His head grew light.
He couldn’t do this. He wanted to pivot around and check the distance to the rock he had leapt from, but the horizon tilted. Besides, he had come this far. He should just do it. There was no one else.
Taking a breath, he locked his gaze on the next rock and forced himself forward. Now he stood where a jutting edge of the boulder hid the shoes, and the next rock set farther away than he cared to jump. He stooped, preparing for it. With a deep breath, he leaped.
His left foot landed first. And slid. No way was he gonna let himself get wet! He threw his arms out, but he still went down. His right knee and palms cracked hard on the rock with a jolt of pain. He let loose a stream of curse words as he steadied himself and got to his feet. Legs trembling, he jumped to the last rock. He made it to the boulder.
The constant motion of the river had worn a network of cracks and crevices into the five-foot long, chest-high boulder. He used them to climb to the top.
Then he saw him.
Toby lay stretched out on his tummy on the low, flat side of the boulder, all but hidden from the riverbank. Clutching one end of a long branch and dangling the other end in the water, he seemed oblivious that he had company.
“What’re you doing, kid?”
Toby squinted up at Jarret. “Go fishing with me?” He had a high, childlike voice.
“Are you kidding me?” Jarret sneered. The kid acted like he hadn’t a care in the world. “Don’t you know every man, woman, and child in the campground is looking for you?”
Toby stared.
Did he understand English? “Come on. We’re going back.”
“No. Toby fishing.” Toby returned his gaze to the stick in the water.
“Fishing, my foot,” Jarret mumbled, glancing at the riverbank. Of course, no one was there. “Didn’t you hear people calling your name? Why don’t you answer? Don’t you know your brother’s looking for you?”
“Peter?”
“Yeah, Peter. Come on.”
“Peter go fishing?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Peter wants to go fishing with you.” If that’s what he wanted to believe, what it would take to get him back to land, well then, sure. Jarret reached a hand to the kid. “Toss the branch and come on.”
Toby got up without help and put the branch behind his back. Only his shoes were wet, so he must’ve come over on the rocks.
“You a good jumper?” Jarret climbed down the way he had come up, using the narrow footholds.
Toby climbed to the top of the boulder and sat where Jarret had been.
With little room to maneuver, Jarret leaped for the nearest rock. His foot landed well, but his torso kept going. He had to jerk himself back to avoid toppling over. How would Toby ever make it?
Stick in hand, Toby eased himself down the boulder and stood with each foot on a little ledge. Slowly, he turned around, still clutching the stick.
“Why don’t you lose the stick? You gonna be able to jump over here?”
Toby tilted his head, face to the woods.
Jarret leaped to the next rock and turned to coax Toby. “Well, come on.”
Toby stared at the woods.
“Come on and jump.” What was his deal? This was gonna take all day. “You made it over here, so you must be a good jumper.”
“Good jumper?”
“Yeah. Drop the stick and let’s see ya jump.” He tried to sound peppy, like a kindergarten teacher, but irritation eked out in his tone.
“My fishing pole.” Toby put the stick behind his back again, lurching forward.
“Careful!” Every muscle in Jarret’s body tensed. “We don’t want to get wet, so let’s be careful. Now, come on and jump.” He pointed to the rock.
Toby squatted a little, then he did it. He leaped and landed squarely on the rock, making it look effortless.
Jarret exhaled. “Good, good. Let’s keep going.” He leaped to the next one, and Toby followed. A few more leaps and the miserable situation would be over. He couldn’t wait to give Peter a piece of his mind, maybe even a piece of his fist.
Landing on the next rock with ease, he opened his mouth to say something to encourage Toby.
From behind him came a shriek, a splash, and a spray of cold water.
Jarret spun around in time to glimpse Toby’s hair and one hand before they disappeared under the water. Was the river that deep? Maybe he could get to his feet on his own. Maybe he could swim. Maybe he—
Jarret dove in after him. The cold water hit him with a shock. A current pushed against him. He opened his eyes.
Toby flailed in the greenish water. Not far. A few feet away.
Fighting the current, Jarret pushed through the water. He wrapped an arm around Toby’s chest from behind and dragged him to the surface.
Toby gasped and spluttered.
Jarret struggled to keep Toby’s head above water as he swam a few feet. His boot brushed the riverbed. He continued on a bit more until he was sure Toby would find footing.
“Stand up!” Anger came out in his tone. “Put your feet down. You’re okay.”
The second he let go, Toby thrashed in the water and gasped.
“Stand up!” Jarret wrapped his arms around Toby, forcing him to settle down. A few steps later, he lessoned his grip.
Toby grabbed him. Eyes on the woods and hands latched onto Jarret, he sloshed through the cold water. The instant they reached dry land, he began sniveling and breathing funny.
Jarret led him to big boulders in the shade and made him let go. “You’re okay,” he snapped, heart beating wildly, body trembling. His boots were ruined. He was drenched from head to toe. He did not want anyone seeing him like this.
He climbed the boulder Toby leaned against, peeled the wet hoodie off his cold body and wrung it out. The water formed a puddle and ran down the side of the boulder. “If you were my brother, I’d beat you for this. In fact, I just might—”
“Toby!” Peter dashed out of the woods, Roland at his heels.
Toby flung himself into Peter’s arms and bawled.
Roland jogged to Jarret, relief on his face. “Thank God! What happened? Where’d you find him?” He looked Jarret over. “Are you okay?”
Jarret sneered, ready to answer with a snide remark, when Mya, Zoe, and Caitlyn burst onto the scene. They ran to Toby and Peter but every one of them glanced at him, too.
Caitlyn approached him first, followed by Zoe. “Wow, you found him.” Their eyes held something like awe.
Jarret’s anger subsided. “Yeah.” They didn’t need to know how begrudgingly he had done it, only that he had done it. He rescued Toby. “He was out there.” He covered his cold chest with one arm and pointed to the boulders in the river. “Fishing.”
“We looked out here. We didn’t see him,” Peter said, still coddling Toby. He had taken his jacket off and wrapped it around trembling Toby’s shoulders.
“He was lying on the flat side of that boulder, the big one.” He pointed again to indicate it. “His shoes were sticking out.”
Roland and Peter mumbled to each other.
“Did you guys fall in?” Mya said. He’d seen her in school. She always came across like a girl who’d ask the obvious.
“Yeah.”
“You look cold.” She eyed his bare chest.
Roland unbuttoned his jacket. “Here take my jacket?”
Cold as he was, he accepted it and jumped off the rock to put it on.
“Well, let’s get them back,” Peter said. “And I need to call Dad. Who’s got a cell phone?”
Jarret let Peter retrieve his phone, wallet, cigarettes, and lighter, glad that he had set them somewhere safe before going after Toby. Then he let Peter use his phone. And why not, he was a real hero.
Peter stared at him, frowning and pink-faced. “Thanks, man. I don’t know how to thank you for something like this. Anything could’ve happened to him. He could’ve drowned. You . . . you saved his life.”
Jarret’s throat muscles tightened, making it impossible to speak, so he only nodded and walked away.