Forever Odd

cryptic, won’t give her name-I want to talk to her.”
        She raised her eyebrows. “What’s that about?”
        “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Probably nothing.”
        As I tucked her phone into a zippered pocket on my backpack, she said, “Are you coming back to work, Oddie?”
        “Soon maybe. Not this week.”
        “We got you a new spatula. Wide blade, microbeveled front edge. Your name’s inlaid in the handle.”
        “That’s cool.”
        “Entirely cool. The handle’s red. Your name’s in white, and it’s in the same lettering as the original Coca-Cola logo.”
        “I miss frying,” I said. “I love the griddle.”
        The staff of the diner had been my family for more than four years. I still felt close to them.
        When I saw them these days, however, two things precluded the easy camaraderie we had enjoyed in the past: the reality of my grief, and their insistence on my heroism.
        “Gotta go,” I said, getting to my feet and shouldering the backpack once more.
        Perhaps to detain me, she said, “So… has Elvis been around lately?”
        “Just left him crying in my kitchen.”
        “Crying again? What about?”
        I recounted the episode with the salt and pepper shakers. “He actually made an effort to help me understand, which is something new, but I didn’t get it.”
        “Maybe I do,” she said, as she opened the door for me. “You know he was an identical twin.”
        “I knew that, yeah, but I forgot.”
        “Jesse Garon Presley was stillborn at four o’clock in the morning, and Elvis Aaron Presley came into the world thirty-five minutes later.”
        “I half remember you telling me about that. Jesse was buried in a cardboard box.”
        “That’s all the family could afford. He was laid to rest in Priceville Cemetery, northeast of Tupelo.”
        “How’s that for fate?” I said. “Identical twins-they’re going to look exactly alike, sound alike, and probably have exactly the same talent. But one becomes the biggest star in music history, and the other is buried as a baby in a cardboard box.”
        “It haunted him all his life,” Terri said. “People say that he often talked to Jesse late at night. He felt like half of himself was missing.”
        “He sort of lived that way, too-like half of him was missing.”
        “He sort of did,” she agreed.
        Because I knew what that felt like, I said, “I’ve suddenly got more sympathy for the guy.”
        We hugged, and she said, “We need you here, Oddie.”
        “I need me here,” I agreed. “You’re everything a friend should be, Terri, and nothing that one shouldn’t.”
        “When would it be a good idea for me to start worrying?”
        “Judging by the look on your face,” I said, “you already have.”
        “I don’t like you going down there in the tunnels. It feels like you’re burying yourself alive.”
        “I’m not claustrophobic,” I assured her as I stepped out of the kitchen, onto the exterior landing.
        “That’s not what I meant. I’m giving you six hours, then I’m calling Wyatt Porter.”
        “I’d rather you wouldn’t do that, Terri. I’m as sure as I’ve ever been about anything-I’ve got to do this alone.”
        “Are you really? Or is this…something else?”
        “What else would it be?”
        Clearly, she had a specific fear, but she didn’t want to put it into words. Instead of answering me, or even searching my eyes for an answer, she scanned the sky.
        Dirty clouds were scudding in from the north-northeast. They looked like scrub rags that had swabbed a filthy floor.
        I said, “There’s more to this than Simon’s jealousies and obsessions. A weirdness, I don’t know what, but a SWAT team isn’t going to bring Danny out of there alive. Because of my gift, I’m his best chance.”
        I kissed her on the forehead, turned, and started down the steps toward the alley.
        “Is Danny dead already?” she asked.
        “No. Like I said, I’m being drawn to him.”
        “Is that true?”
        Surprised, I halted, turned. “He’s alive, Terri.”
        “If Kelsey and I had been blessed with a child, he could’ve been as old as you.”
        I smiled. “You’re sweet.”
        She sighed. “All right. Eight hours. Not a minute more. You might be a clairvoyant or a medium, or whatever it is you are, but I’ve got women’s intuition,