Siren by Tricia Rayburn Page B

back. And, of course, it felt strange to think that this was the first time I'd been in the Subaru since the last time, when the four of us were still together.
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    "Are you hungry?" he asked, dropping in the driver's seat and starting the car. "I picked up snacks."
    I was about to say I was fine when I noticed two plastic cups in the holders between us.
    "Watermelon guava," he said, then nodded to the Harbor Homefries bag by my feet. "And scrambled eggs, sausage, and cheese on a kaiser roll."
    I grabbed the bag, surprised that he knew my breakfast of choice. Our foursome never ate the first meal of the day together, which meant I must've mentioned it at some point ... and he'd remembered. I was so touched by his thoughtfulness and moved by the gesture, I couldn't look at him as I unwrapped the sandwich. "Thank you."
    In addition to satisfying our hunger, eating gave us something to do instead of talking during our drive into town. It wasn't that I didn't want to talk to Simon; I just didn't know what to say. It felt like we'd fast-forwarded a few decades and suffered from empty-nest syndrome. After all that time, what did parents talk about besides the children who were no longer there?
    "So," Simon finally said as we pulled into the Winter Harbor Marina twenty minutes later. "I have to ask a huge favor."
    I'd been staring out the passenger's-side window but turned to him when he spoke.
    "I don't know where Caleb's been, or what he's been doing. Our parents and I wanted to give him some time and space to deal with things in his own way, but we thought he'd be back by now. Depending on where he's been, if we find him--"
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    "When we find him."
    He let out a small breath. "When we find him, I don't know what kind of state he'll be in. Trauma affects people differently, and for Caleb to leave the way he did ... I just don't know how he'll act after being on his own for so long."
    "Okay ..."
    He glanced through the windshield as two fishermen passed by, toting rods and reels. "Would you mind not saying anything?" He turned back to me, and his eyes were sorry. "At least not right away? I know that he was the last one with Justine, and that you have questions about that night."
    I looked down and fiddled with the straw in my empty smoothie cup. Simon had no idea that what I wanted to ask Caleb went far beyond that night, into the weeks and months leading up to it. He had no idea that I was banking on Caleb having the answers to everything I thought I'd known about Justine in the past two years--and perhaps before that--but hadn't.
    "I know he'll tell you whatever you want to know," Simon continued, "but it would help if we let him go at his own pace. Seeing you will remind him of her ... and I don't want him to keep running."
    I nodded. "Of course. I won't say anything until you say it's okay."
    He exhaled. "Thanks."
    We climbed out of the car, and I was happy to let him take the lead. Going to the marina was a good idea; I didn't think either of us expected to find Caleb there now, but he'd worked
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    there as a dock attendant since he was thirteen, when he'd finally been strong enough to lift the gas nozzle and help pull boats in. We'd heard stories about the marina nearly every day in the summers since then, and we knew some of Caleb's coworkers were also his best friends. Someone there had to know something about where he went.
    I followed Simon into the office, which was a one-room shack covered in colorful buoys, like a Christmas tree festooned in ornaments.
    "Well, look what the hook dragged in! Wait ... it is you, isn't it?" Captain Monty took off his glasses, wiped them with one corner of his cargo vest, and put them back on. "You look a little big for the older Carmichael boy, but I wouldn't forget that grin."
    "You're not seeing things," Simon said, shaking Captain Monty's hand. "I joined crew at school this year. Turns out rowing for three hours every day is good for more than a suntan."
    That explained it.
    "The