1
Natalie
DEAD SILENCE ROCKED through my childhood home in Black Mountain as I paused in the room where my father used to sleep before he died. I stared at a few particles of dust floating in the room, illuminated by the late afternoon sun.
His bedroom was humble: a bed, a dresser, and a small wooden desk, a cup that said ‘Best Dad’ in my handwriting that I’d made him in third grade.
Before I moved away from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to Florida when I was twelve, I always been in awe of my father. As I grew older, I developed an even greater appreciation for him. It shocked me that in spite of owning the largest coal mine in the area, he’d lived such a spartan, basic existence. His room tidy and sparse room was a symbol of that.
By early evening, the last remnants of sunlight disappeared. I sat down in his desk, picked up the mug and ran my hands over it mindlessly. My eyes drifted to the window in front of me. Outside, a layer of pristine snow covered everything underneath the glowing darkness.
I wonder how many times he did this himself: sat down at his desk, picked up the mug, and thought of his daughter who gave it to him.
A senior in college now, I didn’t see him but once or twice a year anymore, and when he passed away this winter from a heart attack it still came as a shock. My mom had held it together through his funeral and burial. Cried just enough. But after we spent Christmas here, the only thing Mom wanted was to be gone and done with this small town in the middle of nowhere. She wanted to be back in Florida with her husband—my stepdad—where it was warm. I think being here reminded her of the divorce and brought up old feelings she was happy to escape.
She always strongly disliked the frigid cold temperatures up here in Michigan—I couldn’t blame her. During the past week I’d been here, we’d seen a foot of snow and temperatures well below freezing.
With my mom on a plane back to Florida as of this morning, I was now in charge of going through all of my father’s belongings, deciding what to keep, and what to do with the rest.
After a single day of this, I was exhausted. I wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch with a good book in front of the fire.
I thought about laying on my father’s bed, but decided not to. It would be too eerie, since he was probably sleeping here not even a week ago. Instead, I headed to my childhood room. That was disturbing in a different way.
Since I moved away nine years ago, he hadn’t altered a single thing in the room in spite of the fact that I never came back for a visit until my college years. He was always the one making the time to come down to Florida. I think my father secretly wished I might somehow end up back in Black Mountain for longer. If he didn’t touch my room, there was a chance.
The room decorations were a blast from the past. The walls were painted light pink, and a Maroon Five poster hung above my dresser. In college, I added a poster of my idol Tina Fey.
When I sat down on the bed, I started thinking back to a time Freshmen year of college when my father had heard me yelling and raced up the stairs, only to find me reading dramatic lines for a play I was due to try out for during winter semester and didn’t think he was even at home.
He startled me, we had a good laugh, and the two of us connected that day in a way I felt I’d been missing from him.
My eyes felt watery as I thought back on the moment, and my chest burned with anxiety. I thought of all the things of his I needed to go through while I was here. The basement was full of boxes, clothes, paintings and music that I was yet to touch and had no idea what to do with.
I was already breaking down, getting all nostalgic, which greatly slowed the packing process. I had at max, two weeks, before my January classes started up again at the University of Florida.
How on earth was I going to get through this alone?
Pulling out my cell, I scrolled through my contacts. I’d gotten a new phone last year and lost most of my numbers. Not like it mattered much, though, since I’d lost touch with everyone here.
I felt down, and I wanted a friend—just one measly little friend—to hang out with tonight, but I didn’t even have one number of someone from Black Mountain.
I attempted to refocus my gaze and a picture on my dresser came into view.
I stared at the photo. It was me, my friend Louisa, and her cute older brother Shane photobombing us from behind, making cross-eyes.
I giggled. What a fun summer we had that year.
Suddenly, her house number flashed through my mind in a moment of insight.
423-2131.
Wow.
I couldn’t name one of my college classmates’ numbers, but because I’d dialed Louisa’s number so many times in my bike-riding elementary school days when I didn’t have a cell phone, it was seared into my brain in a way that didn’t happen with numbers any more.
Maybe she’d be around and we could get ourselves a bite to eat together. Or grab a drink at the one bar in Black Mountain.
I dialed her number, and felt my heart pounding more furiously than it should at just calling a friend. I ran over a script in my mind of what to say.
Hi! So crazy to talk to you after all these years. What’s up? Want to grab dinner?
After five rings, I was getting antsy, thinking maybe I had remembered the number wrong after all.
After a sixth, someone picked up.
“Hello?” a deep, gravelly voice spoke.
“Hi,” I stammered. “I know this is random, but is Louisa North there?”
“Who the hell is this? Is this a prank call?” there was noticeable ire from the other side of the phone as the voice growled.
“No, it’s not. This is Natalie Toft, her best friend from grade school.”
Okay, ‘best friend’ was a stretch. But we were close enough back in the day. The voice was silent at first, and then came laughter.
“Natalie fucking Toft. You really think you were Louisa’s best friend? Wow. Some things never change.” The man chuckled in a maniacal way that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He ignored my question. “Are you just calling to fuck with me right now? I usually don’t even pick up the damn land line anymore. Just did it on a whim.”
“Why would I just call to mess with you?” I bit out. “I’ve got much better ways to occupy my time. Who is this, by the way? Mr…North? Do I even have the right number?”
More deep, throaty laughter. It sounded like what you’d hear from a villain in a movie.
My skin chilled by the way his voice sounded.
“You’re serious. You don’t recognize me.”
“No,” I retorted, feeling annoyed. Then, a bolt of realization hit me like a brick in my stomach.
Shane?
No. He couldn’t sound like this grizzly man. Right?
“I’d appreciate if you took me seriously,” I said, not wanting to guess wrong and embarrass myself again. “So can you help me find Louisa, or no?”
The phone went silent for a moment until I heard the man’s voice again.
“Hello?”
“Um, yes?!” I said, getting antsy.
“Connection’s bad,” he said. “I’ll call you back, hang on.”
The call ended, and a few seconds later, a number appeared on my phone. I picked it up.