Look Closely - Laura Caldwell [32]
I went back and forth, reminding myself how miserable Caroline had seemed in her letters until she’d moved to Portland and married Matt, until she’d gotten past her problems, as she put it. And so maybe she didn’t want to be reminded of any part of her old life. Maybe it would cause some kind of setback in her mental condition, and I didn’t want to be responsible for that. Yet at the same time, I found it harder and harder to be still, knowing a phone sat only twenty feet away. If I couldn’t find the number from Portland Information, I could search the Web, or I could get databases of addresses and phone numbers from my Internet clients and search those, as well.
I took the letters and photograph inside and sat down at the small desk. I picked up the phone, the plastic of the receiver cool against my hand. The line seemed to ring interminably. I stared at the pile of letters on the desk, Caroline’s tiny handwriting blending into a series of small loops and slashes as I gazed unblinkingly. Finally, the pleasant voice of a woman answered, and I gave her the names of Caroline and Matt Ramsey in Portland, Oregon, on Northeast Jarrett Street.
“Checking,” the woman said.
There was a long pause, during which I heard the clicking of a keyboard through the phone.
“Yes,” the woman said at last. “I have an M. Ramsey on Northeast Jarrett.”
In the middle of the first ring, the phone was answered, snatched up it seemed, and a gruff male voice said, “Hello?”
I was startled by the quick answer. “Um…is this Matt Ramsey?”
“Yes. Who’s this?” Again, the man was abrupt, and this surprised me. I glanced at the picture of Matt and Caroline that I held in my hand. I had expected someone kind, someone gentle like the man my sister had written about.
“This is…” I faltered for a second, wishing I’d taken more time to plan what I would say. It seemed ludicrous to say, Hello, this is your wife’s sister who she hasn’t talked to in at least twenty years. But there was no easy way, so I just said my name.
“Excuse me?” It was Matt who sounded startled now.
“I’m Hailey Sutter. Are you married to Caroline?”
“Yes.”
I ran my finger over the photo of Caroline as if I could smooth the fold of my sister’s dress where it creased at her shoulder. “I’m her sister. Is she there? Could I talk to her?”
Matt let out a laugh that sounded bitter. “She was making you a quilt.”
“What?” I couldn’t be sure I had heard him right.
“She was making you a quilt. She’s been going to these lessons for years. It takes her forever to get a square right, the way she wants it.” He laughed again, and it came out softer, more genuine this time. “I didn’t know if she would ever finish it, but she always said she’d like to give it to you someday.”
“Oh.” I was struck by an image of Caroline, the grown-up Caroline from the picture, sitting on a couch, legs curled under her, stitching a quilt square by lamplight. For me. That was the truly striking part.
“Can I speak with her?” I said.
Matt cleared his throat. “She’s not here.”
“Well, can you have her call me? I live in New York, but I’m out of town right now. I could give you my numbers.”
“I wouldn’t know where to reach her.”
“Excuse me?” I had the sensation of falling backward, zooming far away from that dream of Caroline on her couch.
“Look, I can’t say much else. I don’t even know if you really are her sister, and even if that’s true, I…” He trailed off.
“Has something happened?”
“You could say that.” The gruff tone had returned. “You haven’t heard from her, have you?” He said this last bit as if the thought had just occurred to him.
“No, I haven’t talked to Caroline since I was a kid. If you could just tell me where she is. I don’t mean to bother her. I just want to talk.”
There was a pause, as if Matt was thinking. “Look. I’ll be honest with you. Caroline is missing. And I have no idea when, or if, she’ll be back.”
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