Silencing Joy by Amy Rachiele Page A

my
Dad would say on the drive home, ‘ Next year, Joy. Next year is
your year.’
    Will and I got out of the car. It felt a lot
warmer than it was a couple of hours ago. He lifted my bag out of
the backseat, and we walked towards the house.
    “Can I call my parents now?” I asked him.
    “Sure, let’s get settled in,” he said.
    The cabin was spacious and open. There was a
stainless steel kitchen to the left and a catwalk above with metal
railings. On the back wall was a huge fieldstone fireplace. I ached
to take some pictures. The place was spectacular. Will walked
around checking the windows, then carried my stuff upstairs.
    “I’m gonna put this in one of the bedrooms.
Here’s my cell. Don’t tell them where you are.”
    As Will went upstairs, I dialed my parents,
calling the house in Michigan first. No answer. Then I tried their
condo in Florida. No answer. Only my Dad had a cell phone, so I
tried that and got his voicemail.
    “Hi, Dad. It’s Joy. I just wanted to touch
base with you guys. I’ll try you again later. Love you. Bye.” I
called upstairs to Will, and he appears on the catwalk. “I can’t
get them. I’m going to try Jen.”
    I heard his footsteps descend the stairs as I
dialed Jen’s number.
    “I’m going to check around outside,” Will
called over his shoulder.
    I paced the kitchen as I listened to Jen’s
phone go to voicemail. I left her a message, too, as Will came back
in.
    “No luck?” he asked.
    “No. So what now?”
    “How about lunch?” Will opened the kitchen
cupboards. They were stocked full of canned goods, cereals, and all
sorts of snacks. “I make a mean box of pasta.”
    Will boiled pasta for lunch while I explore
my new home for an undetermined amount of time. I couldn’t even
imagine how much this place cost the government just in
maintenance.
    “It’s ready!” Will called up from downstairs
after a while. I joined him at the small dinette table in the
kitchen.
    “How are you feeling? You’ve been quiet,”
Will asked me between bites of spaghetti.
    “I’m fine. I was just thinking about the
house my parents used to rent when I was a kid. It was just like
this one. Well, not as new or large.”
    “That’s cool. Did you like going there?”
    “Yes and no. My dad tried desperately to
teach me how to swim. It didn’t work too well.”
    “You don’t know how to swim?” Will asked
incredulously.
    “Nope. Why is that so hard to believe?”
    “I was barely ever in a pool, never mind on
vacation with my parents, and somehow I learned how to swim.”
    “How great for you,” I said sarcastically,
digging around in my pasta with the fork.
    “That’s what we can do today. I can teach you
how to swim.” His face lit up with excitement.
    “I don’t think so,” I countered.
    “What? Why?” Will looked disappointed.
    “Don’t you have FBI stuff to do?” I asked,
trying to get off the subject of swimming.
    “Nope. Just waiting for a call that will give
us an update.”
    Around Will’s brown eyes was still a
yellowish tint. His lip appeared to be back to normal. He must have
sensed me giving him a once over.
    “You sizing me up? Are you questioning my
swimming skills?” he asked with a chuckle. I quickly looked down at
my pasta.
    “No, I was just thinking that you were
severely beaten about a week ago. You probably shouldn’t push
yourself.”
    “Are you kidding me? The water is the best
thing for me,” he laughed at me.
    “What am I going to wear?” I tried again.
    “There are always supplies in these safe
houses. Winter jackets, bathing suits, workout clothes. You name
it.”
    “It’s freezing outside.”
    “No, it’s not, and I bet the water is warmer
than the air.”
    After procrastinating for nearly an hour, I
met Will at the dock down by the lake. He was already floating
lazily when I appeared in my borrowed FBI bathing suit, silently
praying that the suit had never been worn. I had my sweatshirt and
sweatpants on over it. To me, it was