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The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author's copyright, please notify the publisher at: http://us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.

[dedication TK]

[dedication TK]

Chapter One

Day one

The sky grows dark as I drive.

I tell myself to concentrate, to focus on the two narrow lanes of smooth,

black asphalt and the double yellow lines that divide them.

The road feels like a tunnel, carved between the walls of brown cornfields

which flank the road on both sides and go on as far as the eye can see. Darkness now hovers above and below, and from side to side. It’s everywhere.

I hear the woman on the radio talk of the storm, but she is muted by thoughts that will not relent as the events of this terrible day unravel in my mind.

This stretch of Route 7 passes through an endless chain of small New

England towns—not the quaint villages farther south, but the old industrial hubs that have been left to decay.

Neglected farmland, dilapidated houses, abandoned factories—they stand

like tombstones. I wonder where people live. Where they buy groceries. Where they work and go out to dinner. Why they don’t leave.

The unease causes my shoulders to rise and my back to straighten. It’s the

same every time I pass through. These towns will haunt me well into the night.

There’s a gas station up ahead. The Gas n’ Go. It sits at the intersection of Route 7 and an eerie road that leads to the heart of one of these towns. I have never been down that road, and I don’t ever intend to. Still, this seems to be the spot where outsiders find themselves in need of gas as they journey from

southern Connecticut into western Massachusetts. There must be half a dozen

boarding schools and small colleges which are accessed from Route 7.

Sometimes I recognize cars, even faces, when I have to stop.

And I will have to stop today. The gas light has been on for miles now.

After the Gas n’ Go, it’s two hours to my home at the southern end of the state. I have already passed the green welcome sign. Welcome to Connecticut.

Home.

It will be just after nine. My husband, John, will likely be out. At the gym.

At work. Having drinks with a friend. My daughter, Nicole, will also be out

somewhere. Anywhere that’s not near me. She just turned twenty-one so she has

somewhere. Anywhere that’s not near me. She just turned twenty-one so she has options now. Options that keep me up at night, watching the clock. Listening for the door.

The dogs will bark and jump on my coat. They’ll only want food. They save

their affection for my husband. He was the one who brought them home after

Annie died, so they’ve been his dogs more than mine.

The house will smell like Fantastik and lavender dryer sheets because it’s

Thursday, and on Thursday the cleaners come. I wonder if they’ll remember to Day one

clear the ashes from the fireplace in our bedroom. It’s late October and cold The sky grows dark as I drive.

enough for a fire. John likes to sit in bed with the fire burning while he watches I tell myself to concentrate, to focus on the two narrow lanes of smooth,

television. He had one going last night. He was asleep by the time I made it up black asphalt and the double yellow lines that divide them.

the stairs, though now I remember that the fire had a fresh log. Conclusions are The road feels like a tunnel, carved between the walls of brown cornfields

quick to follow and one hand now covers my gaping mouth.

which flank the road on both sides and go on as far as the eye can see. Darkness Am I too sensitive? Am I just being too me, too Molly? I hear these thoughts now hovers above and below, and from side to side. It’s everywhere.

with John’s voice. Stop being so Molly. He has come to use my name as an I hear the woman on the radio talk of the storm, but she is muted by thoughts adjective that allows him to dismiss me. But, no—I’m not wrong about the log that will not relent as the events of this terrible day unravel in my mind.

on the fire. He was pretending to be asleep.

This stretch of Route 7 passes through an endless chain of small New

The day unravels and I can’t stop my thoughts.

England towns—not the quaint villages farther south, but the old industrial hubs My son, Evan, attends one of the boarding schools off this road. He was

that have been left to decay.

recruited as a freshman to play football. He’s a junior now, and a starting

Neglected farmland, dilapidated houses, abandoned factories—they stand

lineman this season. I make this trip every other Thursday to watch his home like tombstones. I wonder where people live. Where they buy groceries. Where games. The season is half over and they are leading the ranks. They may win the they work and go out to dinner. Why they don’t leave.

entire league this year.

The unease causes my shoulders to rise and my back to straighten. It’s the

The drive is four hours each way. John tells me I’m crazy to make the trip

same every time I pass through. These towns will haunt me well into the night.

twice a month. He tells me Evan doesn’t care. Nicole has harsher words for me.

She tells me Evan doesn’t want me there. That I embarrass him by going. That he’s not a little boy anymore and he doesn’t need his mommy watching him play.

He has changed. She’s right about that. He knows the power he has on the

field. I hadn’t seen it before today. It was in his stance, his walk. It was in his eyes.

And it was in his cruelty. I wonder when that began. If it’s new. Or only new that I can see it.

And I will have to stop today. The gas light has been on for miles now.

I waited for him outside the field house where the team enters the locker

room. I picture him now, as the day plays out again, slowly, painfully.

How he walked with his friends, the enormous bag hanging over his

shoulder, high-tops unlaced, baseball hat turned backward, and a mischievous It will be just after nine. My husband, John, will likely be out. At the gym.

smile that probably had something to do with talk about a girl.

At work. Having drinks with a friend. My daughter, Nicole, will also be out

In that moment, before his eyes caught sight of me and his face changed, I

somewhere. Anywhere that’s not near me. She just turned twenty-one so she has felt my heart fill with pride.

somewhere. Anywhere that’s not near me. She just turned twenty-one so she has felt my heart fill with pride.

options now. Options that keep me up at night, watching the clock. Listening for These thoughts come, and like the log on the fire, they don’t go. My boy, my the door.

sweet Evan, the easy middle child, walking like he owned the world. A smile

The dogs will bark and jump on my coat. They’ll only want food. They save pulled clear across my face as I waited for his eyes to turn and see me at the their affection for my husband. He was the one who brought them home after

door.

Annie died, so they’ve been his dogs more than mine.

And they did turn. And they did see.

The house will smell like Fantastik and lavender dryer sheets because it’s

And then they widened and looked away. He grew closer, and still, they did

Thursday, and on Thursday the cleaners come. I wonder if they’ll remember to not return to me. He positioned himself between two of his friends and passed clear the ashes from the fireplace in our bedroom. It’s late October and cold through the door, leaving me in awe of his dismissiveness.

enough for a fire. John likes to sit in bed with the fire burning while he watches It is just now, one hundred and eleven miles later, that I feel the bite of it.

television. He had one going last night. He was asleep by the time I made it up My vision blurs. I wipe away tears. Christ, I hear John. Stop being so Molly!

the stairs, though now I remember that the fire had a fresh log. Conclusions are He’s a teenager.

quick to follow and one hand now covers my gaping mouth.

But the thought won’t leave, this image of his back turned as he walked into the building.

I look up at the dark clouds stirring in the sky and see the sign for the Gas n’

Go sitting atop a giant pole. The storm is a hurricane. I am driving right into its path.

The day unravels and I can’t stop my thoughts.

John said this was another reason I shouldn’t make the trip today. The school My son, Evan, attends one of the boarding schools off this road. He was

could cancel the game if the storm got too close, and even if they didn’t, I would recruited as a freshman to play football. He’s a junior now, and a starting

surely run into it on the way home.

lineman this season. I make this trip every other Thursday to watch his home The storm, Evan not caring.

games. The season is half over and they are leading the ranks. They may win the And Annie. He stopped short of saying it, but the words lingered between us.

entire league this year.

Today is the anniversary of her death. Five years ago, on this day, we lost

our youngest child. She was nine years old.

No. I will not think of Annie. I will not go backward. I will go forward.

Put one foot in front of the other.

.

I learned this in grief counseling. I used to be a middle school science

He has changed. She’s right about that. He knows the power he has on the

teacher, where the focus is on learning to analyze problems by breaking them field. I hadn’t seen it before today. It was in his stance, his walk. It was in his down into pieces and forming hypotheses—so I studied the grief this way.

eyes.

Objectively. Clinically. We are not wired to witness the death of a child. To And it was in his cruelty. I wonder when that began. If it’s new. Or only new endure it. To survive it. But like every other human defect, we have used science that I can see it.

to outsmart our own biology. We can take a brain that is shredded ear to ear and I waited for him outside the field house where the team enters the locker

we can put it back together with mantras like this one. Mantras that have been room. I picture him now, as the day plays out again, slowly, painfully.

tested in clinical trials. Vetted in peer articles and TED Talks and now appear in How he walked with his friends, the enormous bag hanging over his

self-help books.

shoulder, high-tops unlaced, baseball hat turned backward, and a mischievous You just put one foot in front of the other, Molly. Every day, just one more smile that probably had something to do with talk about a girl.

step.

In that moment, before his eyes caught sight of me and his face changed, I

Had I not had other children to care for, I would not have been able to take felt my heart fill with pride.

Had I not had other children to care for, I would not have been able to take felt my heart fill with pride.

these steps. I would have died. Let myself die. Found a way to die. The pain was These thoughts come, and like the log on the fire, they don’t go. My boy, my not survivable. And yet I survived.

sweet Evan, the easy middle child, walking like he owned the world. A smile

Forward.

pulled clear across my face as I waited for his eyes to turn and see me at the But the day continues to unravel, back now, to the morning.

door.

Nicole was just coming in from one of her nights. I don’t know where she

And they did turn. And they did see.

slept. Her skin has gone pale, her hair long and unruly. She’s become lean from And then they widened and looked away. He grew closer, and still, they did running. She runs for miles and miles. She runs until she is numb, head to toe.

not return to me. He positioned himself between two of his friends and passed Inside and out. Then she sleeps all day. Stays out all night. She is a lean, fierce, through the door, leaving me in awe of his dismissiveness.

unruly warrior. And yet the pain still gets inside her.

It is just now, one hundred and eleven miles later, that I feel the bite of it.

Where have you been all night? I asked. The usual exchange followed, about how this was none of my business . . . but it was my business because she’s living in my house and what about her GED class and trying to dig herself out of But the thought won’t leave, this image of his back turned as he walked into this hole . . . but it’s my fault she’s in the hole; she’s in the hole because of the building.

Annie and her grief and because not everyone can just get over it . . . but when is she going to stop using her sister’s death as an excuse for getting expelled from her private school senior year, never going back?

She shrugged, looked me straight in the eye. When did she become like this?

John said this was another reason I shouldn’t make the trip today. The school This soldier, ready to fight off anyone who comes too close?

could cancel the game if the storm got too close, and even if they didn’t, I would What about you? When are you going back to work? she asked.

surely run into it on the way home.

She likes to remind me that I, too, stopped living—breathing, yes, but not

The storm, Evan not caring.

really living.

I had no response to my daughter this morning. I had no response to my son

Today is the anniversary of her death. Five years ago, on this day, we lost

this afternoon.

our youngest child. She was nine years old.

I didn’t even see Evan after the game. I waited by the door but he must have gone out a different way. I almost marched straight to his dorm to tell him what I thought of his behavior. To do what a mother does when she knows she’s right I learned this in grief counseling. I used to be a middle school science

and when her child needs to learn a lesson.

teacher, where the focus is on learning to analyze problems by breaking them The sign for the Gas n’ Go grows closer, the clouds darker as these thoughts down into pieces and forming hypotheses—so I studied the grief this way.

come. I didn’t find him. I didn’t do what I now think a mother should have done.

Objectively. Clinically. We are not wired to witness the death of a child. To A good mother.

endure it. To survive it. But like every other human defect, we have used science Suddenly, I know why.

to outsmart our own biology. We can take a brain that is shredded ear to ear and The car slows. I step on the gas, but it doesn’t respond.

we can put it back together with mantras like this one. Mantras that have been I am not a good mother.

tested in clinical trials. Vetted in peer articles and TED Talks and now appear in I can’t hold them back now, the thoughts of my dead child. Annie. Not that self-help books.

they ever really leave me. They are always lurking, hiding, wearing disguises so I don’t see them as they sneak up.

I steer to the shoulder. The wheel is stiff. The car is dead. When it stops, I try Had I not had other children to care for, I would not have been able to take the ignition, but it won’t turn over.

Had I not had other children to care for, I would not have been able to take the ignition, but it won’t turn over.

these steps. I would have died. Let myself die. Found a way to die. The pain was I see the message on the dashboard. I have run out of gas.

not survivable. And yet I survived.

How long has the light been on? I have been preoccupied by this day. By

these thoughts. John was right. I should not have made this trip. Not today.

But the day continues to unravel, back now, to the morning.

I look down Route 7 and see the entrance for the station. It can’t be more Nicole was just coming in from one of her nights. I don’t know where she

than thirty feet. The wind whips hard, rocking the car. I can see the rain coming slept. Her skin has gone pale, her hair long and unruly. She’s become lean from on an army of clouds. A blanket closing over the sky. I can’t tell how far away running. She runs for miles and miles. She runs until she is numb, head to toe.

they are. How much time I have.

Inside and out. Then she sleeps all day. Stays out all night. She is a lean, fierce, Thoughts exploding. Heart pounding. What have I done?

unruly warrior. And yet the pain still gets inside her.

Now comes the thought about the fire last night. We have four fireplaces in

I asked. The usual exchange followed, about our house, all of them wood burning. I have been making fires and stoking fires since we moved there twelve years ago. I know what a log looks like when it’s living in my house and what about her GED class and trying to dig herself out of just been placed on top of the flames.

I have no umbrella, just a flimsy jacket. I put it on anyway. I reach for my when is purse and tuck it inside. It’s only thirty feet.

I open the door, get out, close it behind me. And I run, clutching the purse. I run into the wind which is more powerful than I imagined.

She shrugged, looked me straight in the eye. When did she become like this?

I run and think about that log which had just been put there—last night—on

This soldier, ready to fight off anyone who comes too close?

the fire. John wasn’t asleep. John was pretending to be asleep so he wouldn’t have to see me, even just long enough to say good night.

It’s not the first time.

Flashes of the fight with Nicole break free as my body pushes through the

I had no response to my daughter this morning. I had no response to my son wind. We fight every day now.

this afternoon.

Open your eyes!

I didn’t even see Evan after the game. I waited by the door but he must have The fight had been so fast and furious, I had not processed every word. But I gone out a different way. I almost marched straight to his dorm to tell him what I do now.

thought of his behavior. To do what a mother does when she knows she’s right They are open. I see you clear as day, Nicole.

and when her child needs to learn a lesson.

Not to me. To your own husband!

I can’t see what’s right in front of me. He never comes home for dinner. He

come. I didn’t find him. I didn’t do what I now think a mother should have done. pretends to be asleep when I come into our bedroom.

My husband doesn’t love me anymore. My husband loves someone else.

Suddenly, I know why.

This thought feels old, like a jagged stone I’ve been carrying in my coat

The car slows. I step on the gas, but it doesn’t respond.

pocket, trying to rub it smooth. But no matter how much I dig my fingers in, the edges never soften.

And then, the words I had not heard before, but had felt many times. Still,

hearing them from my own daughter twisted the knife.

I hate you!

I steer to the shoulder. The wheel is stiff. The car is dead. When it stops, I try Tears fall as I run.

the ignition, but it won’t turn over.

Tears fall as I run.

the ignition, but it won’t turn over.

Annie. Wispy blond hair resting on delicate shoulders. Big, round eyes and I see the message on the dashboard. I have run out of gas.

long lashes. I can still feel her in my arms. Her life just beginning. Annie.

How long has the light been on? I have been preoccupied by this day. By

Annie!

these thoughts. John was right. I should not have made this trip. Not today.

And now I know why the thoughts have all come. They have been leading

me to this one, last thought. This naked admission.

I am not a good mother because I did not drive four hours to watch my son

play football so that he would feel loved. I drove four hours so that I could feel loved.

Thoughts exploding. Heart pounding. What have I done?

The log in that fireplace. My daughter’s words. I hate you.

Now comes the thought about the fire last night. We have four fireplaces in

Evan was all that was left. I had to see his face, see him thriving, so I could our house, all of them wood burning. I have been making fires and stoking fires validate my life.

since we moved there twelve years ago. I know what a log looks like when it’s Gasps of breath. The wind is strong and the air cold. My lungs are on fire.

just been placed on top of the flames.

Maybe Evan knew. Maybe he could sense it seeping from my skin. The need

I have no umbrella, just a flimsy jacket. I put it on anyway. I reach for my I wanted him to fulfill which must have felt like poison. A mother shouldn’t purse and tuck it inside. It’s only thirty feet.

need things from her child.

I open the door, get out, close it behind me. And I run, clutching the purse. I I caused Nicole’s demise. She is certain of it and it now feels real, though run into the wind which is more powerful than I imagined.

disorienting. I went to my son under false pretenses, caused him pain. Caused I run and think about that log which had just been put there—last night—on him to lash out with cruelty. My husband pretends to sleep so he won’t have to the fire. John wasn’t asleep. John was pretending to be asleep so he wouldn’t look at me.

have to see me, even just long enough to say good night.

Yes, I think as the grief spins violently in my head. I am a bad mother. This It’s not the first time.

is an objective fact. There’s no way around it.

Flashes of the fight with Nicole break free as my body pushes through the

I let a child die.

wind. We fight every day now.

I am at the entrance to the Gas n’ Go. I look up and see there are no cars. No lights on inside the store. Orange cones stand in front of the pumps.

The fight had been so fast and furious, I had not processed every word. But I The rain comes suddenly. The blanket covering the sky is now a broken dam.

do now.

It’s dark but I can still see the writing on a cardboard sign. C losed for storm!

I stop and let the rain wash over me as I stare at these words.

Evan, Nicole, John. I am a burden to them now because they don’t love me.

I can’t see what’s right in front of me. He never comes home for dinner. He Because they can’t love me.

pretends to be asleep when I come into our bedroom.

It’s been five years to this very day that they stopped.

Five years since Annie died.

This thought feels old, like a jagged stone I’ve been carrying in my coat

Five years since she ran into the road.

pocket, trying to rub it smooth. But no matter how much I dig my fingers in, the Five years since I struck her with my car. Since I killed her.

edges never soften.

Tears, rain, wind. I walk a few paces to the intersection, to the road, Hastings And then, the words I had not heard before, but had felt many times. Still,

Pass, that leads to the town. There is nothing but pavement and dirt riding over hearing them from my own daughter twisted the knife.

hills, and the dead cornstalks in fields that go on and on. Not another car in sight.

The hurricane is a category four. That’s what they said on the radio. I

Tears fall as I run.

Tears fall as I run.

remember the voices now. I remember the name of this town. Hastings. I have driven into the eye of the storm. I hear the mantra in my head. Don’t give up. I feel the weight of my guilt like a rock I hold above my head. How I fight to keep And now I know why the thoughts have all come. They have been leading

it from falling. I think now that maybe it’s time. Maybe I can just let it fall.

me to this one, last thought. This naked admission.

Maybe I can just walk away.

I am not a good mother because I did not drive four hours to watch my son

These words bring a sudden, jarring euphoria.

play football so that he would feel loved. I drove four hours so that I could feel Walk away. Just walk away.

loved.

The road with the brown cornfields, darkened by the angry storm, is now a

thing of beauty. An oasis. An escape. My legs begin to move, pulling my body.

Evan was all that was left. I had to see his face, see him thriving, so I could My mind is in a trance. Sedated by these words and the promises they offer.

validate my life.

You can leave all of this behind.

Gasps of breath. The wind is strong and the air cold. My lungs are on fire.

You can start again.

Maybe Evan knew. Maybe he could sense it seeping from my skin. The need

You can put down the rock, the burden you carry.

I wanted him to fulfill which must have felt like poison. A mother shouldn’t I walk along this road until I am part of the storm. Numb to the wet. Numb to need things from her child.

the cold. Numb to the truth about the promises. And for the first time since I I caused Nicole’s demise. She is certain of it and it now feels real, though killed my child I am at peace.

disorienting. I went to my son under false pretenses, caused him pain. Caused Please let me go. Let me walk away. I feel the words in my head like a him to lash out with cruelty. My husband pretends to sleep so he won’t have to prayer.

look at me.

Please, they whisper. Don’t look for me.

I don’t know how long I walk, or how far, when I see light coming from

behind. I turn to find headlights moving slowly toward me. They’re high and

bright. It’s a truck of some kind. Tall but also long. And in spite of the trance I am in and the peace it has brought, I feel both of my arms rise above my head and wave wildly, the purse still clutched in one hand.

The rain comes suddenly. The blanket covering the sky is now a broken dam.

The truck pulls in front of me and comes to a stop.

I walk closer until I am inches beside the passenger window. There are two

I stop and let the rain wash over me as I stare at these words.

figures inside.

Evan, Nicole, John. I am a burden to them now because they don’t love me.

I make a shield with my hand, just above my eyes to keep the rain from my

Because they can’t love me.

face. I lean in closer and see the window come down a few inches.

It’s been five years to this very day that they stopped.

“The storm’s coming, you know—you shouldn’t be out here.” It’s a man’s

Five years since Annie died.

voice. Friendly. But also urgent. “Do you want a ride to town?”

Five years since she ran into the road.

Another voice calls from the truck. The window comes down a few more

Five years since I struck her with my car. Since I killed her.

inches.

Tears, rain, wind. I walk a few paces to the intersection, to the road, Hastings The voice of a little girl. The face of an angel.

Pass, that leads to the town. There is nothing but pavement and dirt riding over

“Well? Do you or don’t you?” she asks.

hills, and the dead cornstalks in fields that go on and on. Not another car in sight.

I stare at her, at her blond hair and bright eyes, and beyond her at the man.

I stare at her, this young girl, and, God help me, for a split second I see my dead child.

dead child.

And then I see this road for what it truly is. A mirage. An illusion. And the words that caused my legs to carry me away from my life—liars. Their promises feel the weight of my guilt like a rock I hold above my head. How I fight to keep nothing more than cheap deceptions.

The guilt will never leave me. I will never leave my family.

Maybe I can just walk away.

“Yes,” I say.

These words bring a sudden, jarring euphoria.

The passenger window of the truck closes and the girl disappears. But now I

hear the click of the locks opening. I reach for the handle of the door to the The road with the brown cornfields, darkened by the angry storm, is now a

second row, desperate to be out of the storm. Desperate to get back to my family.

thing of beauty. An oasis. An escape. My legs begin to move, pulling my body. To forget what I have almost done. This storm might have killed me. The wind My mind is in a trance. Sedated by these words and the promises they offer.

and the cold. Then the guilt would be theirs to carry. John, Nicole, Evan. How could I be that selfish after everything I’ve already done to them? I will never think of it again.

I climb inside, close the door. Relief fighting with despair.

I walk along this road until I am part of the storm. Numb to the wet. Numb to And before I can clear the rain from my eyes and see what’s really before

the cold. Numb to the truth about the promises. And for the first time since I me, I hear the click again. The doors locking.

killed my child I am at peace.

Locking shut.

I don’t know how long I walk, or how far, when I see light coming from

behind. I turn to find headlights moving slowly toward me. They’re high and

bright. It’s a truck of some kind. Tall but also long. And in spite of the trance I am in and the peace it has brought, I feel both of my arms rise above my head and wave wildly, the purse still clutched in one hand.

The truck pulls in front of me and comes to a stop.

I walk closer until I am inches beside the passenger window. There are two

figures inside.

I make a shield with my hand, just above my eyes to keep the rain from my

face. I lean in closer and see the window come down a few inches.

“The storm’s coming, you know—you shouldn’t be out here.” It’s a man’s

voice. Friendly. But also urgent. “Do you want a ride to town?”

Another voice calls from the truck. The window comes down a few more

inches.

The voice of a little girl. The face of an angel.

“Well? Do you or don’t you?” she asks.

I stare at her, at her blond hair and bright eyes, and beyond her at the man.

I stare at her, this young girl, and, God help me, for a split second I see my dead child.

dead child.

And then I see this road for what it truly is. A mirage. An illusion. And the words that caused my legs to carry me away from my life—liars. Their promises nothing more than cheap deceptions.

The guilt will never leave me. I will never leave my family.

“Yes,” I say.

The passenger window of the truck closes and the girl disappears. But now I

hear the click of the locks opening. I reach for the handle of the door to the second row, desperate to be out of the storm. Desperate to get back to my family.

To forget what I have almost done. This storm might have killed me. The wind and the cold. Then the guilt would be theirs to carry. John, Nicole, Evan. How could I be that selfish after everything I’ve already done to them? I will never think of it again.

I climb inside, close the door. Relief fighting with despair.

And before I can clear the rain from my eyes and see what’s really before

me, I hear the click again. The doors locking.

Locking shut.

Chapter Two

Day thirteen

The phone rang. Stopped. Rang again.

Nicole Clarke awoke, felt a body beside her. It didn’t stir.

The ringing was loud. The daylight bright, even through closed eyes.

Remorse crept in as her hand reached toward the sound.

She pulled the phone to her ear, eyes pinching tightly together, then moved

herself closer to the edge of the bed so she was no longer touching the stranger she’d brought home.

She managed a hello. Her voice was hoarse.

“Nicole Clarke?” a woman asked. She seemed nervous. “I’m calling about

the disappearance of a woman in Hastings.”

The name of that town. Adrenaline, nausea. Nic didn’t answer.

Then came the flashes from the night before.

Vodka shots . . . the man at the end of the bar . . . now in her bed.

She’d told him to leave in the early morning hours. Or maybe she’d passed

out before she could.

The woman continued.

“My name is Edith Moore. I hope this is the right thing to do, but I may have something . . . I may know something about that woman—your mother, right?”

The man groaned, draped a heavy arm over her chest. Nic pushed it aside.

There had been a moment last night when his arms couldn’t hold her tight

enough. Now they repulsed her. It was always the same.

She rolled onto her side and pulled her knees to her stomach. “Hold on,” she said, waiting for the nausea to recede.

The calls about her mother had begun to slow. Most of the crazies had

moved on to other things. Other ways to feed their appetite for attention. The psychologist had explained it to them, why people feel drawn to these stories, to other people’s grief, and why they seek ways to get involved even if they muddy the search for the truth with their lies. Their made-up stories. Their bullshit.

There was also the reward money. A million dollars for her mother’s safe

return. Five hundred thousand for tips leading to her “whereabouts.” Nothing

return. Five hundred thousand for tips leading to her “whereabouts.” Nothing brought out a liar like cash. Her father had hired an investigator to manage the tips.

The woman continued.

“I live in Schenectady, which is two hours from Hastings—over the border

into New York. I was on my way home from a trip to Manhattan. I met some

girlfriends there. That’s why I was on the road.”

Nic began with the questions that would likely end the conversation. What Day thirteen

day? What time? What road?

The phone rang. Stopped. Rang again.

The callers never did their homework. They usually got the town right.

Nicole Clarke awoke, felt a body beside her. It didn’t stir.

Sometimes the make and model of her mother’s car—an Audi Q5, light blue.

The ringing was loud. The daylight bright, even through closed eyes.

Stopped just before the gas station.

Remorse crept in as her hand reached toward the sound.

Edith Moore rattled off the answers. It was the last one that made Nic pay

She pulled the phone to her ear, eyes pinching tightly together, then moved

closer attention.

herself closer to the edge of the bed so she was no longer touching the stranger Hastings Pass.

she’d brought home.

Most people said they’d seen Molly Clarke on Route 7. That was where her

car was found. That was the road that led to the casino where her credit card was

“Nicole Clarke?” a woman asked. She seemed nervous. “I’m calling about

used. It was always the best guess for the crazies. And the liars.

the disappearance of a woman in Hastings.”

This was something new.

“What were you doing on Hastings Pass?” Nic asked. Her tone was harsh.

Then came the flashes from the night before.

“It’s completely out of the way if you were heading to Schenectady from

Manhattan.”

She’d told him to leave in the early morning hours. Or maybe she’d passed

Nic knew every inch of that town. Hastings. She knew every road, every out before she could.

field, every abandoned well her mother might have fallen down as she sought

The woman continued.

cover from the hurricane.

“My name is Edith Moore. I hope this is the right thing to do, but I may have

“I was trying to stop for the night because of the storm. There’s a place there, something . . . I may know something about that woman—your mother, right?” the Hastings . . .”

The man groaned, draped a heavy arm over her chest. Nic pushed it aside.

“Hastings Inn.” Nic was sitting up now.

There had been a moment last night when his arms couldn’t hold her tight

“Yes—the Hastings Inn. I got to the inn around seven, but it was already

enough. Now they repulsed her. It was always the same.

boarded up. I knew I had to get out of the storm path, so I turned right around, She rolled onto her side and pulled her knees to her stomach. “Hold on,” she back toward Route 7. I was on Hastings Pass and I think I drove right past your said, waiting for the nausea to recede.

mother.”

The calls about her mother had begun to slow. Most of the crazies had

Now came another voice. The man in her bed who’d overstayed his

moved on to other things. Other ways to feed their appetite for attention. The welcome. Who’s on the phone?

psychologist had explained it to them, why people feel drawn to these stories, to Nobody . . . you need to go.

other people’s grief, and why they seek ways to get involved even if they muddy Nic waved at him, then toward the door, then to his clothes littered across the the search for the truth with their lies. Their made-up stories. Their bullshit.

carpet of her bedroom. When he looked at her with confusion, she made it

There was also the reward money. A million dollars for her mother’s safe

clearer.

return. Five hundred thousand for tips leading to her “whereabouts.” Nothing

“Please—just get out.” But then, “I’m sorry.”

return. Five hundred thousand for tips leading to her “whereabouts.” Nothing

“Please—just get out.” But then, “I’m sorry.”

brought out a liar like cash. Her father had hired an investigator to manage the She said it again. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, until he started to move.

tips.

And she was sorry. For last night and the nights before and the nights to

The woman continued.

come. She was sorry for so many nights since Annie died.

“I live in Schenectady, which is two hours from Hastings—over the border

Back to the woman on the phone.

into New York. I was on my way home from a trip to Manhattan. I met some

“Why didn’t you come forward sooner? It’s been two weeks.”

girlfriends there. That’s why I was on the road.”

“Like I said, I don’t live in the area. And I don’t really follow the news. But then a few days ago, I was catching up with one of the friends I met in the city and she asked me if I got caught in the storm, and then she mentioned a woman The callers never did their homework. They usually got the town right.

who went missing.”

Sometimes the make and model of her mother’s car—an Audi Q5, light blue.

Nic listened carefully as she watched the man move about the room,

Stopped just before the gas station.

grabbing a shirt, pants, underwear. These nights had to stop.

Edith Moore rattled off the answers. It was the last one that made Nic pay

She knew they wouldn’t.

closer attention.

Edith Moore continued, her voice trembling with excitement. “I looked up

the story on the Internet and I just knew it was her! I saw her on that road.

Most people said they’d seen Molly Clarke on Route 7. That was where her Hastings Pass—not Route 7. She was about a mile down the road. The rain had car was found. That was the road that led to the casino where her credit card was begun. She was soaking wet.”

used. It was always the best guess for the crazies. And the liars.

Nic rested her head in one hand as the facts from the case flooded out.

This was something new.

“What were you doing on Hastings Pass?” Nic asked. Her tone was harsh.

The car abandoned just before the gas station.

“It’s completely out of the way if you were heading to Schenectady from

Out of gas.

Manhattan.”

Nothing inside but her cell phone, attached to the charger.

Every field, every home, everywhere searched and searched.

Then, two days later, her credit card used at a nearby casino resort.

And her clothes, still wet, found in the hotel room—along with the

“I was trying to stop for the night because of the storm. There’s a place there, note.

the Hastings . . .”

The note which explained everything—and nothing.

“Hastings Inn.” Nic was sitting up now.

“Yes—the Hastings Inn. I got to the inn around seven, but it was already

“And you didn’t stop? You didn’t help her?” Nic asked.

boarded up. I knew I had to get out of the storm path, so I turned right around, The woman rambled on about how she slowed to a crawl, but then a truck

back toward Route 7. I was on Hastings Pass and I think I drove right past your came from the other direction.

mother.”

“A truck?”

“Yes. It was a pickup truck. Dark color. It stopped and she got in.”

Nic was on her feet, then quickly buckled over.

“I read everything I could find,” the woman said. “About the car found the

Nic waved at him, then toward the door, then to his clothes littered across thenext morning and the gas station closed and then the winds and blackout. Oh, carpet of her bedroom. When he looked at her with confusion, she made it

and how the town searched for her everywhere until they found that gut-

clearer.

wrenching note in a hotel room. Your poor mother and everything she’d been

“Please—just get out.” But then, “I’m sorry.”

through. And then the case was closed, or reclassified, I think it said. They were

“Please—just get out.” But then, “I’m sorry.”

through. And then the case was closed, or reclassified, I think it said. They were calling it a ‘walk away’ in the press.”

And she was sorry. For last night and the nights before and the nights to

That was exactly how things had gone down.

come. She was sorry for so many nights since Annie died.

Nic and her father had been there with the search parties. Four days in

Back to the woman on the phone.

Hastings that had become a blur of images. Rough sketches of cold air and stiff

“Why didn’t you come forward sooner? It’s been two weeks.”

cornstalks, stale bitter coffee on folding tables brought by the local residents.

“Like I said, I don’t live in the area. And I don’t really follow the news. But The bar across from the inn. Vodka. Tequila. A stranger in the back hallway—

then a few days ago, I was catching up with one of the friends I met in the city the bartender. It had not been pretty.

and she asked me if I got caught in the storm, and then she mentioned a woman Then came the slow reveal of the family’s bad behavior on the day of the

who went missing.”

disappearance.

Nic listened carefully as she watched the man move about the room,

Nic’s cruel words in the kitchen overheard by the cleaners. Evan’s shunning

grabbing a shirt, pants, underwear. These nights had to stop.

of his mother’s visit witnessed by the kids on his team. And Molly Clarke’s

She knew they wouldn’t.

husband, John, who didn’t even notice that his wife hadn’t come home because Edith Moore continued, her voice trembling with excitement. “I looked up

he’d fallen asleep.

the story on the Internet and I just knew it was her! I saw her on that road.

And why would that be? He had a million excuses. It took everything inside

Hastings Pass—not Route 7. She was about a mile down the road. The rain had Nic not to give them the real one—that he didn’t love his wife anymore. That he begun. She was soaking wet.”

was having an affair. Nic had seen his car in town when he said he was at the Nic rested her head in one hand as the facts from the case flooded out.

office. She’d seen the way he avoided looking at her but then was suddenly

polite and considerate, covering his tracks. There were so many changes, and The car abandoned just before the gas station.

they were recent. They were new, subtle changes. Except for the one that

Out of gas.

screamed out to be noticed. For the first time since his wife killed his daughter, Nothing inside but her cell phone, attached to the charger.

he seemed happy.

Every field, every home, everywhere searched and searched.

All of this bad behavior had come on the anniversary of Annie’s death five

Then, two days later, her credit card used at a nearby casino resort. years before.

And her clothes, still wet, found in the hotel room—along with the

It was against this ugly and unforgivable backdrop that her mother’s note

note.

was interpreted. Chicken-scratch words on a page from the hotel notepad found The note which explained everything—and nothing.

in the room. Words Nic had read just once, though she could still close her eyes and see the shape of each letter.

“And you didn’t stop? You didn’t help her?” Nic asked.

The woman rambled on about how she slowed to a crawl, but then a truck

My beloved family, I am so very sorry. I couldn’t make it home, and

came from the other direction.

then I thought maybe you are better off without me. I pray you don’t look

“A truck?”

for me. I pray for your happiness.

“Yes. It was a pickup truck. Dark color. It stopped and she got in.”

Nic was on her feet, then quickly buckled over.

She signed it with her full name. Molly Clarke. The police said she had

“I read everything I could find,” the woman said. “About the car found the

probably done that to make sure it found its way back to them—so the hotel

next morning and the gas station closed and then the winds and blackout. Oh, would know who’d left it.

and how the town searched for her everywhere until they found that gut-

But she’d paid for the room with her credit card. It was in her name. And the wrenching note in a hotel room. Your poor mother and everything she’d been

words, the phrases—they didn’t sound like her mother.

through. And then the case was closed, or reclassified, I think it said. They were

words, the phrases—they didn’t sound like her mother.

through. And then the case was closed, or reclassified, I think it said. They were The note was sent to a handwriting expert. It matched the samples they’d

calling it a ‘walk away’ in the press.”

provided. It matched the writing of Molly Clarke.

That was exactly how things had gone down.

Still, she had fought against them. The local police. The state troopers. Even Nic and her father had been there with the search parties. Four days in

her father. They’d given her the statistics which supported the walk-away theory.

Hastings that had become a blur of images. Rough sketches of cold air and stiff Most adult women who disappear were trying to leave their lives behind. They cornstalks, stale bitter coffee on folding tables brought by the local residents.

came home when, if, they were ready.

The bar across from the inn. Vodka. Tequila. A stranger in the back hallway—

What did she have to fight with? Remnants from the past, fragments of

the bartender. It had not been pretty.

memories about a devoted mother who could never cause her children to suffer Then came the slow reveal of the family’s bad behavior on the day of the

by leaving them? The truth was, Nic had no idea what was in her mother’s head, disappearance.

what was even in her heart, or what narrative had been taking shape inside her—

Nic’s cruel words in the kitchen overheard by the cleaners. Evan’s shunning that she was a burden to them and they would be better off without her.

of his mother’s visit witnessed by the kids on his team. And Molly Clarke’s

Nic had said as much to her face the morning before she left them.

husband, John, who didn’t even notice that his wife hadn’t come home because The belief in her mother’s betrayal had come as a shock, but then settled in he’d fallen asleep.

quietly, burrowing into the hollow spaces alongside the grief and the guilt that And why would that be? He had a million excuses. It took everything inside Annie’s death had carved. They were amorphous, covering every inch of her, Nic not to give them the real one—that he didn’t love his wife anymore. That he living in every cell. And they had an insatiable yearning to be filled. The men was having an affair. Nic had seen his car in town when he said he was at the and the alcohol were barely touching them anymore.

office. She’d seen the way he avoided looking at her but then was suddenly

Evan had fared better. There’d been tears, but then his quick return to school.

polite and considerate, covering his tracks. There were so many changes, and Her father had done his duty by wearing a somber face and taking care of his they were recent. They were new, subtle changes. Except for the one that

wife’s elderly parents. They lived in a home and were already in the throes of screamed out to be noticed. For the first time since his wife killed his daughter, dementia. Nic envied them. Now, nearly two weeks later, friends had stopped he seemed happy.

bringing casseroles. Everyone was returning to normal life because it was

All of this bad behavior had come on the anniversary of Annie’s death five

unbearable to remain in a state of grief and loss. Evan at school. Her father back years before.

to work and his after-work activities. And Nic, back to her nights.

It was against this ugly and unforgivable backdrop that her mother’s note

Only they’d been getting worse.

was interpreted. Chicken-scratch words on a page from the hotel notepad found Now the woman again. “The driver of that truck may know where she went.”

in the room. Words Nic had read just once, though she could still close her eyes Yes, Nic thought. The driver might know why she left us.

and see the shape of each letter.

“Is there anything else you can tell me? Any details about her that you

noticed? I have to ask.”

“Yes, of course,” Edith Moore said. “Let me think . . . well—there was

something she did, and I don’t know if it helps . . .”

“What?” Nic asked, suddenly desperate to have this be real. “What did she

do?”

“When she waved at the truck—she used both arms, over her head, crossing

back and forth. She had her purse in one of her hands, so it was odd, you know?

That she didn’t just wave at the truck with one hand. I remember thinking that it But she’d paid for the room with her credit card. It was in her name. And the was strange.”

words, the phrases—they didn’t sound like her mother.

Nic closed her eyes and saw her mother from years ago. At a cross country

words, the phrases—they didn’t sound like her mother.

Nic closed her eyes and saw her mother from years ago. At a cross country

The note was sent to a handwriting expert. It matched the samples they’d

meet, standing at the finish line. Waving just like that—two arms overhead. She provided. It matched the writing of Molly Clarke.

did it at Evan’s games too. And when she was trying to get their attention at a Still, she had fought against them. The local police. The state troopers. Even pickup, or when they ignored her walking through the kitchen and she asked her father. They’d given her the statistics which supported the walk-away theory.them how their day was.

Most adult women who disappear were trying to leave their lives behind. They They had all poked fun at her. And yet, they had all found it endearing.

came home when, if, they were ready.

Years ago—when there was still room for endearment.

What did she have to fight with? Remnants from the past, fragments of

“What about the purse?” Nic asked.

memories about a devoted mother who could never cause her children to suffer

“It was orange. Very bright—oh, and there were letters on it. NEA. At the

by leaving them? The truth was, Nic had no idea what was in her mother’s head, time, I assumed it was a monogram, but after I read about your mother and saw what was even in her heart, or what narrative had been taking shape inside her— her name, I thought maybe it was the name of the designer.”

that she was a burden to them and they would be better off without her.

“They’re our names,” Nic said. “The names of her children.”

Nic had said as much to her face the morning before she left them.

Her mother had ordered the purse herself. No one else would have been that

The belief in her mother’s betrayal had come as a shock, but then settled in morbid. And that’s exactly what it was. A bright, bold, daily reminder that she quietly, burrowing into the hollow spaces alongside the grief and the guilt that had three children. Nicole. Evan. Annie. Three children, not two. And that one Annie’s death had carved. They were amorphous, covering every inch of her,

was dead. The giant gold “A” to punch her in the gut as she went about her day.

living in every cell. And they had an insatiable yearning to be filled. The men That purse followed her everywhere.

and the alcohol were barely touching them anymore.

Nic opened her eyes and let the truth find her.

Evan had fared better. There’d been tears, but then his quick return to school.

This is real. This woman saw my mother.

Her father had done his duty by wearing a somber face and taking care of his

“Why don’t you come and meet me?” Edith Moore asked. “I can show you

wife’s elderly parents. They lived in a home and were already in the throes of exactly where she was when the truck picked her up.”

dementia. Nic envied them. Now, nearly two weeks later, friends had stopped

The thought was unbearable. Hastings . . .

bringing casseroles. Everyone was returning to normal life because it was

“Maybe you can meet with the local police,” Nic offered.

unbearable to remain in a state of grief and loss. Evan at school. Her father back But the woman insisted. “I don’t think that will go anywhere now, given

to work and his after-work activities. And Nic, back to her nights.

what they believe.”

Only they’d been getting worse.

Silence then. Nic closed her eyes and tried to chase away the sickness in her Now the woman again. “The driver of that truck may know where she went.” gut.

Hastings . . .

“Is there anything else you can tell me? Any details about her that you

“The thing is,” the woman said next, “no one is going to care about that poor noticed? I have to ask.”

woman on the road as much as her family.”

“Yes, of course,” Edith Moore said. “Let me think . . . well—there was

Ten minutes later, Nic was throwing clothes in a duffel bag. Jeans, shirts,

something she did, and I don’t know if it helps . . .”

sweaters, sneakers. What else? Pajamas, underwear.

“What?” Nic asked, suddenly desperate to have this be real. “What did she

She went to the bathroom for her toothbrush, shampoo.

do?”

A voice crept in, whispering, Is this just more running away?

“When she waved at the truck—she used both arms, over her head, crossing

The grief counselor had her theories about Nic’s behavior.

back and forth. She had her purse in one of her hands, so it was odd, you know?

Don’t run from the pain. You have to feel it before it will get better.

That she didn’t just wave at the truck with one hand. I remember thinking that it But she did feel it. And it never did get better.

was strange.”

There were things she’d said that morning to her mother that she hadn’t told Nic closed her eyes and saw her mother from years ago. At a cross country

There were things she’d said that morning to her mother that she hadn’t told Nic closed her eyes and saw her mother from years ago. At a cross country

anyone. She couldn’t even think them. Things about Annie.

meet, standing at the finish line. Waving just like that—two arms overhead. She She’d wanted to see misery on her mother’s face instead of love. And she

did it at Evan’s games too. And when she was trying to get their attention at a had succeeded. Now she had the image in her mind, placed there by Edith Moore pickup, or when they ignored her walking through the kitchen and she asked

—her mother standing in the rain, soaking wet. In the storm. A storm Nic had them how their day was.

put her in with those horrible words.

They had all poked fun at her. And yet, they had all found it endearing.

And now, too, there was someone out there who knew where she’d gone.

Years ago—when there was still room for endearment.

Someone who owned a truck. Someone who could help her get to her mother

“What about the purse?” Nic asked.

and tell her she didn’t hate her, and God, take back the other things she’d said

“It was orange. Very bright—oh, and there were letters on it. NEA. At the

that morning. she chased the voices away. The good advice. The well-meaning

time, I assumed it was a monogram, but after I read about your mother and saw guidance she knew would be coming. She doesn’t want to be found. Take care of her name, I thought maybe it was the name of the designer.”

yourself, Nicole. But Nic knew things they didn’t, things she’d said to drive her

“They’re our names,” Nic said. “The names of her children.”

mother away.

This was her fault and now she had to make it right. She had to find her

mother.

Nic opened her eyes and let the truth find her.

“Why don’t you come and meet me?” Edith Moore asked. “I can show you

exactly where she was when the truck picked her up.”

“Maybe you can meet with the local police,” Nic offered.

But the woman insisted. “I don’t think that will go anywhere now, given

what they believe.”

Silence then. Nic closed her eyes and tried to chase away the sickness in her gut.

“The thing is,” the woman said next, “no one is going to care about that poor woman on the road as much as her family.”

Ten minutes later, Nic was throwing clothes in a duffel bag. Jeans, shirts,

sweaters, sneakers. What else? Pajamas, underwear.

She went to the bathroom for her toothbrush, shampoo.

The grief counselor had her theories about Nic’s behavior.

But she did feel it. And it never did get better.

There were things she’d said that morning to her mother that she hadn’t told

There were things she’d said that morning to her mother that she hadn’t told anyone. She couldn’t even think them. Things about Annie.

She’d wanted to see misery on her mother’s face instead of love. And she

had succeeded. Now she had the image in her mind, placed there by Edith Moore

—her mother standing in the rain, soaking wet. In the storm. A storm Nic had put her in with those horrible words.

And now, too, there was someone out there who knew where she’d gone.

Someone who owned a truck. Someone who could help her get to her mother

and tell her she didn’t hate her, and God, take back the other things she’d said that morning. she chased the voices away. The good advice. The well-meaning

guidance she knew would be coming. She doesn’t want to be found. Take care of yourself, Nicole. But Nic knew things they didn’t, things she’d said to drive her mother away.

This was her fault and now she had to make it right. She had to find her

mother.

Chapter Three

Day one

The girl wears a mask. She pulls it up after I enter the truck.

It’s some kind of medical mask which I can see now only in the reflection

from the side mirror. The man wears a wool hat, pulled down low.

We drive through sheets of rain. A violent wind pushes against the truck.

“Thank you for stopping,” I say. “I ran out of gas.”

The girl turns around.

“That wasn’t very smart,” she says. Her voice is perky, like she’s just stating the obvious and not rendering a judgment. Still, it is odd for a child her age not to know that she’s done just that.

“You’re right,” I say.

The man smiles. “No harm done. The town’s not far.”

I notice his eyes dart up into the mirror so he can see me. He quickly looks away and glances at his daughter.

Daughter . . . I wonder now. I am making assumptions.

The girl keeps talking.

“I’m allergic to everything so I have to wear a mask when I’m outside the

house. Does it make my voice sound funny?”

Her words pass through me. I look out the window wondering where we are,

exactly how far from town. I can see nothing but the small pieces of road where the headlights strike the pavement. The sky is a canvas of black.

I smell gasoline and notice three plastic cans on the floor beside me.

Otherwise, the truck is clean but old. The leather on the seats is cracked, worn all the way through in places.

“Hey!” the girl says, annoyed with me now. “Answer my question!”

My concern shifts quickly from the road and the black sky and the gas cans

to the girl with the mask who has just admonished me for not paying attention and answering her question. I somehow pull the question from my immediate

memory. Something about the mask and her voice . . . I take an educated guess.

“It sounds just fine to me,” I say. She looks at me through the side mirror

with folded eyes and I imagine her whole face is in a scowl.

with folded eyes and I imagine her whole face is in a scowl.

So I smile. A big, warm smile through lips that tremble from the cold and

now, also, from the realization that I am locked inside a truck with strangers.

“What’s your name?” I ask. I try to be friendly. I just need a ride to town.

The girl looks at the man before answering. He nods and says, “Go ahead!

Don’t be shy,” which is strange because she seems anything but shy to me.

She spins all the way around this time, smiling so wide I can see the creases of her cheeks poking out from the sides of the mask.

Day one

“Alice!” she says. I take a moment because the name sounds out something

The girl wears a mask. She pulls it up after I enter the truck.

else in my mind. She says Alice but I hear Annie. And my heart skips just one It’s some kind of medical mask which I can see now only in the reflection

long beat.

from the side mirror. The man wears a wool hat, pulled down low.

Alice again turns back to face the road, this time with a little bounce and the We drive through sheets of rain. A violent wind pushes against the truck.

man tousles her hair. It’s playful but awkward, like he doesn’t do this often.

“Thank you for stopping,” I say. “I ran out of gas.”

The truck slows.

The girl turns around.

I look through the windshield to where the headlights are shining and see

“That wasn’t very smart,” she says. Her voice is perky, like she’s just stating storefronts with boarded windows. As we pass, they fade back into the darkness.

the obvious and not rendering a judgment. Still, it is odd for a child her age not The truck rolls down the street. The man keeps his eyes ahead.

to know that she’s done just that.

“Is that the town?” I ask.

“You’re right,” I say.

We pass a building that looks like a diner from the shape of the gray

The man smiles. “No harm done. The town’s not far.”

silhouette and the large sheets of plywood that cover a row of windows. Beside I notice his eyes dart up into the mirror so he can see me. He quickly looks it I see a sign on a lawn. It’s merely a flash as our lights pass. It says The away and glances at his daughter.

Hastings Inn.

“Maybe there—at the inn. You could just drop me . . .”

The girl keeps talking.

The man looks carefully out the window, scanning the street.

“I’m allergic to everything so I have to wear a mask when I’m outside the

“Looks like it’s closed. Everything’s boarded up . . . and gosh—looks like

house. Does it make my voice sound funny?”

the whole town’s lost power.”

Her words pass through me. I look out the window wondering where we are,

My voice cracks as I ask the next question. “Can we go back to my car?

exactly how far from town. I can see nothing but the small pieces of road where Maybe I can use some of the gas you have here? Even just a gallon. There’s the headlights strike the pavement. The sky is a canvas of black.

another station about half an hour away—at the casino, right? I saw a sign for it I smell gasoline and notice three plastic cans on the floor beside me.

on Route 7 . . .”

Otherwise, the truck is clean but old. The leather on the seats is cracked, worn all Please, please, please! Let us go back to my car and then my life two hours the way through in places.

from here, no matter what’s become of it. I crave it now and I don’t even know

“Hey!” the girl says, annoyed with me now. “Answer my question!”

why. I crave my irreverent daughter who hates me and my cruel son who

dismisses me. I miss my husband who pretends to be asleep when I come into

our bedroom to be with him and I miss the dogs who want nothing but food. God help me, but I even miss the pain that never leaves.

It comes from a hidden place. A primal instinct. This missing of things.

“It sounds just fine to me,” I say. She looks at me through the side mirror

The truck makes a turn and picks up speed.

with folded eyes and I imagine her whole face is in a scowl.

“They’re empty,” he says now. “We were on our way to get them filled but

with folded eyes and I imagine her whole face is in a scowl.

“They’re empty,” he says now. “We were on our way to get them filled but

So I smile. A big, warm smile through lips that tremble from the cold and

the station was already closed.”

now, also, from the realization that I am locked inside a truck with strangers.

I look at the gas cans. I swear I can hear liquid splashing inside them but

“What’s your name?” I ask. I try to be friendly. I just need a ride to town.

maybe I’m mistaken. Or maybe what I hear is nothing more than a few drops left The girl looks at the man before answering. He nods and says, “Go ahead!

at the bottom.

Don’t be shy,” which is strange because she seems anything but shy to me.

Why would he lie? The gas station was closed.

She spins all the way around this time, smiling so wide I can see the creases

“What can we do?” I ask now.

of her cheeks poking out from the sides of the mask.

“Road’s blocked. Tree just came down. Didn’t you hear it on the radio? Only

one way to go now.”

I didn’t hear anything. I can’t hear a radio over the sound of the engine. And how was it reported so quickly?

Alice again turns back to face the road, this time with a little bounce and the The girl seems to know where we’re headed.

man tousles her hair. It’s playful but awkward, like he doesn’t do this often.

I open my purse to grab my phone. I have to tell them what’s happened, John

The truck slows.

and Nicole. I dig through the contents—wallet, brush, mints, tissues. I take them I look through the windshield to where the headlights are shining and see

out and place them in my lap until the purse is empty.

storefronts with boarded windows. As we pass, they fade back into the darkness.

Now I remember—the phone was in the charger, out of the purse, sitting on

The truck rolls down the street. The man keeps his eyes ahead.

the seat.

“Is that the town?” I ask.

I have no phone. A new kind of fear rises.

I ask now—

“Do you have a cell phone I could use? My family is probably very

worried.”

Alice looks at her folded hands which sit in her lap.

“Maybe there—at the inn. You could just drop me . . .”

And the man shakes his head.

The man looks carefully out the window, scanning the street.

“No. I’m so sorry. I left it at the house. Don’t worry. We’ll be there soon.

“Looks like it’s closed. Everything’s boarded up . . . and gosh—looks like

You can make your call and we’ll see what can be done about getting you

the whole town’s lost power.”

home.”

My voice cracks as I ask the next question. “Can we go back to my car?

“Or you could just stay with us tonight!” Alice says. Again, turning back.

Maybe I can use some of the gas you have here? Even just a gallon. There’s

Again, with exuberance.

another station about half an hour away—at the casino, right? I saw a sign for it The man is smiling now.

on Route 7 . . .”

“One thing at a time,” he says.

And so we drive. We make turns. Left turns. Right turns. Deeper into the

woods.

I can’t bear the silence. I can’t bear not knowing what this is. So I do what I think would be normal if my mind weren’t running in circles.

our bedroom to be with him and I miss the dogs who want nothing but food. God

“I’m Molly, by the way. Molly Clarke. I really appreciate your help.”

Alice giggles nervously. The man stares ahead.

It comes from a hidden place. A primal instinct. This missing of things.

I try to catch his eyes in the rearview mirror.

The truck makes a turn and picks up speed.

“Can I ask your name as well?”

“They’re empty,” he says now. “We were on our way to get them filled but

“Can I ask your name as well?”

“They’re empty,” he says now. “We were on our way to get them filled but

He looks at Alice. Alice stares back at him and pokes his shoulder with her

the station was already closed.”

finger.

I look at the gas cans. I swear I can hear liquid splashing inside them but

He shrugs, his attention returning to the road. His face is amused.

maybe I’m mistaken. Or maybe what I hear is nothing more than a few drops left It’s Alice who answers.

at the bottom.

“His name is Mickey Mouse!” she says. Then she laughs.

Why would he lie? The gas station was closed.

The man smiles and I realize this is a little game they play. Alice gets to

“What can we do?” I ask now.

make up his name for strangers.

“Road’s blocked. Tree just came down. Didn’t you hear it on the radio? Only

I play along, though I feel ill.

one way to go now.”

“Should I call you Mickey or Mr. Mouse?”

I didn’t hear anything. I can’t hear a radio over the sound of the engine. And He laughs out loud but doesn’t answer.

how was it reported so quickly?

The truck moves slowly through the storm. The storm moves quickly around

The girl seems to know where we’re headed.

us. Time and distance lose their calibration.

I open my purse to grab my phone. I have to tell them what’s happened, John

I cannot see beyond the headlights. The wind is powerful, rain blowing

and Nicole. I dig through the contents—wallet, brush, mints, tissues. I take them sideways. Falling hard. Turns and turns, avoiding fallen trees, the man tells me, out and place them in my lap until the purse is empty.

though I can’t see them from the second row.

Now I remember—the phone was in the charger, out of the purse, sitting on

He does not make conversation. He does not ask the obvious questions, like

the seat.

who I am or where I’m from. I think then that he is just nervous about the storm, about getting Alice home safely.

I ask now—

I taste the blood on my lip from where I have bitten down too hard. I am

“Do you have a cell phone I could use? My family is probably very

warm now but I can’t stop shaking.

worried.”

The truck slows again and this time stops fully. Alice perks up. She looks out Alice looks at her folded hands which sit in her lap.

and sees what I see—a tall metal fence. There is a gate with a lock and we are And the man shakes his head.

stopped in front of a dirt driveway.

“No. I’m so sorry. I left it at the house. Don’t worry. We’ll be there soon.

The man gets out. Alice doesn’t ask why. He pulls up the hood of his jacket

You can make your call and we’ll see what can be done about getting you

but it does little to keep him from getting drenched. He runs up to the gate and home.”

stops at a large chain that winds between two of the fence posts. It looks as

“Or you could just stay with us tonight!” Alice says. Again, turning back.

though he’s turning a manual lock. One hand holds steady. The other twists, then Again, with exuberance.

pulls hard. He unwinds the chain and a section of the fence swings open.

The man is smiling now.

I look at the lock on the car door which brushes against my right arm. It did

“One thing at a time,” he says.

not release when he left the truck, but still, I slide my hand to the handle and pull And so we drive. We make turns. Left turns. Right turns. Deeper into the

as softly as I can. It does not click open. A child lock must be on. I see through woods.

the console and wonder if my body will fit between the seats—if I can climb

I can’t bear the silence. I can’t bear not knowing what this is. So I do what I over into the driver’s side and make an escape through that door. Alice is too think would be normal if my mind weren’t running in circles.

small to stop me. But loud enough to call to the man and, surely, he would catch

“I’m Molly, by the way. Molly Clarke. I really appreciate your help.”

me in fewer than a dozen strides.

Alice giggles nervously. The man stares ahead.

Then I stop myself. We are at a house. A family lives here. Maybe there’s a

I try to catch his eyes in the rearview mirror.

wife, more children. Alice and her father were just out to get the gas in the cans

“Can I ask your name as well?”

which sit on the floor beside me. And some bottles of water. I see them in the

“Can I ask your name as well?”

which sit on the floor beside me. And some bottles of water. I see them in the He looks at Alice. Alice stares back at him and pokes his shoulder with her

front seat by Alice’s legs. They happened upon me. They offered me a ride.

finger.

Stop being so Molly, I tell myself. But Molly killed her child. Molly knows He shrugs, his attention returning to the road. His face is amused.

that unthinkable things can happen and now she has thoughts that are sometimes It’s Alice who answers.

not realistic, that are hyperbolic, as John would say. Still, she thinks them.

“His name is Mickey Mouse!” she says. Then she laughs.

Because one time, they were real. And they did happen.

The man smiles and I realize this is a little game they play. Alice gets to

Molly.

make up his name for strangers.

I think about the log in the fireplace last night and wonder if that was a

I play along, though I feel ill.

crazy, senseless thought. And Evan with his cruelty . . . and Nicole—does she

“Should I call you Mickey or Mr. Mouse?”

really hate me?

He laughs out loud but doesn’t answer.

Alice speaks now.

The truck moves slowly through the storm. The storm moves quickly around

“We’re home!” She sounds victorious.

us. Time and distance lose their calibration.

The man runs back. He gets in and closes the door.

I cannot see beyond the headlights. The wind is powerful, rain blowing

“Wow! That’s some storm!” he says, shaking off the rain.

sideways. Falling hard. Turns and turns, avoiding fallen trees, the man tells me, He pulls the drive shaft down and the truck moves through the open gate. On

though I can’t see them from the second row.

the other side, he stops again. Gets out. Runs to the fence to put back the chains.

He does not make conversation. He does not ask the obvious questions, like And locks us here, inside this property on this dirt driveway.

who I am or where I’m from. I think then that he is just nervous about the storm, He gets back in and we drive. I pay close attention this time. I watch the

about getting Alice home safely.

speedometer hover at twenty-eight miles per hour. I count the seconds in my

I taste the blood on my lip from where I have bitten down too hard. I am

head. I count them like a school girl. One Mississippi . . . two Mississippi . . .

warm now but I can’t stop shaking.

I count to twenty. That’s maybe a third of a mile—a third of a mile to get

The truck slows again and this time stops fully. Alice perks up. She looks outfrom the road to the house.

and sees what I see—a tall metal fence. There is a gate with a lock and we are I try to store this information somewhere inside my scrambled mind. I try to stopped in front of a dirt driveway.

picture what it means for this property and the house that I can see now in front The man gets out. Alice doesn’t ask why. He pulls up the hood of his jacket of the truck when it comes to a stop.

but it does little to keep him from getting drenched. He runs up to the gate and The man shuts off the engine and removes the keys.

stops at a large chain that winds between two of the fence posts. It looks as He gets out and runs to the passenger side. He opens my door, then Alice’s,

though he’s turning a manual lock. One hand holds steady. The other twists, thenand he scoops her up. She wraps her arms around his neck and squeals when the pulls hard. He unwinds the chain and a section of the fence swings open.

rain hits her face and her body. She presses herself against him the way a child I look at the lock on the car door which brushes against my right arm. It did does in the arms of her father, and a wave of relief takes me by surprise.

not release when he left the truck, but still, I slide my hand to the handle and pull Alice loves this man and he loves her. Where there is love, there cannot be

as softly as I can. It does not click open. A child lock must be on. I see through danger.

the console and wonder if my body will fit between the seats—if I can climb

“Come on!” he calls to me now. I get out and follow behind them. I feel

over into the driver’s side and make an escape through that door. Alice is too myself pull my inadequate but fashionable rain jacket up over my head as far as small to stop me. But loud enough to call to the man and, surely, he would catch it will go and I laugh because I am overwhelmed now, with this relief. The me in fewer than a dozen strides.

laughter brings tears, which I stifle before I catch up to my rescuers.

Then I stop myself. We are at a house. A family lives here. Maybe there’s a

I see little as we walk. Just the shadow of a large porch with posts and wide wife, more children. Alice and her father were just out to get the gas in the cans which sit on the floor beside me. And some bottles of water. I see them in the

which sit on the floor beside me. And some bottles of water. I see them in the steps with no rail. I watch my feet as I climb. One, two, three, four . . .

front seat by Alice’s legs. They happened upon me. They offered me a ride.

Six steps bring us to the porch floor. Three steps bring us to the door, which opens without a key. A waft of dry air emerges, smelling of must and wood.

that unthinkable things can happen and now she has thoughts that are sometimes When the door closes again, we are all three inside, immersed in the

darkness. The rain pounds on the roof but it is quieted by the walls which absorb the sound. The man sets Alice down and walks to a side table. The darkness is suddenly broken by the bright light of an electric lantern.

I think about the log in the fireplace last night and wonder if that was a

“I’m gonna try to start the generator,” he says. “I think there’s enough gas in crazy, senseless thought. And Evan with his cruelty . . . and Nicole—does she there to last the night. Alice, why don’t you show Molly to the guest room. Get really hate me?

her a towel from the closet.”

Alice speaks now.

He says my name so casually, like we’re old friends.

“We’re home!” She sounds victorious.

Towels and guest rooms and lanterns. There are no other family members The man runs back. He gets in and closes the door.

here, but this will do. Yes, I think. This will do—until I can make the call.

“Wow! That’s some storm!” he says, shaking off the rain.

He hands me the lantern and goes back outside. Alice takes off her mask. It’s He pulls the drive shaft down and the truck moves through the open gate. On a white medical mask, the kind you can buy at the drug store. The Chinese the other side, he stops again. Gets out. Runs to the fence to put back the chains. tourists wear them in the summer when they visit New York. I’ve used them And locks us here, inside this property on this dirt driveway.

before when painting a room, though that was years ago, when John and I were just starting out. When we used to do things ourselves because we had more time than money.

The thought of my husband steals my breath because I love him. I still love

I count to twenty. That’s maybe a third of a mile—a third of a mile to get

him. Even if he has stopped loving me.

from the road to the house.

Alice has bright blue eyes and soft blond hair and skin like snow. It never

I try to store this information somewhere inside my scrambled mind. I try to sees the sun. Still, she is not gaunt. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold. And all of picture what it means for this property and the house that I can see now in front these colors—the blue and yellow and white and red, they are stunning. The of the truck when it comes to a stop.

colors of youth. The colors of a little girl. It fills my heart, then empties through The man shuts off the engine and removes the keys.

the hole I made five years ago.

He gets out and runs to the passenger side. He opens my door, then Alice’s,

I carry the lantern and follow closely behind her through a living room and

and he scoops her up. She wraps her arms around his neck and squeals when the past a door to a kitchen on the right. Then down a hallway where we stop. She rain hits her face and her body. She presses herself against him the way a child opens a closet which holds towels and blankets and sheets. Normal things.

does in the arms of her father, and a wave of relief takes me by surprise.

Normal.

Alice loves this man and he loves her. Where there is love, there cannot be

She pulls out a worn white bath towel and hands it to me. I take it with one danger.

hand and wipe my face dry.

“Come on!” he calls to me now. I get out and follow behind them. I feel

“Come on!” she says cheerfully.

myself pull my inadequate but fashionable rain jacket up over my head as far as I look down the hallway but don’t get my bearings. There are doors which

it will go and I laugh because I am overwhelmed now, with this relief. The

are all closed.

laughter brings tears, which I stifle before I catch up to my rescuers.

I want to be dry. I want to be warm. I want the man to return so I can use the phone and call my family. These things all feel close now and so I want them with greater urgency.

with greater urgency.

We enter the first room on the left. It has a bed and a dresser and an oval

Six steps bring us to the porch floor. Three steps bring us to the door, which mirror which hangs on the wall. The bed is neatly made with a quilt and two opens without a key. A waft of dry air emerges, smelling of must and wood.

pillows. It has a private bathroom which I can see through an open door. The one When the door closes again, we are all three inside, immersed in the

window has been boarded with plywood. For the storm, I tell myself. Like the darkness. The rain pounds on the roof but it is quieted by the walls which absorb diner back in town.

the sound. The man sets Alice down and walks to a side table. The darkness is

“This is the guest room. You can sleep here tonight,” Alice says. “I sleep

suddenly broken by the bright light of an electric lantern.

right next door.”

“I’m gonna try to start the generator,” he says. “I think there’s enough gas in I smile at her. She smiles back. But I have no intention of sleeping in this there to last the night. Alice, why don’t you show Molly to the guest room. Get house.

her a towel from the closet.”

John will come for me—even in the storm. Even if he doesn’t love me.

He says my name so casually, like we’re old friends.

“Can I wait with you?” she asks.

“Sure,” I say. The house is dark. I understand. But then we both hear

footsteps moving about. Stopping, shifting, moving again. A new light comes

He hands me the lantern and goes back outside. Alice takes off her mask. It’s down the hall and suddenly the man is there in the doorway.

a white medical mask, the kind you can buy at the drug store. The Chinese

“Go get ready for bed,” he says to Alice. He holds two lanterns and he gives tourists wear them in the summer when they visit New York. I’ve used them

one to her. She obeys, leaving us alone.

before when painting a room, though that was years ago, when John and I were Then he speaks to me.

just starting out. When we used to do things ourselves because we had more time

“I turned on the generator. It’ll run the heat. Use the lantern to get around than money.

tonight. There are some clothes in the dresser. You can wear those if you want.”

The thought of my husband steals my breath because I love him. I still love

I stare at the man now, the towel pressed to my face all the way up to my

him. Even if he has stopped loving me.

eyes.

Alice has bright blue eyes and soft blond hair and skin like snow. It never

“I need to make that call—I’m sure my husband will find a way to get me

sees the sun. Still, she is not gaunt. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold. And all of home.”

these colors—the blue and yellow and white and red, they are stunning. The

Even as I ask, I already know the answer. I know because he hasn’t offered

colors of youth. The colors of a little girl. It fills my heart, then empties through me a phone and that is strange. Not Molly strange, I think. Truly strange.

the hole I made five years ago.

And then the answer comes.

“The thing is—we don’t get cell reception out here and the landlines are

down. I just checked the phone in the kitchen.”

I nod and manage a polite smile. I don’t know why I do this. A habit from

living where I live, in a culture of emotional suppression.

She pulls out a worn white bath towel and hands it to me. I take it with one

“Can we try, at least? Maybe a different part of the house, or outside? Or I hand and wipe my face dry.

can borrow the truck and call from the road, farther down?” And then I continue,

“Come on!” she says cheerfully.

rambling now. “Because my husband and daughter are going to be very worried.

I look down the hallway but don’t get my bearings. There are doors which

I was supposed to be home over an hour ago and I left my car on the side of the are all closed.

road. I’m sure people are already wondering whose it is. I imagine the police I want to be dry. I want to be warm. I want the man to return so I can use the will be looking for me and I would feel terrible using up their resources like phone and call my family. These things all feel close now and so I want them that.”

with greater urgency.

with greater urgency.

I ramble and stare at his face, searching for acknowledgment or surprise or

anything resembling a human response. But he just watches me, watches my lips move, and smiles sympathetically.

pillows. It has a private bathroom which I can see through an open door. The one

“We can go in the morning—as soon as the sun is up,” he says when I stop

talking. He places his hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I know it’s strange to be in someone else’s house. I would feel the same. But

“This is the guest room. You can sleep here tonight,” Alice says. “I sleep

we’re not in the suburbs here. You could have gotten hurt out there—that wind right next door.”

would have knocked you right off your feet. And the cold—it’s going down

I smile at her. She smiles back. But I have no intention of sleeping in this below thirty degrees tonight.”

house.

He looks at me. I look at him, frozen until he takes his hand off my shoulder.

John will come for me—even in the storm. Even if he doesn’t love me.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Can I wait with you?” she asks.

Again, I nod politely, as I wonder why he mentioned the suburbs. How does

“Sure,” I say. The house is dark. I understand. But then we both hear

he know where I live?

footsteps moving about. Stopping, shifting, moving again. A new light comes

He leaves me alone then. I stare at the space where he stood and I let his

down the hall and suddenly the man is there in the doorway.

words sink in. I let the words find reason inside my unreasonable head.

“Go get ready for bed,” he says to Alice. He holds two lanterns and he gives I am the very embodiment of suburbia. And the car, the Audi. Surely he just

one to her. She obeys, leaving us alone.

put pieces together. He must see people like me driving through here every day, Then he speaks to me.

on their way to the schools, stopping to get gas.

“I turned on the generator. It’ll run the heat. Use the lantern to get around And there is a dangerous storm outside. Wind. Rain. Cold. Roads are likely

tonight. There are some clothes in the dresser. You can wear those if you want.” blocked. Lines are down—power, phone. Everything on a wire is dead. And I stare at the man now, the towel pressed to my face all the way up to my

there’s no cell phone reception. All of those are facts that I either know to be eyes.

true or are likely true.

“I need to make that call—I’m sure my husband will find a way to get me

Stop being so Molly! I command myself.

home.”

I close the door to the bedroom. I look in the dresser and find clothing.

Women’s clothing. I find pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt. They are dry. And

they smell of laundry detergent.

And then the answer comes.

They are freshly washed. And I wonder if this means they are freshly worn.

“The thing is—we don’t get cell reception out here and the landlines are

Where is their owner?

down. I just checked the phone in the kitchen.”

I go to the bathroom and close the door. I take off my wet clothes, put on the I nod and manage a polite smile. I don’t know why I do this. A habit from

dry clothes of a strange woman. Back in the bedroom, I hang my wet clothes on living where I live, in a culture of emotional suppression.

everything I can find. A chair. A radiator. A dresser. A bedpost.

“Can we try, at least? Maybe a different part of the house, or outside? Or I I climb beneath the quilt and sheets. I curl myself into a ball. The tiniest ball can borrow the truck and call from the road, farther down?” And then I continue, I can make myself into. I leave the lantern on at the foot of the bed because I am rambling now. “Because my husband and daughter are going to be very worried. not quite ready to be in the dark.

I was supposed to be home over an hour ago and I left my car on the side of the I let the fear show its face and then I tell it exactly what it is. Just like my road. I’m sure people are already wondering whose it is. I imagine the police unreasonable thoughts are remnants from the past, this fear is just guilt. That’s will be looking for me and I would feel terrible using up their resources like all. Just guilt. I did something stupid and now my family will worry and the that.”

I ramble and stare at his face, searching for acknowledgment or surprise or police will come looking. But I will make it right in the morning. Like the man anything resembling a human response. But he just watches me, watches my lips said. As soon as the sun is up.

move, and smiles sympathetically.

Facts are facts and the facts add up. Fear is just guilt finding a way in.

“We can go in the morning—as soon as the sun is up,” he says when I stop

Finding a way to masquerade because I don’t want to face it.

talking. He places his hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I It folds around me like another blanket. A familiar blanket.

know it’s strange to be in someone else’s house. I would feel the same. But

This blanket of guilt.

we’re not in the suburbs here. You could have gotten hurt out there—that wind would have knocked you right off your feet. And the cold—it’s going down

below thirty degrees tonight.”

He looks at me. I look at him, frozen until he takes his hand off my shoulder.

“You okay?” he asks.

Again, I nod politely, as I wonder why he mentioned the suburbs. How does

he know where I live?

He leaves me alone then. I stare at the space where he stood and I let his

words sink in. I let the words find reason inside my unreasonable head.

I am the very embodiment of suburbia. And the car, the Audi. Surely he just

put pieces together. He must see people like me driving through here every day, on their way to the schools, stopping to get gas.

And there is a dangerous storm outside. Wind. Rain. Cold. Roads are likely

blocked. Lines are down—power, phone. Everything on a wire is dead. And

there’s no cell phone reception. All of those are facts that I either know to be true or are likely true.

I close the door to the bedroom. I look in the dresser and find clothing.

Women’s clothing. I find pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt. They are dry. And

they smell of laundry detergent.

They are freshly washed. And I wonder if this means they are freshly worn.

Where is their owner?

I go to the bathroom and close the door. I take off my wet clothes, put on the dry clothes of a strange woman. Back in the bedroom, I hang my wet clothes on everything I can find. A chair. A radiator. A dresser. A bedpost.

I climb beneath the quilt and sheets. I curl myself into a ball. The tiniest ball I can make myself into. I leave the lantern on at the foot of the bed because I am not quite ready to be in the dark.

police will come looking. But I will make it right in the morning. Like the man said. As soon as the sun is up.

Facts are facts and the facts add up. Fear is just guilt finding a way in.

Finding a way to masquerade because I don’t want to face it.

It folds around me like another blanket. A familiar blanket.

This blanket of guilt.

Chapter Four

Day thirteen

H A S T I N G S P A S S .

Nic hated this road. She hated the way it fell off at the shoulder into dirt and gravel and how the dirt hung in the air long after being kicked up. She hated the thick, brown cornfields that stood high on either side like a scene out of a Stephen King novel. She hated how it was straight as an arrow, but rose and fell over the small hills so she could never pass a car that was driving too slow.

Hastings Pass intersected Route 7 at the Gas n’ Go. It was a left-hand turn

coming from the south. A right-hand turn coming from the north.

Her mother had been coming from the north. The car parked just under thirty

feet from the station. Parked on the shoulder and abandoned.

The call had come the day after the storm. Friday. Midmorning, before

they’d even noticed that she hadn’t returned home. Nic had been sleeping off one of her nights. Her father had gone to the office like it was any other day.

Never thought about the meat thawed on the counter, or the dry cleaning hanging on the door, or the dogs not fed, or the coffee not made. He said he assumed she’d gotten in late and was asleep in the guest room. How considerate she was not to wake him. He didn’t check for her car. Didn’t think to. Didn’t notice. His mind had been preoccupied with relief, Nic imagined. It must be hard to look at your wife after being with another woman.

She wanted to hate him for that. But there was no road map for what their

family had been through. Molly Clarke reminded her husband of his dead child.

Molly Clarke reminded Nic of the way Annie died, and the role she’d played in the series of events that led to her death. And wrapped up in the horrible

memories of that horrible day were the sweet memories of sweet moments, and

there was no way to untangle them.

Strong arms holding her. Soft hands brushing her hair. The smell of

homemade bread and bubble bath. A loud voice cheering on the sidelines. A soft voice whispering in the dark. It’s okay, I’m here. So many sweet, sweet memories that were now too twisted with grief to be remembered.

Molly Clarke’s voice and face and smell could provoke feelings that were at

Molly Clarke’s voice and face and smell could provoke feelings that were at war inside her. Agony and bliss. Rage and love. Nic had avoided her, just like her father had. It was painful to be with her.

Two miles down Hastings Pass was the police station. Past the inn and the

diner. Past the bar, the auto body shop.

After the downtown were strips of houses on small lots of land—ranches,

capes, colonials, in various states of disrepair. A scarce few seemed cared for, but in a way that evoked desperation, a last, futile breath. Flower baskets

Day thirteen

hanging on a broken porch.

H A S T I N G S P A S S .

Then came the station and town hall. After that, Hasting Pass continued to

Nic hated this road. She hated the way it fell off at the shoulder into dirt and the river, with dirt roads on either side leading into the woods where there would gravel and how the dirt hung in the air long after being kicked up. She hated the be bleaker dwellings, deeper poverty.

thick, brown cornfields that stood high on either side like a scene out of a The gray sky added to the grimness, an exclamation point on the despair. Nic Stephen King novel. She hated how it was straight as an arrow, but rose and fell remembered now, how it crept inside.

over the small hills so she could never pass a car that was driving too slow.

They had never gone down Hastings Pass before the disappearance. Her

Hastings Pass intersected Route 7 at the Gas n’ Go. It was a left-hand turn

mother said it made her uneasy. The few times Nic had gone with her to visit coming from the south. A right-hand turn coming from the north.

Evan, they had not even stopped at the gas station.

Her mother had been coming from the north. The car parked just under thirty

And now Nic knew everything about this town they had always driven past.

feet from the station. Parked on the shoulder and abandoned.

Hastings was built to support a chemical company in the 1950s. The company

used the river to dispose of its waste. No one knew any better. Or no one gave a shit. A pharmaceutical manufacturer eventually took its place and sustained the town until the recession pulled it under. And then the dominoes fell.

Never thought about the meat thawed on the counter, or the dry cleaning hanging Towns like this were littered all the way up the Housatonic River, into New

York State, up to the Canadian border—left abandoned like a jilted first wife, trying to take care of its children with whatever resources it could find. Farming, mostly. And then unemployment and government jobs. Cops, clerks,

construction workers.

Nic pulled into the small gravel lot at the police station and parked her

She wanted to hate him for that. But there was no road map for what their

mother’s car. She looked in the rearview mirror out of nothing more than habit, family had been through. Molly Clarke reminded her husband of his dead child. really. Her hair was in a ponytail and she’d stopped wearing makeup years ago.

Molly Clarke reminded Nic of the way Annie died, and the role she’d played in There wasn’t much to see, or to check, or to fix.

the series of events that led to her death. And wrapped up in the horrible

Not that she would bother if there was.

memories of that horrible day were the sweet memories of sweet moments, and

She closed the mirror, irritated with this relic from her former life.

there was no way to untangle them.

She left the car and walked inside.

The department consisted of four people—a secretary, a chief, and two

homemade bread and bubble bath. A loud voice cheering on the sidelines. A soft uniformed officers. The state provided troopers when additional resources were required, like the night of the storm. Like her mother’s disappearance.

Inside, the secretary, Mrs. Urbansky, was at a desk behind a tall counter.

Molly Clarke’s voice and face and smell could provoke feelings that were at

“Nicole!”

Molly Clarke’s voice and face and smell could provoke feelings that were at

“Nicole!”

war inside her. Agony and bliss. Rage and love. Nic had avoided her, just like She got up and lumbered her large girth around the metal corners. She

her father had. It was painful to be with her.

reached her hands over the counter and grabbed Nic by the shoulders.

Two miles down Hastings Pass was the police station. Past the inn and the

“Nicole,” she said again, her face contorting with sympathy. “How are you?

diner. Past the bar, the auto body shop.

How was the drive?”

After the downtown were strips of houses on small lots of land—ranches,

Mrs. Urbansky had been nothing but kind to her during the search for her

capes, colonials, in various states of disrepair. A scarce few seemed cared for, mother. It hadn’t been easy to let it in then. And it wasn’t now.

but in a way that evoked desperation, a last, futile breath. Flower baskets

“Fine,” Nic answered.

hanging on a broken porch.

Mrs. Urbansky let up on her hold and crossed her elbows on the counter. The

Then came the station and town hall. After that, Hasting Pass continued to

soft flesh of her arms bulged out from the creases as she rested her chin on her the river, with dirt roads on either side leading into the woods where there would knuckles.

be bleaker dwellings, deeper poverty.

“So, you think you have a new lead?”

The gray sky added to the grimness, an exclamation point on the despair. Nic Nic shrugged. “We’ll find out tomorrow.”

remembered now, how it crept inside.

“So odd after all that searching, and the reward money . . .” Mrs. Urbansky

They had never gone down Hastings Pass before the disappearance. Her

said, apprehension in her voice.

mother said it made her uneasy. The few times Nic had gone with her to visit She wasn’t wrong—the search parties had been thorough. They had begun at

Evan, they had not even stopped at the gas station.

the edge of the dense fields that lined Hastings Pass and Route 7, and moved And now Nic knew everything about this town they had always driven past. through the tall, sharp stalks until they ended. Some of the property bled right Hastings was built to support a chemical company in the 1950s. The company

into other fields. Some was divided up by split-rail fencing. Others were met used the river to dispose of its waste. No one knew any better. Or no one gave a with lawns belonging to old farm houses. When all was said and done, Nic, her shit. A pharmaceutical manufacturer eventually took its place and sustained the father, the police, and volunteers, had covered thirty-two square miles of land.

town until the recession pulled it under. And then the dominoes fell.

Which was a lot of land.

Towns like this were littered all the way up the Housatonic River, into New

Houses were checked as well. Five miles in every direction from where the

York State, up to the Canadian border—left abandoned like a jilted first wife, car was found. No one had seen Molly Clarke the night of the storm.

trying to take care of its children with whatever resources it could find. Farming, It all played on a loop now, a recurring bad dream.

mostly. And then unemployment and government jobs. Cops, clerks,

Hastings. She’d spent much of those four days swinging between panic and construction workers.

sedation. She’d spent much of it in that bar. She could see the acknowledgment Nic pulled into the small gravel lot at the police station and parked her

on Mrs. Urbanskys’s face.

mother’s car. She looked in the rearview mirror out of nothing more than habit,

“But you never know, right?” the woman said, smiling now. “Come around,

really. Her hair was in a ponytail and she’d stopped wearing makeup years ago. sweetheart. I’ll take you back to see the chief.”

There wasn’t much to see, or to check, or to fix.

Chief of police Charles Watkins. Most people just called him “the chief.”

Not that she would bother if there was.

Average height. Full head of hair. Nic remembered him better than the others She closed the mirror, irritated with this relic from her former life.

because he had been in charge of things, or at least that was how it seemed.

She left the car and walked inside.

Mrs. Urbansky had made a point to tell her about his dead wife— Died of

The department consisted of four people—a secretary, a chief, and two

heart disease, and at such a young age! She’d said it as though Nic might be uniformed officers. The state provided troopers when additional resources were interested, as a single woman herself. Never mind that Nic was just twenty-one required, like the night of the storm. Like her mother’s disappearance.

and Watkins was old enough to have a dead wife, even if that wife had been

Inside, the secretary, Mrs. Urbansky, was at a desk behind a tall counter.

“Nicole!”

“Nicole!”

relatively young when it came to dying.

She got up and lumbered her large girth around the metal corners. She

She’d said it after the note was found, when the mood had lifted off the town reached her hands over the counter and grabbed Nic by the shoulders.

just like the cloud cover from the storm. Hearing Mrs. Urbansky’s voice now

“Nicole,” she said again, her face contorting with sympathy. “How are you? brought it back—the feeling as everyone began to believe that this was not a How was the drive?”

tragic accident but instead a scandal. A fun story to tell at the bar, the wealthy Mrs. Urbansky had been nothing but kind to her during the search for her

woman from the southern part of the state, the richer part, the enviable part.

mother. It hadn’t been easy to let it in then. And it wasn’t now.

Unhappy Housewife Leaves it all Behind; Walks Away from Kids and Husband .

“Fine,” Nic answered.

. . And with the fun story, relief that their misery hadn’t ensnared an outsider. A Mrs. Urbansky let up on her hold and crossed her elbows on the counter. The sign that their plight wasn’t as dreadful as it seemed.

soft flesh of her arms bulged out from the creases as she rested her chin on her But, yes, it was, Hastings. It was every bit as dreadful.

knuckles.

Chief Watkins was in his office. The smell was the same—carpet cleaner and

“So, you think you have a new lead?”

printer ink. A hint of mildew from the dying leaves outside.

Nic shrugged. “We’ll find out tomorrow.”

He got up, nodded in her direction. After the time they had spent together,

“So odd after all that searching, and the reward money . . .” Mrs. Urbansky

they were somewhere between a hug and a handshake. The nod served the

said, apprehension in her voice.

situation.

She wasn’t wrong—the search parties had been thorough. They had begun at

“Sit,” Watkins said.

the edge of the dense fields that lined Hastings Pass and Route 7, and moved Nic took a seat on a hard metal chair across from his desk.

through the tall, sharp stalks until they ended. Some of the property bled right

“I’ll leave you two.” Mrs. Urbansky left, still smiling.

into other fields. Some was divided up by split-rail fencing. Others were met Watkins wore a beige uniform with short sleeves and a blue tie. There were

with lawns belonging to old farm houses. When all was said and done, Nic, her patches sewn on the chest. A badge was pinned there as well. She had thought it father, the police, and volunteers, had covered thirty-two square miles of land.

then and she thought it again now, how he looked like a Boy Scout leader.

Which was a lot of land.

He leaned back and stretched his arms into the air, clasping his hands behind Houses were checked as well. Five miles in every direction from where the

his head.

car was found. No one had seen Molly Clarke the night of the storm.

“Is this about the call?” he asked. “From the woman who says she saw your

It all played on a loop now, a recurring bad dream.

mother?”

“Yeah,” Nic answered. She went on then to explain about the truck and the

letters on the orange purse, and about Edith Moore and how she’d been driving from town that night.

“But you never know, right?” the woman said, smiling now. “Come around,

Watkins nodded as though taking in the information.

sweetheart. I’ll take you back to see the chief.”

“Okay,” he said. “I get it. Why you came back. I would do the same if it was Chief of police Charles Watkins. Most people just called him “the chief.”

my family. Gotta sleep at night, right?”

Average height. Full head of hair. Nic remembered him better than the others

“Something like that.”

because he had been in charge of things, or at least that was how it seemed.

“So how can we help?” Watkins asked. His tone was patronizing.

She rambled off the list she’d made, things about the DMV and dark pickup

trucks in the area, and finding their owners and asking where they were the night of the storm, driving their trucks.

Watkins groaned, but he humored her, listening, nodding. Then he leaned

forward, clasped his hands in front of him on the desk. He had the authority

forward, clasped his hands in front of him on the desk. He had the authority moves down to a nice little dance. This was something else she now

She’d said it after the note was found, when the mood had lifted off the town remembered, how he had provoked her with the comfort he seemed to find in his position of power.

“You should have someone with you,” Watkins said then. “She could be

after that money. It was too much for around here. That kind of money—makes

people a little crazy.”

“I’m meeting her tomorrow at ten—at the Gas n’ Go.”

Watkins nodded, palms now pressed into piles of papers. “I’ll get Reyes to

meet you. Remember him? Officer Reyes?”

“Yes,” Nic said. But not exactly. She remembered a lot of cops—the two

Chief Watkins was in his office. The smell was the same—carpet cleaner andlocal policemen and the state troopers. Their names, faces, had all melded printer ink. A hint of mildew from the dying leaves outside.

together behind the uniforms.

He got up, nodded in her direction. After the time they had spent together,

“Are you staying at the inn?”

they were somewhere between a hug and a handshake. The nod served the

“I guess so.”

situation.

“All right. Meet Reyes at the diner next door—nine thirty? If she seems legit,

“Sit,” Watkins said.

we can run the registrations for dark-colored trucks.”

Nic took a seat on a hard metal chair across from his desk.

“Thanks,” Nic said. She stood to leave. Watkins stood as well, something

“I’ll leave you two.” Mrs. Urbansky left, still smiling.

clearly weighing on his mind. Thoughts spinning, turning, finding their way.

Watkins wore a beige uniform with short sleeves and a blue tie. There were

“Hey,” he said, stopping her at the door. “Is this because of the handwriting patches sewn on the chest. A badge was pinned there as well. She had thought it analysis? Because, you know, an inconclusive report is not the same as a then and she thought it again now, how he looked like a Boy Scout leader.

negative report.”

He leaned back and stretched his arms into the air, clasping his hands behind Nic had no idea what he was saying, and her face gave her away.

his head.

Watkins turned suddenly, finding a box in the back corner of his office. He

“Is this about the call?” he asked. “From the woman who says she saw your sifted through it. Pulled out a thin bundle of papers stapled together.

mother?”

“This,” he said, handing the papers to Nic. “It’s the handwriting analysis.”

“Yeah,” Nic answered. She went on then to explain about the truck and the

Nic stared at the report, scanning each page quickly, reading things about

letters on the orange purse, and about Edith Moore and how she’d been driving slants of letters and spacing of words, turning them until she got to the end—and from town that night.

the word “inconclusive.”

Watkins nodded as though taking in the information.

“I thought it was confirmed—the note? That it was my mother’s

“Okay,” he said. “I get it. Why you came back. I would do the same if it was handwriting?”

my family. Gotta sleep at night, right?”

Watkins was at a loss.

“Something like that.”

“And my father knew about this?” she asked.

“So how can we help?” Watkins asked. His tone was patronizing.

“Jeez, listen. I had no idea,” Watkins said now. “I assumed he told you. It

She rambled off the list she’d made, things about the DMV and dark pickup came in a few days after you left.”

trucks in the area, and finding their owners and asking where they were the night Nic sat back down, stunned by these new facts, but also her father’s lie. She of the storm, driving their trucks.

knew why he’d done it—he wanted her to move on the way he had. The way

Watkins groaned, but he humored her, listening, nodding. Then he leaned

he’d forced Evan to do by sending him back to school. He’d said as much on the forward, clasped his hands in front of him on the desk. He had the authority

forward, clasped his hands in front of him on the desk. He had the authority phone when he’d gotten her text earlier that morning, saying she was coming

moves down to a nice little dance. This was something else she now

back to Hastings to follow a lead. This is absurd . . . I’m having my PI look into remembered, how he had provoked her with the comfort he seemed to find in his this woman, what’s her name? Why would you do this? Do you need me to position of power.

come? He was in Chicago for a sales conference. I’ll be on the next flight. And

“You should have someone with you,” Watkins said then. “She could be

then, after he’d relented, When you get back we are going to have a long talk after that money. It was too much for around here. That kind of money—makes about your life.

people a little crazy.”

They’d been having this part of the conversation for days. With her mother

gone, he’d suddenly taken up parenting as a new hobby, insisting she get on with Watkins nodded, palms now pressed into piles of papers. “I’ll get Reyes to

her life. Stop her bad behavior. His favorite new expression— you’re not your meet you. Remember him? Officer Reyes?”

mother.

“Yes,” Nic said. But not exactly. She remembered a lot of cops—the two

She tried to explain this to Watkins. “My father thinks what you think—that

local policemen and the state troopers. Their names, faces, had all melded

this new lead is a scam. And that even if it’s not, my mother doesn’t want to be together behind the uniforms.

found. He wants me to come home.”

“Are you staying at the inn?”

“I see,” Watkins said. “Well, I can’t argue with him. Everything supports

“I guess so.”

that conclusion”

“All right. Meet Reyes at the diner next door—nine thirty? If she seems legit,

“Is that why the case wasn’t reopened—after this report came in?”

we can run the registrations for dark-colored trucks.”

Watkins shrugged. “The facts haven’t changed, that’s why. Look—the report

“Thanks,” Nic said. She stood to leave. Watkins stood as well, something

is inconclusive. It’s not negative. The note was found in the hotel room she paid clearly weighing on his mind. Thoughts spinning, turning, finding their way.

for. It was on paper from the notepad in the room. She was upset, nervous.

“Hey,” he said, stopping her at the door. “Is this because of the handwriting Maybe her hands were shaky.” Then he said it again—“It wasn’t negative.”

analysis? Because, you know, an inconclusive report is not the same as a

Nic felt irritated now, and skeptical of everything she’d been told, or had

negative report.”

assumed.

Nic had no idea what he was saying, and her face gave her away.

“What else should I know?” Nic asked. “Any more charges to her credit

Watkins turned suddenly, finding a box in the back corner of his office. He

cards? Any communications on her cell phone account? And what about the

sifted through it. Pulled out a thin bundle of papers stapled together.

casino? Are you still looking at the security cameras? It can’t be that hard to find

“This,” he said, handing the papers to Nic. “It’s the handwriting analysis.”

someone there.”

The Laguna casino and resort was nothing more than a small cluster of

slants of letters and spacing of words, turning them until she got to the end—and businesses built on tribal land—exempt from the state’s gambling prohibitions.

It wasn’t exactly a hotbed of tourism—more like an escape for locals looking to

“I thought it was confirmed—the note? That it was my mother’s

exercise their right to throw their money away in slot machines. Connecticut handwriting?”

already had Foxwoods and Mohegan Sun. Laguna was their ugly stepsibling. A

Watkins was at a loss.

hotel. A gas station. A Jiffy bus stop with a ticket machine and a covered bench.

“And my father knew about this?” she asked.

Molly Clarke had made one charge paying for two nights. No one recalled

“Jeez, listen. I had no idea,” Watkins said now. “I assumed he told you. It

seeing her, but the place had been a zoo—people without power seeking refuge.

came in a few days after you left.”

The security cameras were set up high, looking down at heads, facilitating the identification of petty theft more than faces. They’d been through all of it, going back to the night of the storm—looking for her, her beige coat and jeans. Blond he’d forced Evan to do by sending him back to school. He’d said as much on the hair. A woman alone.

hair. A woman alone.

Watkins shook his head eagerly. “No, no. There’s nothing. And we have

everyone on alert at Laguna. But, again, the absence of new evidence suggests she covered her tracks. That she doesn’t want us to find her. And, hard as this is to hear, that she doesn’t want you to find her.”

Nic let his words settle in place. She had no reason to doubt him. Or at least to doubt that he believed what he was saying. There was no point arguing until she met Edith Moore.

gone, he’d suddenly taken up parenting as a new hobby, insisting she get on with

“Okay,” she said, finally. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. So—

Officer Reyes? At the diner? I’ll be there by nine thirty.”

Watkins stood up. Nic did the same.

She tried to explain this to Watkins. “My father thinks what you think—that

“I take it this means you’re not going home?”

this new lead is a scam. And that even if it’s not, my mother doesn’t want to be Nic looked at him now, with surprise. She knew how all of this seemed. To

found. He wants me to come home.”

her father. To Chief Watkins. To everyone. She didn’t care. It had never seemed

“I see,” Watkins said. “Well, I can’t argue with him. Everything supports

right to her, even when she’d tried to force it down, and now this—the

that conclusion”

inconclusive handwriting report.

“Is that why the case wasn’t reopened—after this report came in?”

“No,” she said. “I’m not going home.”

Watkins shrugged. “The facts haven’t changed, that’s why. Look—the report

She left the station with a pounding head and churning stomach. As she got

in her mother’s car, smelling her fading perfume, she could hear the voices

screaming out from the hollow spaces—sadness and guilt, rage and love, and all of the other shit that lived in them. All of them were screaming now, begging for Nic felt irritated now, and skeptical of everything she’d been told, or had

some kind of relief. For a drink. For her “friends” at the bar back home. For assumed.

some loser who might stumble in.

“What else should I know?” Nic asked. “Any more charges to her credit

And she told them what she’d just told Chief Watkins. She wasn’t going

cards? Any communications on her cell phone account? And what about the

home. Not this time. Whatever anger she’d felt for her mother for what

casino? Are you still looking at the security cameras? It can’t be that hard to find happened to Annie, the love was deeper, and it was in her bones. With her someone there.”

mother’s absence had come a powerful longing to reclaim those sweet moments

The Laguna casino and resort was nothing more than a small cluster of

that had been lost.

businesses built on tribal land—exempt from the state’s gambling prohibitions.

She could see the paths this new information would lead her down—

It wasn’t exactly a hotbed of tourism—more like an escape for locals looking to conclusions of what may have happened if her mother hadn’t written that note. If exercise their right to throw their money away in slot machines. Connecticut she hadn’t walked away on her own. Two weeks had passed—none of the

already had Foxwoods and Mohegan Sun. Laguna was their ugly stepsibling. A conclusions were good.

hotel. A gas station. A Jiffy bus stop with a ticket machine and a covered bench.

But for now, for right now, as she drove away, there was just one thought.

Molly Clarke had made one charge paying for two nights. No one recalled

I’m not going home.

seeing her, but the place had been a zoo—people without power seeking refuge.

Not without my mother.

The security cameras were set up high, looking down at heads, facilitating the identification of petty theft more than faces. They’d been through all of it, going back to the night of the storm—looking for her, her beige coat and jeans. Blond hair. A woman alone.

hair. A woman alone.

Watkins shook his head eagerly. “No, no. There’s nothing. And we have

everyone on alert at Laguna. But, again, the absence of new evidence suggests she covered her tracks. That she doesn’t want us to find her. And, hard as this is to hear, that she doesn’t want you to find her.”

Nic let his words settle in place. She had no reason to doubt him. Or at least to doubt that he believed what he was saying. There was no point arguing until she met Edith Moore.

“Okay,” she said, finally. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. So—

Officer Reyes? At the diner? I’ll be there by nine thirty.”

Watkins stood up. Nic did the same.

“I take it this means you’re not going home?”

Nic looked at him now, with surprise. She knew how all of this seemed. To

her father. To Chief Watkins. To everyone. She didn’t care. It had never seemed right to her, even when she’d tried to force it down, and now this—the

inconclusive handwriting report.

“No,” she said. “I’m not going home.”

She left the station with a pounding head and churning stomach. As she got

in her mother’s car, smelling her fading perfume, she could hear the voices

screaming out from the hollow spaces—sadness and guilt, rage and love, and all of the other shit that lived in them. All of them were screaming now, begging for some kind of relief. For a drink. For her “friends” at the bar back home. For some loser who might stumble in.

And she told them what she’d just told Chief Watkins. She wasn’t going

home. Not this time. Whatever anger she’d felt for her mother for what

happened to Annie, the love was deeper, and it was in her bones. With her

mother’s absence had come a powerful longing to reclaim those sweet moments

that had been lost.

She could see the paths this new information would lead her down—

conclusions of what may have happened if her mother hadn’t written that note. If she hadn’t walked away on her own. Two weeks had passed—none of the

conclusions were good.

But for now, for right now, as she drove away, there was just one thought.

I’m not going home.

Not without my mother.

Chapter Five

Day two

I awake startled. A body lies with me.

Nestled into the curve of my abdomen, head woven under one arm and

resting on top of the other as I lie on my side in fetal position.

A little girl in my arms.

She doesn’t move even after my body jolts. Even after I lift my head to see

her face.

“Are you surprised?” she asks. She asks this as though I’ve just opened a gift she’s presented to me.

Breath heaves in and out from the surprise. The room is light. The bed is

warm, but the air is cold against my face. Strange bed. Strange clothes. Strange house. It all floods back in.

And a dream lingers. A dream that I was holding Annie. The dream had

lulled me into a state of bliss which now breeds despair.

I force myself to remain still.

“Yes!” I say. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but I want to jump from this bed. I want to put on my clothes and run.

From where my head rests, I can see most of the room. And I can see that my

clothes are gone from the places where I hung them to dry last night. And my purse—did I bring it into the house? Where did I leave it?

I give Alice a little squeeze but then I slide my arm out from under her head and sit up.

“I need to get some water from the kitchen,” I say.

She lets me go and I climb out from beneath the covers.

The lantern on the floor is off, or dead. My clothes are gone from every

place. Every single place.

“How did you get under the covers without waking me?” I ask this with a

playful tone because I don’t want her to sense the panic that grows.

She giggles and shrugs. “I’m good at sneaking,” she says.

Another smile and I make my exit. I close the door to the bedroom and walk

down the hall to the kitchen. The house is dark. I try a switch but it’s dead. And

down the hall to the kitchen. The house is dark. I try a switch but it’s dead. And that’s how the house feels with no power. Dead. I feel my heart beating in my throat. I hear my footsteps along the hard wood.

The kitchen is empty. I look farther down the hall into the living room. The part I can see is also empty. But through a window to the outside, I see the back of the truck. And blue sky.

The storm has cleared.

I step into the kitchen and search for a phone. It hangs on the wall near the Day two

stove and I go to it quickly and lift the receiver. I hear only silence.

I awake startled. A body lies with me.

Please.

Nestled into the curve of my abdomen, head woven under one arm and

I press down on the button again and again, but still, there is just silence. I resting on top of the other as I lie on my side in fetal position.

place the receiver back on the wall mount.

A little girl in my arms.

A man’s voice stuns me. Stops me cold.

She doesn’t move even after my body jolts. Even after I lift my head to see

“I told you last night. The phones are out.” I turn quickly, instinctively. I do her face.

it before I have time to hide what is surely on my face.

“Are you surprised?” she asks. She asks this as though I’ve just opened a gift The man stands in the doorway. He’s dressed in fresh clothing, but otherwise she’s presented to me.

they’re the same. Jeans and a flannel shirt. He has a slight beard—thicker than Breath heaves in and out from the surprise. The room is light. The bed is

last night—which tells me he doesn’t wear a beard. That he is just unshaven.

warm, but the air is cold against my face. Strange bed. Strange clothes. Strange Beside him, clinging to his waist, is Alice.

house. It all floods back in.

She looks up at him. Tugs on his shirt.

And a dream lingers. A dream that I was holding Annie. The dream had

“She told me she was going to get water,” she says. Then she looks at me

lulled me into a state of bliss which now breeds despair.

like I’m the child and she’s the mother. And I’ve been naughty.

I force myself to remain still.

“I thought I would check the phone first,” I say. It’s normal, wanting to make

“Yes!” I say. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but I want to jump from this a call. To call my family. Why do I feel defensive?

bed. I want to put on my clothes and run.

I see his eyes run up and down my body, and I remember that I’m wearing

From where my head rests, I can see most of the room. And I can see that mythe clothes of another woman. A woman who used to live here. Or does live clothes are gone from the places where I hung them to dry last night. And my here. I have to stop making assumptions.

purse—did I bring it into the house? Where did I leave it?

“I hope it’s okay,” I say, looking down at the clothes. “They were in the

I give Alice a little squeeze but then I slide my arm out from under her head dresser, like you said.”

and sit up.

“They belong to my wife,” he tells me. “But it’s fine. I’m glad they fit you.”

“I need to get some water from the kitchen,” I say.

“Oh . . . well, I hope she won’t mind. I can change if you tell me where my

She lets me go and I climb out from beneath the covers.

clothes went.” I have a cheery voice now because I feel hopeful and because I The lantern on the floor is off, or dead. My clothes are gone from every

want things to be okay in this room. In this house. In this family. I feel hopeful place. Every single place.

that there is a family now. He said my wife.

“How did you get under the covers without waking me?” I ask this with a

“They’re in the laundry room. Hanging on a rack,” he says.

playful tone because I don’t want her to sense the panic that grows.

I smile. “Oh! Okay. I’ll go see if they’re dry. Should I leave these clothes in She giggles and shrugs. “I’m good at sneaking,” she says.

the washer for your wife when she gets back?”

Another smile and I make my exit. I close the door to the bedroom and walk

Alice buries her face in his side as though she’s watching a scary scene in a down the hall to the kitchen. The house is dark. I try a switch but it’s dead. And movie. A scene she knows is coming. Maybe because she’s seen this movie

down the hall to the kitchen. The house is dark. I try a switch but it’s dead. And movie. A scene she knows is coming. Maybe because she’s seen this movie that’s how the house feels with no power. Dead. I feel my heart beating in my before.

throat. I hear my footsteps along the hard wood.

“My wife is dead,” the man says. His tone is neutral. Maybe he’s been

The kitchen is empty. I look farther down the hall into the living room. The instructed on how to speak about this in front of Alice.

part I can see is also empty. But through a window to the outside, I see the back Maybe I feel better now. At least there was a wife. A dead wife, a dead

of the truck. And blue sky.

mother and her death would explain some of the behavior.

The storm has cleared.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. But I don’t ask questions. Alice peeks out from where I step into the kitchen and search for a phone. It hangs on the wall near the she’s buried her face. “I’ll just leave the clothes in the laundry room.”

stove and I go to it quickly and lift the receiver. I hear only silence.

I walk toward the door slowly, thinking they will clear a path. But they hold their position. They hold me in place with their bodies, trapped in this room.

I press down on the button again and again, but still, there is just silence. I

“They’re still a little wet,” the man says. “Give it a few hours. You’ll be

place the receiver back on the wall mount.

more comfortable staying in dry clothes. Sorry if it feels strange—the house, the A man’s voice stuns me. Stops me cold.

clothes.”

“I told you last night. The phones are out.” I turn quickly, instinctively. I do Again, he apologizes. I pause long enough to think.

it before I have time to hide what is surely on my face.

“I suppose I can wear these to town,” I say.

The man stands in the doorway. He’s dressed in fresh clothing, but otherwise He looks at me now, curious. “Town?”

they’re the same. Jeans and a flannel shirt. He has a slight beard—thicker than

“To make the call on your cell phone. We talked about that last night—about

last night—which tells me he doesn’t wear a beard. That he is just unshaven.

driving to town where there’s a signal. I need to call my family. I need to let the Beside him, clinging to his waist, is Alice.

police know that I’m safe—I left my car . . . and my phone . . .”

She looks up at him. Tugs on his shirt.

“Oh, right,” he says. But he does not say yes. He does not move toward the

“She told me she was going to get water,” she says. Then she looks at me

door and the truck and the road that will take us to town.

like I’m the child and she’s the mother. And I’ve been naughty.

I feel apprehension now. I won’t call it fear. I can’t.

“I thought I would check the phone first,” I say. It’s normal, wanting to make

“Can we go, then? To town?”

a call. To call my family. Why do I feel defensive?

My voice is firm. He can’t keep me here. He can’t make me stay one second

I see his eyes run up and down my body, and I remember that I’m wearing

longer. He can’t just take my clothes, and she can’t just crawl into my bed while the clothes of another woman. A woman who used to live here. Or does live

I’m sleeping. They can’t . . .

here. I have to stop making assumptions.

“I can go to town,” he says now. “But I really need you to stay here with

“I hope it’s okay,” I say, looking down at the clothes. “They were in the

Alice. It’s not safe without the phone working or the power. Lots of trees still dresser, like you said.”

weak. Some are close to the house.”

“They belong to my wife,” he tells me. “But it’s fine. I’m glad they fit you.”

No, I think. I am going to town! I am going home!

I shake now, head to toe. It’s in my cheeks and on my tongue as I try to

shape words in my mouth.

“We can bring Alice with us. Like last night . . .”

“She has allergies, remember?” He says this like I should feel ashamed. Like

“They’re in the laundry room. Hanging on a rack,” he says.

I have been inconsiderate of this poor little girl. “She gets sick when she goes I smile. “Oh! Okay. I’ll go see if they’re dry. Should I leave these clothes in outside. I had to bring her last night because no one was here to be with her and I the washer for your wife when she gets back?”

needed to fill the tanks and get the water. There’s no need to take the risk today.

Alice buries her face in his side as though she’s watching a scary scene in a Do you mind?”

movie. A scene she knows is coming. Maybe because she’s seen this movie

Do you mind?”

movie. A scene she knows is coming. Maybe because she’s seen this movie

I struggle with this information. It comes at me fast. I cannot get my clothes.

before.

I cannot leave this house. I cannot call my family. Disbelief bleeds into

“My wife is dead,” the man says. His tone is neutral. Maybe he’s been

acceptance and acceptance triggers fight or flight, adrenaline. I feel my skin instructed on how to speak about this in front of Alice.

flush and burn. My vision is unclear, muddled now with floating white circles. I Maybe I feel better now. At least there was a wife. A dead wife, a dead

breathe.

mother and her death would explain some of the behavior.

I breathe.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. But I don’t ask questions. Alice peeks out from where He turns to leave and Alice steps into me, clinging to my waist. She looks up she’s buried her face. “I’ll just leave the clothes in the laundry room.”

at me with that smile and those wide eyes.

I walk toward the door slowly, thinking they will clear a path. But they hold

“You can make me breakfast!” she says cheerfully.

their position. They hold me in place with their bodies, trapped in this room.

My hand reaches out before I can stop it and grabs the man’s shirt. I look at

“They’re still a little wet,” the man says. “Give it a few hours. You’ll be

him with pleading eyes.

more comfortable staying in dry clothes. Sorry if it feels strange—the house, the He pulls away and walks to the dead phone. There’s a notepad next to it, and clothes.”

a pen on the counter. He grabs them both and brings them to me.

Again, he apologizes. I pause long enough to think.

“Here,” he says. His tone is now cheerful, just like Alice’s.

“I suppose I can wear these to town,” I say.

“Write down the names and numbers of everyone you want me to call.”

He looks at me now, curious. “Town?”

Yes!

“To make the call on your cell phone. We talked about that last night—about

I write furiously—names and numbers. John. Nicole. Evan. A few close

driving to town where there’s a signal. I need to call my family. I need to let the friends from my grief support group. I rip the paper from the pad and give it police know that I’m safe—I left my car . . . and my phone . . .”

back to him.

“Oh, right,” he says. But he does not say yes. He does not move toward the

He looks it over. “Can you write your name?”

door and the truck and the road that will take us to town.

“It’s just Molly,” I say. “They’ll know.”

I feel apprehension now. I won’t call it fear. I can’t.

“Write it anyway,” he insists. “Just in case. I forget things sometimes.”

“Can we go, then? To town?”

I write my full name. Molly Clarke. I hand back the paper.

My voice is firm. He can’t keep me here. He can’t make me stay one second

“Can you call them as soon as you get a signal? Tell them where to come get

longer. He can’t just take my clothes, and she can’t just crawl into my bed while me? That I’m safe?”

I’m sleeping. They can’t . . .

The man’s face softens. It melts into a smile that is friendly and warm.

“I can go to town,” he says now. “But I really need you to stay here with

“Of course! It’s going to be just fine. I promise.”

Alice. It’s not safe without the phone working or the power. Lots of trees still I feel like crying now.

weak. Some are close to the house.”

“And maybe you can check on my car? Let the police know?”

I think about my phone in the car, how it must be sending out a signal. How

I shake now, head to toe. It’s in my cheeks and on my tongue as I try to

John will know how to find it online. We share an account.

shape words in my mouth.

Maybe they are already on the way!

“We can bring Alice with us. Like last night . . .”

Something about this thought feels strange. I don’t want it to feel strange and

“She has allergies, remember?” He says this like I should feel ashamed. Like I fight against it.

I have been inconsiderate of this poor little girl. “She gets sick when she goes They will come, won’t they?

outside. I had to bring her last night because no one was here to be with her and I Oh God . . . how it feels strange, a sudden alarm as I wonder about the log on needed to fill the tanks and get the water. There’s no need to take the risk today. the fire, and Nicole’s words and Evan’s behavior.

Do you mind?”

The man folds the paper carefully into the pocket of his flannel shirt.

Do you mind?”

The man folds the paper carefully into the pocket of his flannel shirt.

I struggle with this information. It comes at me fast. I cannot get my clothes.

“Sure thing!” he says with enthusiasm.

I cannot leave this house. I cannot call my family. Disbelief bleeds into

I feel relief, though it rests on shaky ground.

acceptance and acceptance triggers fight or flight, adrenaline. I feel my skin I talk myself through it. The man will go to town and call my family. He will flush and burn. My vision is unclear, muddled now with floating white circles. I check on my car and tell the police where I am. Maybe later today when he feels breathe.

better about the trees we can leave Alice and he will drive me to town to get my I breathe.

car and fill it with gas from his tanks. Maybe I can drive home myself.

He turns to leave and Alice steps into me, clinging to my waist. She looks up Alice pulls a chair up to a cupboard.

at me with that smile and those wide eyes.

“Do you like tea?” she asks me.

“You can make me breakfast!” she says cheerfully.

It takes me a moment to process her question. I am still adjusting to this new My hand reaches out before I can stop it and grabs the man’s shirt. I look at situation—not going to town. Not calling my family.

him with pleading eyes.

“Yes,” I say, finally.

He pulls away and walks to the dead phone. There’s a notepad next to it, and

“Look at all the kinds we have!” she says, opening the cupboard to reveal

a pen on the counter. He grabs them both and brings them to me.

several canisters of loose leaf tea.

“Here,” he says. His tone is now cheerful, just like Alice’s.

“Come here and pick one!” she demands.

“Write down the names and numbers of everyone you want me to call.”

And I obey.

“You can heat the water with the stove. The generator should have it

I write furiously—names and numbers. John. Nicole. Evan. A few close

working,” the man says.

friends from my grief support group. I rip the paper from the pad and give it I smell coffee so it must be his dead wife who liked tea. He wants me to have back to him.

some now. Maybe he wants to put my mind at ease—because there is no need to

He looks it over. “Can you write your name?”

worry. He will contact my family. They will come for me.

“It’s just Molly,” I say. “They’ll know.”

As he turns to leave the kitchen, a thought rushes in and I call after him.

“Write it anyway,” he insists. “Just in case. I forget things sometimes.”

“My purse!” I say. “Is it with my clothes?”

He shrugs. Ponders.

“Can you call them as soon as you get a signal? Tell them where to come get

“I think you left it in the truck. I didn’t see it last night in the house.”

me? That I’m safe?”

I can’t remember either, but it’s unlike me to leave my purse. I carried it with The man’s face softens. It melts into a smile that is friendly and warm.

me into the storm.

“Of course! It’s going to be just fine. I promise.”

“Can you bring it inside? Before you go?”

I feel like crying now.

“Sure thing,” he says.

“And maybe you can check on my car? Let the police know?”

He leaves the room. Alice and I make tea. I listen for the door, for the man to I think about my phone in the car, how it must be sending out a signal. How return with my purse.

John will know how to find it online. We share an account.

But the next sound I hear is the truck driving away.

Maybe they are already on the way!

Something about this thought feels strange. I don’t want it to feel strange and I fight against it.

They will come, won’t they?

. . . how it feels strange, a sudden alarm as I wonder about the log on

The man folds the paper carefully into the pocket of his flannel shirt.

The man folds the paper carefully into the pocket of his flannel shirt.

“Sure thing!” he says with enthusiasm.

I feel relief, though it rests on shaky ground.

I talk myself through it. The man will go to town and call my family. He will check on my car and tell the police where I am. Maybe later today when he feels better about the trees we can leave Alice and he will drive me to town to get my car and fill it with gas from his tanks. Maybe I can drive home myself.

Alice pulls a chair up to a cupboard.

“Do you like tea?” she asks me.

It takes me a moment to process her question. I am still adjusting to this new situation—not going to town. Not calling my family.

“Yes,” I say, finally.

“Look at all the kinds we have!” she says, opening the cupboard to reveal

several canisters of loose leaf tea.

“Come here and pick one!” she demands.

And I obey.

“You can heat the water with the stove. The generator should have it

working,” the man says.

I smell coffee so it must be his dead wife who liked tea. He wants me to have some now. Maybe he wants to put my mind at ease—because there is no need to

worry. He will contact my family. They will come for me.

As he turns to leave the kitchen, a thought rushes in and I call after him.

“My purse!” I say. “Is it with my clothes?”

He shrugs. Ponders.

“I think you left it in the truck. I didn’t see it last night in the house.”

I can’t remember either, but it’s unlike me to leave my purse. I carried it with me into the storm.

“Can you bring it inside? Before you go?”

“Sure thing,” he says.

He leaves the room. Alice and I make tea. I listen for the door, for the man to return with my purse.

But the next sound I hear is the truck driving away.

Chapter Six

Day thirteen

Roger Booth owned the Hastings Inn and the diner next door, and the fifty

acres of land that sat behind them. The businesses shared a parking lot of

cracked, potted asphalt. The painted white lines had all but faded. A parking free-for-all.

The inn was rarely occupied, as Nic had learned the last time she’d been

here. It was mostly the diner that kept the business afloat. Booth lived in an apartment on the first floor.

He owned it all free and clear, a parting gift from his father who had been an executive at the pharmaceutical company before it closed. Booth Senior had

managed to get out before the crash, retiring to Florida with his wife of thirty-two years. There was a sister, as well, though she had married and moved to

Buffalo. Booth was left with the family’s properties and was the unofficial

mayor of Hastings because of it.

None of this was information Nic had intended to gather, or keep in her head for that matter. But one of the waitresses liked to talk. So did the bartender across the street. The Booth family are the Kennedys of Hastings. That depiction had been dead on.

Nic parked in front of the entrance to the inn. It was a pristine, fabricated white farm house with a wraparound porch, one of the few with that style of

architecture that sat along the road. Most of the original farm houses lined Route 7. The Booths’ inn was sadly out of place.

The diner, however, was true to form—a rectangle with a silver roof. Black

smoke billowing from a chimney. Big windows. Neon sign.

They sat side by side, a small row of shrubs and about twenty feet between

them.

Nic reached for the car door, opened it, but then pulled it shut. She stared at the inn with its white porch and red shutters. Four days she’d spent here with her father. Four days that had just been the start of the dismantling of the life they’d hobbled together after Annie died. The cornerstone of that new, disfigured life was her mother soaking up whatever abuse they handed out. She could see that

was her mother soaking up whatever abuse they handed out. She could see that now. Nic had been cruel to her. She’d paraded her bad behavior with fantastic fanfare, and massacred any attempts her mother made to help with harsh

vulgarities.

Now that she was gone, Nic had nothing to fill the hollow spaces anymore.

Her bad behavior lacked an audience.

You’re not your mother, her father had texted. You don’t

owe your life to Annie’s death.

Day thirteen

But he had no idea. He hadn’t been there the day Annie died. He didn’t know

Roger Booth owned the Hastings Inn and the diner next door, and the fifty

what Nic owed her death. Owed to her.

acres of land that sat behind them. The businesses shared a parking lot of

He wasn’t the one who’d seen Annie running away from the house, hair

cracked, potted asphalt. The painted white lines had all but faded. A parking flying around her face. Then looking back with a mischievous smile. Running.

free-for-all.

Smiling. Reaching the end of the driveway. He hadn’t been the first to see the The inn was rarely occupied, as Nic had learned the last time she’d been

car. To know what was about to happen. Annie!

here. It was mostly the diner that kept the business afloat. Booth lived in an Her mother had been racing home from work because Nic hadn’t answered

apartment on the first floor.

the phone. She’d been in charge of them, Annie and Evan. And at sixteen, she’d He owned it all free and clear, a parting gift from his father who had been an had things to do—serious things back then when she still cared about her life. It executive at the pharmaceutical company before it closed. Booth Senior had

wasn’t as though they were babies. But Annie was so precocious. She never

managed to get out before the crash, retiring to Florida with his wife of thirty-listened.

two years. There was a sister, as well, though she had married and moved to

She’d wanted ice cream. She’d heard the truck. And she’d run.

Buffalo. Booth was left with the family’s properties and was the unofficial

Her father hadn’t been there. He hadn’t heard Nic screaming for her to stop.

mayor of Hastings because of it.

Too far away to reach her. The screeching tires on the asphalt. Annie lying in a None of this was information Nic had intended to gather, or keep in her head pool of blood. Lying dead in the road. And her mother behind the wheel, driving the car that had struck her. There were no words to describe it.

Maybe Nic wasn’t her mother. But they were bound together by their guilt,

the bow and stern of a sinking ship.

Nic parked in front of the entrance to the inn. It was a pristine, fabricated She let Annie recede back into her place of hiding. Hair flying. Smile pulled white farm house with a wraparound porch, one of the few with that style of

clear across her face.

architecture that sat along the road. Most of the original farm houses lined Route She reached in the back for her duffel, then made her way up the steps to the 7. The Booths’ inn was sadly out of place.

front door.

The diner, however, was true to form—a rectangle with a silver roof. Black

Inside, the air smelled stagnant as it had before. Nic walked to the reception smoke billowing from a chimney. Big windows. Neon sign.

desk, and set her mother’s key down on the lace runner which lay unevenly

They sat side by side, a small row of shrubs and about twenty feet between

across the counter. There were small bowls with soft mints, toothpicks, business them.

cards, a guest register where people could write things about their stay before Nic reached for the car door, opened it, but then pulled it shut. She stared at leaving. And a silver bell, which Nic rang.

the inn with its white porch and red shutters. Four days she’d spent here with her Footsteps, creaking wood, a door closing. Booth emerged from his apartment

father. Four days that had just been the start of the dismantling of the life they’d in the back, startled.

hobbled together after Annie died. The cornerstone of that new, disfigured life

“Miss Clarke?” He said her name like it was a question, like he couldn’t

was her mother soaking up whatever abuse they handed out. She could see that believe she was here again.

was her mother soaking up whatever abuse they handed out. She could see that believe she was here again.

now. Nic had been cruel to her. She’d paraded her bad behavior with fantastic

“One and the same,” Nic said.

fanfare, and massacred any attempts her mother made to help with harsh

Booth looked sleepy, as though she’d disturbed him from an afternoon nap,

vulgarities.

but he was also freshly groomed. She could smell the aftershave. She

Now that she was gone, Nic had nothing to fill the hollow spaces anymore.

remembered that about him now, the way he wore his part in this town, gave it Her bad behavior lacked an audience.

reverence with his appearance. Khaki pants. Button-down shirt. Clean shave. He was fit, though slender. He’d mentioned something about cycling. He was lean like a cycler. And his hair was short. Neat.

But he had no idea. He hadn’t been there the day Annie died. He didn’t know

That was how she’d come to think of him. Neat. Tidy. And completely

what Nic owed her death. Owed to her.

unaware that his royalty status ended at the crossing of Route 7.

He walked behind the counter.

“What brings you back here?”

Nic took a moment to consider how much to tell him.

“Following up on some things. A new lead. Probably nothing, but I have to

Her mother had been racing home from work because Nic hadn’t answered

be sure.”

the phone. She’d been in charge of them, Annie and Evan. And at sixteen, she’d Booth nodded. Thinking. But, oddly, he didn’t ask for details.

had things to do—serious things back then when she still cared about her life. It

“You here alone?” he asked instead. He sounded concerned. Or maybe

wasn’t as though they were babies. But Annie was so precocious. She never

curious. Either way, his face lit up a little.

listened.

“For now,” she said. “Can I get a room for the night?”

She’d wanted ice cream. She’d heard the truck. And she’d run.

He busied himself then, looking at a handwritten ledger, finding a key—an

Her father hadn’t been there. He hadn’t heard Nic screaming for her to stop. actual key on a large wooden ring.

Too far away to reach her. The screeching tires on the asphalt. Annie lying in a

“You want 2A again?”

pool of blood. Lying dead in the road. And her mother behind the wheel, driving

“Sure.”

the car that had struck her. There were no words to describe it.

She threw a credit card on the counter. He handed her the key on the wooden

Maybe Nic wasn’t her mother. But they were bound together by their guilt,

ring, the number 2A carved into it and painted gold.

the bow and stern of a sinking ship.

Booth slid the card across a manual imprint machine, then gave her the slip

She let Annie recede back into her place of hiding. Hair flying. Smile pulled to sign.

clear across her face.

“Have you been doing okay?” he asked.

She reached in the back for her duffel, then made her way up the steps to the Nic signed. Handed back the slip.

front door.

“Sure, you know. Given everything.”

Inside, the air smelled stagnant as it had before. Nic walked to the reception The wheels were turning now. She could see it on his face, the way he

desk, and set her mother’s key down on the lace runner which lay unevenly

scrunched his eyes and cocked his head to the side, slightly askew.

across the counter. There were small bowls with soft mints, toothpicks, business

“No word from her?”

cards, a guest register where people could write things about their stay before

“No. Nothing.”

leaving. And a silver bell, which Nic rang.

He shrugged, held his palm up to the sky. “Strangest thing. How easy it is to Footsteps, creaking wood, a door closing. Booth emerged from his apartment disappear in this day and age.”

in the back, startled.

Only it wasn’t, Nic thought. It wasn’t easy at all. A person needed money

“Miss Clarke?” He said her name like it was a question, like he couldn’t

believe she was here again.

believe she was here again.

and a place to stay and food. All of those things forced a person out into the

“One and the same,” Nic said.

open, into systems of data that could be traced.

Booth looked sleepy, as though she’d disturbed him from an afternoon nap,

What was strange was how easy it was for everyone to believe Molly Clarke

but he was also freshly groomed. She could smell the aftershave. She

had just left. Just disappeared. Including herself.

remembered that about him now, the way he wore his part in this town, gave it A response was on her tongue, but she said nothing. Booth seemed like a

reverence with his appearance. Khaki pants. Button-down shirt. Clean shave. He decent man. Well meaning. He’d told them before that he hadn’t seen Molly was fit, though slender. He’d mentioned something about cycling. He was lean Clarke the night of the storm. He’d boarded up both places, the inn and diner, like a cycler. And his hair was short. Neat.

well before she could have made it to town from Evan’s school. Said he was in That was how she’d come to think of him. Neat. Tidy. And completely

his apartment, in the back, all night. Reading with a lantern. Having some tea.

unaware that his royalty status ended at the crossing of Route 7.

Listening to the radio until the storm had passed. And then trying to get to sleep He walked behind the counter.

with the wind still roaring and the worry that the plywood wouldn’t hold.

“What brings you back here?”

“Well, I’m happy to help any way I can.”

Nic took a moment to consider how much to tell him.

He winked at her then, and Nic smiled in response.

“Following up on some things. A new lead. Probably nothing, but I have to

“I need to rest if you don’t mind,” she said.

be sure.”

Booth waved toward the stairs.

Booth nodded. Thinking. But, oddly, he didn’t ask for details.

“Of course.”

“You here alone?” he asked instead. He sounded concerned. Or maybe

* * *

curious. Either way, his face lit up a little.

The room was the same. Old. Frilly, as though that’s what guests at a quaint

“For now,” she said. “Can I get a room for the night?”

Connecticut inn would expect. Grandma décor. And Booth kept the heat running He busied himself then, looking at a handwritten ledger, finding a key—an

—she remembered this all too well. The crackling radiator, the hot, dry air. It actual key on a large wooden ring.

was stifling.

“You want 2A again?”

She tossed her phone on the nightstand, her bag on the small chair in the

“Sure.”

corner by the window. She pulled the shades and drew the curtains. It was nearly She threw a credit card on the counter. He handed her the key on the wooden six, dusk, gray skies.

She ran water in the scalloped sink, splashed her face.

Booth slid the card across a manual imprint machine, then gave her the slip

Back to the bed. She changed into pajama pants and a T-shirt, pulled up the

to sign.

covers and climbed beneath them. The sheets were stiff, but cool. She lay her

“Have you been doing okay?” he asked.

head on the pillow.

Nic signed. Handed back the slip.

It offered little comfort. The mattress had hardened unevenly over time. The

“Sure, you know. Given everything.”

pillow turned soft. Blood rushed into her aching head, making it pound harder, The wheels were turning now. She could see it on his face, the way he

right into her eardrums. It wanted a drink.

scrunched his eyes and cocked his head to the side, slightly askew.

She reached for her phone on the night stand. There

“No word from her?”

was a text from her brother.

“No. Nothing.”

WTF? Hastings?

He shrugged, held his palm up to the sky. “Strangest thing. How easy it is to She started to text back, but the phone rang in her hand.

disappear in this day and age.”

“Finally!” her father said when she picked up. “What’s going on there?

What’s happening?”

Nic winced. Everything felt worse now, lying down. She got up and walked

Nic winced. Everything felt worse now, lying down. She got up and walked to the window, opening it a crack to let in the cool air. The grounds behind the inn were nothing but bare, scattered trees with stubborn patches of dead leaves What was strange was how easy it was for everyone to believe Molly Clarke clinging to the branches.

had just left. Just disappeared. Including herself.

“Nicole!” her father was in a panic.

A response was on her tongue, but she said nothing. Booth seemed like a

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m at the inn. I got a room.”

decent man. Well meaning. He’d told them before that he hadn’t seen Molly

He let out a moan.

Clarke the night of the storm. He’d boarded up both places, the inn and diner,

“It’s not like last time.”

well before she could have made it to town from Evan’s school. Said he was in

“I don’t like any of this. I should come home.”

his apartment, in the back, all night. Reading with a lantern. Having some tea.

It occurred to her then—how he would have insisted on coming if he thought

Listening to the radio until the storm had passed. And then trying to get to sleep there was any real danger. From Edith Moore or someone in this town. Or the with the wind still roaring and the worry that the plywood wouldn’t hold.

town itself. He still believed that his wife had walked away on her own, even

“Well, I’m happy to help any way I can.”

after seeing the handwriting analysis.

He winked at her then, and Nic smiled in response.

“No, Dad,” Nic said. “One of the cops is coming with me tomorrow to meet

“I need to rest if you don’t mind,” she said.

Edith Moore. I won’t leave the inn until then. Maybe to the diner next door, but Booth waved toward the stairs.

that’s all.”

“Of course.”

Now a sigh and another moan.

* * *

“She just wants a chance at the money, Nicole. She waited almost two weeks

The room was the same. Old. Frilly, as though that’s what guests at a quaint to come forward and that doesn’t make any sense. How did she even get your Connecticut inn would expect. Grandma décor. And Booth kept the heat running number? You can’t hold on to false hope that this is more than what it is.”

—she remembered this all too well. The crackling radiator, the hot, dry air. It Words flew from her mouth before she could stop them.

was stifling.

“Is that why you lied to me—about the note?”

She tossed her phone on the nightstand, her bag on the small chair in the

“Oh, Nic . . .”

corner by the window. She pulled the shades and drew the curtains. It was nearly She hung her head, the phone still pressed to her ear. “I remember, you

six, dusk, gray skies.

know. That last day of the search, when they found it.”

She ran water in the scalloped sink, splashed her face.

“So do I.

Back to the bed. She changed into pajama pants and a T-shirt, pulled up the

“We went to the diner to talk about it and you ordered a sandwich, Dad. And

covers and climbed beneath them. The sheets were stiff, but cool. She lay her fries and a soda and you . . . you ate it . . . all of it!”

head on the pillow.

He knew what she was implying. She could tell from the silence. For the first It offered little comfort. The mattress had hardened unevenly over time. The three days, neither of them had been able to get down any real food. They’d pillow turned soft. Blood rushed into her aching head, making it pound harder, gotten by on coffee and a few bites of toast, crackers. Walking through

right into her eardrums. It wanted a drink.

cornfields with strangers, hoping to find her mother, then hoping not to as the She reached for her phone on the night stand. There hours turned to days, making it more likely that if she was found, she would be was a text from her brother.

found dead.

WTF? Hastings?

The credit card charge had come through on day four—taking two days to

She started to text back, but the phone rang in her hand.

post. The note and clothing were found next. And her father’s appetite suddenly

“Finally!” her father said when she picked up. “What’s going on there?

returned, like magic. Fear had transformed into resignation. And then

What’s happening?”

acceptance.

Nic winced. Everything felt worse now, lying down. She got up and walked

Nic winced. Everything felt worse now, lying down. She got up and walked

“I have to find her, Dad. Even if she wrote that note and doesn’t want to be to the window, opening it a crack to let in the cool air. The grounds behind the found. Even if that note was forged and . . .”

inn were nothing but bare, scattered trees with stubborn patches of dead leaves

“Stop! I know what you’re thinking. That’s why I didn’t tell you about the

clinging to the branches.

report. I knew you’d go down that road and it’s wrong, Nic. Think about what

“Nicole!” her father was in a panic.

the note said. How would anyone know those things about her? She wasn’t

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m at the inn. I got a room.”

herself, Nicole. She was upset and nervous, but the words—that was how she

He let out a moan.

felt. Only she could know that.”

“It’s not like last time.”

“Then I’ll find her safe and sound and make her come home. Maybe the

“I don’t like any of this. I should come home.”

truck . . .”

It occurred to her then—how he would have insisted on coming if he thought

He wouldn’t let her finish.

there was any real danger. From Edith Moore or someone in this town. Or the

“I just can’t stop thinking about how you used to be. When you were a little town itself. He still believed that his wife had walked away on her own, even girl, full of spitfire, and then a big girl and then a young woman with everything after seeing the handwriting analysis.

in front of her . . .”

“No, Dad,” Nic said. “One of the cops is coming with me tomorrow to meet

Nic felt tears coming. Not now.

Edith Moore. I won’t leave the inn until then. Maybe to the diner next door, but

“Dad—stop!”

that’s all.”

But he didn’t stop. “And you loved your life. You loved school and running

Now a sigh and another moan.

and your friends . . .” He was crying and laughing now, at the same time. “I used

“She just wants a chance at the money, Nicole. She waited almost two weeks to get so worried about all you girls, meeting up with boys at the mall, and now .

to come forward and that doesn’t make any sense. How did she even get your

. . Oh God, Nic . . . now I would give anything to be worried about you having number? You can’t hold on to false hope that this is more than what it is.”

fun with your friends. I would give anything to see you go to college, or just to Words flew from her mouth before she could stop them.

see you smile again, not back in Hastings chasing after dead ends.”

“Is that why you lied to me—about the note?”

He was full on now, crying into the phone, making her cry.

“Oh, Nic . . .”

“Dad . . .” She didn’t know what to say to him. How to make this better for

She hung her head, the phone still pressed to her ear. “I remember, you

him. It was hard enough to get through each day herself. She couldn’t carry her know. That last day of the search, when they found it.”

father’s anguish as well.

“So do I.

“I know I’m not supposed to say these things to you,” he said, catching his

“We went to the diner to talk about it and you ordered a sandwich, Dad. And breath. “They told me not to, that it would make you feel worse. I’m sorry, fries and a soda and you . . . you ate it . . . all of it!”

sweetheart. I just need you to know that even if you don’t remember what it felt He knew what she was implying. She could tell from the silence. For the firstlike when you were happy, that I do. I do! And I will hold those memories until three days, neither of them had been able to get down any real food. They’d

you’re ready to take them back. Until you’re done running away—and that’s all gotten by on coffee and a few bites of toast, crackers. Walking through

this is, looking for your mother when she doesn’t want to be found.”

cornfields with strangers, hoping to find her mother, then hoping not to as the The therapy speak was unbearable. She recognized every theme—the

hours turned to days, making it more likely that if she was found, she would be holding of memories, the holding of feelings, the running away. Each of them found dead.

was another layer of total shit, wrapped around her and Evan and their father, The credit card charge had come through on day four—taking two days to

keeping them from crashing into one another. Keeping them cocooned and

post. The note and clothing were found next. And her father’s appetite suddenly preserved, until—what, exactly? He had a whole box of this shit. These layers returned, like magic. Fear had transformed into resignation. And then

and layers of shit.

acceptance.

“I’m not running away . . .”

“I’m not running away . . .”

“I have to find her, Dad. Even if she wrote that note and doesn’t want to be

“Your mother wasn’t happy.” He said this like it was some kind of

found. Even if that note was forged and . . .”

revelation.

“Stop! I know what you’re thinking. That’s why I didn’t tell you about the

“I know that.”

report. I knew you’d go down that road and it’s wrong, Nic. Think about what

“Do you? Do you know how unhappy she was? She was in agony.

the note said. How would anyone know those things about her? She wasn’t

Unrelenting agony.”

herself, Nicole. She was upset and nervous, but the words—that was how she

I know.

felt. Only she could know that.”

“I know, Dad.”

“Then I’ll find her safe and sound and make her come home. Maybe the

“And that agony was spreading into all of us. Into you, especially. It was so truck . . .”

hard to watch . . .”

He wouldn’t let her finish.

“Dad—stop!” What was he even saying right now? He kept going.

“I just can’t stop thinking about how you used to be. When you were a little

“And I know you blame yourself for that day, for not bringing your sister to girl, full of spitfire, and then a big girl and then a young woman with everything her playdate and not answering your phone—but it was your mother behind the in front of her . . .”

wheel . . .”

Nic closed her eyes, listening carefully to words that somehow had a harsher

“Dad—stop!”

tone this time.

But he didn’t stop. “And you loved your life. You loved school and running

“ . . . it was your mother who was left to wonder about how fast she hit the and your friends . . .” He was crying and laughing now, at the same time. “I used brakes and turned the wheel, and whether she was driving as slow as she could to get so worried about all you girls, meeting up with boys at the mall, and now . have, knowing you kids were home alone and hearing the ice cream truck . . .

. . Oh God, Nic . . . now I would give anything to be worried about you having you were a teenager, Nic. A busy teenager and it wasn’t your job to babysit your fun with your friends. I would give anything to see you go to college, or just to sister. That’s how she saw it. And she knew what other people thought about

see you smile again, not back in Hastings chasing after dead ends.”

her.”

He was full on now, crying into the phone, making her cry.

“Is that what you thought?” Nic asked him now. It sounded as though he was

“Dad . . .” She didn’t know what to say to him. How to make this better for

rendering a judgment. A guilty verdict. Is this what her own father thought about him. It was hard enough to get through each day herself. She couldn’t carry her her mother? And if it was, how much of this toxic waste had seeped into father’s anguish as well.

conversations meant to provide comfort and support the way a husband should?

“I know I’m not supposed to say these things to you,” he said, catching his

“Nic?”

breath. “They told me not to, that it would make you feel worse. I’m sorry,

“I’m here,” Nic answered. She wanted to say more, ask more. But she didn’t

sweetheart. I just need you to know that even if you don’t remember what it felt know where to begin. She was too tired, head on fire now after the tears, like when you were happy, that I do. I do! And I will hold those memories until stomach still churning.

you’re ready to take them back. Until you’re done running away—and that’s all Was this how she also felt about her mother? Did she blame her more than

this is, looking for your mother when she doesn’t want to be found.”

she even blamed herself? Did it feel good to blame her, so she could be let off The therapy speak was unbearable. She recognized every theme—the

the hook?

holding of memories, the holding of feelings, the running away. Each of them Maybe that’s what people did when something like this happened. A child

was another layer of total shit, wrapped around her and Evan and their father, run over in the driveway. A child drowned in the pool outside. A child who’d keeping them from crashing into one another. Keeping them cocooned and

choked on a toy. That could never happen to me, to my child, because I would preserved, until—what, exactly? He had a whole box of this shit. These layers never be so careless the way she was. That’s why it happened. If there was fault, and layers of shit.

then there could also be prevention, the illusion of control to make life bearable.

“I’m not running away . . .”

“I’m not running away . . .”

Yes, Nic thought. It felt good to think that about her mother. That’s where the

“Your mother wasn’t happy.” He said this like it was some kind of

rage was coming from. Blaming her mother was the only thing that eased her

revelation.

own guilt, and the hatred she held for herself.

“I know that.”

Then there were the facts. The driveway sat on a blind corner. Her mother

“Do you? Do you know how unhappy she was? She was in agony.

had been slowing down to make the turn. Estimated miles per hour, under ten.

Unrelenting agony.”

Skid marks from the tires suggested they were employed immediately. The

wheel turned as far as it could go away from Annie. Her phone tucked in a

“I know, Dad.”

briefcase. She’d come home the way she did every day. Safely, responsibly,

“And that agony was spreading into all of us. Into you, especially. It was so even though her head had been full of worry.

hard to watch . . .”

Responsible was how she’d lived her entire life.

“Dad—stop!” What was he even saying right now? He kept going.

Until the night of the storm.

“And I know you blame yourself for that day, for not bringing your sister to

“Did we do this?” Nic asked now. “Did we secretly blame her and did she

her playdate and not answering your phone—but it was your mother behind the know? Could she feel it even though we said it wasn’t her fault?”

wheel . . .”

Her father took a moment to answer. Then, “I don’t know, sweetheart. I

Nic closed her eyes, listening carefully to words that somehow had a harsher honestly don’t. I know it could have been me behind that wheel. It could have tone this time.

been anyone coming around that corner. But it wasn’t. It was her. And nothing

“ . . . it was your mother who was left to wonder about how fast she hit the we do can change that.”

brakes and turned the wheel, and whether she was driving as slow as she could Nic pressed a palm into her forehead and turned it slowly, back and forth.

have, knowing you kids were home alone and hearing the ice cream truck . . .

Her father and his box of therapy shit.

you were a teenager, Nic. A busy teenager and it wasn’t your job to babysit your Her head resumed its screaming. She had to end this call. He had to

sister. That’s how she saw it. And she knew what other people thought about

understand why she was here and let her do what she needed to do.

her.”

“I have to find her, Dad.”

“Is that what you thought?” Nic asked him now. It sounded as though he was

He sighed again, long and hard.

rendering a judgment. A guilty verdict. Is this what her own father thought about

“It’s not as though I’ve stopped looking. The PI is working on this every day, her mother? And if it was, how much of this toxic waste had seeped into

all day—monitoring her credit cards, social security number, passport—he’s

conversations meant to provide comfort and support the way a husband should? going state by state contacting train and bus stations, airlines.”

“Nic?”

And yet, Nic thought, he ordered that sandwich. Then he went home. Went

“I’m here,” Nic answered. She wanted to say more, ask more. But she didn’t back to work. He walked the dogs and went to the gym and fucked his mistress know where to begin. She was too tired, head on fire now after the tears,

and then came home to watch TV in the same bed he had shared with his wife

stomach still churning.

for twenty-four years.

Was this how she also felt about her mother? Did she blame her more than

“You want me to get over Annie and get over Mom and go to college, and

she even blamed herself? Did it feel good to blame her, so she could be let off now I want you to get over me looking for her. I guess that’s a draw.”

the hook?

He said nothing for a long moment.

And then, finally, just, “I love you, Nicole.”

When the others failed, there was always this last layer of shit in the box.

Even if he meant it.

If there was fault,

“I love you too, Dad.” Then she hung up.

Nic went back to the bed, under the covers. Her father’s words lying right

Nic went back to the bed, under the covers. Her father’s words lying right Nic thought. It felt good to think that about her mother. That’s where thethere beside her.

She unlocked her phone again and sent a reply to Evan.

I’m fine. Don’t be worried.

Then there were the facts. The driveway sat on a blind corner. Her mother

Where ru?

had been slowing down to make the turn. Estimated miles per hour, under ten.

At the Inn.

Skid marks from the tires suggested they were employed immediately. The

And then, something strange.

wheel turned as far as it could go away from Annie. Her phone tucked in a

The one with the fence?

briefcase. She’d come home the way she did every day. Safely, responsibly,

What fence?

even though her head had been full of worry.

Nic got up and walked back to the window. She couldn’t see a fence.

Responsible was how she’d lived her entire life.

Dad said he saw it when he was out searching for

Until the night of the storm.

Mom. He said it was creepy. He said they had to stop

“Did we do this?” Nic asked now. “Did we secretly blame her and did she

when they got to it.

know? Could she feel it even though we said it wasn’t her fault?”

IDK.

Her father took a moment to answer. Then, “I don’t know, sweetheart. I

Nic stared at the woods. They went on forever.

honestly don’t. I know it could have been me behind that wheel. It could have U ok?

been anyone coming around that corner. But it wasn’t. It was her. And nothing I guess.

we do can change that.”

She wondered then what he really thought about their mother. Was it easier

Nic pressed a palm into her forehead and turned it slowly, back and forth.

for him to believe she’d left them? Was he relieved that she was gone? They had never talked about it. They texted, mostly, about everyday things. Nic asked him Her head resumed its screaming. She had to end this call. He had to

about football. She’d promised to make it to watch the playoffs, though being understand why she was here and let her do what she needed to do.

there without their mother was an emotional hurdle she wasn’t sure she could

“I have to find her, Dad.”

clear.

He sighed again, long and hard.

Dad wants me to come home.

“It’s not as though I’ve stopped looking. The PI is working on this every day, The reply came quickly, and without a hint of the banter that was normally

all day—monitoring her credit cards, social security number, passport—he’s

part of their conversation.

going state by state contacting train and bus stations, airlines.”

No. You have to find her.

And there was the answer to her question. She wasn’t alone.

She replied, Promise.

“You want me to get over Annie and get over Mom and go to college, and

now I want you to get over me looking for her. I guess that’s a draw.”

He said nothing for a long moment.

And then, finally, just, “I love you, Nicole.”

When the others failed, there was always this last layer of shit in the box.

Even if he meant it.

“I love you too, Dad.” Then she hung up.

Nic went back to the bed, under the covers. Her father’s words lying right

Nic went back to the bed, under the covers. Her father’s words lying right there beside her.

She unlocked her phone again and sent a reply to Evan.

I’m fine. Don’t be worried.

Where ru?

At the Inn.

And then, something strange.

The one with the fence?

What fence?

Nic got up and walked back to the window. She couldn’t see a fence.

Dad said he saw it when he was out searching for

Mom. He said it was creepy. He said they had to stop

when they got to it.

IDK.

Nic stared at the woods. They went on forever.

U ok?

I guess.

She wondered then what he really thought about their mother. Was it easier

for him to believe she’d left them? Was he relieved that she was gone? They had never talked about it. They texted, mostly, about everyday things. Nic asked him about football. She’d promised to make it to watch the playoffs, though being there without their mother was an emotional hurdle she wasn’t sure she could clear.

Dad wants me to come home.

The reply came quickly, and without a hint of the banter that was normally

part of their conversation.

No. You have to find her.

And there was the answer to her question. She wasn’t alone.

She replied, Promise.

Chapter Seven

Day two

I stand with Alice by the window in the living room. She doesn’t understand

why I’ve run to watch the man drive away.

Drive away with my purse inside.

The truck kicks up dirt from the driveway. It’s dented in the back. A taillight is broken.

“Do you know what happened to his truck?” Alice asks me.

I don’t care about the truck. I am thinking about my purse, and now the fence

—the one that attaches to the gate at the end of the driveway. The gate that is chained shut. The fence with the coils of barbed wire.

“No,” I say. My voice is perky as though I can’t wait to find out.

Alice takes my hand and pulls me until I am looking at her with all of my

attention.

“Well,” she begins, and anxiety fills me head to toe.

But she continues. “Someone was following him too close. You’re not

supposed to do that. You’re supposed to stay far away from the car in front of you. Then he slammed on his brakes, and the car behind him crashed right into the back of him! And it was one of those really little cars so it got all dented.

And then the driver of that stupid little car said she was going to call the police, but then he told her that when you hit someone from behind, it’s always your fault. Always. ”

My heart pounds as she rambles on. I try to be patient. I don’t want to agitate her. But I am finding it difficult.

Alice keeps rambling.

“And then she gave him a lot of money so he wouldn’t go to the police or the insurance people—and you know what else?” She giggles then. “He gets to keep all the money when that happens.”

I open my mouth, am about to ask her what she means by this and how she

knows. Is he filled with rage? Is he proud of making people crash their cars?

But I don’t ask. I don’t care. I need to get outside to that fence and see where it leads, see where we are in relation to the town. The sky is clear. The air is

it leads, see where we are in relation to the town. The sky is clear. The air is warm enough to go out in these clothes. At least while it’s daylight.

I don’t know if I can trust this instinct, but it is strong. And it tells me to leave this house.

“Come on!” Alice says. “Do you want to see where I was born?”

Alice takes me back down the hall, past the bedroom on the left where I

slept. Past another bedroom on the left, then a bathroom on the right and a third bedroom after that. This is a strange house—I have not seen any stairs. It’s laid Day two

out like a long ranch, but has the facade of a farm house, with the porch and the I stand with Alice by the window in the living room. She doesn’t understand gable roof.

why I’ve run to watch the man drive away.

Next to the last bedroom is a smaller room. It’s dark and windowless and has a sink and hookup for a washer. The floor is not wood like the other rooms and The truck kicks up dirt from the driveway. It’s dented in the back. A taillight the hallway. It has hard ceramic tile. There is some kind of toilet in the corner.

is broken.

“Here!” she says. “Right here! My mother didn’t like hospitals.”

“Do you know what happened to his truck?” Alice asks me.

I look at her and wonder if she knows how strange that sounds. Her mother

I don’t care about the truck. I am thinking about my purse, and now the fencehad a home birth in a cold, dark laundry room. Alice rarely leaves the house

—the one that attaches to the gate at the end of the driveway. The gate that is herself. But I come from a different world. Maybe they couldn’t afford the cost chained shut. The fence with the coils of barbed wire.

of the hospital. Maybe they didn’t trust the government to educate their child.

“No,” I say. My voice is perky as though I can’t wait to find out.

Maybe they didn’t trust anyone.

Alice takes my hand and pulls me until I am looking at her with all of my

And then—wait. He said my clothes were drying in the laundry room. There

attention.

are no machines in this room. No drying rack. No clothes.

“Well,” she begins, and anxiety fills me head to toe.

“Alice,” I ask. “Is there another place where you do the laundry?”

Alice shrugs. She has no idea and she doesn’t care.

“Now it’s time to play!” she says. She takes my hand and we walk.

We sit on the floor of a small room at the front of the house. There are

shelves on the walls, filled with children’s books and toys—and dust. There is so much dust it makes me wonder if anyone ever cleans this house. And it is then that the small memories come flooding in—memories from last night and this

morning. Walking up the porch with loose steps. Paint peeling from the shingles.

My heart pounds as she rambles on. I try to be patient. I don’t want to agitate Even in the storm and darkness I could see the patches of brown. The her. But I am finding it difficult.

floorboards of my room, and the hallway, are caked with a thick line of dirt—the Alice keeps rambling.

dust that has condensed and slowly crept to the sides as air flows through the

“And then she gave him a lot of money so he wouldn’t go to the police or the rooms. And the kitchen, the one with the phone that is dead—its floor is insurance people—and you know what else?” She giggles then. “He gets to keep yellowing. White linoleum turning color from age and neglect.

all the money when that happens.”

Maybe I was wrong to think the man’s wife just died. No woman has kept

I open my mouth, am about to ask her what she means by this and how she

this house for a long time. Years perhaps. And yet the clothes are freshly

knows. Is he filled with rage? Is he proud of making people crash their cars?

laundered. Maybe she was sick for a while.

But I don’t ask. I don’t care. I need to get outside to that fence and see where Maybe she was young and didn’t know how to clean a house.

it leads, see where we are in relation to the town. The sky is clear. The air is

it leads, see where we are in relation to the town. The sky is clear. The air is warm enough to go out in these clothes. At least while it’s daylight.

I have to find my clothes. I have to get outside.

I don’t know if I can trust this instinct, but it is strong. And it tells me to

“You be this girl,” Alice orders me. She hands me a small plastic figurine

leave this house.

with chestnut hair. “Her name is Suzannah.”

“Come on!” Alice says. “Do you want to see where I was born?”

I take the little doll and smile. “Okay,” I say.

Alice takes me back down the hall, past the bedroom on the left where I

“I’ll be Hannah. She has blond hair like me. It’s better to have blond hair.

slept. Past another bedroom on the left, then a bathroom on the right and a third Did you know that? Is that why you make your brown hair blond? I can see your bedroom after that. This is a strange house—I have not seen any stairs. It’s laid roots, you know.”

out like a long ranch, but has the facade of a farm house, with the porch and the I want to tell her there’s a nicer way to ask a personal question like that, to be gable roof.

a parent to her because she needs one and it’s unthinkable that she lives this way, Next to the last bedroom is a smaller room. It’s dark and windowless and has never leaving this filthy house, never seeing another child. But she is not my a sink and hookup for a washer. The floor is not wood like the other rooms and child, even though she slept in my arms and made me dream about Annie.

the hallway. It has hard ceramic tile. There is some kind of toilet in the corner.

She is not your child. You’ll be leaving soon.

“Here!” she says. “Right here! My mother didn’t like hospitals.”

“What are you allergic to?” I ask her.

I look at her and wonder if she knows how strange that sounds. Her mother

I think now about gathering information. Maybe it will help me leave here.

had a home birth in a cold, dark laundry room. Alice rarely leaves the house

“Everything that’s outside the house,” she says.

herself. But I come from a different world. Maybe they couldn’t afford the cost

“Like what?” I ask.

of the hospital. Maybe they didn’t trust the government to educate their child.

“All the trees and the grass and the sky and the air. All the animals. All of it.

Maybe they didn’t trust anyone.

I can’t ever leave. Except with the mask and only if it’s an emergency.”

And then—wait. He said my clothes were drying in the laundry room. There

She says this without emotion. She says this without longing because she

are no machines in this room. No drying rack. No clothes.

doesn’t know any other way of life. She must have been living this way since

“Alice,” I ask. “Is there another place where you do the laundry?”

she’s had memories.

Alice shrugs. She has no idea and she doesn’t care.

I make some mental notes and pretend that they are important so that I don’t

“Now it’s time to play!” she says. She takes my hand and we walk.

jump out of my skin playing with dolls when I want to run.

We sit on the floor of a small room at the front of the house. There are

First, she has been here since age four or perhaps even earlier. She has no

shelves on the walls, filled with children’s books and toys—and dust. There is so memory of any other life.

much dust it makes me wonder if anyone ever cleans this house. And it is then Second, she never calls the man by a name. She uses only the pronouns he, that the small memories come flooding in—memories from last night and this

him, his.

morning. Walking up the porch with loose steps. Paint peeling from the shingles.

Third, he has lied to her to keep her here. If she had such severe allergies, the Even in the storm and darkness I could see the patches of brown. The

dust in this house would have killed her by now.

floorboards of my room, and the hallway, are caked with a thick line of dirt—the Fourth, this man who won’t say his name is angry and impulsive. I picture

dust that has condensed and slowly crept to the sides as air flows through the him slamming on his brakes, causing a car to crash into him. He may also be

rooms. And the kitchen, the one with the phone that is dead—its floor is

violent.

yellowing. White linoleum turning color from age and neglect.

“Suzannah!” Alice yells.

Maybe I was wrong to think the man’s wife just died. No woman has kept

I am pulled back into the moment where I am playing with dolls.

this house for a long time. Years perhaps. And yet the clothes are freshly

I hold mine up. “Yes, Hannah?” I say in a different voice than my own.

laundered. Maybe she was sick for a while.

Now Alice throws hers down. “She doesn’t talk like that!”

Maybe she was young and didn’t know how to clean a house.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “How does she talk? I will try to be just like her.”

Alice calms and picks up her doll. “Just normal. In your regular voice.”

Alice calms and picks up her doll. “Just normal. In your regular voice.”

“Okay,” I say. “What, Hannah?” I try again.

“You be this girl,” Alice orders me. She hands me a small plastic figurine

Her face lights up. It’s night and day. Dark and light. The emotions that flow with chestnut hair. “Her name is Suzannah.”

through this child.

I take the little doll and smile. “Okay,” I say.

We talk then, Hannah and Suzannah. We talk about childish things. We talk

“I’ll be Hannah. She has blond hair like me. It’s better to have blond hair.

about our pets. Suzannah has a little puppy named Oscar and Hannah has a cat Did you know that? Is that why you make your brown hair blond? I can see your named Whiskers. At every turn, I am redirected with my answers. This is a game roots, you know.”

Alice plays the same way each time, and I imagine before today, she played both I want to tell her there’s a nicer way to ask a personal question like that, to beparts. Hannah and Suzannah.

a parent to her because she needs one and it’s unthinkable that she lives this way, When she tires of the game, I begin again with my inquiries.

never leaving this filthy house, never seeing another child. But she is not my

“Who else gets to play Suzannah?” I ask. “Your father?”

child, even though she slept in my arms and made me dream about Annie.

She turns away in a huff.

I’ve hit a nerve so I push harder. “Your mother?”

“What are you allergic to?” I ask her.

“Stop asking dumb questions!” she says.

I think now about gathering information. Maybe it will help me leave here.

She walks to the wall of shelves and pulls out a board game. Candyland. It’s

“Everything that’s outside the house,” she says.

old, the box broken and taped back together.

“Like what?” I ask.

She doesn’t say a word as she sets it up on the floor.

“All the trees and the grass and the sky and the air. All the animals. All of it.

We draw cards. We take turns. I wait. And then I resume.

I can’t ever leave. Except with the mask and only if it’s an emergency.”

“Well,” I say. “I sure am glad you found me last night. I haven’t gotten to

She says this without emotion. She says this without longing because she

play Candyland in years. Not since my children were younger.”

doesn’t know any other way of life. She must have been living this way since She ignores me and moves her player five squares. I draw. I move. I pass her she’s had memories.

and it makes her angry.

I make some mental notes and pretend that they are important so that I don’t

“No fair!” she yells. “You’re cheating!”

jump out of my skin playing with dolls when I want to run.

“Don’t worry,” I say, reacting to her outburst. “You’ll catch me on the next First, she has been here since age four or perhaps even earlier. She has no

turn. Just draw a card—you’ll see! And either way, win or lose, we’re having memory of any other life.

fun, right?” I am doing it again. Parenting.

She is not your child.

She draws again. She passes me and smiles.

Third, he has lied to her to keep her here. If she had such severe allergies, the I smile back. I spot an old-looking doll on the shelf. She has a porcelain face dust in this house would have killed her by now.

with chipped paint around one cheek. The rest of her is soft so she is propped up Fourth, this man who won’t say his name is angry and impulsive. I picture

between books.

him slamming on his brakes, causing a car to crash into him. He may also be

“Who is that?” I ask. “On the shelf.”

violent.

I point to the doll. Alice looks up at her. The smile on her face changes to

“Suzannah!” Alice yells.

something mischievous.

I am pulled back into the moment where I am playing with dolls.

“That’s Dolly,” she says.

I hold mine up. “Yes, Hannah?” I say in a different voice than my own.

“Is she yours?” I ask. “She looks very old. Did she belong to your mother?”

Now Alice throws hers down. “She doesn’t talk like that!”

This causes her mood to shift darker. The smile leaves and she changes the

“I’m sorry,” I say. “How does she talk? I will try to be just like her.”

subject to me.

Alice calms and picks up her doll. “Just normal. In your regular voice.”

Alice calms and picks up her doll. “Just normal. In your regular voice.”

“How many children do you have?” she asks.

“Okay,” I say. “What, Hannah?” I try again.

“Three.” The answer will always be three.

Her face lights up. It’s night and day. Dark and light. The emotions that flow

“How old are they?” she asks.

through this child.

“Twenty-one and sixteen.”

We talk then, Hannah and Suzannah. We talk about childish things. We talk

She looks at me now and I can see that she is smart. Or perhaps clever.

about our pets. Suzannah has a little puppy named Oscar and Hannah has a cat

“You said you had three children,” she says.

named Whiskers. At every turn, I am redirected with my answers. This is a game I consider my answer carefully. I do not want to disclose anything to this

Alice plays the same way each time, and I imagine before today, she played both girl, but I don’t want to lie and get caught in it. I need her to trust me.

parts. Hannah and Suzannah.

I take a leap.

When she tires of the game, I begin again with my inquiries.

“One of my children died. When she was a little girl.”

“Who else gets to play Suzannah?” I ask. “Your father?”

Alice stares at me. “How did she die?” she asks.

She turns away in a huff.

“She was hit by a car. She ran into the street.”

I’ve hit a nerve so I push harder. “Your mother?”

I say the words but don’t allow myself to hear them. I have to move out of

“Stop asking dumb questions!” she says.

this conversation quickly before she breaks me.

She walks to the wall of shelves and pulls out a board game. Candyland. It’s But then she is in my lap, climbing right over the Candyland board, arms

old, the box broken and taped back together.

squeezing me tight. She begins to cry.

She doesn’t say a word as she sets it up on the floor.

“That is so sad,” she says. But her tears, her arms around me, they do not

We draw cards. We take turns. I wait. And then I resume.

seem real. They do not pull me in. I do not feel like crying, not even with this

“Well,” I say. “I sure am glad you found me last night. I haven’t gotten to

memory being dragged out before me. My dead child. Lying dead in the street.

play Candyland in years. Not since my children were younger.”

Instead, I am stiff as a board. I cannot even close my arms around this child, She ignores me and moves her player five squares. I draw. I move. I pass her this new child, who clings to my body.

and it makes her angry.

“I’m okay,” I lie. “It’s really okay. It was a long time ago.”

“No fair!” she yells. “You’re cheating!”

Alice heaves in and out. The tears stop and she turns her body so her back is

“Don’t worry,” I say, reacting to her outburst. “You’ll catch me on the next nestled against my chest. She takes my forearm and pulls it across her. She turn. Just draw a card—you’ll see! And either way, win or lose, we’re having strokes my skin like she’s petting me.

fun, right?” I am doing it again. Parenting.

“I’m nine too,” she says. “That’s why we picked you up.”

What? I think I must have heard her wrong. So I ask—

She draws again. She passes me and smiles.

“What do you mean?”

I smile back. I spot an old-looking doll on the shelf. She has a porcelain face She turns her head to gaze up at me. Wide eyes. Angelic. Haunting.

with chipped paint around one cheek. The rest of her is soft so she is propped up

“We were waiting for you. We had to wait a long time.”

between books.

I let the words sink in. Each one is a bolt of lightning. Each one shocks me

“Who is that?” I ask. “On the shelf.”

into disbelief.

I point to the doll. Alice looks up at her. The smile on her face changes to

“Waiting for me?” I ask now. “How did you know I would be there?”

something mischievous.

My heart is wild in my chest and I pray that she can’t feel it as she pets my

“That’s Dolly,” she says.

skin. I need to find out what she’s saying.

“Is she yours?” I ask. “She looks very old. Did she belong to your mother?”

“We knew lots of things. We knew you were coming. And we knew about

This causes her mood to shift darker. The smile leaves and she changes the

your daughter. I didn’t think you’d tell me but you did. You’re a very honest subject to me.

person.”

person.”

“How many children do you have?” she asks.

She leans her head into my chest. The hairs stand up on every inch of my

skin as she continues to stroke my arms. To pet me like an animal.

“How old are they?” she asks.

“Oh!” I say. My voice trembles. “And here I thought you just happened to

“Twenty-one and sixteen.”

run into me.”

She looks at me now and I can see that she is smart. Or perhaps clever.

She giggles. “I know. That was just a little secret we kept. We waited for

“You said you had three children,” she says.

you, silly. We saw you running to the gas station and then stop and look around I consider my answer carefully. I do not want to disclose anything to this

like you were confused and sad. And then you started to walk to town. Then I girl, but I don’t want to lie and get caught in it. I need her to trust me.

said ‘is that her?’ and he said ‘yes’ and I asked if we still had to run the truck I take a leap.

into you, and he said ‘no’ and then we followed behind you with the lights off

“One of my children died. When she was a little girl.”

for a while, then we pulled up close and then we got you!”

Alice stares at me. “How did she die?” she asks.

I am standing. She is lying on the floor, stunned. I don’t know what

“She was hit by a car. She ran into the street.”

happened in this instant, except that I could not stand to have her in my arms I say the words but don’t allow myself to hear them. I have to move out of

after those words left her mouth.

this conversation quickly before she breaks me.

“What are you doing?” she asks as I walk out of the room. I hear her follow

But then she is in my lap, climbing right over the Candyland board, arms

me, little feet running.

squeezing me tight. She begins to cry.

“I just have to get something,” I say. “From the kitchen. Some water . . .”

“That is so sad,” she says. But her tears, her arms around me, they do not

My voice shakes as I walk. She is right behind me. I have to get away from

seem real. They do not pull me in. I do not feel like crying, not even with this her. Away from this house.

memory being dragged out before me. My dead child. Lying dead in the street.

They followed me. They took me. They knew I was coming.

Instead, I am stiff as a board. I cannot even close my arms around this child, I search the drawers.

this new child, who clings to my body.

“What are you looking for?” Alice asks.

“I’m okay,” I lie. “It’s really okay. It was a long time ago.”

I don’t answer. I find a pair of scissors. I take them, and a knife, from a

Alice heaves in and out. The tears stop and she turns her body so her back is butcher block. I fold them into a dish towel and then set them aside, hoping she nestled against my chest. She takes my forearm and pulls it across her. She

doesn’t notice as I get a glass of water and drink it down. My throat is tight. My strokes my skin like she’s petting me.

mouth bone dry as I try to swallow.

“I’m nine too,” she says. “That’s why we picked you up.”

I look at her and focus now. I can do this. I can outsmart a nine-year-old girl.

“You know how you have allergies to the outside?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

She nods.

She turns her head to gaze up at me. Wide eyes. Angelic. Haunting.

“Well, I have something similar. I have allergies to the insides of houses. I

“We were waiting for you. We had to wait a long time.”

have to go outside every day for a few minutes or I start to get sick.”

I let the words sink in. Each one is a bolt of lightning. Each one shocks me She looks at me, curiously. “Really?” she asks.

into disbelief.

“Yes. I am feeling sick now. It happened suddenly when we were playing.

“Waiting for me?” I ask now. “How did you know I would be there?”

I’m sorry if I scared you. The water helped. But I need to get outside. Can I go My heart is wild in my chest and I pray that she can’t feel it as she pets my for a little walk?”

skin. I need to find out what she’s saying.

She shrugs. “I guess. I think there’s a lot of woods. What if you get lost?”

“We knew lots of things. We knew you were coming. And we knew about

“I won’t go far. Maybe just to the end of the driveway and then right back. I your daughter. I didn’t think you’d tell me but you did. You’re a very honest can’t get lost doing that.”

person.”

person.”

She nods. “That might work. When you come back, maybe you should wear

She leans her head into my chest. The hairs stand up on every inch of my

the mask.”

skin as she continues to stroke my arms. To pet me like an animal.

“Oh! That would be wonderful,” I say. “Can I borrow it?”

“Oh!” I say. My voice trembles. “And here I thought you just happened to

“Sure!” Alice is genuinely thrilled to help me.

run into me.”

“Do you know where it is?” I ask.

She giggles. “I know. That was just a little secret we kept. We waited for

She nods.

you, silly. We saw you running to the gas station and then stop and look around

“Can you get it for me and we’ll meet by the front door? That way I’ll have

like you were confused and sad. And then you started to walk to town. Then I it as soon as I come back.”

said ‘is that her?’ and he said ‘yes’ and I asked if we still had to run the truck She smiles and bounces out of the room. I hear her skipping down the hall. I into you, and he said ‘no’ and then we followed behind you with the lights off move quickly, grabbing the towel with the scissors and the knife, rushing to the for a while, then we pulled up close and then we got you!”

living room. I open the front door and place them outside. I close the door just in I am standing. She is lying on the floor, stunned. I don’t know what

time.

happened in this instant, except that I could not stand to have her in my arms Alice is there now, the mask in one hand. In the other hand, she carries a pair after those words left her mouth.

of rain boots.

“What are you doing?” she asks as I walk out of the room. I hear her follow

“You can’t go outside in bare feet, silly,” she says.

me, little feet running.

I look at my feet. They are bare. My shoes disappeared along with my

“I just have to get something,” I say. “From the kitchen. Some water . . .”

clothes last night while I slept. I would walk with bare feet across broken glass My voice shakes as I walk. She is right behind me. I have to get away from to get out of here but I shake my head and feign self-deprecation.

her. Away from this house.

“Oh, my! I am silly, aren’t I?”

They followed me. They took me. They knew I was coming.

I take the boots. I can’t tell if they belong to a man or woman. They are big I search the drawers.

and my feet swim inside them. But I can walk and that’s all that matters.

“What are you looking for?” Alice asks.

I smile at Alice. I force myself to pull her close to me. She nuzzles her face I don’t answer. I find a pair of scissors. I take them, and a knife, from a

into my chest.

butcher block. I fold them into a dish towel and then set them aside, hoping she

“Thank you, Alice. You are a very sweet girl.”

doesn’t notice as I get a glass of water and drink it down. My throat is tight. My I release her now.

mouth bone dry as I try to swallow.

“I’ll be back really soon and I’m sure I’ll feel better. Will you be all right for I look at her and focus now. I can do this. I can outsmart a nine-year-old girl. a few minutes?”

“You know how you have allergies to the outside?” I ask.

She nods. “I stay here alone all the time.”

She nods.

“Okay.” I kiss her forehead and open the door. She steps back from it so she

“Well, I have something similar. I have allergies to the insides of houses. I doesn’t have to breathe the air from the outside.

have to go outside every day for a few minutes or I start to get sick.”

My heart dances with the hope of freedom. It is near euphoric.

She looks at me, curiously. “Really?” she asks.

As I step outside, I hear Alice call after me.

“Yes. I am feeling sick now. It happened suddenly when we were playing.

“Be careful,” she says. “Don’t get lost in the woods.”

I’m sorry if I scared you. The water helped. But I need to get outside. Can I go I look back. And she tells me, “That’s how my first mommy died.”

for a little walk?”

She shrugs. “I guess. I think there’s a lot of woods. What if you get lost?”

“I won’t go far. Maybe just to the end of the driveway and then right back. I can’t get lost doing that.”

She nods. “That might work. When you come back, maybe you should wear the mask.”

“Oh! That would be wonderful,” I say. “Can I borrow it?”

“Sure!” Alice is genuinely thrilled to help me.

“Do you know where it is?” I ask.

She nods.

“Can you get it for me and we’ll meet by the front door? That way I’ll have

it as soon as I come back.”

She smiles and bounces out of the room. I hear her skipping down the hall. I move quickly, grabbing the towel with the scissors and the knife, rushing to the living room. I open the front door and place them outside. I close the door just in time.

Alice is there now, the mask in one hand. In the other hand, she carries a pair of rain boots.

“You can’t go outside in bare feet, silly,” she says.

I look at my feet. They are bare. My shoes disappeared along with my

clothes last night while I slept. I would walk with bare feet across broken glass to get out of here but I shake my head and feign self-deprecation.

“Oh, my! I am silly, aren’t I?”

I take the boots. I can’t tell if they belong to a man or woman. They are big and my feet swim inside them. But I can walk and that’s all that matters.

I smile at Alice. I force myself to pull her close to me. She nuzzles her face into my chest.

“Thank you, Alice. You are a very sweet girl.”

I release her now.

“I’ll be back really soon and I’m sure I’ll feel better. Will you be all right for a few minutes?”

She nods. “I stay here alone all the time.”

“Okay.” I kiss her forehead and open the door. She steps back from it so she doesn’t have to breathe the air from the outside.

My heart dances with the hope of freedom. It is near euphoric.

As I step outside, I hear Alice call after me.

“Be careful,” she says. “Don’t get lost in the woods.”

I look back. And she tells me, “That’s how my first mommy died.”

Chapter Eight

Day fourteen

An hour passed. Then another, and another, until Nic stopped watching the

time—until a mild form of unconsciousness had shut down her mind, mercifully.

She came to in the middle of the night. Head still pounding, sheets tangled

around her body. Wondering how late it was, and if the bar across the street would still be open.

Where was it coming from, this craving? She scanned her body, looking for

the culprit. Her head was the obvious suspect, but that was just a red herring. A clever misdirection.

She thought back to the first time she’d had a drink and felt the relief. It was fall of her senior year—two years after Annie died. She’d fed her guilt and her grief and her self-loathing with punishment. School work and running. She’d

gotten a job at a local clothing store to fill the bits and pieces of spare time.

She’d lost fifteen pounds because she’d deprived herself of every indulgence.

It was Columbus Day weekend. Three days off from school. No cross

country meets or tests to study for. Her parents had both been gone—her father to a conference and her mother to visit Evan. Saturday she’d woken up and run ten miles. She’d worked her shift at the store, then come home to an empty

house. A quiet house. She’d tried to read but her mind had been tired and

refusing to cooperate. She’d turned on the television but nothing had been able to pull her in.

That was the first time she’d felt them—the hollow spaces. The emptiness

that would not fill up. Not with anything.

She’d gone for another run, at night, until her body had shut down and she’d been able to sleep. But then morning had come and her legs wouldn’t move and her mind wouldn’t focus. The store was closed. She’d run out of distractions.

She would come to understand that the hollow spaces had been carved out by

the grief, and the guilt, and the self-hatred. But on that Sunday, they had felt like a wild beast writhing with hunger. For the first time in her life, she’d understood why people jumped from bridges, and when she’d found herself thinking about

the bridge over the river downtown, she’d gone to the liquor cabinet and poured

the bridge over the river downtown, she’d gone to the liquor cabinet and poured a glass of vodka.

Within minutes, she was crying. And then laughing. And then binging some

inane show on her laptop. She’d woken up Monday morning still in her clothes, the laptop dead beside her.

And she’d thought—thank you, God. Thank you for vodka.

By the end of senior year, she’d been caught four times with alcohol at

school. Expelled. Her college acceptance revoked.

Day fourteen

And still, she thought—thank you, God. Thank you for vodka.

An hour passed. Then another, and another, until Nic stopped watching the

As she lay in the bed now with her pounding head, she muscled back the

time—until a mild form of unconsciousness had shut down her mind, mercifully. craving, the hunger of the hollow spaces, and let herself go down the path that She came to in the middle of the night. Head still pounding, sheets tangled

she had to consider. If her mother hadn’t walked away, and two weeks had now around her body. Wondering how late it was, and if the bar across the street passed, she was likely dead. Dead in a field that they didn’t search. Or dead at would still be open.

the hand of a stranger.

Where was it coming from, this craving? She scanned her body, looking for

Maybe that’s why her father was so eager to believe the note was real.

the culprit. Her head was the obvious suspect, but that was just a red herring. A Maybe he couldn’t bear to lose her this other way. It would be hard to hold clever misdirection.

another woman with this thought in his head.

She thought back to the first time she’d had a drink and felt the relief. It was Vodka . . . the bar across the street . . .

fall of her senior year—two years after Annie died. She’d fed her guilt and her Nic grabbed her phone to check the time. Fuck. It was just past four. The bar grief and her self-loathing with punishment. School work and running. She’d

closed at two.

gotten a job at a local clothing store to fill the bits and pieces of spare time.

There was a red dot above her email. A message from her father. She sat

She’d lost fifteen pounds because she’d deprived herself of every indulgence.

down on the edge of the bed.

It was Columbus Day weekend. Three days off from school. No cross

The email had an attachment, a document that included clips of things her

country meets or tests to study for. Her parents had both been gone—her father mother had written in her correspondence. He had been the one to read through to a conference and her mother to visit Evan. Saturday she’d woken up and run them when she first disappeared. Her password was stored on the keychain of a ten miles. She’d worked her shift at the store, then come home to an empty

computer they shared.

house. A quiet house. She’d tried to read but her mind had been tired and

The message now said only FYI—thought you should know.

refusing to cooperate. She’d turned on the television but nothing had been able A new hour followed, then another, reading her mother’s words, but then

to pull her in.

going into the account herself and reading them firsthand and for the first time.

That was the first time she’d felt them—the hollow spaces. The emptiness

Every word her mother had written going back in time, month by month.

that would not fill up. Not with anything.

Most of it was insubstantial. Small talk, planning for lunch dates and holiday She’d gone for another run, at night, until her body had shut down and she’d gatherings. But some of it was more than that. Like after the days she had been able to sleep. But then morning had come and her legs wouldn’t move and sessions with her shrink or meetings with her grief support group. Those people her mind wouldn’t focus. The store was closed. She’d run out of distractions.

had a way of teasing things out of her, keeping her immersed in her self-analysis.

She would come to understand that the hollow spaces had been carved out byLost in the past. Drowning in it. Filling up her own box of therapy shit.

the grief, and the guilt, and the self-hatred. But on that Sunday, they had felt like You have to feel it all before it goes away. They said this repeatedly—Nic a wild beast writhing with hunger. For the first time in her life, she’d understood knew firsthand because her counselor had said it to her.

why people jumped from bridges, and when she’d found herself thinking about

But does it? Does it ever go away? her mother had asked. One of them had the bridge over the river downtown, she’d gone to the liquor cabinet and poured

the bridge over the river downtown, she’d gone to the liquor cabinet and poured a glass of vodka.

given an honest reply. It goes away enough.

Within minutes, she was crying. And then laughing. And then binging some

She wrote things about Annie, and the depth of her grief. The depth of her

inane show on her laptop. She’d woken up Monday morning still in her clothes, torturous guilt. Then about her husband and the extent of her love but also her the laptop dead beside her.

inability to embrace that love. She felt unworthy. I killed his child, our child. I And she’d thought—thank you, God. Thank you for vodka.

can’t stand for him to hold me . . . I would sooner he punch me in the face.

By the end of senior year, she’d been caught four times with alcohol at

Nic had to read that twice.

school. Expelled. Her college acceptance revoked.

Then there were things about Nic and her behavior. They had all given it a

And still, she thought—thank you, God. Thank you for vodka.

name— survivor’s guilt, they called it. She can’t enjoy her life because it feels As she lay in the bed now with her pounding head, she muscled back the

wrong. Her mother was terrified about the path she was on.

craving, the hunger of the hollow spaces, and let herself go down the path that Sound advice was given. Maybe your husband is right, tell her she has to she had to consider. If her mother hadn’t walked away, and two weeks had now leave if she doesn’t go to college . . . cut off the money . . . tough love . . . but passed, she was likely dead. Dead in a field that they didn’t search. Or dead at what if it pushes her too far?

the hand of a stranger.

Fuck them. Fuck all of them and their box of shit.

Maybe that’s why her father was so eager to believe the note was real.

Nic didn’t feel guilty about being alive. She felt guilty about the role she’d Maybe he couldn’t bear to lose her this other way. It would be hard to hold

played in Annie being dead. Some things just were what they were.

another woman with this thought in his head.

At the end of that particular exchange was the summation of her mother’s

terror.

. It was just past four. The bar

I can’t lose another child.

Fuck. Fuck!

There was a red dot above her email. A message from her father. She sat

She would never be able to unsee those words.

down on the edge of the bed.

Those words were never going to leave her head.

The email had an attachment, a document that included clips of things her

* * *

mother had written in her correspondence. He had been the one to read through

Officer Jared Reyes was waiting for her in the diner at nine-thirty—as

them when she first disappeared. Her password was stored on the keychain of a promised. He looked at her with familiarity, like an old friend, though Nic hardly computer they shared.

recognized him.

“Hey!” he said with a smile.

A new hour followed, then another, reading her mother’s words, but then

“Hi,” she said back. She was too exhausted to wonder if she knew him better

going into the account herself and reading them firsthand and for the first time.

than she was remembering. Those four days had been brutal.

Every word her mother had written going back in time, month by month.

“Thanks for meeting me.”

Most of it was insubstantial. Small talk, planning for lunch dates and holiday He touched her shoulder, gave it a squeeze. It felt good. Good enough to

gatherings. But some of it was more than that. Like after the days she had

make her worry.

sessions with her shrink or meetings with her grief support group. Those people

“Yeah, no problem. Want to grab a coffee?”

had a way of teasing things out of her, keeping her immersed in her self-analysis.

“Do I look like I need one?”

Lost in the past. Drowning in it. Filling up her own box of therapy shit.

He smiled again and Nic found herself smiling back. It was a reflex with

attractive men, and Reyes was attractive. She couldn’t decide what it was about him, but it was there. His face was average. Height, average. Not overweight.

Some muscle tone, or just bulk, filling out the uniform in all the right places. No ring.

ring.

There was something between him and the waitress, a past maybe. Or

anticipation about a future. She seemed irritated when Nic walked in and drew his attention.

Nic got a coffee to go. Reyes waited.

Outside, the officer stopped as they walked to the squad car—his eyes

Nic had to read that twice.

catching the blue Audi parked by the inn.

“I’m driving it now,” Nic said. “It’s nicer than mine.” But that was not the reason she’d been driving her mother’s car, which still smelled of her mother’s perfume and held her mother’s lipstick in the console.

Reyes nodded as though he got it—her need to be near any small part of her

mother.

They turned right out of the diner and drove along Hastings Pass toward

Fuck them. Fuck all of them and their box of shit.

Route 7 and the Gas n’ Go. Reyes studied the fields on both sides. Brow Nic didn’t feel guilty about being alive. She felt guilty about the role she’d furrowed. Eyes pensive.

played in Annie being dead. Some things just were what they were.

“I’ve been up and down this road,” he said, glancing at the cornfields. “Must At the end of that particular exchange was the summation of her mother’s

be a hundred times since your mother went missing. Every time, thinking about terror.

what we might have missed.”

Nic was surprised.

Fuck. Fuck!

“I thought the investigation was closed.”

She would never be able to unsee those words.

Reyes shrugged. “A woman is missing. Gone. I never met her. I barely know

Those words were never going to leave her head.

you or your family. But, I mean, what the hell? If a woman vanishes and it’s

* * *

your job to find her—how does that not keep you up at night? Make you want to

Officer Jared Reyes was waiting for her in the diner at nine-thirty—as

do something the next day? She can still be found, even if she doesn’t want to promised. He looked at her with familiarity, like an old friend, though Nic hardlybe. Those four days, everyone running around like chickens with their heads cut recognized him.

off—how can it hurt to slow down and do a more methodical search? She has to

“Hey!” he said with a smile.

be somewhere. And just because we don’t know where that is doesn’t make it

“Hi,” she said back. She was too exhausted to wonder if she knew him better unknowable.”

than she was remembering. Those four days had been brutal.

Reyes shifted in his seat, like he had felt a sudden wave of something

“Thanks for meeting me.”

uncomfortable inside him. Something he wanted to get out because it was hard He touched her shoulder, gave it a squeeze. It felt good. Good enough to

to sit with. It shot through the air like electricity, and Nic suspected this was the make her worry.

very thing that drew people to him. The waitress. An old couple in the diner

“Yeah, no problem. Want to grab a coffee?”

whose eyes followed him out the door. Even the car they passed back in town, a

“Do I look like I need one?”

woman driving, waving at him. Big smile that she was hoping he would see.

He smiled again and Nic found herself smiling back. It was a reflex with

Nic had come to know men, the things they found to lure women. There

attractive men, and Reyes was attractive. She couldn’t decide what it was about were those who didn’t have to try. Who couldn’t stop it if they wanted to. That him, but it was there. His face was average. Height, average. Not overweight.

was the attraction of Officer Jared Reyes.

Some muscle tone, or just bulk, filling out the uniform in all the right places. No Men like Reyes were almost as good as vodka.

ring.

ring.

They drove to the Gas n’ Go. Reyes pulled the car over and turned off the There was something between him and the waitress, a past maybe. Or

ignition.

anticipation about a future. She seemed irritated when Nic walked in and drew

“Is that her?” he asked.

his attention.

A small white sedan was parked on the other side.

Nic got a coffee to go. Reyes waited.

“I don’t know.”

Outside, the officer stopped as they walked to the squad car—his eyes

“It’s got New York plates,” Reyes said. “Come on.”

catching the blue Audi parked by the inn.

They walked to meet Edith Moore as she stepped outside her car. She was in

“I’m driving it now,” Nic said. “It’s nicer than mine.” But that was not the her late thirties it seemed. Slacks, sweater, loafers. Short brown hair. Glasses.

reason she’d been driving her mother’s car, which still smelled of her mother’s Her face wore the appropriate expression of empathy and eagerness.

perfume and held her mother’s lipstick in the console.

“You must be Nicole,” she said, extending her hand. “Edith Moore. Nice to

Reyes nodded as though he got it—her need to be near any small part of her meet you.”

mother.

Her eyes moved quickly to Officer Reyes. Her expression changing. Nic

hadn’t told her she was coming with the police.

“Jared Reyes,” he said with a nod. “Hastings PD.”

Edith Moore nodded then. “I’m glad you came. I hope I can be helpful.”

“I’ve been up and down this road,” he said, glancing at the cornfields. “Must

“Well, let’s see,” Reyes said. “Take us through it. The night of the storm.”

be a hundred times since your mother went missing. Every time, thinking about They drove in the Chevy. Reyes in the front with Edith Moore. Nic in the

what we might have missed.”

back, dead center and leaning forward as far as she could to see through the Nic was surprised.

windshield. They drove toward town on Hastings Pass for a mile and a quarter,

“I thought the investigation was closed.”

then made a U-turn, driving slowly toward the intersection.

Reyes shrugged. “A woman is missing. Gone. I never met her. I barely know

“This is about how fast I was going. It was all I could manage with the rain. I you or your family. But, I mean, what the hell? If a woman vanishes and it’s couldn’t see a thing beyond the headlights.”

your job to find her—how does that not keep you up at night? Make you want to

“But you saw Molly Clarke somehow,” Reyes said.

do something the next day? She can still be found, even if she doesn’t want to

“My lights caught her. The road is narrow. I could see both sides of it.”

be. Those four days, everyone running around like chickens with their heads cut When they were just before the mile marker Edith thought she remembered

off—how can it hurt to slow down and do a more methodical search? She has to seeing, she pulled the car to the side. “It was right about here that I saw her, and be somewhere. And just because we don’t know where that is doesn’t make it

then the truck coming from the other direction, heading into town.”

unknowable.”

Nic went through the rest of it with her. The things she’d already said on the Reyes shifted in his seat, like he had felt a sudden wave of something

phone, about her mother and how she’d waved them down. And the purse with

uncomfortable inside him. Something he wanted to get out because it was hard the three letters. Nothing they asked now brought forth any more detail—not

to sit with. It shot through the air like electricity, and Nic suspected this was the about the truck or the driver.

very thing that drew people to him. The waitress. An old couple in the diner

“Can you be any more specific? The color, license plate, symbols, bumper

whose eyes followed him out the door. Even the car they passed back in town, a stickers—anything?” Reyes asked.

woman driving, waving at him. Big smile that she was hoping he would see.

Edith thought carefully. “It was dark in color, like I said. It might have been Nic had come to know men, the things they found to lure women. There

black, a very dark gray. Charcoal. But not a light gray . . . maybe dark brown, I were those who didn’t have to try. Who couldn’t stop it if they wanted to. That can’t remember much else about it. The rain was coming so hard . . .”

was the attraction of Officer Jared Reyes.

But then another thought seemed to come over her as she was trying to recall Men like Reyes were almost as good as vodka.

the truck.

the truck.

“You know,” she said. “Now that I’m here—there is something else. But I

can’t be sure.”

“Is that her?” he asked.

Nic looked at her with urgency. “What is it?”

A small white sedan was parked on the other side.

She paused, squinted her eyes, lifted her arm and pointed at the road.

“I don’t know.”

“When I saw it drive off with your mother and it passed me, I looked at it

“It’s got New York plates,” Reyes said. “Come on.”

through my rearview mirror. I’m not sure I saw two taillights. I think one might They walked to meet Edith Moore as she stepped outside her car. She was in have been out. At the time I thought it was just a distortion from the rain. It was her late thirties it seemed. Slacks, sweater, loafers. Short brown hair. Glasses.

so heavy it was like looking through a pool of water. So I thought the two lights Her face wore the appropriate expression of empathy and eagerness.

had just looked like one.”

“You must be Nicole,” she said, extending her hand. “Edith Moore. Nice to

Reyes studied her face. “And now?”

meet you.”

“Now,” she said. “I think it’s possible there was just one taillight.”

Her eyes moved quickly to Officer Reyes. Her expression changing. Nic

“Which one was out?”

hadn’t told her she was coming with the police.

Edith Moore shook her head. She didn’t know. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get the

“Jared Reyes,” he said with a nod. “Hastings PD.”

plate number or the make and model. It wasn’t on my mind that I would need

Edith Moore nodded then. “I’m glad you came. I hope I can be helpful.”

those things.”

“Well, let’s see,” Reyes said. “Take us through it. The night of the storm.”

Reyes was uncomfortably silent as he stared at Edith Moore. He seemed

They drove in the Chevy. Reyes in the front with Edith Moore. Nic in the

irritated, shifting into a more hostile stance.

back, dead center and leaning forward as far as she could to see through the

“Let me ask you something else,” he said.

windshield. They drove toward town on Hastings Pass for a mile and a quarter,

“Okay.”

then made a U-turn, driving slowly toward the intersection.

“Are you sure you were coming back from New York City?”

“This is about how fast I was going. It was all I could manage with the rain. I There was a long pause.

couldn’t see a thing beyond the headlights.”

“Yes. Of course I’m sure.”

“But you saw Molly Clarke somehow,” Reyes said.

“I see you have an E-ZPass. Did you leave on the east side or the west side?

“My lights caught her. The road is narrow. I could see both sides of it.”

The east side would take you over the Triborough Bridge. There’s a toll scanner When they were just before the mile marker Edith thought she remembered on that bridge.”

seeing, she pulled the car to the side. “It was right about here that I saw her, and Edith Moore’s eyes lit up. “No—I definitely didn’t go that way. I went on

then the truck coming from the other direction, heading into town.”

the west side.”

Nic went through the rest of it with her. The things she’d already said on the Something wasn’t right about her answer. Nic could hear it in her voice and

phone, about her mother and how she’d waved them down. And the purse with

see it in the creases of Officer Reyes’s eyes. A little smile.

the three letters. Nothing they asked now brought forth any more detail—not

“The thing is,” Reyes said, going in for the kill, “your E-ZPass has no record about the truck or the driver.

of you entering or leaving New York City in the past sixty days. You can’t get

“Can you be any more specific? The color, license plate, symbols, bumper

into the city on the west side without passing under a scanner.”

stickers—anything?” Reyes asked.

Shit.

Edith thought carefully. “It was dark in color, like I said. It might have been If she was lying about this, what else was she lying about?

black, a very dark gray. Charcoal. But not a light gray . . . maybe dark brown, I

“Well, maybe I was wrong. Maybe I went on the east side. Maybe that other

can’t remember much else about it. The rain was coming so hard . . .”

bridge without a toll. On Willis Avenue.”

But then another thought seemed to come over her as she was trying to recall Reyes let this bone go. But he moved on quickly to other parts of her story.

the truck.

the truck.

And her life. She was a nurse practitioner in Schenectady. Lived with her

“You know,” she said. “Now that I’m here—there is something else. But I

boyfriend. No kids. She had three cats. No, she was not in any financial trouble, can’t be sure.”

and why are you asking me that? The reward money, of course. That wasn’t why Nic looked at her with urgency. “What is it?”

I came forward.

She paused, squinted her eyes, lifted her arm and pointed at the road.

Where did she go when she left the scene, left Molly Clarke to disappear on

“When I saw it drive off with your mother and it passed me, I looked at it

Hastings Pass? Did anyone see her when she got home? Did she stop along the

through my rearview mirror. I’m not sure I saw two taillights. I think one might way? What time did she go to work the next morning? And, the last question—

have been out. At the time I thought it was just a distortion from the rain. It was are you sure you weren’t with someone in Hastings and not New York City?

so heavy it was like looking through a pool of water. So I thought the two lights What was he saying? That she was conspiring with someone in the town to

had just looked like one.”

fabricate a story about her mother?

Reyes studied her face. “And now?”

“No!” she said defensively. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Now,” she said. “I think it’s possible there was just one taillight.”

Reyes backed off then.

“Which one was out?”

“Just dotting my i’s and crossing my t’s.”

Edith Moore shook her head. She didn’t know. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get the

They drove back to the Gas n’ Go, got out of the car and stood in an

plate number or the make and model. It wasn’t on my mind that I would need

awkward silence. But Reyes wasn’t through.

those things.”

“Do you have time to come to the station—maybe look at models of trucks?

Reyes was uncomfortably silent as he stared at Edith Moore. He seemed

It would help to narrow things down. You’d be surprised how different they can irritated, shifting into a more hostile stance.

be,” he asked.

“Let me ask you something else,” he said.

Edith was flustered. “I don’t really have time for all that—I have to make my

“Okay.”

shift at the hospital.”

“Are you sure you were coming back from New York City?”

“Then we can send you photos. Do we have your email address?”

There was a long pause.

She handed Reyes a business card. “You can use the one on here,” she said.

“Yes. Of course I’m sure.”

Reyes paused, let the discomfort ease in. “I think that’s everything.”

“I see you have an E-ZPass. Did you leave on the east side or the west side?

Nic touched her arm softly. “Thank you for coming all this way.”

The east side would take you over the Triborough Bridge. There’s a toll scanner

“Well, you know how to reach me—if you have any questions. Or if this

on that bridge.”

helps you find your mother. I didn’t come forward because of the money, but

Edith Moore’s eyes lit up. “No—I definitely didn’t go that way. I went on

I’m sure you’ll let me know if this information turns out to be useful.”

the west side.”

Of course, Nic thought. There was nothing pure in this world.

Something wasn’t right about her answer. Nic could hear it in her voice and

Reyes answered. “We’ll let you know.”

see it in the creases of Officer Reyes’s eyes. A little smile.

They started to turn away from one another, but then Nic remembered the

“The thing is,” Reyes said, going in for the kill, “your E-ZPass has no record question her father had asked her.

of you entering or leaving New York City in the past sixty days. You can’t get

“Hey—one last thing.”

into the city on the west side without passing under a scanner.”

Edith smiled, but she seemed nervous as she glanced between Nic and

Shit.

Reyes.

If she was lying about this, what else was she lying about?

“How did you get my number?”

“Well, maybe I was wrong. Maybe I went on the east side. Maybe that other

She shrugged, again looking between the two of them. It was an easy

bridge without a toll. On Willis Avenue.”

question. The answer should have rolled off her tongue.

It was Reyes who answered. “Was it Mrs. Urbansky?”

It was Reyes who answered. “Was it Mrs. Urbansky?”

“Is that the woman at the police department?”

“Yes,” Nic said.

That wasn’t why

“Right. That’s it. Sorry. That’s not an easy name to remember.”

They said their goodbyes. Edith Moore left. Nic and Reyes got back in his

car.

“What was that about?” Nic asked. “The way you grilled her.”

Reyes drove back onto Hastings Pass, heading into town.

“She’s lying. She never went to New York. She was never driving home.”

What was he saying? That she was conspiring with someone in the town to

“Maybe she was at the casino. Maybe she didn’t want her boyfriend to know.

fabricate a story about her mother?

She said she lives with him, right?” Nic threw out scenarios but they sounded

“No!” she said defensively. “Why would you ask me that?”

unlikely, even to her.

Reyes backed off then.

Reyes hit the gas harder.

“Just dotting my i’s and crossing my t’s.”

“Look—I don’t want to dick you around like everyone else. This woman is

They drove back to the Gas n’ Go, got out of the car and stood in an

lying. Her E-ZPass records show her on the New York State Thruway the day

awkward silence. But Reyes wasn’t through.

before the storm, getting off at the exit that leads to Route 7. It’s not the fastest

“Do you have time to come to the station—maybe look at models of trucks? way to the casino. Only thing that makes sense is that she was headed right here, It would help to narrow things down. You’d be surprised how different they can to Hastings, coming from the north, not the south. She must have spent the be,” he asked.

night.”

Edith was flustered. “I don’t really have time for all that—I have to make my

“Then someone in this town knows her.”

shift at the hospital.”

Reyes continued. “If she’s the reason you came back here and started

“Then we can send you photos. Do we have your email address?”

looking again, and if you do find your mother, she’ll get the money even if there She handed Reyes a business card. “You can use the one on here,” she said. was no truck. It won’t matter—she brought you back.”

Reyes paused, let the discomfort ease in. “I think that’s everything.”

Nic had considered this. “But then why make up the story about the truck? It Nic touched her arm softly. “Thank you for coming all this way.”

would only lead me in a wrong direction, further away from finding my mother.

“Well, you know how to reach me—if you have any questions. Or if this

Further away from her getting the money. Why not just say she saw my mother

helps you find your mother. I didn’t come forward because of the money, but

—and I know she did because of what she said—about my mother’s purse with

I’m sure you’ll let me know if this information turns out to be useful.”

the letters.”

Reyes considered this. “So maybe there is a truck with a broken taillight.”

Reyes answered. “We’ll let you know.”

They were back at the inn. Nic reached for the door handle, then stopped.

They started to turn away from one another, but then Nic remembered the

“You really think she was in Hastings? That she was with someone here the

question her father had asked her.

night before the storm, before she left for home?”

“Hey—one last thing.”

Reyes shrugged. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Edith smiled, but she seemed nervous as she glanced between Nic and

Then, a thought that made her gasp.

Reyes.

“What is it?” Reyes asked.

“How did you get my number?”

Nic shook her head slowly, putting the pieces in place. “What if she saw my

She shrugged, again looking between the two of them. It was an easy

mother because she was involved in her disappearance? Maybe someone from

question. The answer should have rolled off her tongue.

Hastings is involved as well—with her. It could be anything—maybe they

It was Reyes who answered. “Was it Mrs. Urbansky?”

helped her get to Laguna but don’t want to be implicated. Or maybe something

It was Reyes who answered. “Was it Mrs. Urbansky?”

helped her get to Laguna but don’t want to be implicated. Or maybe something

“Is that the woman at the police department?”

else . . . there’s money at stake even if she’s not found alive—five hundred

“Yes,” Nic said.

thousand dollars. And the note—what if it really is a forgery?”

“Right. That’s it. Sorry. That’s not an easy name to remember.”

“Okay, stop right there.”

They said their goodbyes. Edith Moore left. Nic and Reyes got back in his

“What if they hurt her?” Nic’s voice started to tremble.

car.

Reyes tried to talk her down, off this ledge.

“What was that about?” Nic asked. “The way you grilled her.”

“Listen—there’s a reason she doesn’t want to come clean about why she was

Reyes drove back onto Hastings Pass, heading into town.

here, but it doesn’t have to be something like that. People lie for all kinds of

“She’s lying. She never went to New York. She was never driving home.”

reasons.”

“Maybe she was at the casino. Maybe she didn’t want her boyfriend to know.

Reyes placed his hands squarely on her shoulders. “This is about the money.

She said she lives with him, right?” Nic threw out scenarios but they sounded Nothing else. Edith Moore saw your mother and now she wants to play her

unlikely, even to her.

lottery ticket. Look, we have new leads now—not just the truck, but the taillight Reyes hit the gas harder.

and the reason Edith Moore lied.”

“Look—I don’t want to dick you around like everyone else. This woman is

“And you’ll follow them?”

lying. Her E-ZPass records show her on the New York State Thruway the day

Reyes shrugged. “I’ll do my best. The chief, well, I may have some

before the storm, getting off at the exit that leads to Route 7. It’s not the fastest convincing to do there.”

way to the casino. Only thing that makes sense is that she was headed right here,

“Then I should stay,” Nic said. “Maybe the second I leave is the second the

to Hastings, coming from the north, not the south. She must have spent the

search for Molly Clarke dies a second death.”

night.”

Another shrug. Then, “That’s up to you.”

“Then someone in this town knows her.”

Nic had planned on staying a day at most, just long enough to meet Edith

Reyes continued. “If she’s the reason you came back here and started

Moore. But Reyes was right. Now there were new leads.

looking again, and if you do find your mother, she’ll get the money even if there She turned back to the inn and the diner next to it. Something caught her eye was no truck. It won’t matter—she brought you back.”

in the side-view mirror.

Nic had considered this. “But then why make up the story about the truck? It

“You should get going,” she said. “You probably have work to do.”

would only lead me in a wrong direction, further away from finding my mother.

She reached for the door.

Further away from her getting the money. Why not just say she saw my mother

Reyes stopped her long enough to hand her his card.

—and I know she did because of what she said—about my mother’s purse with

“I’ll follow up on the taillight. If you think of anything, call me.”

the letters.”

Nic studied the card as the question formed in her head. She didn’t want to

Reyes considered this. “So maybe there is a truck with a broken taillight.”

say it out loud, but she needed to know.

They were back at the inn. Nic reached for the door handle, then stopped.

“Do you think she’s dead?”

“You really think she was in Hastings? That she was with someone here the

“No,” he said. “I don’t. Do you really want to know what I think?”

night before the storm, before she left for home?”

“Of course.”

Reyes shrugged. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“I think she’s somewhere safe trying to get through whatever it is she needs Then, a thought that made her gasp.

to get through. I’ve seen it before. The stats support it. Her story supports it. The

“What is it?” Reyes asked.

evidence supports it. But I also think we can find her. And I will help you any Nic shook her head slowly, putting the pieces in place. “What if she saw my way I can.”

mother because she was involved in her disappearance? Maybe someone from

Reyes looked at her in a way that reached right into those hollow spaces and Hastings is involved as well—with her. It could be anything—maybe they

filled them up, just a little. A little dose of intoxication.

helped her get to Laguna but don’t want to be implicated. Or maybe something

filled them up, just a little. A little dose of intoxication.

helped her get to Laguna but don’t want to be implicated. Or maybe something She waited for him to drive off, taking a few steps toward the diner. When he else . . . there’s money at stake even if she’s not found alive—five hundred was gone, she turned and looked across the street.

thousand dollars. And the note—what if it really is a forgery?”

At the bar.

“Okay, stop right there.”

And the bartender who was opening the door.

“What if they hurt her?” Nic’s voice started to tremble.

Reyes tried to talk her down, off this ledge.

“Listen—there’s a reason she doesn’t want to come clean about why she was

here, but it doesn’t have to be something like that. People lie for all kinds of reasons.”

Reyes placed his hands squarely on her shoulders. “This is about the money.

Nothing else. Edith Moore saw your mother and now she wants to play her

lottery ticket. Look, we have new leads now—not just the truck, but the taillight and the reason Edith Moore lied.”

“And you’ll follow them?”

Reyes shrugged. “I’ll do my best. The chief, well, I may have some

convincing to do there.”

“Then I should stay,” Nic said. “Maybe the second I leave is the second the

search for Molly Clarke dies a second death.”

Another shrug. Then, “That’s up to you.”

Nic had planned on staying a day at most, just long enough to meet Edith

Moore. But Reyes was right. Now there were new leads.

She turned back to the inn and the diner next to it. Something caught her eye in the side-view mirror.

“You should get going,” she said. “You probably have work to do.”

She reached for the door.

Reyes stopped her long enough to hand her his card.

“I’ll follow up on the taillight. If you think of anything, call me.”

Nic studied the card as the question formed in her head. She didn’t want to

say it out loud, but she needed to know.

“Do you think she’s dead?”

“No,” he said. “I don’t. Do you really want to know what I think?”

“Of course.”

“I think she’s somewhere safe trying to get through whatever it is she needs to get through. I’ve seen it before. The stats support it. Her story supports it. The evidence supports it. But I also think we can find her. And I will help you any way I can.”

Reyes looked at her in a way that reached right into those hollow spaces and filled them up, just a little. A little dose of intoxication.

filled them up, just a little. A little dose of intoxication.

She waited for him to drive off, taking a few steps toward the diner. When he was gone, she turned and looked across the street.

At the bar.

And the bartender who was opening the door.

Chapter Nine

Day two

Alice watches me from the window as I walk down the driveway. The

packed dirt is dry in places from the morning sun, but also littered with potholes that overflow with water from the storm. I scuffle more than walk because the boots slip down when I lift each foot. I make tracks in the dirt. I get stuck in the mud. I move quickly in spite of everything.

The driveway is no longer than a third of a mile. I counted the seconds as we drove it last night, the odometer just under thirty miles per hour. I pray I’m right.

The house sits on a sloping hill and when I reach the top and begin to

descend, I turn to wave at Alice, to reassure her that I am just out for some air. I see her smile and wave back, and when she finally falls from sight, I take off the boots and start to run.

I run down the driveway until I reach the gate. I pray that he forgot to replace the chain, or that he didn’t feel the need to. I tell myself that I am crazy and that he only locks the gate to protect Alice when she stays here alone. I delude

myself just long enough to reach the chains, finding them locked. I pull on them furiously, knowing they won’t release. Knowing it’s futile.

I have to hold it together now. I have to be methodical. Time is precious.

I inspect the gates and the chain and the lock that holds them. I have scissors and a small kitchen knife. The gate is strong and the lock secure. I remind

myself that this is the main point of entry. This is the place least likely to be vulnerable.

I look right and left. On both sides, the fence disappears into a dense tree line. I choose right because I remember turning left into the driveway.

Somewhere to the right is the way back to town. This is all I have to work with.

It’s entirely possible that he drove us in circles and that the town is closer to the left. It is possible we are nowhere near the town. We made so many turns.

Still, I have to decide. I have to move.

I step into the ungroomed woods and am thankful for the boots. I stop long

enough to put them back onto my frozen feet. The ground harbors the sharp

edges of fallen branches and protruding roots. It is uneven and soaking wet. The

edges of fallen branches and protruding roots. It is uneven and soaking wet. The water is cold in spite of the sun.

The fence is wire. It is woven in small squares and is about eight feet high.

At the top is coiled barbed wire. But that is the least of my concerns. The wire at the top is thin and I think I could cut through it. I can cut the barbed wire at the top, and I can jump to the other side. What I cannot do is climb to the top.

The holes are too small for the boots to fit, and every inch of the wire has barbs. They are smaller, almost invisible. But when I run my finger across a Day two

piece of it, my skins catches and starts to bleed. Little, tiny metal barbs

Alice watches me from the window as I walk down the driveway. The

embedded in every inch of this fence that goes on for miles it seems.

packed dirt is dry in places from the morning sun, but also littered with potholes Surrounding this property. This fortress.

that overflow with water from the storm. I scuffle more than walk because the Why?

boots slip down when I lift each foot. I make tracks in the dirt. I get stuck in the The question has no answer that does not terrify me.

mud. I move quickly in spite of everything.

Alice said her first mommy died in these woods.

The driveway is no longer than a third of a mile. I counted the seconds as we But now I think her first mommy died trying to escape. I wonder if the same

drove it last night, the odometer just under thirty miles per hour. I pray I’m right. words were in her head. Just walk away. I wonder if they lead her to her death.

The house sits on a sloping hill and when I reach the top and begin to

And now I wonder where they’ve led me.

descend, I turn to wave at Alice, to reassure her that I am just out for some air. I No. I can’t wonder. Not about anything. I have work to do.

see her smile and wave back, and when she finally falls from sight, I take off the I can cut the wire, or saw through it. But it is thicker than at the top and will boots and start to run.

take time. As I walk along, pushing aside the branches of small trees, climbing I run down the driveway until I reach the gate. I pray that he forgot to replaceover the roots of larger ones, my face stings from the ones I miss that snap back the chain, or that he didn’t feel the need to. I tell myself that I am crazy and that and scratch my skin. I think about the least number of cuts I will need to make in he only locks the gate to protect Alice when she stays here alone. I delude

the wire to create an opening. Four up, four across. Then I can fold it along the myself just long enough to reach the chains, finding them locked. I pull on them midline, making a triangle flap large enough to slide through. I will put the boots furiously, knowing they won’t release. Knowing it’s futile.

on my hands and use them to push against the wire, to protect myself from the I have to hold it together now. I have to be methodical. Time is precious.

barbs.

I inspect the gates and the chain and the lock that holds them. I have scissors Where do I stop? Where do I begin to cut this fence?

and a small kitchen knife. The gate is strong and the lock secure. I remind

My legs want to keep moving. My mind tells me to run. It is instinct but

myself that this is the main point of entry. This is the place least likely to be instinct is not always smart. I could run and run and end up right back at the vulnerable.

gate, having made a circle and gone nowhere. I fight against the instinct. I will I look right and left. On both sides, the fence disappears into a dense tree only walk until I see something on the other side of the fence that will help me line. I choose right because I remember turning left into the driveway.

once I cut my way through.

Somewhere to the right is the way back to town. This is all I have to work with.

* * *

It’s entirely possible that he drove us in circles and that the town is closer to the I don’t know how much time passes. I feel tired. My legs ache from pulling

left. It is possible we are nowhere near the town. We made so many turns.

the boots that want to fall from my feet. I am cold from air that is damp in the Still, I have to decide. I have to move.

woods. The leaves and bushes are wet from the rain, and they rub against me and I step into the ungroomed woods and am thankful for the boots. I stop long

soak through these clothes I wear. My cheeks burn from the cold.

enough to put them back onto my frozen feet. The ground harbors the sharp

As I walk, my mind wanders. I think about John. I think about us years ago

edges of fallen branches and protruding roots. It is uneven and soaking wet. The when we’d only just met. When we were two young lovers with all of life in

edges of fallen branches and protruding roots. It is uneven and soaking wet. The when we’d only just met. When we were two young lovers with all of life in water is cold in spite of the sun.

front of us. And that’s what we were—lovers in every possible way. I loved him The fence is wire. It is woven in small squares and is about eight feet high.

like I had never loved any man. I loved the things about him that drove other At the top is coiled barbed wire. But that is the least of my concerns. The wire at people crazy. He could be far too serious, too honest, too earnest. He was the top is thin and I think I could cut through it. I can cut the barbed wire at the desperate to be a good man. I loved his desperation. I loved that I could ease it top, and I can jump to the other side. What I cannot do is climb to the top.

just by lying beside him.

The holes are too small for the boots to fit, and every inch of the wire has We met at a deli on the campus where we both went to graduate school. He

barbs. They are smaller, almost invisible. But when I run my finger across a was studying business. I was getting my master’s degree. He was a customer. I piece of it, my skins catches and starts to bleed. Little, tiny metal barbs

worked behind the counter. I wore a bright blue apron and he told me it was the embedded in every inch of this fence that goes on for miles it seems.

color of my eyes, which made me blush. He had ordered chicken salad, but I was Surrounding this property. This fortress.

so flustered by him, his charm and good looks and the way he’d noticed my

Why?

eyes, that I gave him tuna. He came back later that day to tell me. But he didn’t The question has no answer that does not terrify me.

want a new sandwich. He wanted to take me hiking.

Alice said her first mommy died in these woods.

We liked to walk in the woods, just like this. We would hike from March

until November, cold, hot—it didn’t matter. We would drive up to the

mountains. And we would hike until we felt our legs ache and our heads grow

dizzy with endorphins. And then we would return to our little room at the bed and breakfast and make love, furiously. Passionately.

I can cut the wire, or saw through it. But it is thicker than at the top and will I loved him. But that was before.

take time. As I walk along, pushing aside the branches of small trees, climbing Now there’s a line that divides the before from the after. Before our child

over the roots of larger ones, my face stings from the ones I miss that snap back died. After our child died. The love doesn’t dare try to cross, to try to navigate and scratch my skin. I think about the least number of cuts I will need to make in the new people we have become. Not much of me is left. I wonder how much of the wire to create an opening. Four up, four across. Then I can fold it along the John is still there. The earnestness I always adored, the man who always wanted midline, making a triangle flap large enough to slide through. I will put the boots to do good and be good, now feels rigid. A man who must live by the strictest on my hands and use them to push against the wire, to protect myself from the rules of behavior. Maybe it keeps him from having to think or feel. He still says I barbs.

love you but that’s a lie. Lying is against the rules, isn’t it? And what about the Where do I stop? Where do I begin to cut this fence?

other woman he now loves?

My legs want to keep moving. My mind tells me to run. It is instinct but

Maybe I don’t know the new rules. Maybe I don’t know John anymore.

instinct is not always smart. I could run and run and end up right back at the The love won’t cross the line to find out.

gate, having made a circle and gone nowhere. I fight against the instinct. I will I think about the man in this house with his dead wife and his child. I think only walk until I see something on the other side of the fence that will help me about the odd rules they keep. The secrets.

once I cut my way through.

The wondering returns as I walk.

* * *

How do they know about me? About my family? That I would be driving on

I don’t know how much time passes. I feel tired. My legs ache from pulling Route 7 last night, in the storm? Or did they? Alice never leaves the house. She the boots that want to fall from my feet. I am cold from air that is damp in the plays out her fantasies with her dolls. Maybe that’s all this is. A fantasy.

woods. The leaves and bushes are wet from the rain, and they rub against me and I told her about my family before she said she knew. Maybe she was lying.

soak through these clothes I wear. My cheeks burn from the cold.

She said she was nine. Did I tell her how old Annie was? God, I can’t

As I walk, my mind wanders. I think about John. I think about us years ago remember!

when we’d only just met. When we were two young lovers with all of life in

remember!

when we’d only just met. When we were two young lovers with all of life in

I walk and walk until I see something on the other side of the fence. It makes front of us. And that’s what we were—lovers in every possible way. I loved him me stop. I close my eyes and breathe it in. Fire. Smoke. Burning wood. I open like I had never loved any man. I loved the things about him that drove other my eyes and see it again—the white plumes rising in the sky. A house or factory, people crazy. He could be far too serious, too honest, too earnest. He was

maybe. Someplace with a furnace. Or someone burning brush in the yard,

desperate to be a good man. I loved his desperation. I loved that I could ease it although it seems too wet for that. More likely a furnace or fireplace.

just by lying beside him.

It is, at the very least, a sign of life. A sign of people. People who might help We met at a deli on the campus where we both went to graduate school. He me. A place to run. A place to hide.

was studying business. I was getting my master’s degree. He was a customer. I I tell myself to stop. I kneel down into the wet debris and take out the

worked behind the counter. I wore a bright blue apron and he told me it was the scissors. I take out the knife. And I go to work.

color of my eyes, which made me blush. He had ordered chicken salad, but I was

* * *

so flustered by him, his charm and good looks and the way he’d noticed my

More time passes. My fingers are sore from cutting. I have only cut through

eyes, that I gave him tuna. He came back later that day to tell me. But he didn’t three wires. The barbs make it hard to hold steady. The scissors slip. The knife want a new sandwich. He wanted to take me hiking.

won’t stay in one groove. I have to saw and cut slowly. Carefully. I can’t steady We liked to walk in the woods, just like this. We would hike from March

the wire without cutting my fingers. My hands are cold and my tools slip from until November, cold, hot—it didn’t matter. We would drive up to the

them. Over and over. They slip out and fall to the ground. I blow on my fingers mountains. And we would hike until we felt our legs ache and our heads grow

desperately. I need to warm them up. I need to ease the muscles so they can hold dizzy with endorphins. And then we would return to our little room at the bed my tools.

and breakfast and make love, furiously. Passionately.

Please. One more cut up. Four more to the side . . .

I loved him. But that was before.

* * *

A voice calls out. It tells me to stop. It asks me where I am.

I stand quickly and move away from the fence, leaving my tools in the

leaves. Leaving my work behind me. I walk furiously away from the fence, into the woods. Away from the smoke and fire and the people who can help me. I

have been picturing them. I have been seeing their faces as they fold me in

I blankets and call my family. As they call the police and break through the gates of this insanity and discover Alice and the man and put a stop to it, whatever it is. Tears fall as I leave them behind. I will find a place to hide. Somewhere in Maybe I don’t know the new rules. Maybe I don’t know John anymore.

these woods. And then I will return to my work. To my cutting. I will not stop The love won’t cross the line to find out.

until I reach my saviors.

I think about the man in this house with his dead wife and his child. I think I walk carefully, but the dead brush snaps and pops beneath my feet. I get far about the odd rules they keep. The secrets.

enough away from the fence that it is out of sight. And then I hide. I find a large The wondering returns as I walk.

tree and I sit on the other side of its trunk from the voice that grows closer.

How do they know about me? About my family? That I would be driving on

And when the voice stops, I hear only the footsteps. The same snaps and

Route 7 last night, in the storm? Or did they? Alice never leaves the house. She pops that my body had made, only louder and stronger. And then everything plays out her fantasies with her dolls. Maybe that’s all this is. A fantasy.

stops, except the sound of metal on metal.

I told her about my family before she said she knew. Maybe she was lying.

“What are you doing?” the voice asks.

She said she was nine. Did I tell her how old Annie was? God, I can’t

I look around the tree. The man is there and he holds a shotgun.

remember!

I stand but say nothing. I cannot manage to speak.

remember!

I stand but say nothing. I cannot manage to speak.

I walk and walk until I see something on the other side of the fence. It makes

“You could get hurt out here,” he says. “You could get killed.”

me stop. I close my eyes and breathe it in. Fire. Smoke. Burning wood. I open I stare at him as my body trembles. I pray he can’t see the blisters that are my eyes and see it again—the white plumes rising in the sky. A house or factory,forming on my hands.

maybe. Someplace with a furnace. Or someone burning brush in the yard,

“Didn’t Alice tell you about the bears?”

although it seems too wet for that. More likely a furnace or fireplace.

I shake my head. I study his face. He looks dismayed. He looks concerned,

It is, at the very least, a sign of life. A sign of people. People who might help the way a person would, given the situation. The bears. His face becomes a me. A place to run. A place to hide.

mirror, reflecting back to me my own insanity. How ridiculous I must appear.

I tell myself to stop. I kneel down into the wet debris and take out the

Have I let the fantasy of a little girl scare me into a frenzy?

scissors. I take out the knife. And I go to work.

He looks around us, swinging the shotgun. Then he sets it against the tree

* * *

and gives me his hand, helping me to my feet. His grip is gentle and his face

More time passes. My fingers are sore from cutting. I have only cut through holds a smile. It’s the smile of a person trying to help a crazy person out of her three wires. The barbs make it hard to hold steady. The scissors slip. The knife craziness. He coaxes me and I begin to settle. What caused me to lose control of won’t stay in one groove. I have to saw and cut slowly. Carefully. I can’t steady my senses? Alice said they followed me from the gas station. She knew about the wire without cutting my fingers. My hands are cold and my tools slip from my family. But maybe that was all in her mind. Maybe they just saw me there.

them. Over and over. They slip out and fall to the ground. I blow on my fingers Maybe I told her first and she only pretended to know how old Annie was.

desperately. I need to warm them up. I need to ease the muscles so they can hold I consider that my thoughts are not normal. That the death of my child has

my tools.

carved paths inside my head that always lead to the darkest scenarios. Paranoia.

Please. One more cut up. Four more to the side . . .

It happened once. It could happen again. Horror.

* * *

But life is almost never horror. It can feel horrible. It can seem horrible. But A voice calls out. It tells me to stop. It asks me where I am.

not like this. Not this kind of crazy horror.

I stand quickly and move away from the fence, leaving my tools in the

“I’m sorry,” I say then, meeting his eyes. “I got lost and then I panicked. I leaves. Leaving my work behind me. I walk furiously away from the fence, into should have stayed in the house.”

the woods. Away from the smoke and fire and the people who can help me. I

“No harm done. But come on now,” he says. “If we hurry, there might be

have been picturing them. I have been seeing their faces as they fold me in

time to get you back to town.”

blankets and call my family. As they call the police and break through the gates I want to throw my arms around him and thank him. He’s not going to shoot

of this insanity and discover Alice and the man and put a stop to it, whatever it me. He’s not going to kill me. He’s going to take me to town.

is. Tears fall as I leave them behind. I will find a place to hide. Somewhere in Of course he is. I have had crazy thoughts and now I want to thank him for

these woods. And then I will return to my work. To my cutting. I will not stop returning me to reality.

until I reach my saviors.

I almost bounce like Alice as I follow him back to the house.

I walk carefully, but the dead brush snaps and pops beneath my feet. I get far enough away from the fence that it is out of sight. And then I hide. I find a large tree and I sit on the other side of its trunk from the voice that grows closer.

And when the voice stops, I hear only the footsteps. The same snaps and

pops that my body had made, only louder and stronger. And then everything

stops, except the sound of metal on metal.

“What are you doing?” the voice asks.

I look around the tree. The man is there and he holds a shotgun.

I stand but say nothing. I cannot manage to speak.

I stand but say nothing. I cannot manage to speak.

“You could get hurt out here,” he says. “You could get killed.”

I stare at him as my body trembles. I pray he can’t see the blisters that are forming on my hands.

“Didn’t Alice tell you about the bears?”

I shake my head. I study his face. He looks dismayed. He looks concerned,

the way a person would, given the situation. The bears. His face becomes a

mirror, reflecting back to me my own insanity. How ridiculous I must appear.

Have I let the fantasy of a little girl scare me into a frenzy?

He looks around us, swinging the shotgun. Then he sets it against the tree

and gives me his hand, helping me to my feet. His grip is gentle and his face holds a smile. It’s the smile of a person trying to help a crazy person out of her craziness. He coaxes me and I begin to settle. What caused me to lose control of my senses? Alice said they followed me from the gas station. She knew about

my family. But maybe that was all in her mind. Maybe they just saw me there.

Maybe I told her first and she only pretended to know how old Annie was.

I consider that my thoughts are not normal. That the death of my child has

carved paths inside my head that always lead to the darkest scenarios. Paranoia.

It happened once. It could happen again. Horror.

But life is almost never horror. It can feel horrible. It can seem horrible. But not like this. Not this kind of crazy horror.

“I’m sorry,” I say then, meeting his eyes. “I got lost and then I panicked. I should have stayed in the house.”

“No harm done. But come on now,” he says. “If we hurry, there might be

time to get you back to town.”

I want to throw my arms around him and thank him. He’s not going to shoot

me. He’s not going to kill me. He’s going to take me to town.

Of course he is. I have had crazy thoughts and now I want to thank him for

returning me to reality.

I almost bounce like Alice as I follow him back to the house.

Chapter Ten

Day fourteen

The bartender.

Nic could not remember his name, but she remembered other things about

him. Like the calm in his voice, and the surrender in his eyes.

She remembered things about his story as well. A drug-addicted mother.

Absent father. Little sister to care for.

He could have gone to college. But he stayed to work—here, and at the Gas n’ Go. Anything he could get. His sister was young. Or maybe that was all wrong. Maybe he was older and years had passed since his sister was young and he’d had to support her. Maybe he was still here because the other ships had all sailed.

Nic did remember that he seemed kind. That she liked the way he smelled

when she kissed his neck. That he had a heavy pour. Traces of remorse still

lingered from that night, the way they always did.

She crossed the street. He didn’t see her as he finished opening the doors,

turning on the neon sign that hung in the window.

She pulled on the door. A string of bells jingled. He was taking chairs down from tables and he turned at the sound.

“Hey,” he said. He looked surprised, his body frozen, eyes wide.

Nic smiled spontaneously. It had been a long time since her face had held

this expression. It felt awkward, even as a wave of warmth was released from the pull of her cheeks.

“Hi,” she said.

“You’re back?” He put down the last chair and walked behind the bar. It was

hard not to read into this, how he did not greet her in a more personal manner.

And how he chose to put the bar between them.

“I am,” she answered. “There was a new tip about my mother.” She walked

to the bar, took a seat on a stool across from where he stood on the other side.

He asked about the tip and she told him—about the woman and the truck and

how they’d just gone to meet her, Nic and Officer Reyes, and did he know

Reyes, and of course he did. Everyone knows everyone else in this town. He

Reyes, and of course he did. Everyone knows everyone else in this town. He wiped the already clean counter with a bar towel as they spoke. He was nervous.

Something about her return had him unsettled.

“Want a drink?” he asked.

“It’s a little early,” she answered.

She said it as though the thought hadn’t nearly consumed her mind.

“Kurt,” the bartender said abruptly.

He poured her a glass of water.

Day fourteen

“My name,” he continued. “Kurt Kent—and please don’t make a joke. I’ve

The bartender.

heard them all.”

Nic could not remember his name, but she remembered other things about

Nic drank the water as her cheeks flushed.

him. Like the calm in his voice, and the surrender in his eyes.

“I feel like I have would have remembered that name.”

She remembered things about his story as well. A drug-addicted mother.

“You never asked.”

Absent father. Little sister to care for.

“Yeah,” Nic replied. And then, “Sorry. I was a bit of a mess.”

Kurt leaned back against the other side of the bar, arms crossed, that look of surrender in his eyes as he smiled slightly.

“Understandable.”

“Not really,” Nic replied. “I was here to search for my mother and I spent

every night closing down this bar.”

Nic did remember that he seemed kind. That she liked the way he smelled

He started to make excuses for her, people handle fear differently, don’t be when she kissed his neck. That he had a heavy pour. Traces of remorse still

so hard on yourself, it wasn’t that bad. . . . But it had been that bad.

lingered from that night, the way they always did.

Vodka had not been able to settle her that night, the night after they found She crossed the street. He didn’t see her as he finished opening the doors,

the note and everyone decided her mother had left them. Had walked away. The turning on the neon sign that hung in the window.

shock of this had gutted the hollow spaces. It made her cringe to remember now, She pulled on the door. A string of bells jingled. He was taking chairs down with him standing before her. How she’d pulled him to the back of the bar, from tables and he turned at the sound.

kissed him until he’d kissed her back. Thank God they hadn’t been alone.

“Hey,” he said. He looked surprised, his body frozen, eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” Nic said now. She buried her face in the palms of her hands.

Nic smiled spontaneously. It had been a long time since her face had held

“Don’t be sorry. It takes two, you know?” There it was—that calm voice.

this expression. It felt awkward, even as a wave of warmth was released from theThe kindness.

pull of her cheeks.

“So what’s next?” he asked her. “How long are you staying?”

“Hi,” she said.

Nic unburied her face and opened her eyes to look at him. “I don’t know,”

“You’re back?” He put down the last chair and walked behind the bar. It was she said.

hard not to read into this, how he did not greet her in a more personal manner.

“Are the police getting involved again?” he asked.

And how he chose to put the bar between them.

“They said they would. What do you think? Reyes seems on top of things.”

“I am,” she answered. “There was a new tip about my mother.” She walked

“That’s one way to put it.”

to the bar, took a seat on a stool across from where he stood on the other side.

The sarcasm in Kurt’s voice was unmistakable.

He asked about the tip and she told him—about the woman and the truck and

“What do you mean?”

how they’d just gone to meet her, Nic and Officer Reyes, and did he know

“I’ve never seen him disappoint a damsel in distress.”

Reyes, and of course he did. Everyone knows everyone else in this town. He

“Yeah—I kind of got that about him. Lots of eyes linger when he’s around.”

Reyes, and of course he did. Everyone knows everyone else in this town. He

“Yeah—I kind of got that about him. Lots of eyes linger when he’s around.”

wiped the already clean counter with a bar towel as they spoke. He was nervous.

Kurt moved closer now, elbows on the counter, leaning forward. Nic could

Something about her return had him unsettled.

smell his cologne, or soap, something, and it pulled from a far corner of her

“Want a drink?” he asked.

mind the feel of his hands on the small of her back, then tangled in her hair.

“It’s a little early,” she answered.

“You noticed, huh? Most women don’t. Until the next day when he doesn’t

She said it as though the thought hadn’t nearly consumed her mind.

call.”

“Kurt,” the bartender said abruptly.

Kurt the bartender was not that kind of man, and he brought her back,

He poured her a glass of water.

somehow, to the time before. Across that invisible line to the time when life was

“My name,” he continued. “Kurt Kent—and please don’t make a joke. I’ve

just life. When her future was nothing but opportunities and the quiet faith that heard them all.”

her family would remain as it was. Happy, even when Evan and Annie were

Nic drank the water as her cheeks flushed.

fighting over something trivial, when her parents were hovering over them. Her

“I feel like I have would have remembered that name.”

father wasn’t perfect—he could be demanding and rigid. But they knew he loved

“You never asked.”

them.

“Yeah,” Nic replied. And then, “Sorry. I was a bit of a mess.”

And how he had adored their mother. It was in his eyes, the way he admired

Kurt leaned back against the other side of the bar, arms crossed, that look of her idealism, her passion for her students. They had a special anniversary the surrender in his eyes as he smiled slightly.

first Tuesday in August, the facts of which they kept a secret between them. Her

“Understandable.”

father always bought her something blue. She always made him a chicken salad

“Not really,” Nic replied. “I was here to search for my mother and I spent

sandwich. They shooed away the children into another room and sat alone,

every night closing down this bar.”

drinking wine and laughing. They did this every year before Annie died.

On the other side of that line was also her mother—soft on the outside, but

strong on the inside. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for them, her children.

Vodka had not been able to settle her that night, the night after they found Molly Clarke had never missed a cross country meet or talent show. Or football the note and everyone decided her mother had left them. Had walked away. The game. She’d crawled into bed with them when they were sick or had nightmares.

shock of this had gutted the hollow spaces. It made her cringe to remember now, She had been the definition of home, the embodiment of family. A sacred with him standing before her. How she’d pulled him to the back of the bar,

symbol of the most primal human connection. Mother and child. How ironic that kissed him until he’d kissed her back. Thank God they hadn’t been alone.

it had been her dedication that left one of them dead.

“I’m sorry,” Nic said now. She buried her face in the palms of her hands.

Nic had thought of her family as special. Idyllic. Perfect. Maybe Annie had

“Don’t be sorry. It takes two, you know?” There it was—that calm voice.

been her punishment.

The kindness.

Kurt the bartender. He had pulled her back across that line to a time when

“So what’s next?” he asked her. “How long are you staying?”

the men she chose, the boys then, were the kind ones.

Nic unburied her face and opened her eyes to look at him. “I don’t know,”

Kurt busied himself with another task. “So was she helpful?”

she said.

“I don’t know,” Nic answered. “Reyes thinks she might be lying. Something

“Are the police getting involved again?” he asked.

about her E-ZPass records and her story about coming from New York City.

“They said they would. What do you think? Reyes seems on top of things.” Thinks she might be after the reward money.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Oh yeah?” Kurt asked. “Makes sense. It is strange she waited so long. What

The sarcasm in Kurt’s voice was unmistakable.

did you say her name was?”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t—it’s Edith Moore. Lives in Schenectady.”

“I’ve never seen him disappoint a damsel in distress.”

Kurt’s face grew still. “Edith—kind of an older woman’s name, right? Is

“Yeah—I kind of got that about him. Lots of eyes linger when he’s around.”

Kurt’s face grew still. “Edith—kind of an older woman’s name, right? Is

“Yeah—I kind of got that about him. Lots of eyes linger when he’s around.” she?”

Kurt moved closer now, elbows on the counter, leaning forward. Nic could

“Is she what?”

smell his cologne, or soap, something, and it pulled from a far corner of her

“Older?”

mind the feel of his hands on the small of her back, then tangled in her hair.

Nic shrugged. “Older than we are. Younger than my mother. Why—did you

“You noticed, huh? Most women don’t. Until the next day when he doesn’t see someone from out of town that night? Before you closed the bar?”

call.”

Kurt looked up at the ceiling as though deep in thought. His hand moved to

Kurt the bartender was not that kind of man, and he brought her back,

his chin. His actions seemed exaggerated, like he was overselling his

somehow, to the time before. Across that invisible line to the time when life was contemplation.

just life. When her future was nothing but opportunities and the quiet faith that

“Don’t think so. But I also closed up pretty early.”

her family would remain as it was. Happy, even when Evan and Annie were

She asked another question, her eyes fixed on his face now so she could

fighting over something trivial, when her parents were hovering over them. Her assess his reaction.

father wasn’t perfect—he could be demanding and rigid. But they knew he loved

“But you’ve never heard of her? Edith Moore?”

them.

Kurt took her glass and put it in the sink. He wiped the water ring from the And how he had adored their mother. It was in his eyes, the way he admired counter.

her idealism, her passion for her students. They had a special anniversary the

“Nah,” he said. His voice was steady. His expression giving nothing away.

first Tuesday in August, the facts of which they kept a secret between them. Her Still, something was off.

father always bought her something blue. She always made him a chicken salad

“I should go.” Nic climbed down from the stool, pushed it back in.

sandwich. They shooed away the children into another room and sat alone,

But Kurt stopped her. “Hey,” he said. “Did you ever follow up on that girl?”

drinking wine and laughing. They did this every year before Annie died.

“What girl?”

On the other side of that line was also her mother—soft on the outside, but

“The girl who disappeared ten years ago.”

strong on the inside. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for them, her children.

She tried to find a trace of a memory but there was nothing. “No. Did you

Molly Clarke had never missed a cross country meet or talent show. Or football tell me the last time I was here?”

game. She’d crawled into bed with them when they were sick or had nightmares.

“Yeah.”

She had been the definition of home, the embodiment of family. A sacred

“Can you tell me again?”

symbol of the most primal human connection. Mother and child. How ironic that Kurt waved his hand dismissively, now that he had her full attention. Now

it had been her dedication that left one of them dead.

that Edith Moore and the story of the truck had been pushed aside.

Nic had thought of her family as special. Idyllic. Perfect. Maybe Annie had

“It’s probably not related. She was young, like nineteen. Local girl. Grew up been her punishment.

in Hastings. People thought she disappeared but then it turned out she left on her own. Didn’t want her boyfriend to follow her. She wrote to him after a while, but I remember people thinking something bad happened.”

Kurt busied himself with another task. “So was she helpful?”

“Did she ever come back?”

“I don’t know,” Nic answered. “Reyes thinks she might be lying. Something

“Would you?”

about her E-ZPass records and her story about coming from New York City.

“Fair enough.”

Thinks she might be after the reward money.”

“I guess she was trying to get away—from Hastings. Maybe from her

“Oh yeah?” Kurt asked. “Makes sense. It is strange she waited so long. What boyfriend. Or both. I didn’t know her that well.”

did you say her name was?”

Nic was more than curious now. “Which do you think it was?” she asked.

“I didn’t—it’s Edith Moore. Lives in Schenectady.”

“Running from the town or from a man?”

Kurt’s face grew still. “Edith—kind of an older woman’s name, right? Is

Kurt shrugged. “I’ve got no idea.”

Kurt’s face grew still. “Edith—kind of an older woman’s name, right? Is Kurt shrugged. “I’ve got no idea.”

she?”

She looked at him until he met her eyes.

“Is she what?”

“Who would know?”

“Older?”

“Just one person I can think of,” he answered. “Her sister.”

Nic shrugged. “Older than we are. Younger than my mother. Why—did you

“Where can I find her?” There was something about this that had her full

see someone from out of town that night? Before you closed the bar?”

attention. Another woman who’d disappeared, assumed to have walked away.

Kurt looked up at the ceiling as though deep in thought. His hand moved to

Kurt glanced out the window, across the street at the inn, then back at her.

his chin. His actions seemed exaggerated, like he was overselling his

“I’ll take you,” he said. “After my shift.”

contemplation.

“Don’t think so. But I also closed up pretty early.”

She asked another question, her eyes fixed on his face now so she could

assess his reaction.

“But you’ve never heard of her? Edith Moore?”

Kurt took her glass and put it in the sink. He wiped the water ring from the counter.

“Nah,” he said. His voice was steady. His expression giving nothing away.

Still, something was off.

“I should go.” Nic climbed down from the stool, pushed it back in.

But Kurt stopped her. “Hey,” he said. “Did you ever follow up on that girl?”

“What girl?”

“The girl who disappeared ten years ago.”

She tried to find a trace of a memory but there was nothing. “No. Did you

tell me the last time I was here?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you tell me again?”

Kurt waved his hand dismissively, now that he had her full attention. Now

that Edith Moore and the story of the truck had been pushed aside.

“It’s probably not related. She was young, like nineteen. Local girl. Grew up in Hastings. People thought she disappeared but then it turned out she left on her own. Didn’t want her boyfriend to follow her. She wrote to him after a while, but I remember people thinking something bad happened.”

“Did she ever come back?”

“Would you?”

“Fair enough.”

“I guess she was trying to get away—from Hastings. Maybe from her

boyfriend. Or both. I didn’t know her that well.”

Nic was more than curious now. “Which do you think it was?” she asked.

“Running from the town or from a man?”

Kurt shrugged. “I’ve got no idea.”

Kurt shrugged. “I’ve got no idea.”

She looked at him until he met her eyes.

“Who would know?”

“Just one person I can think of,” he answered. “Her sister.”

“Where can I find her?” There was something about this that had her full

attention. Another woman who’d disappeared, assumed to have walked away.

Kurt glanced out the window, across the street at the inn, then back at her.

“I’ll take you,” he said. “After my shift.”

Chapter Eleven

Day two

We sit at a small table in the kitchen. It is round and has four chairs. We eat sandwiches. Alice drinks milk. Milk sits before me as well, but I do not drink it.

I should have asked for water, but I did not want to upset Alice. She poured me the milk. I hate milk.

The man drinks a beer. His mood has been the same since we walked back

from the edge of the property. Helpful. Kind.

Alice makes us hold hands because she wants to say grace. I feel my right

hand taken by the man who reaches across the table. I feel my left hand taken by Alice. As she says her prayer, I say my own. I pray that neither of them can feel the blisters on my skin.

“Thank you, Lord, for these blessings. For the food, and the milk,” she says.

Her eyes are closed as she speaks. But then she opens them and looks at me.

“And forgive us for our sins. Amen.”

She was angry when the man brought me back to the house. I had been gone

for well over an hour. I had no idea, and I didn’t care. I wasn’t planning to return. Now I don’t know what to think or feel. I cling to hope.

When we returned, the man brought me more clothes from his dead wife. I

have not seen my clothes since last night, but he told me he put them on an

outside line to dry since the sun was strong today. After dinner, I will offer to retrieve them.

Angry as she was, Alice still offered to give me the mask for my allergies,

but I told her I didn’t need it. I told her I felt pretty good after such a long walk.

This brought a smile to her face. She had been worried about me.

The man brought home lunch. Cold sandwiches and a bag of potato chips.

He said that after we ate he would take me back to town.

The power is still out. The phone still dead. The portable generator is

running the boiler in the basement so we have heat and hot water. It also runs the stove. It has lasted all night and into this afternoon. Even without the gas. But maybe that’s not true. Maybe those cans were full.

Alice swings her legs as she eats. It makes her body bounce and her long hair

Alice swings her legs as she eats. It makes her body bounce and her long hair swoosh from side to side. She wears a pink sweater with purple leggings that are too small. Bunny slippers hang from her swinging feet.

I try to eat. I feel the effects of the exhaustion and hunger and it is not

productive. I hold the sandwich in my sore hand and bring it to my mouth.

Chew. Swallow. But I am anxious to be done. I want to go to town and see for myself the things I’ve been told.

First, my car was not on the side of the road. He thinks it probably got towed Day two

somewhere. Everything is shut down and the police are too busy to check on it.

We sit at a small table in the kitchen. It is round and has four chairs. We eat Second, he couldn’t find my purse. He said I must have left it on the side of sandwiches. Alice drinks milk. Milk sits before me as well, but I do not drink it. the road. Or maybe in my car. But I know this is not right. I can still feel it I should have asked for water, but I did not want to upset Alice. She poured me clutched in my hand as I waved down his truck with both arms, over my head.

the milk. I hate milk.

The way I always do when I’m not thinking about it. It registers in my thoughts The man drinks a beer. His mood has been the same since we walked back

because Evan and Nicole find it embarrassing. I reason with myself that some from the edge of the property. Helpful. Kind.

people are not good at finding things, that maybe it is in the truck, under a seat, Alice makes us hold hands because she wants to say grace. I feel my right

and that he just didn’t look hard enough.

hand taken by the man who reaches across the table. I feel my left hand taken by Because, third, he called all the numbers I gave him but no one picked up.

Alice. As she says her prayer, I say my own. I pray that neither of them can feel He left messages for them. John. Nicole. A few friends. He showed me his the blisters on my skin.

phone log—the numbers in black with the little arrow next to them. Then he

“Thank you, Lord, for these blessings. For the food, and the milk,” she says. showed me the voicemail box, which was empty.

Her eyes are closed as she speaks. But then she opens them and looks at me.

I thought that this could not be true. But then I considered that perhaps it is

“And forgive us for our sins. Amen.”

true. Perhaps they didn’t recognize his number and did not pick up. We’ve been She was angry when the man brought me back to the house. I had been gone getting dozens of robocalls lately, and from all different numbers. Maybe there for well over an hour. I had no idea, and I didn’t care. I wasn’t planning to hasn’t been time for them to check their messages.

return. Now I don’t know what to think or feel. I cling to hope.

The man sits back in his chair, legs splayed wide, forearms on the table.

When we returned, the man brought me more clothes from his dead wife. I

After dinner, we will go to town and call my family again. We will stop by

have not seen my clothes since last night, but he told me he put them on an

the police station and ask about my car. I will have my clothes from the line.

outside line to dry since the sun was strong today. After dinner, I will offer to And that will be that.

retrieve them.

“I’m sorry I got lost on my walk,” I say cheerfully. I direct my gaze at Alice Angry as she was, Alice still offered to give me the mask for my allergies,

and smile.

but I told her I didn’t need it. I told her I felt pretty good after such a long walk.

“I didn’t realize there were bears. That’s so scary,” I say. “Do they ever

This brought a smile to her face. She had been worried about me.

come up to the house? I’ve heard they can be very aggressive when they want

The man brought home lunch. Cold sandwiches and a bag of potato chips.

food.”

He said that after we ate he would take me back to town.

Alice looks to the man who nods. Only then does she answer.

The power is still out. The phone still dead. The portable generator is

“One time they went through the garbage. But it might have been raccoons.

running the boiler in the basement so we have heat and hot water. It also runs the They like the garbage too. And they’re so big!”

stove. It has lasted all night and into this afternoon. Even without the gas. But I don’t feel like talking, but I want to be polite. I make my eyes grow wide maybe that’s not true. Maybe those cans were full.

with amazement. “We have big raccoons where we live,” I say. “My husband

Alice swings her legs as she eats. It makes her body bounce and her long hairput a lock on the garbage cans to keep them from coming. They gave up after a

Alice swings her legs as she eats. It makes her body bounce and her long hairput a lock on the garbage cans to keep them from coming. They gave up after a swoosh from side to side. She wears a pink sweater with purple leggings that are while.”

too small. Bunny slippers hang from her swinging feet.

The man’s phone sits on the kitchen counter near his wallet. I glance at it

I try to eat. I feel the effects of the exhaustion and hunger and it is not

now. I have to remind myself that there is nothing to check until we get back in productive. I hold the sandwich in my sore hand and bring it to my mouth.

range. Still, it reminds me that he tried to call and no one answered.

Chew. Swallow. But I am anxious to be done. I want to go to town and see for It was hard to believe without seeing the phone log. I didn’t even have to ask myself the things I’ve been told.

him—I think he knew how unbelievable it was.

First, my car was not on the side of the road. He thinks it probably got towed I’ve been missing for twenty-four hours. They should be glued to their

somewhere. Everything is shut down and the police are too busy to check on it. phones. They should answer every call—even the robocalls now. Wouldn’t Second, he couldn’t find my purse. He said I must have left it on the side of they? Wouldn’t they answer every single call? Even though my husband doesn’t the road. Or maybe in my car. But I know this is not right. I can still feel it love me. Even though my daughter hates me. They would be desperate to find

clutched in my hand as I waved down his truck with both arms, over my head.

me. This sickens me, this thought of my family in despair.

The way I always do when I’m not thinking about it. It registers in my thoughts And now another thought—maybe they don’t know I’m missing. Is that

because Evan and Nicole find it embarrassing. I reason with myself that some possible? That they haven’t even noticed I’m gone?

people are not good at finding things, that maybe it is in the truck, under a seat, I struggle to make conversation.

and that he just didn’t look hard enough.

“I saw smoke when I was lost in the woods. Are we close to the neighbors?”

Because, third, he called all the numbers I gave him but no one picked up.

I ask.

He left messages for them. John. Nicole. A few friends. He showed me his

Alice shrugs like she has no idea. I believe her. My kids never knew how far phone log—the numbers in black with the little arrow next to them. Then he

things were unless they got there themselves, by foot or by bike.

showed me the voicemail box, which was empty.

I stop myself quickly from having this thought. Annie was on foot that day.

I thought that this could not be true. But then I considered that perhaps it is Running to catch the ice cream truck. She’d heard the bells. The jingle. She’d true. Perhaps they didn’t recognize his number and did not pick up. We’ve been heard it pass by and knew where it would stop—on the corner of our street and getting dozens of robocalls lately, and from all different numbers. Maybe there the road that heads to town. Our town. There’s a small park on that corner. The hasn’t been time for them to check their messages.

truck would stop there and kids would come running from the park, lining up to The man sits back in his chair, legs splayed wide, forearms on the table.

buy ice cream. When I was home, I would walk with them. Down the driveway.

After dinner, we will go to town and call my family again. We will stop by

Down the street. I would hold their hands and look for cars coming around the the police station and ask about my car. I will have my clothes from the line.

bend. We would cross the street to the sidewalk.

And that will be that.

But I wasn’t home that day.

“I’m sorry I got lost on my walk,” I say cheerfully. I direct my gaze at Alice

“It’s far,” the man says. “Too far to walk without getting eaten by a bear.” I and smile.

wonder how he can say this when Alice is afraid of the bears.

“I didn’t realize there were bears. That’s so scary,” I say. “Do they ever

“Alice said your wife got lost in the woods,” I tell him. The things Alice told come up to the house? I’ve heard they can be very aggressive when they want

me linger in my thoughts. That’s how my first mommy died.

food.”

The man looks at Alice now. Then back to me.

Alice looks to the man who nods. Only then does she answer.

“It’s true,” he says. But when he hesitates, I know this is a lie he tells for

“One time they went through the garbage. But it might have been raccoons. Alice, and that he knows how ridiculous it sounds. “She went into the woods and They like the garbage too. And they’re so big!”

never came back.” And that was that. His tone has a finality to it and I know to I don’t feel like talking, but I want to be polite. I make my eyes grow wide leave well enough alone. Still—he joked about the bears, didn’t he?

with amazement. “We have big raccoons where we live,” I say. “My husband

put a lock on the garbage cans to keep them from coming. They gave up after a

put a lock on the garbage cans to keep them from coming. They gave up after a Finish lunch. Get to town.

while.”

Alice seems upset by this talk of her first mommy. I wonder if she was

The man’s phone sits on the kitchen counter near his wallet. I glance at it

Alice’s real mother, and if she loved her. Alice is so hungry for love. It’s a now. I have to remind myself that there is nothing to check until we get back in hunger that could swallow a person whole.

range. Still, it reminds me that he tried to call and no one answered.

“It’s not as bad as how your daughter died,” Alice says.

It was hard to believe without seeing the phone log. I didn’t even have to ask The man looks between us, curious.

him—I think he knew how unbelievable it was.

“She was hit by a car. She ran into the street,” she says.

I’ve been missing for twenty-four hours. They should be glued to their

I feel violated but I try not to react. I try not to let my emotions run wild. She phones. They should answer every call—even the robocalls now. Wouldn’t

is just a child.

they? Wouldn’t they answer every single call? Even though my husband doesn’t She is just a child.

love me. Even though my daughter hates me. They would be desperate to find

Alice now strikes at my heart. “You were driving that car,” she says. “That

me. This sickens me, this thought of my family in despair.

means you weren’t a very good mommy.”

And now another thought—maybe they don’t know I’m missing. Is that

My eyes stare at her as she stares at me and I can’t look away. Suddenly I see possible? That they haven’t even noticed I’m gone?

Annie’s face. Annie’s blond hair and blue eyes. Annie’s feet swinging beneath I struggle to make conversation.

the table. And Annie saying those words, the ones she must have been thinking

“I saw smoke when I was lost in the woods. Are we close to the neighbors?” when she felt the impact of the car, hurling metal crushing her bones, sending I ask.

her into the air, her head smashing against the pavement.

Alice shrugs like she has no idea. I believe her. My kids never knew how far That car.

things were unless they got there themselves, by foot or by bike.

My car.

I stop myself quickly from having this thought. Annie was on foot that day.

I hear her voice. My sweet, sweet girl.

Running to catch the ice cream truck. She’d heard the bells. The jingle. She’d You were not a good mommy.

heard it pass by and knew where it would stop—on the corner of our street and No, my darling. I wasn’t. I let you die. I killed you.

the road that heads to town. Our town. There’s a small park on that corner. The I feel tears streak my face. Alice and the man watch me with curiosity and

truck would stop there and kids would come running from the park, lining up to wonder, and I no longer care what happened here. I don’t know what loss buy ice cream. When I was home, I would walk with them. Down the driveway. they’ve suffered and how they know these things about me.

Down the street. I would hold their hands and look for cars coming around the I never told her that I was driving the car.

bend. We would cross the street to the sidewalk.

It is inhuman the way they watch me cry for my dead child.

But I wasn’t home that day.

“Should we clean up and go to town,” I say with a shaky voice. The hope

“It’s far,” the man says. “Too far to walk without getting eaten by a bear.” I that this will happen is fading but I don’t know what to put in its place.

wonder how he can say this when Alice is afraid of the bears.

The man stares at me. Then he says, cheerfully, “Sure.”

“Alice said your wife got lost in the woods,” I tell him. The things Alice told I stand. I gather plates. My hand are full when a distinct sound stuns us all.

From the kitchen counter comes a ringing. The man’s cell phone. A call is

The man looks at Alice now. Then back to me.

coming in. A call reaching this house that he said has no reception.

“It’s true,” he says. But when he hesitates, I know this is a lie he tells for I look at him now with disbelief as the weight of this information bears down Alice, and that he knows how ridiculous it sounds. “She went into the woods andagainst my chest. I can’t breathe.

never came back.” And that was that. His tone has a finality to it and I know to

“Looks like there’s service today,” I say. I wait for a reaction. He is still.

leave well enough alone. Still—he joked about the bears, didn’t he?

There is no expression. The plates are in my hands. I stand between the man and his phone. I shift my weight toward the counter, toward the phone. My feet are

his phone. I shift my weight toward the counter, toward the phone. My feet are still, but he senses something. My intentions. My desperation. My doubt.

Alice seems upset by this talk of her first mommy. I wonder if she was

If there is service in this house, then everything he’s told me could also be a Alice’s real mother, and if she loved her. Alice is so hungry for love. It’s a lie. My car. My purse. The calls to my family. I slide one foot closer to the hunger that could swallow a person whole.

counter, and it’s now that he finally moves.

“It’s not as bad as how your daughter died,” Alice says.

Slowly, he shakes his head back and forth. The shotgun rests, propped

The man looks between us, curious.

against a wall, within his reach. Alice holds a hand over her mouth, containing

“She was hit by a car. She ran into the street,” she says.

her fear. Or is it excitement?

I feel violated but I try not to react. I try not to let my emotions run wild. She I don’t think anymore. I drop the dishes and they crash to the floor. Alice

is just a child.

gasps. The man jumps up.

I lunge for the phone and take it in my hand. I should run but I feel desperate Alice now strikes at my heart. “You were driving that car,” she says. “That

to press that little green circle. Before I do, I am on the floor, the broken plates means you weren’t a very good mommy.”

beneath me, scraping against my back. The man is on top of me, the weight of My eyes stare at her as she stares at me and I can’t look away. Suddenly I seehis body pressing me into the floor. Into the broken shards.

Annie’s face. Annie’s blond hair and blue eyes. Annie’s feet swinging beneath

“Go to your room,” he says to Alice, and she scurries away.

the table. And Annie saying those words, the ones she must have been thinking His voice is stern but otherwise calm. He does not yell. He never yells. Even when she felt the impact of the car, hurling metal crushing her bones, sending in the heat of this violent moment.

her into the air, her head smashing against the pavement.

He takes the phone from my clenched hand. He takes it with no effort at all, That car.

peeling my fingers away with his fingers, as though all of my strength is not My car.

even a bother to him. My body fights now, arms and legs and torso and head, all I hear her voice. My sweet, sweet girl.

writhing and flailing like a captured animal in the mouth of its predator.

Helpless.

No, my darling. I wasn’t. I let you die. I killed you.

His legs are outside my legs, pinning them together. His left hand holds both I feel tears streak my face. Alice and the man watch me with curiosity and

of my wrists as he props himself up and looks at the phone. I try to lift my head, wonder, and I no longer care what happened here. I don’t know what loss

teeth ready to clamp down on his flesh, but he is just out of reach. And he knows they’ve suffered and how they know these things about me.

this. I can see on his face the satisfaction that he has secured his prey.

I never told her that I was driving the car.

He uses his thumb to stop the call before it can be answered.

It is inhuman the way they watch me cry for my dead child.

He slides the phone out of reach, across the kitchen floor. He leans his head

“Should we clean up and go to town,” I say with a shaky voice. The hope

in close to mine, his mouth brushes my ear.

that this will happen is fading but I don’t know what to put in its place.

“Are you wondering if that was your daughter? The one you didn’t kill?”

The man stares at me. Then he says, cheerfully, “Sure.”

I freeze now. Terror. They know everything.

I stand. I gather plates. My hand are full when a distinct sound stuns us all.

Not another word is spoken as he slides me across the floor, pieces of the

From the kitchen counter comes a ringing. The man’s cell phone. A call is

plates digging into my skin.

coming in. A call reaching this house that he said has no reception.

He drags me by my arms, even as my legs kick and my body writhes to

I look at him now with disbelief as the weight of this information bears downbreak free, twisting and turning in futility.

against my chest. I can’t breathe.

He drags me down the hall, past the guest room. Past Alice’s room and his

“Looks like there’s service today,” I say. I wait for a reaction. He is still.

room to the very end.

There is no expression. The plates are in my hands. I stand between the man and A door opens to the room that is cold and dark and has a hard tile floor.

his phone. I shift my weight toward the counter, toward the phone. My feet are

his phone. I shift my weight toward the counter, toward the phone. My feet are The fear descends as he drags me inside and closes the door. I hear a

still, but he senses something. My intentions. My desperation. My doubt.

deadbolt click into position on the other side.

If there is service in this house, then everything he’s told me could also be a It is then I know.

lie. My car. My purse. The calls to my family. I slide one foot closer to the I am never leaving this house.

counter, and it’s now that he finally moves.

Slowly, he shakes his head back and forth. The shotgun rests, propped

against a wall, within his reach. Alice holds a hand over her mouth, containing her fear. Or is it excitement?

I don’t think anymore. I drop the dishes and they crash to the floor. Alice

gasps. The man jumps up.

I lunge for the phone and take it in my hand. I should run but I feel desperate to press that little green circle. Before I do, I am on the floor, the broken plates beneath me, scraping against my back. The man is on top of me, the weight of his body pressing me into the floor. Into the broken shards.

“Go to your room,” he says to Alice, and she scurries away.

His voice is stern but otherwise calm. He does not yell. He never yells. Even in the heat of this violent moment.

He takes the phone from my clenched hand. He takes it with no effort at all, peeling my fingers away with his fingers, as though all of my strength is not even a bother to him. My body fights now, arms and legs and torso and head, all writhing and flailing like a captured animal in the mouth of its predator.

Helpless.

His legs are outside my legs, pinning them together. His left hand holds both of my wrists as he props himself up and looks at the phone. I try to lift my head, teeth ready to clamp down on his flesh, but he is just out of reach. And he knows this. I can see on his face the satisfaction that he has secured his prey.

He uses his thumb to stop the call before it can be answered.

He slides the phone out of reach, across the kitchen floor. He leans his head in close to mine, his mouth brushes my ear.

“Are you wondering if that was your daughter? The one you didn’t kill?”

I freeze now. Terror. They know everything.

Not another word is spoken as he slides me across the floor, pieces of the

plates digging into my skin.

He drags me by my arms, even as my legs kick and my body writhes to

break free, twisting and turning in futility.

He drags me down the hall, past the guest room. Past Alice’s room and his

room to the very end.

A door opens to the room that is cold and dark and has a hard tile floor.

The fear descends as he drags me inside and closes the door. I hear a deadbolt click into position on the other side.

It is then I know.

I am never leaving this house.

Chapter Twelve

Day fourteen

Daisy Hollander.

Another woman who’d disappeared. Another woman who’d written notes to

loved ones, telling them she’d walked away from her life. Nic thought about

Daisy Hollander as she cradled a cup of coffee in her hands, looking out at the bar across the street.

Kurt had told her what he knew about the missing girl and her family. Eight

children. Poverty. Dismal enough to draw out social services, and that was

saying a lot for this part of the state, he’d said. Parents were long gone. He didn’t know where. All of the children had left as well. Except for one. A sister named Vivian.

She lived in the family’s old house in the deep part of the woods near the

river, on land that was owned by the state. No one had tried to chase them off.

He’d said he wondered if anyone from the state actually realized it. Nothing that happened in Hastings made much of a difference one way or another.

You’ll never find it, he’d told her.

Kurt had promised to take her when his shift ended.

Was that strange, she wondered now? That he didn’t just give her directions?

That he’d brought it up at all? No one else had mentioned Daisy Hollander. Not even Chief Watkins.

The diner was close to empty, even at noon. Just one man at the counter, and an older woman in the back who came every day and stayed through dinner,

reading books and sipping lemon water. Nic remembered her from the last time she was here. The diner was warm and the water was free. It made her think that Roger Booth was a generous man.

Nic waved to the same waitress from the morning who was leaning on the

counter, reading something on her phone. Ignoring her. Nic had captured Officer Reyes’s attention, so now she would be punished with bad service. Cold coffee.

It was just like the girls in school. She had not been one of them. Not ever.

And their petty jealousies had amused her. She’d been an athlete. An academic.

She’d had her eye on the endgame, which was getting into college and finding

She’d had her eye on the endgame, which was getting into college and finding her path in life. Her friends had been like-minded, a small pack of four or five of them, banding together against the invisible social ladder in their school. It was absurd how they were sorted out. Boys who played sports with sticks were at the top. Their girlfriends sat beside them on their thrones. Pretty blondes. Always.

Nic was blond and some used to think she was pretty. But she didn’t have it in her to sidle up to a jock.

She’d liked the quiet boys. The geeks and runners. The quiet thinkers. The

Day fourteen

ones Kurt Kent reminded of her of, though he didn’t fit into any of those

Daisy Hollander.

categories. Maybe it was his earnestness. That was how her mother had

Another woman who’d disappeared. Another woman who’d written notes to described her father—earnest.

loved ones, telling them she’d walked away from her life. Nic thought about

That life had felt strong and good.

Daisy Hollander as she cradled a cup of coffee in her hands, looking out at the That life had been a gift. A gift that was long gone.

bar across the street.

She was about to get up and get the coffee herself when she saw a new text

Kurt had told her what he knew about the missing girl and her family. Eight from Evan.

children. Poverty. Dismal enough to draw out social services, and that was

What did that woman say?

saying a lot for this part of the state, he’d said. Parents were long gone. He didn’t Nic started to text a reply, but decided to call.

know where. All of the children had left as well. Except for one. A sister named

“Hey,” he said. He sounded surprised.

Vivian.

“Hey. How are you?”

She lived in the family’s old house in the deep part of the woods near the

“I’m, you know, whatever. What’s going on there?”

river, on land that was owned by the state. No one had tried to chase them off.

Nic considered how much to tell him. He needed to keep his shit together.

He’d said he wondered if anyone from the state actually realized it. Nothing that Junior year was important.

happened in Hastings made much of a difference one way or another.

“I met with the woman.”

Nic told him about Officer Reyes, and how he’d punched holes through

Kurt had promised to take her when his shift ended.

Edith Moore’s story.

Was that strange, she wondered now? That he didn’t just give her directions?

“So she’s like the other assholes? After the money?” he asked.

That he’d brought it up at all? No one else had mentioned Daisy Hollander. Not

“Everyone wants the money. That doesn’t mean she isn’t telling the truth

even Chief Watkins.

about the truck. She would be pretty stupid to make up a story that Mom would The diner was close to empty, even at noon. Just one man at the counter, and know was a lie.”

an older woman in the back who came every day and stayed through dinner,

Evan was silent then.

reading books and sipping lemon water. Nic remembered her from the last time She shouldn’t have gone down that path. He was coming to the same

she was here. The diner was warm and the water was free. It made her think that conclusion she had earlier with Reyes, after they’d left Edith Moore at the Gas Roger Booth was a generous man.

n’ Go. If their mother was dead, she wouldn’t be able to refute any story. And Nic waved to the same waitress from the morning who was leaning on the

there was money to be had, dead or alive.

counter, reading something on her phone. Ignoring her. Nic had captured Officer

“Ev—I think she did see Mom,” Nic said, changing the subject. Giving him

Reyes’s attention, so now she would be punished with bad service. Cold coffee. hope. “Do you remember how she always waved at us, when she couldn’t get It was just like the girls in school. She had not been one of them. Not ever.

our attention?”

And their petty jealousies had amused her. She’d been an athlete. An academic.

“Both arms over the head? Like she was working the tarmac at JFK?”

She’d had her eye on the endgame, which was getting into college and finding Nic smiled. “Yeah. It was ridiculous, right?”

She’d had her eye on the endgame, which was getting into college and finding Nic smiled. “Yeah. It was ridiculous, right?”

her path in life. Her friends had been like-minded, a small pack of four or five of

“Can I tell you something?”

them, banding together against the invisible social ladder in their school. It was

“Of course, Ev. What is it?”

absurd how they were sorted out. Boys who played sports with sticks were at the

“She did that at the game. She didn’t know I saw her, but after we scored a

top. Their girlfriends sat beside them on their thrones. Pretty blondes. Always.

touchdown, she was standing and cheering and waving like that and it pissed me Nic was blond and some used to think she was pretty. But she didn’t have it in off because she looked so stupid.”

her to sidle up to a jock.

He could barely get out the last few words.

She’d liked the quiet boys. The geeks and runners. The quiet thinkers. The

“Maybe she did know, Evan. Maybe she knew you saw her and that even

ones Kurt Kent reminded of her of, though he didn’t fit into any of those

though it pissed you off, it was because you know how much she loves you.”

categories. Maybe it was his earnestness. That was how her mother had

“I guess. What made you think about that? The way she waves at us?” Evan

described her father—earnest.

asked.

That life had felt strong and good.

“Edith Moore said that’s how she waved down this truck. And she even had

That life had been a gift. A gift that was long gone.

her purse in one hand, so it was flying in the air as well.”

She was about to get up and get the coffee herself when she saw a new text

Evan’s voice was lighter now. “Usually it was with her phone in her hand. It from Evan.

was fucking ridiculous! We told her to stop.”

What did that woman say?

“I know! We did. Even Dad told her. She was so embarrassing.”

Nic started to text a reply, but decided to call.

Nic felt her throat tighten with these thoughts, these memories, of their

“Hey,” he said. He sounded surprised.

mother.

“Hey. How are you?”

“And she saw the letters on the purse. That was never released to the press.”

“I’m, you know, whatever. What’s going on there?”

“So she really saw her? She saw Mom that night?” His voice trailed off at

Nic considered how much to tell him. He needed to keep his shit together.

the end. Was he crying? Had she made him cry?

Junior year was important.

“Ev . . .”

“I met with the woman.”

“Can you find the truck? Maybe she said something, told someone why she

Nic told him about Officer Reyes, and how he’d punched holes through

didn’t come home.” His words sounded fragile, their syllables broken.

Edith Moore’s story.

“I’m trying, Ev. That’s why I’m here. Why I’m staying.”

“So she’s like the other assholes? After the money?” he asked.

“Okay . . . fuck. I mean, fuck this, Nic! Where is she?”

“Everyone wants the money. That doesn’t mean she isn’t telling the truth

“I don’t know . . .” Nic tried to stay calm, keep her voice steady so she could about the truck. She would be pretty stupid to make up a story that Mom would stop him from unraveling. But it was too late.

know was a lie.”

“Why? What the fuck! Why did she leave us?”

Evan was silent then.

Nic closed her eyes and took a long breath, thinking about what to say to

him. Was it better that he believed their father’s lie? That the note had been authenticated? That their mother left them? Or should she tell him the truth—

that now she didn’t know for sure, even if the police and everyone else in this town still believed it?

“Ev—I think she did see Mom,” Nic said, changing the subject. Giving him

Not knowing meant their mother could be dead.

hope. “Do you remember how she always waved at us, when she couldn’t get

“Ev—listen to me,” she said. “It wasn’t because of the football game. It

our attention?”

wasn’t because of anything you did.”

“Both arms over the head? Like she was working the tarmac at JFK?”

“I see her sometimes,” he said, his voice beginning to clam. “I see her

Nic smiled. “Yeah. It was ridiculous, right?”

“I see her sometimes,” he said, his voice beginning to clam. “I see her Nic smiled. “Yeah. It was ridiculous, right?”

standing by the door to the field house, smiling at me. Wanting me to smile

“Can I tell you something?”

back. Just one smile, you know? And I just felt so pissed off that she was right

“Of course, Ev. What is it?”

there where all my friends could see her. It’s not normal that she came all that

“She did that at the game. She didn’t know I saw her, but after we scored a

way for every home game. Other parents don’t come until the playoffs. Why did touchdown, she was standing and cheering and waving like that and it pissed me she have to do that? Why did she keep coming?”

off because she looked so stupid.”

“You know why, Ev.”

He could barely get out the last few words.

“Why?”

“Maybe she did know, Evan. Maybe she knew you saw her and that even

She took a second, let him think about it.

though it pissed you off, it was because you know how much she loves you.”

“Because of Annie?” he asked then. “That was so long ago. And it’s not like

“I guess. What made you think about that? The way she waves at us?” Evan driving eight hours to see me is going to bring her back.”

asked.

“I know. It’s complicated.”

“Edith Moore said that’s how she waved down this truck. And she even had

“Do you ever ask yourself . . .”

her purse in one hand, so it was flying in the air as well.”

“What?”

Evan’s voice was lighter now. “Usually it was with her phone in her hand. It

“Why we’re not enough. Why it’s not enough that we’re still here.”

was fucking ridiculous! We told her to stop.”

God, Evan. What could she say to that? The truth was, she had never asked

“I know! We did. Even Dad told her. She was so embarrassing.”

that question. It was shocking to hear this, how their mother’s disappearance had Nic felt her throat tighten with these thoughts, these memories, of their

resonated so differently inside of him.

mother.

“Evan—I’m going to find her, okay? You keep your shit together. I’ve got

“And she saw the letters on the purse. That was never released to the press.” this.”

“So she really saw her? She saw Mom that night?” His voice trailed off at

“Okay . . .”

the end. Was he crying? Had she made him cry?

“Promise me?”

“Ev . . .”

“I promise,” he said.

“Can you find the truck? Maybe she said something, told someone why she

Nic told him about the broken taillight, and how it was a good lead. She

didn’t come home.” His words sounded fragile, their syllables broken.

made it sound more promising than it was because she needed him to be all

“I’m trying, Ev. That’s why I’m here. Why I’m staying.”

right. He seemed comforted by it, this shred of hope she’d given him.

“Okay . . . fuck. I mean, fuck this, Nic! Where is she?”

Then he asked, “Did you ever find out what was behind that fence? If anyone

“I don’t know . . .” Nic tried to stay calm, keep her voice steady so she could looked there?”

stop him from unraveling. But it was too late.

* * *

“Why? What the fuck! Why did she leave us?”

Nic went up to her room. She found sweats and sneakers. Then back

Nic closed her eyes and took a long breath, thinking about what to say to

downstairs where she found Roger Booth at the front desk.

him. Was it better that he believed their father’s lie? That the note had been

“Hi,” Nic said.

authenticated? That their mother left them? Or should she tell him the truth—

“Hello,” he replied. He was in a good mood.

that now she didn’t know for sure, even if the police and everyone else in this

“Are there any trails behind the inn? I wanted to go for a run,” she said.

town still believed it?

Roger jerked his head back like the surprise had knocked him square in the

Not knowing meant their mother could be dead.

jaw.

“Ev—listen to me,” she said. “It wasn’t because of the football game. It

“Not really. The ground’s pretty rough. And wet. Why don’t you go on the

wasn’t because of anything you did.”

road?”

“I see her sometimes,” he said, his voice beginning to clam. “I see her

“I used to run cross country. I still run in the woods. The trails. How far back

“I see her sometimes,” he said, his voice beginning to clam. “I see her

“I used to run cross country. I still run in the woods. The trails. How far back standing by the door to the field house, smiling at me. Wanting me to smile

does it go—the property?”

back. Just one smile, you know? And I just felt so pissed off that she was right

“We’ve got about fifty acres. You could start training for a marathon if you there where all my friends could see her. It’s not normal that she came all that want.”

way for every home game. Other parents don’t come until the playoffs. Why did Roger Booth had a sense of humor.

she have to do that? Why did she keep coming?”

Nic turned and walked to the front door. Roger called after her.

“You know why, Ev.”

“Wait. I was actually joking. It’s not safe out there. The bears are still active.

“Why?”

And we’ve had sightings of wolves.”

She took a second, let him think about it.

“Seriously?”

“Because of Annie?” he asked then. “That was so long ago. And it’s not like

Roger nodded. He was serious, but Nic didn’t care.

driving eight hours to see me is going to bring her back.”

“You really want to go in the woods?”

“I know. It’s complicated.”

“I really do. Besides, I want to check out that fence my father saw.”

“Do you ever ask yourself . . .”

“Fence?”

“What?”

“You don’t know about it?”

“Why we’re not enough. Why it’s not enough that we’re still here.”

“Not since I’ve been running the place. Far as I know, it’s just woods.”

Nic followed him through the door behind the desk. It led to an office, which that question. It was shocking to hear this, how their mother’s disappearance had had another door to the outside. There was a bluestone patio which was overgrown with weeds. Moss caked most of the stones and a rotten picket fence

“Evan—I’m going to find her, okay? You keep your shit together. I’ve got

framed the square. Piled in the corner were an old, rusted out firepit and some this.”

lawn chairs. On the far side was a shed.

“Okay . . .”

“We use this in the summer. Or we used to anyway, back when we had more

“Promise me?”

guests. Some nights, we’d be full up. Kids, parents, everyone sitting around by

“I promise,” he said.

the fire at night.”

Nic told him about the broken taillight, and how it was a good lead. She

Nic could not imagine it. The state of disintegration, of disrepair—it was like made it sound more promising than it was because she needed him to be all

a testament to the agony this town had endured since its economic spiral.

right. He seemed comforted by it, this shred of hope she’d given him.

She followed Roger Booth to the shed. He opened the padlock, and then the

Then he asked, “Did you ever find out what was behind that fence? If anyonedoors.

looked there?”

Inside were some gardening tools and equipment. A John Deere lawn mower

* * *

sat in the corner, thick with dust. A small generator was beside that. Tiki torches Nic went up to her room. She found sweats and sneakers. Then back

rested against a wall.

downstairs where she found Roger Booth at the front desk.

And hanging just above them was a row of shot guns.

“Hi,” Nic said.

“You gonna give me one of those?” Nic asked. “To shoot the bears?”

“Hello,” he replied. He was in a good mood.

“You know how to shoot?” Roger asked.

“Are there any trails behind the inn? I wanted to go for a run,” she said.

“I missed that class at my private school.”

Roger jerked his head back like the surprise had knocked him square in the

Roger smiled. “I was thinking more along this line.”

jaw.

He handed her a small black canister.

“Not really. The ground’s pretty rough. And wet. Why don’t you go on the

“It’s just pepper spray. Problem is, you gotta get pretty close before it’ll road?”

work.”

“I used to run cross country. I still run in the woods. The trails. How far back

work.”

“I used to run cross country. I still run in the woods. The trails. How far back Nic took the spray, examining the nozzle and trigger. Roger adjusted her into does it go—the property?”

the right position. His hands were stronger than she had thought. His fingers

“We’ve got about fifty acres. You could start training for a marathon if you long and lean.

want.”

“Like this,” he said. “Point and squeeze.”

Roger Booth had a sense of humor.

“How far will it spray?”

Nic turned and walked to the front door. Roger called after her.

“About six feet.”

“Wait. I was actually joking. It’s not safe out there. The bears are still active.

Roger stepped away and led them out of the shed. He clicked the padlock

And we’ve had sightings of wolves.”

back on the doors.

“Seriously?”

“So if I see a bear, I have to let it charge me and then spray and hope it

Roger nodded. He was serious, but Nic didn’t care.

stops?”

“You really want to go in the woods?”

Roger nodded and smiled. “He might get in one good swipe.”

“I really do. Besides, I want to check out that fence my father saw.”

“Okay,” Nic said. “Better maimed than dead, I suppose.”

“Fence?”

“Exactly.”

“You don’t know about it?”

They walked around the fence where there was nothing but open woods. The

“Not since I’ve been running the place. Far as I know, it’s just woods.”

trees were tall but bare. Nic could tell she would be able to weave through them.

Nic followed him through the door behind the desk. It led to an office, which Roger pointed toward the sun.

had another door to the outside. There was a bluestone patio which was

“Head toward the sunset. Don’t make any turns. When you’ve had enough,

overgrown with weeds. Moss caked most of the stones and a rotten picket fence turn around and come straight back. That way you won’t get lost.”

framed the square. Piled in the corner were an old, rusted out firepit and some

“I’ll bring my phone. Just in case.”

lawn chairs. On the far side was a shed.

“Okay. Good luck.”

“We use this in the summer. Or we used to anyway, back when we had more

Roger stood at the edge of the tree line.

guests. Some nights, we’d be full up. Kids, parents, everyone sitting around by Nic turned, took a few steps, then stopped. “Can I ask you something?” she

the fire at night.”

said.

Nic could not imagine it. The state of disintegration, of disrepair—it was like He nodded. “Sure.”

a testament to the agony this town had endured since its economic spiral.

“Did you know a woman named Daisy Hollander?”

She followed Roger Booth to the shed. He opened the padlock, and then the

Booth stared blankly.

doors.

“Yeah,” he said. “She was a girl from high school.”

Inside were some gardening tools and equipment. A John Deere lawn mower

“Who disappeared?” Nic asked.

sat in the corner, thick with dust. A small generator was beside that. Tiki torches

“Who told you that?”

rested against a wall.

“I just heard it around. Any idea what happened to her?”

And hanging just above them was a row of shot guns.

“She left. Just like the rest of her family, one by one. People do that around

“You gonna give me one of those?” Nic asked. “To shoot the bears?”

here, you know.”

“You know how to shoot?” Roger asked.

Nic watched his face, the nonchalance of his words and the tone of his voice

“I missed that class at my private school.”

not matching his expression.

Roger smiled. “I was thinking more along this line.”

“You should get going before the sun is gone.”

He handed her a small black canister.

He disappeared behind the fence. She heard the door to the inn open and

“It’s just pepper spray. Problem is, you gotta get pretty close before it’ll close. Then she started to move.

work.”

Her legs felt heavy. Her breath shallow. She was tired and she hadn’t eaten

work.”

Her legs felt heavy. Her breath shallow. She was tired and she hadn’t eaten

Nic took the spray, examining the nozzle and trigger. Roger adjusted her into —her body was protesting now. But the pain felt good. She ran through the the right position. His hands were stronger than she had thought. His fingers trees, watching her feet carefully with every step so she didn’t place them down long and lean.

on a branch or rock. It was an obstacle course and it did exactly what she

“Like this,” he said. “Point and squeeze.”

remembered from her days racing cross country. The physical pain, the mental

“How far will it spray?”

preoccupation—all of it a welcome distraction.

“About six feet.”

She checked her phone. Fifteen minutes had passed. Still no fence.

Roger stepped away and led them out of the shed. He clicked the padlock

Breathe in. Breathe out.

back on the doors.

The pain in her legs had moved into her side. A cramp. She never had to

“So if I see a bear, I have to let it charge me and then spray and hope it

stop. Even after a bad night. Even after miles and miles. This was more than stops?”

exhaustion.

Roger nodded and smiled. “He might get in one good swipe.”

Suddenly she was standing still, buckled over, gasping for air. Her head was

“Okay,” Nic said. “Better maimed than dead, I suppose.”

light as she sucked it into her lungs. Words had broken free while her mind had

“Exactly.”

been busy fighting the pain. They were free and singing between her ears. The They walked around the fence where there was nothing but open woods. The things she’d said to her mother the morning she disappeared. The things she’d trees were tall but bare. Nic could tell she would be able to weave through them. piled on top of I hate you and open your eyes! The things that surely had pushed Roger pointed toward the sun.

her mother over the edge on the anniversary of Annie’s death.

“Head toward the sunset. Don’t make any turns. When you’ve had enough,

You killed my sister!

turn around and come straight back. That way you won’t get lost.”

Oh, God. No.

“I’ll bring my phone. Just in case.”

You killed your own child!

“Okay. Good luck.”

No.

Roger stood at the edge of the tree line.

She had said those words. And she’d told no one.

Nic turned, took a few steps, then stopped. “Can I ask you something?” she

Tears came, running into the sticky sweat on her face. She wiped them with

said.

the back of her hand and leaned against a tree.

He nodded. “Sure.”

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Did you know a woman named Daisy Hollander?”

The sky was turning orange. She didn’t have long until it would be too low

Booth stared blankly.

to help her navigate.

“Yeah,” he said. “She was a girl from high school.”

She looked back at the sunset to make sure she’d squared herself, to make

“Who disappeared?” Nic asked.

sure of the direction. When she did, she saw something shimmer through the

“Who told you that?”

trees. She looked again, then started to walk toward it. Another shimmer. The

“I just heard it around. Any idea what happened to her?”

sun was almost at the horizon and it created a glare. But she kept walking, until

“She left. Just like the rest of her family, one by one. People do that around she was forced to stop.

here, you know.”

Evan was right—there was a fence. She stood before it and looked up. It had

Nic watched his face, the nonchalance of his words and the tone of his voice to be seven or eight feet. There were barbed coils at the top, and smaller barbs not matching his expression.

lining every inch of the wire. She touched them gently. They were sharp. They

“You should get going before the sun is gone.”

were meant to keep anyone from being able to climb. The barbs would shred

He disappeared behind the fence. She heard the door to the inn open and

bare skin and the holes were too narrow for a shoe.

close. Then she started to move.

She looked through it but saw only more woods on the other side.

Her legs felt heavy. Her breath shallow. She was tired and she hadn’t eaten

She looked through it but saw only more woods on the other side.

Her legs felt heavy. Her breath shallow. She was tired and she hadn’t eaten

She started to follow the fence, walking alongside. She remembered Roger

—her body was protesting now. But the pain felt good. She ran through the

Booth’s warning— don’t make any turns.

trees, watching her feet carefully with every step so she didn’t place them down She told herself she would make this one turn and walk for ten minutes, then on a branch or rock. It was an obstacle course and it did exactly what she

turn around.

remembered from her days racing cross country. The physical pain, the mental It only took five for her to reach the small hole someone had started to cut.

preoccupation—all of it a welcome distraction.

She checked her phone. Fifteen minutes had passed. Still no fence.

The pain in her legs had moved into her side. A cramp. She never had to

stop. Even after a bad night. Even after miles and miles. This was more than exhaustion.

Oh, God. No.

No.

She had said those words. And she’d told no one.

Tears came, running into the sticky sweat on her face. She wiped them with

the back of her hand and leaned against a tree.

The sky was turning orange. She didn’t have long until it would be too low

to help her navigate.

She looked back at the sunset to make sure she’d squared herself, to make

sure of the direction. When she did, she saw something shimmer through the

trees. She looked again, then started to walk toward it. Another shimmer. The sun was almost at the horizon and it created a glare. But she kept walking, until she was forced to stop.

Evan was right—there was a fence. She stood before it and looked up. It had

to be seven or eight feet. There were barbed coils at the top, and smaller barbs lining every inch of the wire. She touched them gently. They were sharp. They were meant to keep anyone from being able to climb. The barbs would shred

bare skin and the holes were too narrow for a shoe.

She looked through it but saw only more woods on the other side.

She looked through it but saw only more woods on the other side.

She started to follow the fence, walking alongside. She remembered Roger

Booth’s warning— don’t make any turns.

She told herself she would make this one turn and walk for ten minutes, then turn around.

It only took five for her to reach the small hole someone had started to cut.

Chapter Thirteen

Day five

The door opens and three days of darkness come to an end.

He has been bringing food after dark. He leaves the light off in the hallway.

There are no windows in this dark room where Alice was born. Just the sink, a hand-pump toilet, and the tile floor. He’s given me two blankets to stay warm.

I count the days by the pitch of the darkness. Light is like water, always

finding a way through the cracks and crevices.

On the third night, he does not bring the food. He waits until morning. When he opens the door, the brightest light pours in behind him. It is so bright it blinds me and I can barely make out his face.

He sets the tray down on the floor while I stand against the far wall. He has made me wait because the last time he brought the tray I was waiting for him.

The second night, when I heard the floorboards creak from down the hall. On

that night I stood in front of the door. I heard the deadbolt turn, then the change in the shadows as the door opened into the room. In my hands, was a blanket.

Heart exploding with rage, hands shaking with apprehension, I was ready to

throw the blanket over his head, pull him toward me, then onto the floor. I had pictured the tray flying from his hands, spilling the food. I pictured Alice screaming as I kicked him in the groin. I would leave them both inside that

room, lock the door, and run out of the house. I would take his truck if I could find the keys, or run back to the fence where I would make two more cuts in the wire and then crawl through.

Maybe I would have his shotgun with me. Maybe I would blast a hole right

through that fence.

But that was not what happened. On the second night, he was ready for me

as I stood on the other side of the door with my pathetic weapon. He stood a few feet back. There was no tray in his hands. Only the shotgun.

I was ready with that blanket and he knew it. He knew the blanket was all I

had and he knew I would try.

He knows too much.

Or maybe this trick was tried before, by the woman who used to live here.

Or maybe this trick was tried before, by the woman who used to live here.

He laughed at me. He ordered me to back away. Then he locked the door.

And he made me wait all through the next day, and through the next night,

wondering if I would get another tray. Wondering if he was now going to let me starve.

The door opens now, after the third night, and I stand against the far wall. I let the light feed my brain which is starving for it. I watch him place the tray on the floor, close the door, turn the lock.

Day five

I stumble as I walk toward the tray. My pupils have narrowed from that

The door opens and three days of darkness come to an end.

quick burst of light and now they can’t detect the shadows they have grown used He has been bringing food after dark. He leaves the light off in the hallway. to. I take the tray and sit down. I can feel with my hands the cold sandwich. And There are no windows in this dark room where Alice was born. Just the sink, a something else.

hand-pump toilet, and the tile floor. He’s given me two blankets to stay warm.

It’s small and metal. I feel glass at the top. A button at the bottom. I click it I count the days by the pitch of the darkness. Light is like water, always

on and light floods the space.

finding a way through the cracks and crevices.

A small flashlight. A gift I don’t understand.

On the third night, he does not bring the food. He waits until morning. When I do not deserve a gift after the second night.

he opens the door, the brightest light pours in behind him. It is so bright it blinds I don’t stop to think. I leave the flashlight on as I eat the sandwich. I’m

me and I can barely make out his face.

thirsty, but there is water in the sink and I decide to eat first because I am sick He sets the tray down on the floor while I stand against the far wall. He has with hunger.

made me wait because the last time he brought the tray I was waiting for him.

When I lift the sandwich, I see something beneath a paper towel. An article

The second night, when I heard the floorboards creak from down the hall. On

from a paper he’s printed out. The online paper from my hometown.

that night I stood in front of the door. I heard the deadbolt turn, then the change Warmth floods my veins as I see the logo, the letters forming the name, the

in the shadows as the door opened into the room. In my hands, was a blanket.

familiar print and advertisers. Grayson’s Flower Shop. Buster’s Bagels. The Law Heart exploding with rage, hands shaking with apprehension, I was ready to Offices of Walsh, Sandberger, LLC. It’s always the same. Every day. Every time throw the blanket over his head, pull him toward me, then onto the floor. I had I open the page. And for the smallest, most insane second, I feel the safety of pictured the tray flying from his hands, spilling the food. I pictured Alice home.

screaming as I kicked him in the groin. I would leave them both inside that

But then the warmth turns cold as I read the headline.

room, lock the door, and run out of the house. I would take his truck if I could find the keys, or run back to the fence where I would make two more cuts in the SEARCH FOR LOCAL WOMAN MISSING UPSTATE

wire and then crawl through.

CALLED OFF

Maybe I would have his shotgun with me. Maybe I would blast a hole right

through that fence.

And colder, still . . .

But that was not what happened. On the second night, he was ready for me

as I stood on the other side of the door with my pathetic weapon. He stood a few Evidence suggests Molly Clarke left of her own accord after

feet back. There was no tray in his hands. Only the shotgun.

abandoning her car.

I was ready with that blanket and he knew it. He knew the blanket was all I

had and he knew I would try.

Tears burn as they pour down my face.

He knows too much.

Or maybe this trick was tried before, by the woman who used to live here.

Emotionally unstable after the accidental death of her daughter . . .

Ran over her own child on her way home from work . . .

Or maybe this trick was tried before, by the woman who used to live here.

He laughed at me. He ordered me to back away. Then he locked the door.

Ran over her own child on her way home from work . . .

And he made me wait all through the next day, and through the next night,

“She never seemed right after that,” says a source close to the family

wondering if I would get another tray. Wondering if he was now going to let me

. . .

starve.

I read every word. I read about my abandoned car being out of gas. I read

The door opens now, after the third night, and I stand against the far wall. I about my phone left behind. I read about my visit to Evan’s school and how he let the light feed my brain which is starving for it. I watch him place the tray on ignored me and everyone saw it and how I cried by the side of the field house.

the floor, close the door, turn the lock.

Did I? Did I cry by the side of the field house?

I stumble as I walk toward the tray. My pupils have narrowed from that

It takes me several minutes to find the answers. It takes until I see a passage quick burst of light and now they can’t detect the shadows they have grown used underlined in red ink to know what has occurred.

to. I take the tray and sit down. I can feel with my hands the cold sandwich. And something else.

Clarke’s daughter, Nicole, and husband, John, participated in the

It’s small and metal. I feel glass at the top. A button at the bottom. I click it search that was called off yesterday afternoon after four days.

on and light floods the space.

Investigators would not give specifics, but a source close to the family A small flashlight. A gift I don’t understand.

said that a credit card charge has been made at a nearby hotel, and some I do not deserve a gift after the second night.

clothing and a note have been found inside the room Clarke rented.

I don’t stop to think. I leave the flashlight on as I eat the sandwich. I’m

Investigators did confirm that it is now believed the subject left of her thirsty, but there is water in the sink and I decide to eat first because I am sick own accord.

with hunger.

When I lift the sandwich, I see something beneath a paper towel. An article

What has he done?

from a paper he’s printed out. The online paper from my hometown.

He has my purse. He’s found my credit card. He’s forged a note—maybe

using the names and numbers I wrote down for him so he could call my family.

Grayson’s Flower Shop. Buster’s Bagels. The Law

Rage returns, bringing back the heat. It does not stop the tears.

Those thoughts I has as I walked down that road, the road with the lies and

the false promises, that had seeped into my head and my heart. Thoughts about leaving my family. It’s as though he read them all and then made them come

But then the warmth turns cold as I read the headline.

true. He’s done this to me, but I can’t stop the rage from turning right back around. Did I do this to myself?

At the very bottom of the page, I see a picture of John and Nicole. They are walking from a car to a police station. I don’t recognize the building or the street or any of the people around them. I think it must be Hastings.

And colder, still . . .

I run my finger lightly over the page, touching the image of them. I want

them both, here, in my arms, more than I ever have.

I hear a creek of the floorboards from down the hall and I shine the light

under the door. I get up and walk closer, until I can see through the crack

Tears burn as they pour down my face.

beneath it. The light shifts with the creeks and I know he stands there. Waiting.

Listening, perhaps.

The cold, musty air heaves in and out of my chest until it explodes in words.

“You’re a monster!” I scream in futility, in anguish, because I know that

“You’re a monster!” I scream in futility, in anguish, because I know that nothing I can say to him will touch his soul.

But now a voice—

“Shhhh, ” it’s the voice of an angel. My sweet Alice. This is how I think of I read every word. I read about my abandoned car being out of gas. I read

her right now, in this moment, when I realize it is her little feet making the light about my phone left behind. I read about my visit to Evan’s school and how he change beneath the crack in the door.

ignored me and everyone saw it and how I cried by the side of the field house.

I press my hand against the wood.

Did I? Did I cry by the side of the field house?

“Alice?’ I say.

It takes me several minutes to find the answers. It takes until I see a passage She whispers. “Don’t worry,” she says. “Don’t cry.”

underlined in red ink to know what has occurred.

“I know.” I sob. “I just want to go home. I want to see my family.”

Alice sighs loud enough for me to hear.

“We all want things,” she says. “But we get what we get and we don’t get

upset.”

She giggles and it makes me cry harder. How can I reach her? How can I

make her little fingers move to the dead bolt and turn, turn, turn . . .

“She’s pretty,” Alice says.

And now comes alarm.

“Who is pretty?” I ask. But I already know.

“Nicole,” she says.

What has he done?

I choke on my own heartbeat. It pounds my throat closed and I can’t speak.

He has my purse. He’s found my credit card. He’s forged a note—maybe

So I listen.

using the names and numbers I wrote down for him so he could call my family.

“She has real blond hair and blue eyes and lots of spirit.”

Rage returns, bringing back the heat. It does not stop the tears.

I swallow hard to open my throat. “How do you know?” I ask. The picture

Those thoughts I has as I walked down that road, the road with the lies and

was black and white. And it gave no description of my daughter.

the false promises, that had seeped into my head and my heart. Thoughts about

“He told me. He knows her from when she came to look for you.”

leaving my family. It’s as though he read them all and then made them come

“Oh,” I say. My voice is shaky. I try to infuse it with casual surprise. “When true. He’s done this to me, but I can’t stop the rage from turning right back was that?”

around. Did I do this to myself?

“Ummmm . . .” Alice says, and I can picture her face scrunched up as she

At the very bottom of the page, I see a picture of John and Nicole. They are thinks. “I don’t know but she just went home. They’re all done looking for you.”

walking from a car to a police station. I don’t recognize the building or the street And now I am relieved. I do not want my daughter to be here, to be in this

or any of the people around them. I think it must be Hastings.

town where he can see her. It’s as though in some bizarre twist of irony, my I run my finger lightly over the page, touching the image of them. I want

prayer has been answered, the prayer that they just let me go.

them both, here, in my arms, more than I ever have.

Even so, the panic is acute. My hand taps furiously against my leg to contain I hear a creek of the floorboards from down the hall and I shine the light

the energy that has nowhere to go. It wants to make my fists pound on the door.

under the door. I get up and walk closer, until I can see through the crack

It wants to make my voice cry out for help.

beneath it. The light shifts with the creeks and I know he stands there. Waiting.

None of these things are useful.

Listening, perhaps.

“Okay,” I say then, hand tapping, hard, stinging my leg. “Do you know what

The cold, musty air heaves in and out of my chest until it explodes in words. that means?”

“You’re a monster!” I scream in futility, in anguish, because I know that

that means?”

“You’re a monster!” I scream in futility, in anguish, because I know that

“What?” she asks me.

nothing I can say to him will touch his soul.

I choke on the words I have to say. But I know I have to say them.

But now a voice—

“It means that I can stay now. It means that I can come out of this room and be your mommy because they’re all done looking for me.”

She is quiet. She doesn’t believe me.

“But you just said you wanted to go home.”

I press my hand against the wood.

Clever girl. How I hate you right now.

“Alice?’ I say.

No, I will not. I will not hate a child. A child who is also a victim. I pull it She whispers. “Don’t worry,” she says. “Don’t cry.”

back and turn it around.

“I know.” I sob. “I just want to go home. I want to see my family.”

“I know . . . but you are right. We can’t always have everything we want. I

Alice sighs loud enough for me to hear.

want to be home, but I also want to be your mommy. I can’t have both, and

“We all want things,” she says. “But we get what we get and we don’t get

that’s okay. I can just be your mommy now for as long as you want. Home will upset.”

always be there waiting.”

She giggles and it makes me cry harder. How can I reach her? How can I

Tears, tears, tears as I choke on these words. On the hatred that keeps

make her little fingers move to the dead bolt and turn, turn, turn . . .

knocking.

“She’s pretty,” Alice says.

“Oh,” she says now. She has perked right up. “Well, you should have wanted

And now comes alarm.

to stay this whole time. Because you killed your daughter and she was nine. And

“Who is pretty?” I ask. But I already know.

I’m nine! And I need someone to teach me, and you’re a teacher! You should

“Nicole,” she says.

have seen that this was your second chance.”

I choke on my own heartbeat. It pounds my throat closed and I can’t speak.

A piece of the puzzle falls into place.

So I listen.

“Who told you that?”

“She has real blond hair and blue eyes and lots of spirit.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

I swallow hard to open my throat. “How do you know?” I ask. The picture

A long breath. I swallow tears. “Why is that?” I ask. “Why doesn’t it

was black and white. And it gave no description of my daughter.

matter?”

“He told me. He knows her from when she came to look for you.”

“Because he likes her. He likes the way she looks and the way she acts.

“Oh,” I say. My voice is shaky. I try to infuse it with casual surprise. “When She’s more like my first mommy.”

was that?”

The next word comes out through trembling lips. “Who?”

“Ummmm . . .” Alice says, and I can picture her face scrunched up as she

My lips tremble because, again, they know the answer before she says it.

thinks. “I don’t know but she just went home. They’re all done looking for you.”

She says it anyway.

And now I am relieved. I do not want my daughter to be here, to be in this

“Your daughter. Nicole. And he wants her to come back.”

town where he can see her. It’s as though in some bizarre twist of irony, my prayer has been answered, the prayer that they just let me go.

Even so, the panic is acute. My hand taps furiously against my leg to contain the energy that has nowhere to go. It wants to make my fists pound on the door.

It wants to make my voice cry out for help.

None of these things are useful.

“Okay,” I say then, hand tapping, hard, stinging my leg. “Do you know what

that means?”

that means?”

“What?” she asks me.

I choke on the words I have to say. But I know I have to say them.

“It means that I can stay now. It means that I can come out of this room and be your mommy because they’re all done looking for me.”

She is quiet. She doesn’t believe me.

“But you just said you wanted to go home.”

Clever girl. How I hate you right now.

No, I will not. I will not hate a child. A child who is also a victim. I pull it back and turn it around.

“I know . . . but you are right. We can’t always have everything we want. I

want to be home, but I also want to be your mommy. I can’t have both, and

that’s okay. I can just be your mommy now for as long as you want. Home will always be there waiting.”

Tears, tears, tears as I choke on these words. On the hatred that keeps

knocking.

“Oh,” she says now. She has perked right up. “Well, you should have wanted

to stay this whole time. Because you killed your daughter and she was nine. And I’m nine! And I need someone to teach me, and you’re a teacher! You should

have seen that this was your second chance.”

A piece of the puzzle falls into place.

“Who told you that?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

A long breath. I swallow tears. “Why is that?” I ask. “Why doesn’t it

matter?”

“Because he likes her. He likes the way she looks and the way she acts.

She’s more like my first mommy.”

The next word comes out through trembling lips. “Who?”

My lips tremble because, again, they know the answer before she says it.

She says it anyway.

“Your daughter. Nicole. And he wants her to come back.”

Chapter Fourteen

Day fourteen

Roger Booth was not at the inn when Nic returned from the woods. A

laminated sign was posted on the reception desk saying that management is off site for the evening. He left a phone number in case of emergencies. Where the hell would Roger Booth be for an entire evening?

Nic’s mind was still on the thoughts, the words, that had been set free on her run, but also the fence and the small hole someone had tried to cut in it. She had questions that needed answers. She needed Roger Booth.

In the parking lot, she saw a car, then Kurt Kent in the driver’s seat. She’d forgotten about their meeting, and ran now, outside to catch him before he drove off.

“Did you find out anything? About the truck?” he asked when she jumped

into the passenger seat.

“Not yet,” Nic answered.

“Yeah. Things move slow around here. Which is strange since there’s not a

lot to do. Inertia I suppose.”

He took a left out of the parking lot, heading toward the river.

“Inertia?”

“Yeah. Physics, you know. An object in motion.”

“No—I know what it means. I just . . .”

“Figured I wouldn’t?” He sounded insulted, like he knew she was making

assumptions about him just because he was stuck in this town. And because he felt above all of it—this town and Nic’s assumptions.

“I’m the high school dropout,” she said, hoping to diffuse him.

He looked at her, then back at the road. It seemed to work.

“Yeah. Okay.”

They drove in silence, past the police station, town hall, the auto body shop.

They got to the end of Hasting Pass, where the road met the river, and made

another right.

“Did you know there’s a fence behind the inn?” Nic asked. “It’s about a mile and a half into the property, and about eight feet tall. Barbed wire coils. Barbs in

and a half into the property, and about eight feet tall. Barbed wire coils. Barbs in all of the wires, actually.”

“Did you ask Booth? Maybe it’s his fence.”

“He said he didn’t know. But why would the Booth family need a fence?

You can get to the property from either side of the buildings, and through the back doors. Not exactly a steel trap.”

Kurt shrugged. “Animals, maybe. Bears, but also wolves and deer. The deer

can jump seven feet. The wolves hunt the deer. I don’t know.”

Day fourteen

“There’s something else about it,” Nic said. “There was a spot where it

looked like someone was cutting through the wire. It looked precise, not an

animal, but a person. Maybe with wire cutters. Like someone was trying to make a hole to crawl through.”

Kurt appeared more surprised now. “That’s weird,” he said. “Kids, maybe—

Nic’s mind was still on the thoughts, the words, that had been set free on her from a house next door? Looking for a cut-through to town? How old were the run, but also the fence and the small hole someone had tried to cut in it. She had breaks in the wire?”

questions that needed answers. She needed Roger Booth.

“I couldn’t tell. There was some rust, but not a lot. Nothing had grown over In the parking lot, she saw a car, then Kurt Kent in the driver’s seat. She’d it, like weeds, or fallen branches. I don’t have anything to compare it to, but I forgotten about their meeting, and ran now, outside to catch him before he drove don’t think it started before the summer.”

off.

“Yeah,” Kurt said. “Hard to tell without knowing what kind of wire it is. If

“Did you find out anything? About the truck?” he asked when she jumped

it’s been treated with something. Rust repellent. I don’t know much about

into the passenger seat.

fences.”

“Not yet,” Nic answered.

Nic looked out the window as he drove. The road was narrowing, cutting a

“Yeah. Things move slow around here. Which is strange since there’s not a path between tall trees whose canopy erased part of the sky.

lot to do. Inertia I suppose.”

“You know your way around here.”

He took a left out of the parking lot, heading toward the river.

“Hard not to after a lifetime.”

“Inertia?”

“Fair enough.”

“Yeah. Physics, you know. An object in motion.”

They made a turn onto Pond Road. Another onto Jeliff. Nic made a point of

“No—I know what it means. I just . . .”

looking for the signs, some of which were just paint on rough cuts of wood

“Figured I wouldn’t?” He sounded insulted, like he knew she was making

nailed onto a tree. Pavement turned to gravel and then dirt. Another turn onto a assumptions about him just because he was stuck in this town. And because he road with no name, then a mile or so farther into the woods. The road ended in felt above all of it—this town and Nic’s assumptions.

front of a small house.

“I’m the high school dropout,” she said, hoping to diffuse him.

The structure was no more than a thousand square feet. One story. Flat metal He looked at her, then back at the road. It seemed to work.

roof.

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Someone lives here?” Nic asked. There was no car. No electrical wires. An

They drove in silence, past the police station, town hall, the auto body shop. old clothing line ran between two trees. A sheet and some women’s clothing They got to the end of Hasting Pass, where the road met the river, and made

hung to dry, though the frost was coming in the mornings now.

another right.

Kurt turned off the ignition.

“Did you know there’s a fence behind the inn?” Nic asked. “It’s about a mile

“Veronica Hollander. I told you, we’re on state-owned land. Her father

and a half into the property, and about eight feet tall. Barbed wire coils. Barbs in cleared the road, built the house. They lived here—all ten of them. Let me go

and a half into the property, and about eight feet tall. Barbed wire coils. Barbs in cleared the road, built the house. They lived here—all ten of them. Let me go all of the wires, actually.”

first,” he said. “She doesn’t get a lot of visitors.”

“Did you ask Booth? Maybe it’s his fence.”

Nic waited in the car. Kurt approached, carrying a brown paper bag. He

“He said he didn’t know. But why would the Booth family need a fence?

knocked on the door. It opened a crack. He said a few words, then he turned and You can get to the property from either side of the buildings, and through the waved for Nic to join him.

back doors. Not exactly a steel trap.”

A woman stood in the doorway as Nic followed Kurt inside. She was large

Kurt shrugged. “Animals, maybe. Bears, but also wolves and deer. The deer and unkempt, wearing pajama bottoms and a short-sleeve shirt that curved can jump seven feet. The wolves hunt the deer. I don’t know.”

around her loose breasts. Long, curly blond hair. Soft flesh that hung loosely

“There’s something else about it,” Nic said. “There was a spot where it

beneath her clothes, and skin that did not appear to have seen the sun in quite looked like someone was cutting through the wire. It looked precise, not an

some time.

animal, but a person. Maybe with wire cutters. Like someone was trying to make She stared at Nic for a long moment, her face confused at first, then moving a hole to crawl through.”

over her head to toe.

Kurt appeared more surprised now. “That’s weird,” he said. “Kids, maybe—

“I’m Nicole Clarke.” Nic extended her hand.

from a house next door? Looking for a cut-through to town? How old were the

The woman blinked, shook her head quickly like a dog shaking off water.

breaks in the wire?”

“Veronica,” she said. “People call me V.”

“I couldn’t tell. There was some rust, but not a lot. Nothing had grown over Nic smiled. “People call me Nic.”

it, like weeds, or fallen branches. I don’t have anything to compare it to, but I They sat at a small round table in the corner by a window. The window

don’t think it started before the summer.”

looked out at woods, barely five feet from the house. There was no grass, no

“Yeah,” Kurt said. “Hard to tell without knowing what kind of wire it is. If garden. Just the small clearing for the four-room structure.

it’s been treated with something. Rust repellent. I don’t know much about

Four rooms. That was all. The bathroom and the living area—sofa, kitchen.

fences.”

Two bedrooms on either side of a short hallway.

Nic looked out the window as he drove. The road was narrowing, cutting a

Nic turned down her offer to make tea. There was hardly space for it. The

path between tall trees whose canopy erased part of the sky.

table was covered with piles of clothing. A sewing machine sat nearby. V made

“You know your way around here.”

a cup for herself. She had quite a collection of tins which sat on a small shelf

“Hard not to after a lifetime.”

above the stove.

“Fair enough.”

“So you do tailoring?” Nic asked.

They made a turn onto Pond Road. Another onto Jeliff. Nic made a point of

V nodded. “I do anything people need. Fix clothes. Make clothes. Take ’em

looking for the signs, some of which were just paint on rough cuts of wood

in. Let ’em out. I sew draperies and slip covers. Cushions. Whatever.”

nailed onto a tree. Pavement turned to gravel and then dirt. Another turn onto a She sat down with her teacup and the brown paper bag Kurt had brought.

road with no name, then a mile or so farther into the woods. The road ended in Inside was a bottle of apricot brandy, which she opened and poured a shot into front of a small house.

the cup. The smell of the brandy rose with the steam and filled the room.

The structure was no more than a thousand square feet. One story. Flat metal

“Must be quite a shock,” V said. “Seeing a place like this.”

roof.

Nic didn’t know how to respond. Did she mean her place or Hastings?

“Someone lives here?” Nic asked. There was no car. No electrical wires. An

Kurt intervened. “Nic’s mother is that woman who disappeared during the

old clothing line ran between two trees. A sheet and some women’s clothing

storm.”

hung to dry, though the frost was coming in the mornings now.

V’s eyes widened. “Oh!” she said, leaning back in her chair. “Chief came by

Kurt turned off the ignition.

and asked me about that. I was scared to death here. Thought a tree was sure to

“Veronica Hollander. I told you, we’re on state-owned land. Her father

take this place down. I didn’t see a soul that night. Stayed huddled beneath the cleared the road, built the house. They lived here—all ten of them. Let me go

take this place down. I didn’t see a soul that night. Stayed huddled beneath the cleared the road, built the house. They lived here—all ten of them. Let me go bed. No one did one thing to protect me. Can you imagine that? The government first,” he said. “She doesn’t get a lot of visitors.”

can’t be bothered with folks like us.”

Nic waited in the car. Kurt approached, carrying a brown paper bag. He

V went on then, about the government and Medicaid and how her parents

knocked on the door. It opened a crack. He said a few words, then he turned and had to live in one of those places that makes old people wish they were dead, waved for Nic to join him.

and makes them die faster to get them “off the dole.” Her mother was trying to A woman stood in the doorway as Nic followed Kurt inside. She was large

outsmart them by suddenly taking an interest in her health after eighty-seven and unkempt, wearing pajama bottoms and a short-sleeve shirt that curved

years. V said this part with admiration.

around her loose breasts. Long, curly blond hair. Soft flesh that hung loosely Nic went with it. “Your family sounds strong-willed.”

beneath her clothes, and skin that did not appear to have seen the sun in quite Now V shrugged, less sure. Less admiring. “I don’t know about that. My

some time.

parents had their views. I think they liked having a hard life, liked the fight of it.

She stared at Nic for a long moment, her face confused at first, then moving But the rest of us, we got a little beat down by always fighting for things. My over her head to toe.

mother used to lock the refrigerator and the pantry. Padlocks. No money, no

“I’m Nicole Clarke.” Nic extended her hand.

food, kids piled four in a room, boys and girls. One bathroom. If you really had The woman blinked, shook her head quickly like a dog shaking off water.

to go, sometimes you just went outside. Middle of winter, we’d be poppin’ a

“Veronica,” she said. “People call me V.”

squat out in the snow.”

Nic smiled. “People call me Nic.”

She took a long breath, ready to tell more of her story. Kurt cut her off.

They sat at a small round table in the corner by a window. The window

“She wants to know about Daisy,” he said.

looked out at woods, barely five feet from the house. There was no grass, no V was surprised now. “Daisy? Why on earth do you want to know about

garden. Just the small clearing for the four-room structure.

her?”

Four rooms. That was all. The bathroom and the living area—sofa, kitchen.

“Because she also disappeared from Hastings,” Nic said. “Ten years ago.”

Two bedrooms on either side of a short hallway.

A loud, boisterous laugh filled the small space wall to wall. “Who told you

Nic turned down her offer to make tea. There was hardly space for it. The

that?”

table was covered with piles of clothing. A sewing machine sat nearby. V made V stared now, out the window into the woods. Thinking, maybe, about her

a cup for herself. She had quite a collection of tins which sat on a small shelf sister.

above the stove.

“I did,” Kurt said.

“So you do tailoring?” Nic asked.

V set her elbows on the table and leaned closer to Nic. She looked her in the V nodded. “I do anything people need. Fix clothes. Make clothes. Take ’em eye, hard and without blinking, for a long moment.

in. Let ’em out. I sew draperies and slip covers. Cushions. Whatever.”

“Daisy wasn’t like the rest of us. Plain folk. Making do. I know where all the She sat down with her teacup and the brown paper bag Kurt had brought.

others are. Some married. Some got kids. Others like me, just working to pay Inside was a bottle of apricot brandy, which she opened and poured a shot into bills. We like living alone after how we grew up. But Daisy, she was a shining the cup. The smell of the brandy rose with the steam and filled the room.

star. Smarter than the rest of us. Resourceful. Always fighting to get out. Get

“Must be quite a shock,” V said. “Seeing a place like this.”

more. She used to use a stick to poke through the crack in the cupboard where Nic didn’t know how to respond. Did she mean her place or Hastings?

the chains couldn’t quite pull them together right. She put sticky tape on the end Kurt intervened. “Nic’s mother is that woman who disappeared during the

and figured out how to drag boxes of crackers close to that crack. She’d pull out storm.”

a few. Eat them all herself. Then she’d slide the box back. And she didn’t care V’s eyes widened. “Oh!” she said, leaning back in her chair. “Chief came by when it was time for punishment.”

and asked me about that. I was scared to death here. Thought a tree was sure to V shook her head.

take this place down. I didn’t see a soul that night. Stayed huddled beneath the

“You think our mother didn’t know exactly how many crackers were in each

take this place down. I didn’t see a soul that night. Stayed huddled beneath the

“You think our mother didn’t know exactly how many crackers were in each

bed. No one did one thing to protect me. Can you imagine that? The government box?”

can’t be bothered with folks like us.”

Nic watched V tell this story of her sister, her mind spinning. There were

V went on then, about the government and Medicaid and how her parents

girls like Daisy Hollander everywhere. Nic knew the type. Scrappy. Resourceful.

had to live in one of those places that makes old people wish they were dead,

“And she finally found a way to leave for good?’ Nic asked.

and makes them die faster to get them “off the dole.” Her mother was trying to

“Sure did. She told most people she was going to Boston to live with our

outsmart them by suddenly taking an interest in her health after eighty-seven sister. There were four siblings and my parents still here at the time. I knew she years. V said this part with admiration.

was going to disappear, at least for a while. She didn’t want to get dragged Nic went with it. “Your family sounds strong-willed.”

down.”

Now V shrugged, less sure. Less admiring. “I don’t know about that. My

“So she just never came back? Didn’t you worry about what had happened to

parents had their views. I think they liked having a hard life, liked the fight of it. her?”

But the rest of us, we got a little beat down by always fighting for things. My

“I know what happened,” V said. “She texted me. She moved to New York.

mother used to lock the refrigerator and the pantry. Padlocks. No money, no

Begged me not to tell her poor boyfriend. That kid nearly lost his mind when she food, kids piled four in a room, boys and girls. One bathroom. If you really had left.”

to go, sometimes you just went outside. Middle of winter, we’d be poppin’ a

“But that was ten years ago.”

squat out in the snow.”

“Look—some of us are close. Talk every week. Others, a few years go by.

She took a long breath, ready to tell more of her story. Kurt cut her off.

Daisy texted once in a while. Stopped altogether a few years ago. But there’s

“She wants to know about Daisy,” he said.

nothing strange about that.”

V was surprised now. “Daisy? Why on earth do you want to know about

“And you’re sure they were from her—the messages?”

her?”

“I know how she says things. How she talks. Why are you asking this?” V

“Because she also disappeared from Hastings,” Nic said. “Ten years ago.”

was now concerned. “Do you know something?”

A loud, boisterous laugh filled the small space wall to wall. “Who told you

“No—it’s not that. I guess I’m just in that frame of mind, looking for my

that?”

mother.”

V stared now, out the window into the woods. Thinking, maybe, about her

V placed her hand on top of Nic’s. “Oh, you poor thing. But Daisy—well,

sister.

that’s not the same situation. She moved to the city. She wrote to her boyfriend,

“I did,” Kurt said.

too. And thank God! That poor kid. Went to Boston. Harassed my sister there, V set her elbows on the table and leaned closer to Nic. She looked her in the demanding to search her house looking for Daisy. Put up flyers all over the city.

eye, hard and without blinking, for a long moment.

Did the same in Hartford. Any place he thought she might have gone. You

“Daisy wasn’t like the rest of us. Plain folk. Making do. I know where all the know, he even went up to this summer camp she used to go to.”

others are. Some married. Some got kids. Others like me, just working to pay

“Summer camp?” Nic asked.

bills. We like living alone after how we grew up. But Daisy, she was a shining

“I told you she was resourceful. She got herself a scholarship. Up in

star. Smarter than the rest of us. Resourceful. Always fighting to get out. Get Woodstock. Some camp for gifted kids. They read plays and poetry all summer

more. She used to use a stick to poke through the crack in the cupboard where

—can you imagine? She came back full of herself. Quoting things from people

the chains couldn’t quite pull them together right. She put sticky tape on the end we’d never heard of, making us feel stupid. But it was hard to blame her. Daisy and figured out how to drag boxes of crackers close to that crack. She’d pull out wanted a better life and she was willing to work for it. She said some of the kids a few. Eat them all herself. Then she’d slide the box back. And she didn’t care at that camp had more money than everyone in this town put together. She got a when it was time for punishment.”

real taste of it.”

V shook her head.

Nic looked at the woods now, through the window. It was dirty, like

“You think our mother didn’t know exactly how many crackers were in each

Nic looked at the woods now, through the window. It was dirty, like

“You think our mother didn’t know exactly how many crackers were in each everything in this room. This house. Piles of clothing. Piles of books. Piles of old box?”

magazines. Piles of canned food with bright orange value stickers. V was a

Nic watched V tell this story of her sister, her mind spinning. There were

hoarder, and Nic couldn’t blame her after the way she’d grown up. Still, there girls like Daisy Hollander everywhere. Nic knew the type. Scrappy. Resourceful.was nothing here that was going to help Nic find her mother.

“And she finally found a way to leave for good?’ Nic asked.

She took a moment to be respectful, but then got up to leave. Kurt followed.

“Sure did. She told most people she was going to Boston to live with our

“Thanks for talking to me,” she said.

sister. There were four siblings and my parents still here at the time. I knew she

“Yeah—thanks,” Kurt echoed.

was going to disappear, at least for a while. She didn’t want to get dragged V got up as well. “My sister left ten years ago. Can’t see how it had anything down.”

to do with your mother.”

“So she just never came back? Didn’t you worry about what had happened to

They walked to the door. Said their goodbyes.

her?”

Nic was about to leave, but then she stopped.

“I know what happened,” V said. “She texted me. She moved to New York.

“Is her boyfriend still around?” she asked.

Begged me not to tell her poor boyfriend. That kid nearly lost his mind when she

“Of course,” V said. She looked at Kurt curiously. “Everybody knows him.”

left.”

Nic also looked at Kurt now.

“But that was ten years ago.”

“Who is he?” she asked.

“Look—some of us are close. Talk every week. Others, a few years go by.

It was Kurt who answered. “Roger Booth.”

Daisy texted once in a while. Stopped altogether a few years ago. But there’s nothing strange about that.”

“And you’re sure they were from her—the messages?”

“I know how she says things. How she talks. Why are you asking this?” V

was now concerned. “Do you know something?”

“No—it’s not that. I guess I’m just in that frame of mind, looking for my

mother.”

V placed her hand on top of Nic’s. “Oh, you poor thing. But Daisy—well,

that’s not the same situation. She moved to the city. She wrote to her boyfriend, too. And thank God! That poor kid. Went to Boston. Harassed my sister there, demanding to search her house looking for Daisy. Put up flyers all over the city.

Did the same in Hartford. Any place he thought she might have gone. You

know, he even went up to this summer camp she used to go to.”

“Summer camp?” Nic asked.

“I told you she was resourceful. She got herself a scholarship. Up in

Woodstock. Some camp for gifted kids. They read plays and poetry all summer

—can you imagine? She came back full of herself. Quoting things from people

we’d never heard of, making us feel stupid. But it was hard to blame her. Daisy wanted a better life and she was willing to work for it. She said some of the kids at that camp had more money than everyone in this town put together. She got a real taste of it.”

Nic looked at the woods now, through the window. It was dirty, like

Nic looked at the woods now, through the window. It was dirty, like everything in this room. This house. Piles of clothing. Piles of books. Piles of old magazines. Piles of canned food with bright orange value stickers. V was a

hoarder, and Nic couldn’t blame her after the way she’d grown up. Still, there was nothing here that was going to help Nic find her mother.

She took a moment to be respectful, but then got up to leave. Kurt followed.

“Thanks for talking to me,” she said.

“Yeah—thanks,” Kurt echoed.

V got up as well. “My sister left ten years ago. Can’t see how it had anything to do with your mother.”

They walked to the door. Said their goodbyes.

Nic was about to leave, but then she stopped.

“Is her boyfriend still around?” she asked.

“Of course,” V said. She looked at Kurt curiously. “Everybody knows him.”

Nic also looked at Kurt now.

“Who is he?” she asked.

It was Kurt who answered. “Roger Booth.”

Chapter Fifteen

Day fourteen

My mother used to say that you can only be as happy as your least happy

child. She said there was no getting around this if you were a good and loving parent. She said that’s why she only had one child. Once she had me and came to understand this about being a parent, she didn’t want to further reduce her

chances of having a happy life.

My mother was a pessimist.

She never got around to telling me what happens when a child dies. And

when you are the one who killed her.

I think about this while I lie in bed staring at the cracks of light that sneak in through the seams of the plywood. It covers the window from the outside.

Sometimes I pull the draperies closed so I can pretend it’s just a window. Other times I don’t want to pretend.

On the frame of the bedroom doorway, he has installed a metal grate—a

second door with eight vertical bars and four horizontal ones. There is a small piece that can open at the bottom with a latch on the other side. Another panel is at the same height as the door handle and it, too, has a lock. A lock with a key.

The bedroom is now a prison.

“Sorry about all this,” he said on the day he let me out of the back room.

“It’s my fault, really. I should have remembered to turn off the phone.”

* * *

It has been fourteen days since the night of the storm. Two days in the house,

thinking I would go home. Five days locked in the dark room with the tile floor, knowing I wouldn’t. Seven days in this bedroom, wanting to die. But knowing I can’t.

Everything now is about keeping this man away from my family. Away from

Nicole.

I stare at the streaks of light and assess the state of my mind. On each of

these nine days since leaving that back room, it has surprised me and I have come to view it as a separate entity. Separate from my body. Out of my control in every way.

in every way.

Some mornings, I wake up not remembering where I am and I feel what I

used to feel before the night of the storm—what had come to feel normal after five years, but which I now recognize as numb. It only lasts a moment before reality washes through me like a wave of nausea. That is how I feel today, on day fourteen. And I have the answer my mother never told me. What life is like when you have killed your own child. Numb. I see it now for what it is, because now it washes away with the horror of my captivity.

Day fourteen

On other mornings, I wake up startled and I jump from the bed and stand

My mother used to say that you can only be as happy as your least happy

with my back to the wall. I let out small gasps of air with cries of despair that I child. She said there was no getting around this if you were a good and loving cover with my hand. I am alive with desperation. But I am alive.

parent. She said that’s why she only had one child. Once she had me and came to Sometimes I don’t sleep at all, and so there is no waking up. My mind reels

understand this about being a parent, she didn’t want to further reduce her

through the night of the storm. Through the mistakes I made. I swim in a pool of chances of having a happy life.

self-loathing, for Annie’s death, for Nicole’s pain, and for what I have now done My mother was a pessimist.

to my family by by walking down that road, trying to escape my life. I bathe in She never got around to telling me what happens when a child dies. And

the agony that I feel I deserve, and my suffering soothes the guilt. I cry and when you are the one who killed her.

shake but then accept my penance as I stare into the darkness.

I think about this while I lie in bed staring at the cracks of light that sneak in But that is not the worst of the mornings. On the worst of the mornings, I

through the seams of the plywood. It covers the window from the outside.

wake up with Alice entangled in my arms because she is very good at sneaking.

Sometimes I pull the draperies closed so I can pretend it’s just a window. Other She likes to be locked in the room with me. And he allows this because times I don’t want to pretend.

somehow he knows I will not hurt another child. He is good at sneaking, too. At On the frame of the bedroom doorway, he has installed a metal grate—a

sneaking Alice into my room.

second door with eight vertical bars and four horizontal ones. There is a small On those mornings, he comes to collect her, opening the gate, closing it

piece that can open at the bottom with a latch on the other side. Another panel is again. Locking it shut.

at the same height as the door handle and it, too, has a lock. A lock with a key.

I try to think that this invasion of my bed, my body, is helping me, giving me The bedroom is now a prison.

power. The more Alice needs me, the more power I will yield over her.

“Sorry about all this,” he said on the day he let me out of the back room.

And power is just what I need over this little girl, my little prison guard. As

“It’s my fault, really. I should have remembered to turn off the phone.”

long as I am a good mommy to her, there is no talk of finding a new mommy.

* * *

There is no talk of Nicole.

It has been fourteen days since the night of the storm. Two days in the house,

* * *

thinking I would go home. Five days locked in the dark room with the tile floor, I have come to call the man Mick. It is the name Alice gave him that night in knowing I wouldn’t. Seven days in this bedroom, wanting to die. But knowing I the truck. Mickey Mouse. And for that split second, I had let myself believe he can’t.

was harmless like that, like a cartoon character. I let him lead me back into this Everything now is about keeping this man away from my family. Away from house when I might have tried to run away, into the woods. I did not know that Nicole.

would be my last chance to escape.

I stare at the streaks of light and assess the state of my mind. On each of

* * *

these nine days since leaving that back room, it has surprised me and I have

In these seven days, I have learned a lot of things about Alice and her life in come to view it as a separate entity. Separate from my body. Out of my control this house.

in every way.

She has lived here since before she can remember. She told me she was born

in every way.

She has lived here since before she can remember. She told me she was born

Some mornings, I wake up not remembering where I am and I feel what I

here, in that dark laundry room with no windows, but I have no proof of that one used to feel before the night of the storm—what had come to feel normal after way or another and I will not make any more assumptions.

five years, but which I now recognize as numb. It only lasts a moment before Her first mommy lived here until last spring. Alice has a calendar and knows reality washes through me like a wave of nausea. That is how I feel today, on how to keep track of time. She has books from a homeschool program, but there day fourteen. And I have the answer my mother never told me. What life is like is no Internet here so she does the work on paper. Mick collects her work at the when you have killed your own child. Numb. I see it now for what it is, because end of each day and tells her he sends it off to the program and they keep track now it washes away with the horror of my captivity.

of her progress.

On other mornings, I wake up startled and I jump from the bed and stand

“Look!” she said to me one day, showing me a handwritten report. It was

with my back to the wall. I let out small gasps of air with cries of despair that I written by Mick, I was certain.

cover with my hand. I am alive with desperation. But I am alive.

I studied the report.

Sometimes I don’t sleep at all, and so there is no waking up. My mind reels

“You did very well!” I said to Alice.

through the night of the storm. Through the mistakes I made. I swim in a pool of The report said little more. Your work is complete and was very good.

self-loathing, for Annie’s death, for Nicole’s pain, and for what I have now done We speak through the bars of my prison grate and she passes things to me

to my family by by walking down that road, trying to escape my life. I bathe in through the bars. She brings me food and things to drink other than the water I the agony that I feel I deserve, and my suffering soothes the guilt. I cry and can get from my bathroom sink.

shake but then accept my penance as I stare into the darkness.

She is serious about her school work. She is almost at a middle school level, But that is not the worst of the mornings. On the worst of the mornings, I

which tells me she is smart and that Mick, or someone else, has been guiding her wake up with Alice entangled in my arms because she is very good at sneaking. through the material. The subject matter is easy for me to teach. Simple algebra.

She likes to be locked in the room with me. And he allows this because

Grammar. Earth science. The challenge comes from her impatience when she

somehow he knows I will not hurt another child. He is good at sneaking, too. At gets stuck. She is quick to anger and I am learning how to manage her moods.

sneaking Alice into my room.

When she is not doing schoolwork, she watches television shows on an iPad.

On those mornings, he comes to collect her, opening the gate, closing it

Mick downloads new shows for her when he leaves the house and she watches

again. Locking it shut.

them many times. She does not like the days when he takes her iPad with him. It I try to think that this invasion of my bed, my body, is helping me, giving me makes her anxious.

power. The more Alice needs me, the more power I will yield over her.

The shows are familiar to me, like Mickey Mouse. She also has movies,

And power is just what I need over this little girl, my little prison guard. As some of which are too mature for her, but I say nothing. It is not my job to be her long as I am a good mommy to her, there is no talk of finding a new mommy.

mother.

There is no talk of Nicole.

It is only my job to be her second mommy.

* * *

“You’re a good second mommy,” she tells me. And when she tells me this, I

I have come to call the man Mick. It is the name Alice gave him that night in feel a heat inside my body. Because on other days, she tells me different things the truck. Mickey Mouse. And for that split second, I had let myself believe he that make my blood cold.

was harmless like that, like a cartoon character. I let him lead me back into this

“If you can’t be a good second mommy, we will have to get a new one.”

house when I might have tried to run away, into the woods. I did not know that It is in these moments that I question what I might be capable of doing.

would be my last chance to escape.

I have learned that the phone was never dead.

* * *

There is no phone line connected. I asked Alice about this and she said she

In these seven days, I have learned a lot of things about Alice and her life in uses it all the time. I asked her how. She said she plays pretend with it. I asked this house.

her what kind of sound it makes.

She has lived here since before she can remember. She told me she was born

her what kind of sound it makes.

She has lived here since before she can remember. She told me she was born

“There’s no sound on a phone unless someone calls you, silly. Didn’t you

here, in that dark laundry room with no windows, but I have no proof of that one ever have a phone?”

way or another and I will not make any more assumptions.

“I have a cell phone. And you’re right. If you just hold it to your ear it

Her first mommy lived here until last spring. Alice has a calendar and knows doesn’t make any sound. But a phone like the one in the kitchen is not a cell how to keep track of time. She has books from a homeschool program, but there phone. It’s an older kind of phone and when you pick it up, it usually makes a is no Internet here so she does the work on paper. Mick collects her work at the sound.”

end of each day and tells her he sends it off to the program and they keep track This made her angry too. “There’s no sound! I told you that. Phones don’t

of her progress.

make sounds.”

“Look!” she said to me one day, showing me a handwritten report. It was

That’s when I knew there was no landline.

written by Mick, I was certain.

No Internet. No phone line.

I studied the report.

Mick and Alice live off the grid. Except for the electricity and the gas. I

“You did very well!” I said to Alice.

wonder about this. I wonder who pays those bills and what name holds the

accounts. I wonder who owns this property. And why no one came here to

We speak through the bars of my prison grate and she passes things to me

search it after I disappeared. The article he showed me said they went door to through the bars. She brings me food and things to drink other than the water I door.

can get from my bathroom sink.

When Alice calmed down, she considered things.

She is serious about her school work. She is almost at a middle school level,

“You might be right about the phone,” she said, shaking her head. Then she

which tells me she is smart and that Mick, or someone else, has been guiding her lowered her voice to a whisper even though we were alone in the house.

through the material. The subject matter is easy for me to teach. Simple algebra.

“But it’s only because he works in a secret job. No one can know where we

Grammar. Earth science. The challenge comes from her impatience when she

are.”

gets stuck. She is quick to anger and I am learning how to manage her moods.

I also asked her then, and every chance I’ve had before, how they knew

When she is not doing schoolwork, she watches television shows on an iPad. things about my family and me. How they knew I would be passing through, and Mick downloads new shows for her when he leaves the house and she watches

that I had lost a child, that I had two other children. That I was so lost in my them many times. She does not like the days when he takes her iPad with him. It grief I might actually agree to live with them and be Alice’s new mommy.

makes her anxious.

Or maybe that was just a belief held by this little girl who plays with her

The shows are familiar to me, like Mickey Mouse. She also has movies,

dolls.

some of which are too mature for her, but I say nothing. It is not my job to be her She never answers. Sometimes she shrugs. Sometimes she says things about

mother.

how it’s important to know secrets about people to be prepared. I wonder now if It is only my job to be her second mommy.

she doesn’t know what he does or how he found out about me.

“You’re a good second mommy,” she tells me. And when she tells me this, I

* * *

feel a heat inside my body. Because on other days, she tells me different things I hear the knock on the inside wooden door. I know to open it without

that make my blood cold.

hesitation, even though there is no working lock on my side. She knocks as a

“If you can’t be a good second mommy, we will have to get a new one.”

courtesy. Alice stands before me on the other side of the metal grate. She is still It is in these moments that I question what I might be capable of doing.

in her pajamas, hair not brushed and tangled from the restless sleep of a child I have learned that the phone was never dead.

who still dreams.

There is no phone line connected. I asked Alice about this and she said she

“I want to play a game. Pick one,” she demands.

uses it all the time. I asked her how. She said she plays pretend with it. I asked

“Hannah and Suzannah,” I say. When we play with the dolls, I get to ask

her what kind of sound it makes.

questions. The questions bring answers, which are giving me insight into her

her what kind of sound it makes.

questions. The questions bring answers, which are giving me insight into her

“There’s no sound on a phone unless someone calls you, silly. Didn’t you

mind.

ever have a phone?”

“I’ll go get them,” she says.

“I have a cell phone. And you’re right. If you just hold it to your ear it

Mick is here now. He studies me longer than yesterday. Which was longer

doesn’t make any sound. But a phone like the one in the kitchen is not a cell than the day before, which was longer than the day before that. In the mornings, phone. It’s an older kind of phone and when you pick it up, it usually makes a I wear the first mommy’s pajamas and they cling to my breasts and the curves of sound.”

my hips. He has been coming earlier so I don’t have time to change.

This made her angry too. “There’s no sound! I told you that. Phones don’t

I can’t decide if I should sleep in the other clothes he’s given me. Her baggy make sounds.”

sweatshirts and pants. I can’t decide if I want him to look longer. He seems That’s when I knew there was no landline.

ambivalent about me, as though he is trying to see something in me that he

No Internet. No phone line.

needs, but he can’t find it yet. Maybe I’m too old and my body repulses him.

Mick and Alice live off the grid. Except for the electricity and the gas. I

Maybe I’m being too good and he wants me to fight so he can exert his strength wonder about this. I wonder who pays those bills and what name holds the

over me. Maybe he needs me to be more of a victim. I study his face and try to accounts. I wonder who owns this property. And why no one came here to

understand. I need him to want me here, with him and with Alice, so he will stop search it after I disappeared. The article he showed me said they went door to looking beyond these walls.

door.

Pulling Alice close, even having her in my bed, will give me power over her.

When Alice calmed down, she considered things.

Of that, I am certain.

“You might be right about the phone,” she said, shaking her head. Then she

But with Mick, I don’t know. And that terrifies me.

lowered her voice to a whisper even though we were alone in the house.

“Step back,” he says. And I do.

“But it’s only because he works in a secret job. No one can know where we

He unlocks the bottom panel of the grate and slides me some breakfast.

are.”

Coffee, eggs, toast. It’s the same every morning.

I also asked her then, and every chance I’ve had before, how they knew

“Thank you,” I say. I wait for him to lock the grate again. Then, and only

things about my family and me. How they knew I would be passing through, and then, do I step forward and take the small tray which holds the food. I sit cross-that I had lost a child, that I had two other children. That I was so lost in my legged on the floor while I eat because Alice will soon return and this is where I grief I might actually agree to live with them and be Alice’s new mommy.

will stay for most of the day. On the floor. Playing with a child through prison Or maybe that was just a belief held by this little girl who plays with her

bars.

dolls.

I draw from my work as a teacher years ago. And also as a mother, although

She never answers. Sometimes she shrugs. Sometimes she says things about those memories are locked away, behind that invisible line. The before and after how it’s important to know secrets about people to be prepared. I wonder now if of Annie’s death. They are provoked now by Alice and the things she makes me she doesn’t know what he does or how he found out about me.

do. How we would play board games together, my three children and me. And

* * *

how Annie hated to lose, just like Alice when we played Candyland. Nicole and

I hear the knock on the inside wooden door. I know to open it without

Evan would yell at her and she would cry. Not every time. It was just a stage. A hesitation, even though there is no working lock on my side. She knocks as a normal stage that children go through. Learning to play nicely. Learning how to courtesy. Alice stands before me on the other side of the metal grate. She is still handle disappointment.

in her pajamas, hair not brushed and tangled from the restless sleep of a child I think I was good at this, at teaching them these lessons, because I know

who still dreams.

what to do with Alice. It comes to me without effort. With the ease of

“I want to play a game. Pick one,” she demands.

experience. And it comes to me with the pain these memories provoke.

“Hannah and Suzannah,” I say. When we play with the dolls, I get to ask

Alice returns with the dolls. She hands me Suzannah.

questions. The questions bring answers, which are giving me insight into her

Alice returns with the dolls. She hands me Suzannah.

questions. The questions bring answers, which are giving me insight into her I sip my coffee. Take a bite of my food.

mind.

“What should we do today,” Hannah asks Suzannah.

“I’ll go get them,” she says.

I swallow as I think through my data and what is still needed.

Mick is here now. He studies me longer than yesterday. Which was longer

“I’m very angry today,” Suzannah says.

than the day before, which was longer than the day before that. In the mornings,

“How come?” asks Hannah.

I wear the first mommy’s pajamas and they cling to my breasts and the curves of And then I adjust my voice so it is just right. So Alice will not see the path I my hips. He has been coming earlier so I don’t have time to change.

am leading us down.

I can’t decide if I should sleep in the other clothes he’s given me. Her baggy

“I had a fight with my mother.”

sweatshirts and pants. I can’t decide if I want him to look longer. He seems Alice smiles, and tilts Hannah to the side so she can reach through the bars ambivalent about me, as though he is trying to see something in me that he

and give my doll a hug.

needs, but he can’t find it yet. Maybe I’m too old and my body repulses him.

And I think, that’s right, Alice.

Maybe I’m being too good and he wants me to fight so he can exert his strength Keep reaching through these bars. And maybe one day soon they will open.

over me. Maybe he needs me to be more of a victim. I study his face and try to understand. I need him to want me here, with him and with Alice, so he will stop looking beyond these walls.

Pulling Alice close, even having her in my bed, will give me power over her.

Of that, I am certain.

But with Mick, I don’t know. And that terrifies me.

“Step back,” he says. And I do.

He unlocks the bottom panel of the grate and slides me some breakfast.

Coffee, eggs, toast. It’s the same every morning.

“Thank you,” I say. I wait for him to lock the grate again. Then, and only

then, do I step forward and take the small tray which holds the food. I sit cross-legged on the floor while I eat because Alice will soon return and this is where I will stay for most of the day. On the floor. Playing with a child through prison bars.

I draw from my work as a teacher years ago. And also as a mother, although

those memories are locked away, behind that invisible line. The before and after of Annie’s death. They are provoked now by Alice and the things she makes me do. How we would play board games together, my three children and me. And

how Annie hated to lose, just like Alice when we played Candyland. Nicole and Evan would yell at her and she would cry. Not every time. It was just a stage. A normal stage that children go through. Learning to play nicely. Learning how to handle disappointment.

I think I was good at this, at teaching them these lessons, because I know

what to do with Alice. It comes to me without effort. With the ease of

experience. And it comes to me with the pain these memories provoke.

Alice returns with the dolls. She hands me Suzannah.

Alice returns with the dolls. She hands me Suzannah.

I sip my coffee. Take a bite of my food.

“What should we do today,” Hannah asks Suzannah.

I swallow as I think through my data and what is still needed.

“I’m very angry today,” Suzannah says.

“How come?” asks Hannah.

And then I adjust my voice so it is just right. So Alice will not see the path I am leading us down.

“I had a fight with my mother.”

Alice smiles, and tilts Hannah to the side so she can reach through the bars and give my doll a hug.

And I think, that’s right, Alice.

Keep reaching through these bars. And maybe one day soon they will open.

Chapter Sixteen

Day fourteen

I didn’t think it mattered.

That was the first excuse Kurt Kent made. Then, I felt bad for the guy.

What did he think Nic was going to do? Laugh at Roger Booth because his

girlfriend left him after high school? Torture him with bad memories from his adolescence?

Finally, he gave an answer that rang true.

“I thought you might accuse him of having something to do with your

mother’s disappearance.”

Nic watched the wall of trees pass as she fought to stay calm.

“You’re the one who told me about Daisy Hollander,” Nic reminded him.

“I know.”

“So you must have known it would lead right back to him.”

Kurt started to say something but then stopped. A long sigh, a glance out the side window—

“What?” Nic asked now.

“I wasn’t thinking about Booth when I told you.”

“Well, maybe you should have—he lied to me about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I asked him if he knew about Daisy Hollander and he said everybody knew,

but then failed to mention she was his girlfriend—or that he spent all that time searching for her.”

“That’s not really a lie.”

“It’s an omission. Same thing.”

Yes, Nic thought. Just like her father with the handwriting analysis. And what else? What other things were people not telling her, here and at home?

Kurt fell silent.

“What, then?” she asked. “What did you think it would lead me to?”

The wall of trees opened to the river, then the turn onto Hastings Pass.

“It’s probably nothing,” he said.

They passed the police station, town hall, the auto body shop. They were at

They passed the police station, town hall, the auto body shop. They were at the inn when he finally said the name. A different name. The last name she’d been expecting to hear.

“Chief Watkins.”

“Watkins? What does he have to do with Daisy Hollander?”

“The chief has this thing about kids.”

“What kind of thing?”

Kurt turned right, into the parking lot at the inn. He pulled to a stop.

Day fourteen

“He used to come to the school. Talk about opportunities—scholarships and

sports recruiting. Ways to get out of here, get money for college.”

“That sounds admirable.”

What did he think Nic was going to do? Laugh at Roger Booth because his

“I guess.”

girlfriend left him after high school? Torture him with bad memories from his

“So did he help Daisy Hollander get the scholarship to that summer camp?”

adolescence?

“Had to be. But it’s more than that.”

Finally, he gave an answer that rang true.

“Okay.”

“I thought you might accuse him of having something to do with your

Kurt looked around now, at the inn and then the diner. He lowered his voice

mother’s disappearance.”

even though the windows were closed.

Nic watched the wall of trees pass as she fought to stay calm.

“There was talk that the chief was the one who drove Daisy to Boston. He

“You’re the one who told me about Daisy Hollander,” Nic reminded him.

denied it, but some of her friends told Booth, so Booth got in his face about it.

“I know.”

Took a swing at him. The chief said it was a lie, but he couldn’t prove where he

“So you must have known it would lead right back to him.”

was that day. That’s all I heard. It could all be teenage bullshit. Gossip . . .”

Kurt started to say something but then stopped. A long sigh, a glance out the Nic pictured Booth from earlier that day, giving her the bear spray, showing side window—

her where to run. And then his abrupt departure after the question about Daisy

“What?” Nic asked now.

Hollander.

“I wasn’t thinking about Booth when I told you.”

She pictured Watkins the day before, stretching his arms out like there

“Well, maybe you should have—he lied to me about it.”

wasn’t enough space in the world to accommodate him. His ego eclipsing the

“What do you mean?”

universe. It made sense that he would play God helping kids. Changing their

“I asked him if he knew about Daisy Hollander and he said everybody knew, lives. Even helping one of them start a new life with a sister who’d made it out.

but then failed to mention she was his girlfriend—or that he spent all that time But then,

searching for her.”

“Wait a minute,” Nic said, remembering something. “Veronica told us that

“That’s not really a lie.”

she moved to New York. That she never went to Boston.”

“It’s an omission. Same thing.”

“I know.”

“So why did people say Chief Watkins drove Daisy to Boston?”

“Maybe that’s what she told people so Booth would have no way to track her

Kurt fell silent.

down.”

“What, then?” she asked. “What did you think it would lead me to?”

“And Watkins?”

The wall of trees opened to the river, then the turn onto Hastings Pass.

Kurt shrugged. “I don’t know. But people don’t change, right? So if he was

“It’s probably nothing,” he said.

willing to help Daisy Hollander disappear . . .”

They passed the police station, town hall, the auto body shop. They were at

Nic interrupted him. “Then why not my mother.”

They passed the police station, town hall, the auto body shop. They were at Nic interrupted him. “Then why not my mother.”

the inn when he finally said the name. A different name. The last name she’d

“Exactly.”

been expecting to hear.

A moment passed, Nic thinking. Kurt watching her. Then,

“Chief Watkins.”

“If she was out of gas, freaking out, then the chief came by, felt sorry for her

“Watkins? What does he have to do with Daisy Hollander?”

—promised to drop her somewhere and not tell anyone. It happened on the same

“The chief has this thing about kids.”

day your sister died, right? The same day your mother killed her.”

“What kind of thing?”

The last few words hung in the air. Your mother killed her . . .

Kurt turned right, into the parking lot at the inn. He pulled to a stop.

And Nic felt the reply leave her mouth without a single thought.

“He used to come to the school. Talk about opportunities—scholarships and

“It was an accident,” she said.

sports recruiting. Ways to get out of here, get money for college.”

Kurt tried to go back. “Of course—you’re right. I only meant . . .”

“That sounds admirable.”

“I know what you meant. And why you said it.”

“I guess.”

She didn’t give him time to say more.

“So did he help Daisy Hollander get the scholarship to that summer camp?”

“I need to find Chief Watkins,” she said. “You must know where he lives.

“Had to be. But it’s more than that.”

You seem to know every inch of this place.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah, but he won’t be home.”

Kurt looked around now, at the inn and then the diner. He lowered his voice

“How do you know?”

even though the windows were closed.

“Because it’s Thursday. And on Thursday nights he goes to the casino.”

“There was talk that the chief was the one who drove Daisy to Boston. He

Kurt went on explaining, about free drinks with this and double the payoff denied it, but some of her friends told Booth, so Booth got in his face about it.

with that—all on Thursday nights at Laguna, and every time he said it Took a swing at him. The chief said it was a lie, but he couldn’t prove where he — Thursday night—Nic felt a tightening in her throat.

was that day. That’s all I heard. It could all be teenage bullshit. Gossip . . .”

“Thursday night was the night of the storm. The night my mother

Nic pictured Booth from earlier that day, giving her the bear spray, showing disappeared.”

her where to run. And then his abrupt departure after the question about Daisy Had Watkins been heading there, in spite of the storm? Maybe because of it?

Hollander.

Did he lie then, and was he lying now? Had he given her mother a ride? Kurt

She pictured Watkins the day before, stretching his arms out like there

was writing this new story one line at a time, letting Nic piece them together as wasn’t enough space in the world to accommodate him. His ego eclipsing the

though the story was of her own making. He said he’d mentioned Daisy

universe. It made sense that he would play God helping kids. Changing their

Hollander before, but Nic didn’t remember. And she would have, the same way

lives. Even helping one of them start a new life with a sister who’d made it out. she remembered pulling him to the back of the bar.

But then,

Nic reached for the door. Kurt grabbed her. Stopped her.

“Wait a minute,” Nic said, remembering something. “Veronica told us that

“Hey,” he said. “Wait a second.”

she moved to New York. That she never went to Boston.”

It was then Nic felt the tears sting her face. She wiped them away, then

“I know.”

pulled her arm from his grasp.

“So why did people say Chief Watkins drove Daisy to Boston?”

“It was an accident,” she said again.

“Maybe that’s what she told people so Booth would have no way to track her

“I know. I’m sorry. It just came out wrong.”

down.”

That was bullshit.

“And Watkins?”

“She wasn’t like that,” Nic said. “She wasn’t careless, not about anything.”

Kurt shrugged. “I don’t know. But people don’t change, right? So if he was Memories flooded in, then spilled out. The sweet memories that had been too willing to help Daisy Hollander disappear . . .”

painful to remember. “Our mother would wake us up for school by sitting on the Nic interrupted him. “Then why not my mother.”

painful to remember. “Our mother would wake us up for school by sitting on the Nic interrupted him. “Then why not my mother.”

edge of our beds and wiggling our toes . . . and she used to sing to us—when we

“Exactly.”

were babies . . . I saw her do it with Annie . . . rocking her and gazing into her A moment passed, Nic thinking. Kurt watching her. Then,

eyes . . . our mother cried at every stupid talent show and school play no matter

“If she was out of gas, freaking out, then the chief came by, felt sorry for her how horrible we were . . .”

—promised to drop her somewhere and not tell anyone. It happened on the same

“Okay.”

day your sister died, right? The same day your mother killed her.”

“No—it’s not okay. A mother like that doesn’t kill her child.”

“I know.”

And Nic felt the reply leave her mouth without a single thought.

“It was a fucking accident!” Nic said it one more time, though the words

“It was an accident,” she said.

were more for herself now than for this stranger from the bar across the street.

Kurt tried to go back. “Of course—you’re right. I only meant . . .”

She wiped away the tears, caught her breath.

“I know what you meant. And why you said it.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

She didn’t give him time to say more.

Then she was gone.

“I need to find Chief Watkins,” she said. “You must know where he lives.

You seem to know every inch of this place.”

“Yeah, but he won’t be home.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s Thursday. And on Thursday nights he goes to the casino.”

“Thursday night was the night of the storm. The night my mother

disappeared.”

Had Watkins been heading there, in spite of the storm? Maybe because of it?

Did he lie then, and was he lying now? Had he given her mother a ride? Kurt

was writing this new story one line at a time, letting Nic piece them together as though the story was of her own making. He said he’d mentioned Daisy

Hollander before, but Nic didn’t remember. And she would have, the same way

she remembered pulling him to the back of the bar.

Nic reached for the door. Kurt grabbed her. Stopped her.

“Hey,” he said. “Wait a second.”

It was then Nic felt the tears sting her face. She wiped them away, then

pulled her arm from his grasp.

“It was an accident,” she said again.

“I know. I’m sorry. It just came out wrong.”

That was bullshit.

“She wasn’t like that,” Nic said. “She wasn’t careless, not about anything.”

Memories flooded in, then spilled out. The sweet memories that had been too

painful to remember. “Our mother would wake us up for school by sitting on the

painful to remember. “Our mother would wake us up for school by sitting on the edge of our beds and wiggling our toes . . . and she used to sing to us—when we were babies . . . I saw her do it with Annie . . . rocking her and gazing into her eyes . . . our mother cried at every stupid talent show and school play no matter how horrible we were . . .”

“Okay.”

“No—it’s not okay. A mother like that doesn’t kill her child.”

“I know.”

“It was a fucking accident!” Nic said it one more time, though the words

were more for herself now than for this stranger from the bar across the street.

She wiped away the tears, caught her breath.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Then she was gone.

Chapter Seventeen

Day fourteen

Hannah and Suzannah have very different kinds of mothers. Hannah’s

mother is perfect. She’s sweet, kind, obedient. She has long, real blond hair, wears no makeup. She doesn’t need to because she’s so beautiful. And her body is thin. Hannah says she feels strong when she hugs her.

Alice never deviates in our game.

Suzannah’s mother, who is my invention, is strong-willed and defiant. She

hates Suzannah’s father and has no problem telling him. It upsets Suzannah

because her father has a temper and she is worried about what he might do to her mother.

“Sometimes I think he might hurt her,” Suzannah says.

Hannah grows quiet. Alice grows pensive.

The familiar wave of guilt races through me but I do not succumb.

“She should just be happy being my mommy!” Suzannah says. Then she

starts to cry.

Hannah wakes up now. She feeds on the emotional turmoil of her friend, and

gives back empathy that is exaggerated but also self-serving.

“You are so beautiful, Suzannah! Any mommy would be lucky to have you

as her little girl, and she should not do anything that would take her away from you! If she really, really loved you she wouldn’t do things like that! Things that might get her killed!”

I hold my breath, waiting for more information to seep out through the

cracks of this emotional outburst. But all I get are tears.

Suzannah nods her head. “Thank you, Hannah. You are the best friend I

could ever have!”

Alice pulls Hannah to her chest and hugs the doll, lost now in our characters and the game we play. Suzannah and I sit quietly until all is calm again.

We have been playing with the dolls all morning. We have not done any

schoolwork and Alice grows antsy.

“I’m supposed to have it done before noon,” she says. “Did you know that

the morning is the most productive time of the day? It’s when our brains are

the morning is the most productive time of the day? It’s when our brains are smartest.”

We used to talk about these things in faculty meetings and I wonder how she

knows them. Someone took the time to become educated about children and how

they develop. I can’t imagine it was Mick. When he comes now, with the food or to collect Alice, he seems agitated and distracted, like he has too much on his mind. Or maybe his mind is overwhelmed by what he’s done and the

consequences that are looming. I try to put him at ease with my docile behavior, Day fourteen

but then this seems to repulse him. I have been thinking about this dilemma.

Hannah and Suzannah have very different kinds of mothers. Hannah’s

What does he want from me? What will make his mind settle? He cannot go on

mother is perfect. She’s sweet, kind, obedient. She has long, real blond hair, forever in the state he’s in.

wears no makeup. She doesn’t need to because she’s so beautiful. And her body

“Okay,” I answer. “Why don’t we finish this game and then have some

is thin. Hannah says she feels strong when she hugs her.

lunch. The morning has already passed and the other thing that helps us be smart Alice never deviates in our game.

is food.”

Suzannah’s mother, who is my invention, is strong-willed and defiant. She

I need to finish what I started today. This is further than we have ever come hates Suzannah’s father and has no problem telling him. It upsets Suzannah

in talking about the mommies of these little plastic dolls and I need to know because her father has a temper and she is worried about what he might do to her more about Hannah’s. I need to know how old she was, what she looked like, mother.

where she slept, and why she wanted to leave. I need to know the things she said

“Sometimes I think he might hurt her,” Suzannah says.

and did and how she wore her hair. I need to know how she was like my

Hannah grows quiet. Alice grows pensive.

daughter. Like Nicole. I need to know so I can be more like her myself. Draw The familiar wave of guilt races through me but I do not succumb.

him to me and not my daughter.

“She should just be happy being my mommy!” Suzannah says. Then she

Their paths can never cross again. Not ever. But what if she comes back here starts to cry.

to look for me? What if the search is not really over?

Hannah wakes up now. She feeds on the emotional turmoil of her friend, and

I run through the facts of my disappearance. The car with no gas, my phone

gives back empathy that is exaggerated but also self-serving.

still there in the charger. No dead body found, so I must be somewhere. Won’t

“You are so beautiful, Suzannah! Any mommy would be lucky to have you they start to wonder how I am surviving in my new life as a grown-up runaway?

as her little girl, and she should not do anything that would take her away from If he’s used the credit card again, he would have risked being detected. That you! If she really, really loved you she wouldn’t do things like that! Things that would be foolish, and he does not seem foolish to me.

might get her killed!”

I step outside the details and think that maybe they just know. They will

I hold my breath, waiting for more information to seep out through the

know that I would never leave them. Not after I took Annie from them.

cracks of this emotional outburst. But all I get are tears.

Or maybe I’m thinking about this all wrong. Maybe they will see it as a gift Suzannah nods her head. “Thank you, Hannah. You are the best friend I

—finally freeing them of my presence. The miserable, sad reminder of our

could ever have!”

family tragedy.

Alice pulls Hannah to her chest and hugs the doll, lost now in our characters Suddenly, Alice speaks and I force myself to leave these thoughts. These

and the game we play. Suzannah and I sit quietly until all is calm again.

horrible thoughts that have caused beads of sweat to run down my face.

We have been playing with the dolls all morning. We have not done any

“Let’s keep playing,” she says.

schoolwork and Alice grows antsy.

I continue the game. Suzannah asks Hannah more about her mommy.

“I’m supposed to have it done before noon,” she says. “Did you know that

Hannah’s mommy is a fantasy. She is the mommy Alice wants, the one she

the morning is the most productive time of the day? It’s when our brains are might even believe she once had.

the morning is the most productive time of the day? It’s when our brains are might even believe she once had.

smartest.”

Her mommy died because she got lost in the woods. And yet, somehow I

We used to talk about these things in faculty meetings and I wonder how she know she didn’t.

knows them. Someone took the time to become educated about children and how

“Does your mommy ever take you shopping?” Suzannah asks Hannah.

they develop. I can’t imagine it was Mick. When he comes now, with the food or“Have you ever been to the mall? It’s so awesome! They have every kind of to collect Alice, he seems agitated and distracted, like he has too much on his store you can imagine. Like the one in that TV show we watched—remember?

mind. Or maybe his mind is overwhelmed by what he’s done and the

And they have a whole floor that’s just food. All kinds of food! Have you ever consequences that are looming. I try to put him at ease with my docile behavior, had Chinese food? We used to go all the time, but now my father won’t let us. I but then this seems to repulse him. I have been thinking about this dilemma.

think that’s why my mommy is so mad at him.”

What does he want from me? What will make his mind settle? He cannot go on

What does Alice know of the real world? Did her first mommy tell her things

forever in the state he’s in.

about it? How many times has she left the house, wearing her mask?

“Okay,” I answer. “Why don’t we finish this game and then have some

I want answers to these questions so I can understand my captor. But I also

lunch. The morning has already passed and the other thing that helps us be smart want my little blond prison guard to wonder about the life that Mick keeps from is food.”

her. I want her to taste it. And to feel angry about it. Angry at him.

I need to finish what I started today. This is further than we have ever come I am the one who can give that to her. I am the one who can save her.

in talking about the mommies of these little plastic dolls and I need to know Alice grows cold. She slowly drops Hannah to the floor, thinking carefully

more about Hannah’s. I need to know how old she was, what she looked like,

about what to say to me.

where she slept, and why she wanted to leave. I need to know the things she said

“I know what you’re trying to do,” she says.

and did and how she wore her hair. I need to know how she was like my

I answer as Suzannah. “What?”

daughter. Like Nicole. I need to know so I can be more like her myself. Draw But she reaches through the bars and grabs the doll from my hands. She

him to me and not my daughter.

throws her against the wall behind us, then picks her up to make sure she hasn’t Their paths can never cross again. Not ever. But what if she comes back here been damaged.

to look for me? What if the search is not really over?

I make a note—Mick will not be pleased if she has broken a toy.

I run through the facts of my disappearance. The car with no gas, my phone

“I can’t do any of those things because of my allergies and you’re using the still there in the charger. No dead body found, so I must be somewhere. Won’t dolls to make me feel bad!”

they start to wonder how I am surviving in my new life as a grown-up runaway?

I don’t let her anger touch me, though it is so hot it radiates from her skin.

If he’s used the credit card again, he would have risked being detected. That

“That was not my intention. I was just trying to make Suzannah be a normal

would be foolish, and he does not seem foolish to me.

girl,” I say. And you are not normal, Alice. Why do you think that is?

I step outside the details and think that maybe they just know. They will

She folds her arms and scowls like a two-year-old. Eyes pinched together.

know that I would never leave them. Not after I took Annie from them.

Lips pursed tight. It makes me want to laugh the way I would when my own

Or maybe I’m thinking about this all wrong. Maybe they will see it as a gift children would do this. The memory comes and goes, but leaves behind a

—finally freeing them of my presence. The miserable, sad reminder of our

residue. It’s sticky and sweet and I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t know family tragedy.

if I like or dislike it. Still, it lingers.

Suddenly, Alice speaks and I force myself to leave these thoughts. These

Nicole was my biggest scowler. There was a drama to it that was so extreme

horrible thoughts that have caused beads of sweat to run down my face.

it felt like a parody, like a skit on a television show that was supposed to

“Let’s keep playing,” she says.

provoke laughter.

I continue the game. Suzannah asks Hannah more about her mommy.

Now comes a memory of John. Being with John. Two young parents with an

Hannah’s mommy is a fantasy. She is the mommy Alice wants, the one she unruly toddler. Just one precious child in our perfect little family. His love for might even believe she once had.

unruly toddler. Just one precious child in our perfect little family. His love for might even believe she once had.

her bounded past his love for me, but I didn’t mind. It made me love him even Her mommy died because she got lost in the woods. And yet, somehow I

more, watching him love our child. When she scowled at us over something that know she didn’t.

displeased her, having to go to bed or not getting more cookies, his laughter was

“Does your mommy ever take you shopping?” Suzannah asks Hannah.

so big he would have to flee the room to stifle it, leaving me to swallow mine

“Have you ever been to the mall? It’s so awesome! They have every kind of

while I talked her through it.

store you can imagine. Like the one in that TV show we watched—remember?

These memories come every day now. Memories of my family. My love for

And they have a whole floor that’s just food. All kinds of food! Have you ever them. I don’t know if they come because I am finally being punished for what I had Chinese food? We used to go all the time, but now my father won’t let us. I have done. Or if they come because I spend my days with Alice, in the mind of a think that’s why my mommy is so mad at him.”

nine-year-old girl.

What does Alice know of the real world? Did her first mommy tell her things

They leave me with the residue which I cannot identify.

about it? How many times has she left the house, wearing her mask?

In this moment, I decide that I like it. Its sticky sweetness covers the

I want answers to these questions so I can understand my captor. But I also

thoughts of the log in the fireplace and Nicole’s angry words and Evan’s eyes, want my little blond prison guard to wonder about the life that Mick keeps from turning away.

her. I want her to taste it. And to feel angry about it. Angry at him.

Alice takes the dolls and leaves.

I am the one who can give that to her. I am the one who can save her.

“I’m not bringing you any lunch!” she says.

Alice grows cold. She slowly drops Hannah to the floor, thinking carefully

“Alice,” I call after her. “Please don’t be angry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

about what to say to me.

My voice is calm. I don’t care about lunch. I may be a prisoner, but I am not

“I know what you’re trying to do,” she says.

an animal. I am not one of John’s dogs waiting in the kitchen for my bowl to be I answer as Suzannah. “What?”

filled. I will not beg. I would sooner starve.

But she reaches through the bars and grabs the doll from my hands. She

This defiance is another thing that is unfamiliar, but has become a part of me.

throws her against the wall behind us, then picks her up to make sure she hasn’t Bring it, I think now. Bring on the punishment. The angry little prison guard.

been damaged.

The starvation.

I make a note—Mick will not be pleased if she has broken a toy.

I go to my bed and lie down. I begin to think about my next move, the next

“I can’t do any of those things because of my allergies and you’re using the game I will play and how I will be less obvious. I think that maybe I will watch dolls to make me feel bad!”

her shows with her so I can laugh and comment in places that will provoke the I don’t let her anger touch me, though it is so hot it radiates from her skin.

same thoughts—recognition that she, too, is a prisoner. And that I am her only way out.

But then she returns. I hear the latch turn on the small panel of the metal

She folds her arms and scowls like a two-year-old. Eyes pinched together.

grate and the tray scrape the floor as she slides it to my side.

Lips pursed tight. It makes me want to laugh the way I would when my own

“Here!” she says. “Don’t say I didn’t do you any favors.”

children would do this. The memory comes and goes, but leaves behind a

She learned that expression from a TV show and I continue the thoughts of

residue. It’s sticky and sweet and I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t know my new plan even as I get up from the bed and walk back to the doorway.

if I like or dislike it. Still, it lingers.

I sit before her.

Nicole was my biggest scowler. There was a drama to it that was so extreme

She has made me a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk.

it felt like a parody, like a skit on a television show that was supposed to

“Thank you, Alice,” I say. “You are very kind.”

provoke laughter.

“Eat it,” she commands. And I do as I am told. I do not mind this small

Now comes a memory of John. Being with John. Two young parents with an humiliation.

unruly toddler. Just one precious child in our perfect little family. His love for She watches me eat, the peanut butter sticking to my mouth so I have to

unruly toddler. Just one precious child in our perfect little family. His love for She watches me eat, the peanut butter sticking to my mouth so I have to

her bounded past his love for me, but I didn’t mind. It made me love him even drink the milk. She knows I hate milk. I think about going to the bathroom to get more, watching him love our child. When she scowled at us over something that a cup of water. To prove a point. I still have some control. Some power. But then displeased her, having to go to bed or not getting more cookies, his laughter was I decide to suffer and suffer big. I gag when I drink the milk and I watch her face so big he would have to flee the room to stifle it, leaving me to swallow mine change. She cannot stop the need to empathize.

while I talked her through it.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I forgot that you don’t like milk.” This is a lie, but it These memories come every day now. Memories of my family. My love for doesn’t matter.

them. I don’t know if they come because I am finally being punished for what I She leaves and returns quickly with a glass of lemonade.

have done. Or if they come because I spend my days with Alice, in the mind of a The milk was an intentional act of cruelty. It provoked the intended response nine-year-old girl.

—pain and discomfort. That gave her the opportunity to fix it. To make it better.

They leave me with the residue which I cannot identify.

To bring me comfort. And that makes her feel powerful and important. She has In this moment, I decide that I like it. Its sticky sweetness covers the

few chances to do that, living alone in this house.

thoughts of the log in the fireplace and Nicole’s angry words and Evan’s eyes, She made me suffer so she could get her empathy fix.

turning away.

Thank you, Alice. Thank you for this piece of information.

Alice takes the dolls and leaves.

She looks at me and smiles. I see tears well in her crystal-blue eyes. Tears of

“I’m not bringing you any lunch!” she says.

joy that she saved this mongrel with a glass of lemonade.

“Alice,” I call after her. “Please don’t be angry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Do you want to start your schoolwork now?” I ask her.

My voice is calm. I don’t care about lunch. I may be a prisoner, but I am not She nods. “We’d better or he’ll be angry.”

an animal. I am not one of John’s dogs waiting in the kitchen for my bowl to be

“Don’t worry—we’ll get it done before he gets home.”

filled. I will not beg. I would sooner starve.

The man comes home at different times, so this promise is a lie. Sometimes

This defiance is another thing that is unfamiliar, but has become a part of me.he comes home during the day. Sometimes he stays home late in the mornings.

. The angry little prison guard. And sometimes he’s gone all night. On those nights, he locks Alice inside the room with me with her iPad and food. She seems to like those nights, the nights I go to my bed and lie down. I begin to think about my next move, the next

when we are prisoners together. This is good and this is bad. I need her to like game I will play and how I will be less obvious. I think that maybe I will watch me, but I need her to crave our escape. And I need Mick to want to be with us.

her shows with her so I can laugh and comment in places that will provoke the I smile at her. “Just this one time it will be done after lunch. It can be our same thoughts—recognition that she, too, is a prisoner. And that I am her only little secret.”

way out.

Alice moves closer to the metal bars.

But then she returns. I hear the latch turn on the small panel of the metal

“There are no secrets here,” she says quietly. In a whisper.

grate and the tray scrape the floor as she slides it to my side.

“What do you mean?” I ask. A chill runs through me even before she

“Here!” she says. “Don’t say I didn’t do you any favors.”

answers.

She learned that expression from a TV show and I continue the thoughts of

She glances up to the ceiling, then back at me. I follow with my own eyes

my new plan even as I get up from the bed and walk back to the doorway.

and try to find what has just drawn her attention.

I sit before her.

I see painted molding, simple, running along the crease between the ceiling

She has made me a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk.

and the wall. It runs all the way down the hallway that leads to the kitchen and

“Thank you, Alice,” I say. “You are very kind.”

living room and the little room where Alice keeps her toys. It is coated with a

“Eat it,” she commands. And I do as I am told. I do not mind this small

thin line of dust, just like the floor, though not as thick.

humiliation.

I let my eyes follow the molding until it reaches the corner where the

She watches me eat, the peanut butter sticking to my mouth so I have to

I let my eyes follow the molding until it reaches the corner where the She watches me eat, the peanut butter sticking to my mouth so I have to

hallway ends. It is less than ten feet away. It is there that I see a small monitor.

drink the milk. She knows I hate milk. I think about going to the bathroom to get

“What do you mean, Alice? Why were you looking at the ceiling?”

a cup of water. To prove a point. I still have some control. Some power. But then

“They’re everywhere,” she answers.

I decide to suffer and suffer big. I gag when I drink the milk and I watch her face

“What are everywhere?” I ask.

change. She cannot stop the need to empathize.

She glances again. “The eyes.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I forgot that you don’t like milk.” This is a lie, but it A second chill comes and goes.

doesn’t matter.

“What eyes?” I look again at the monitor. It looks like a motion detector for She leaves and returns quickly with a glass of lemonade.

an alarm system. But I know there is no alarm that he sets. I study his

The milk was an intentional act of cruelty. It provoked the intended response movements when he comes and goes. The panel would be by the front door. He

—pain and discomfort. That gave her the opportunity to fix it. To make it better. never stops there. I never hear the sound they make when they are about to be To bring me comfort. And that makes her feel powerful and important. She has armed. We’ve had an alarm in our house for years.

few chances to do that, living alone in this house.

But then I see something in the small box. A red light.

She made me suffer so she could get her empathy fix.

Alice lets my brain process what I’ve just seen. She can tell by my face that I have seen it.

She looks at me and smiles. I see tears well in her crystal-blue eyes. Tears of

“Dolly’s eyes,” she says.

joy that she saved this mongrel with a glass of lemonade.

“Dolly?” I ask. Then I remember. “The doll in your toy room? The old doll

“Do you want to start your schoolwork now?” I ask her.

that sits on the shelf?”

She nods. “We’d better or he’ll be angry.”

She nods slowly. “Dolly has eyes all over the house. She sees everything and

“Don’t worry—we’ll get it done before he gets home.”

hears everything and she tells him everything.”

The man comes home at different times, so this promise is a lie. Sometimes

I hold my breath to keep from crying out.

he comes home during the day. Sometimes he stays home late in the mornings.

The red light. I think where else I have seen one. I don’t turn away, but I

And sometimes he’s gone all night. On those nights, he locks Alice inside the count the places in my head.

room with me with her iPad and food. She seems to like those nights, the nights The playroom next to Dolly.

when we are prisoners together. This is good and this is bad. I need her to like The living room in the corner that faces the front door.

me, but I need her to crave our escape. And I need Mick to want to be with us.

The dark room.

I smile at her. “Just this one time it will be done after lunch. It can be our This hallway.

little secret.”

The corner of my bedroom.

Alice moves closer to the metal bars.

I ease the air out of my lungs, then take more in to slow my pulse.

“There are no secrets here,” she says quietly. In a whisper.

“I see.” This is all I can manage to say.

“What do you mean?” I ask. A chill runs through me even before she

So he is watching us, always. I think about the day I went for a walk. It was answers.

not a coincidence that he came home in time to stop me. He knew I had left

She glances up to the ceiling, then back at me. I follow with my own eyes

because he saw me leave.

and try to find what has just drawn her attention.

The cameras are everywhere.

I see painted molding, simple, running along the crease between the ceiling

And the cameras are feeding to him live. There is Internet here, somewhere.

and the wall. It runs all the way down the hallway that leads to the kitchen and

“Go get your schoolwork, then. We don’t want to break any more rules.”

living room and the little room where Alice keeps her toys. It is coated with a Alice leaves and I turn my face from the camera in my room. I feel tears

thin line of dust, just like the floor, though not as thick.

wanting to come but they will cause my body to tremble and he will know. He

I let my eyes follow the molding until it reaches the corner where the

will see.

I let my eyes follow the molding until it reaches the corner where the will see.

hallway ends. It is less than ten feet away. It is there that I see a small monitor.

He watches me sleep. He watches me sleep with Alice. That is why he leaves

“What do you mean, Alice? Why were you looking at the ceiling?”

us alone in this house together.

“They’re everywhere,” she answers.

He sees everything.

“What are everywhere?” I ask.

Alice returns. She lays out her work and gets started. She can see that I am She glances again. “The eyes.”

upset.

A second chill comes and goes.

“Oh, don’t be scared!” she says. “You don’t need to worry.”

“What eyes?” I look again at the monitor. It looks like a motion detector for I regain my composure.

an alarm system. But I know there is no alarm that he sets. I study his

“Why is that, Alice?” I ask her.

movements when he comes and goes. The panel would be by the front door. He

“Because Dolly can see that you’re being a very good mommy.”

never stops there. I never hear the sound they make when they are about to be I smile. And inside, the defiance grows tenfold.

armed. We’ve had an alarm in our house for years.

I will use this. I will use the cameras. I don’t know how.

But then I see something in the small box. A red light.

But I will find a way.

Alice lets my brain process what I’ve just seen. She can tell by my face that I have seen it.

“Dolly’s eyes,” she says.

“Dolly?” I ask. Then I remember. “The doll in your toy room? The old doll

that sits on the shelf?”

She nods slowly. “Dolly has eyes all over the house. She sees everything and hears everything and she tells him everything.”

I hold my breath to keep from crying out.

The red light. I think where else I have seen one. I don’t turn away, but I

count the places in my head.

The playroom next to Dolly.

The living room in the corner that faces the front door.

The dark room.

This hallway.

The corner of my bedroom.

I ease the air out of my lungs, then take more in to slow my pulse.

“I see.” This is all I can manage to say.

So he is watching us, always. I think about the day I went for a walk. It was not a coincidence that he came home in time to stop me. He knew I had left

because he saw me leave.

The cameras are everywhere.

And the cameras are feeding to him live. There is Internet here, somewhere.

“Go get your schoolwork, then. We don’t want to break any more rules.”

Alice leaves and I turn my face from the camera in my room. I feel tears

wanting to come but they will cause my body to tremble and he will know. He

will see.

will see.

He watches me sleep. He watches me sleep with Alice. That is why he leaves

us alone in this house together.

He sees everything.

Alice returns. She lays out her work and gets started. She can see that I am upset.

“Oh, don’t be scared!” she says. “You don’t need to worry.”

I regain my composure.

“Why is that, Alice?” I ask her.

“Because Dolly can see that you’re being a very good mommy.”

I smile. And inside, the defiance grows tenfold.

I will use this. I will use the cameras. I don’t know how.

But I will find a way.

Chapter Eighteen

Day fourteen

It was an accident.

Those words had never left Nic’s mouth. She’d heard them used by everyone

in her life. Her father. The grief counselor. Teachers, before she got expelled.

She’d thought of it the way she’d thought of the words died unexpectedly when someone committed suicide. Or overdosed.

No sense adding to the pain of the survivors by saying what really happened.

But now, for the very first time, she felt the words differently. It was an accident. Her mother hadn’t killed Annie. Nic hadn’t killed Annie. Annie had run into the road. Nic had called after her, tried to stop her. Her mother had been coming around a blind corner, she’d slowed down, ready to turn into the

driveway. It was a confluence of circumstances, of small decisions and actions that on any other occasion would have left their minds. They were devoid of

moral underpinnings, no matter how desperately anyone wanted to believe

otherwise.

And when a series of actions come together to create a tragedy, that’s what

it’s called— an accident.

She wondered how her mother thought of it. If she still said those words

inside her head.

I killed my child.

She wondered if all those conversations with her support group had fueled

the fire. No matter how hard people pretended, it would have been difficult to hide their judgment of her. Nic had felt it sprinkled over their kind words in the emails. Even her father—the way he spoke of it, of his wife behind the wheel of that car. It was so much easier to believe that it could never happen to them.

* * *

The casino was half an hour from Hastings. Back onto Route 7. Fifteen miles

south. Left on Laguna Drive, then another five miles into the alternating woods and fields. Her father had not wanted her to come here when they’d done the

canvas. He’d wanted her to go home.

Kurt had been right about Thursday nights. The lot was nearly full. Nic

Kurt had been right about Thursday nights. The lot was nearly full. Nic parked in the back.

Through the front doors, across worn, turquoise tile that matched some kind

of island-themed decor, she made her way in the crowd past the registration desk to the casino. The bar was at the far wall, after rows of slot machines with people gathered around each one, playing, watching. Loud bursts of cheers came from a craps table through an archway to the right. The noise was oppressive. The air thick with cigarette smoke. Nic could not imagine her mother here. Not for an Day fourteen

hour, let alone four days. Or a week. Or longer.

The security cameras were up high, as the police reports had described.

Those words had never left Nic’s mouth. She’d heard them used by everyone Looking straight down, looking for acts of theft more than faces. It would be in her life. Her father. The grief counselor. Teachers, before she got expelled.

hard to spot one blond woman among the sea of humanity that now surrounded

her. People had seemingly come from all over—skinny blondes in fancy dresses and heels, overweight blondes in jeans, sweatshirts, and sneakers. Plenty of No sense adding to the pain of the survivors by saying what really happened. brunettes as well, and men wearing everything from tailored sports coats to muscle shirts.

Nic was looking for Chief Watkins. But her eyes were drawn to the women,

run into the road. Nic had called after her, tried to stop her. Her mother had been each one pulling at her, wanting her to see her mother so she could take her home and have all of this be over.

Her phone rang when she reached the bar. She took a spare stool between

two sets of couples and picked up the call.

“Sweetheart? Are you all right? Where are you?”

Nic heard the concern in her father’s voice. Yes, she was at a bar. But for

once, she waved off the bartender who stopped to offer a drink.

“I’m fine. I’m just out. Meeting someone who might have information.”

She wondered how her mother thought of it. If she still said those words

“What information? Is it about the truck?” He was beginning to panic.

inside her head.

“No. Something else. Probably nothing.”

He waited, breathing heavily into the phone, but Nic didn’t offer more. It

She wondered if all those conversations with her support group had fueled

was hard to hear with the noise in the room, but more than that, she didn’t want the fire. No matter how hard people pretended, it would have been difficult to to say the words out loud.

hide their judgment of her. Nic had felt it sprinkled over their kind words in the Chief Watkins may have . . .

emails. Even her father—the way he spoke of it, of his wife behind the wheel of And then what? May have helped her mother disappear? Kurt Kent’s story

that car. It was so much easier to believe that it could never happen to them.

felt absurd now.

* * *

She changed the subject.

The casino was half an hour from Hastings. Back onto Route 7. Fifteen miles

“Dad—Evan told me you saw a fence behind the inn. He said you told him

south. Left on Laguna Drive, then another five miles into the alternating woods that you had to stop searching the woods because of it.”

and fields. Her father had not wanted her to come here when they’d done the

“Why? Did something happen? Tell me!” His fear was a tinderbox. She

canvas. He’d wanted her to go home.

chose her words carefully.

Kurt had been right about Thursday nights. The lot was nearly full. Nic

“No, Dad. Calm down,” she lied. It wouldn’t do him any good to picture her

Kurt had been right about Thursday nights. The lot was nearly full. Nic

“No, Dad. Calm down,” she lied. It wouldn’t do him any good to picture her

parked in the back.

like that. Alone in the woods in the town where her mother disappeared.

Through the front doors, across worn, turquoise tile that matched some kind

“Okay, okay . . . yeah, I remember that. I went with one of the search parties.

of island-themed decor, she made her way in the crowd past the registration desk We walked straight back from the road through the property behind the inn and to the casino. The bar was at the far wall, after rows of slot machines with peoplediner. The Booth property. We walked until we hit a fence.”

gathered around each one, playing, watching. Loud bursts of cheers came from a

“With coiled barbed wire?”

craps table through an archway to the right. The noise was oppressive. The air

“Yes. It was pretty tall. One of the locals said it was probably left there by thick with cigarette smoke. Nic could not imagine her mother here. Not for an the old chemical company. They thought the two properties might back up to

hour, let alone four days. Or a week. Or longer.

each other. It was hard to tell how old it was. Why? What’s going on?”

The security cameras were up high, as the police reports had described.

Nic thought about this, about the property that might be on the other side.

Looking straight down, looking for acts of theft more than faces. It would be

“Did anyone search that property—the one on the other side of the fence?”

hard to spot one blond woman among the sea of humanity that now surrounded

“I’m sure they did, sweetheart. They searched over thirty miles of land. What her. People had seemingly come from all over—skinny blondes in fancy dresses is this about?”

and heels, overweight blondes in jeans, sweatshirts, and sneakers. Plenty of Nic fought for a way to tell him about the hole she’d found, but then she’d

brunettes as well, and men wearing everything from tailored sports coats to

have to confess she’d gone back there. Maybe she could say Roger Booth went

muscle shirts.

with her . . .

Nic was looking for Chief Watkins. But her eyes were drawn to the women,

Something caught her eye before she could decide. A man. Tall. Stout. Full

each one pulling at her, wanting her to see her mother so she could take her head of hair.

home and have all of this be over.

Chief Watkins sitting down at a blackjack table.

Her phone rang when she reached the bar. She took a spare stool between

“I have to go,” Nic said.

two sets of couples and picked up the call.

He started to protest but Nic hung up the phone. She clicked it to silent, then

“Sweetheart? Are you all right? Where are you?”

slid it back into her purse.

Nic heard the concern in her father’s voice. Yes, she was at a bar. But for

What now?

once, she waved off the bartender who stopped to offer a drink.

She watched and waited from the adjacent room.

“I’m fine. I’m just out. Meeting someone who might have information.”

Watkins played blackjack. Then craps. Then roulette. Laughing. Drinking.

“What information? Is it about the truck?” He was beginning to panic.

He wore a button-down shirt and loose-fitting jeans. His hair looked groomed

“No. Something else. Probably nothing.”

with gel or spray. He had a more youthful look about him, like he was trying not He waited, breathing heavily into the phone, but Nic didn’t offer more. It

to be the man in charge of a dying town, but a man who could be any man, from was hard to hear with the noise in the room, but more than that, she didn’t want any place. Maybe he came here to pretend he was that man.

to say the words out loud.

As he moved from table to table, he was greeted by other patrons, waitstaff, dealers. He was known here. And it filled him up. Nic watched from the far

And then what? May have helped her mother disappear? Kurt Kent’s story

corner of the bar, sipping water. Wanting vodka. Desperately wanting vodka.

felt absurd now.

Thinking about her father and Evan— God, Evan and his guilt and tears. Then She changed the subject.

her mother’s email—the one about her marriage and how she couldn’t accept

“Dad—Evan told me you saw a fence behind the inn. He said you told him

love.

that you had to stop searching the woods because of it.”

I’d rather he punch me in the face.

“Why? Did something happen? Tell me!” His fear was a tinderbox. She

And the one about her fear— I can’t lose another child.

chose her words carefully.

Anger stirred, then attached itself to the man who was now indulging himself

“No, Dad. Calm down,” she lied. It wouldn’t do him any good to picture her

Anger stirred, then attached itself to the man who was now indulging himself

“No, Dad. Calm down,” she lied. It wouldn’t do him any good to picture her freely.

like that. Alone in the woods in the town where her mother disappeared.

* * *

“Okay, okay . . . yeah, I remember that. I went with one of the search parties.

Finally, Watkins got up. He was on the move. A young woman in a tight

We walked straight back from the road through the property behind the inn and minidress and thick platform boots had sidled up next to him half an hour before, diner. The Booth property. We walked until we hit a fence.”

and now she was convincing him to leave. She wasn’t attractive but she’d been

“With coiled barbed wire?”

wearing him down. Touching his arm. His back. Laughing boisterously when he

“Yes. It was pretty tall. One of the locals said it was probably left there by spoke. He had already bought her two martinis and a pack of cigarettes.

the old chemical company. They thought the two properties might back up to

They walked to another table where she’d left her coat. He helped her put it each other. It was hard to tell how old it was. Why? What’s going on?”

on. She led him to a back door.

Nic thought about this, about the property that might be on the other side.

Shit!

“Did anyone search that property—the one on the other side of the fence?”

Nic ran out the front entrance, then turned right to where she thought they

“I’m sure they did, sweetheart. They searched over thirty miles of land. Whatmight have exited. She saw no one as she walked around the side of the building.

is this about?”

Then she heard it—the laughter of a woman. Drunk laughter. Then the deep

Nic fought for a way to tell him about the hole she’d found, but then she’d

voice of her companion. The voice of Chief Watkins.

have to confess she’d gone back there. Maybe she could say Roger Booth went

Staying close to the building but out of the lights, she listened until she saw with her . . .

them move from the side of the building into the parking lot. She let them get Something caught her eye before she could decide. A man. Tall. Stout. Full ahead, then followed them, weaving through the rows of cars so she was out of head of hair.

sight. The laughter stopped. She heard the click of a car unlocking, then she saw Chief Watkins sitting down at a blackjack table.

headlights. Then a door opening, closing. She hurried now to see the row where

“I have to go,” Nic said.

the lights were coming from. She walked there slowly, quietly. The lights went He started to protest but Nic hung up the phone. She clicked it to silent, then off. The car was not leaving.

slid it back into her purse.

She got to the row and began to move along the back of each car, looking

inside, listening for sound.

She watched and waited from the adjacent room.

She walked until she heard them. The unmistakable sound of a man

Watkins played blackjack. Then craps. Then roulette. Laughing. Drinking.

moaning. It was soft, coming through a small crack in the window. She slid to He wore a button-down shirt and loose-fitting jeans. His hair looked groomed the far side of the adjacent car and looked through the windows. It was too dark with gel or spray. He had a more youthful look about him, like he was trying not to see, until a car rolled past on the other side, briefly shining a light through the to be the man in charge of a dying town, but a man who could be any man, from windshields of each car in her row. It was quick, but unmistakable—Chief any place. Maybe he came here to pretend he was that man.

Watkins sitting in the driver’s seat. Eyes closed. Face contorted with

anticipation, the melding together of pleasure and frustration as the woman

leaned over him from the passenger side, her head moving up and down. The

light was gone, but not the sound.

Nic walked around the car that was shielding her view. She could see that

Watkins’s car was gray, but it was not until she had a clear view that she saw the make. A charcoal-gray pickup truck. Chief Watkins. The woman.

She squatted down behind the truck, heart pounding now.

Think.

Anger stirred, then attached itself to the man who was now indulging himself The glass was intact on both taillights, but she couldn’t tell if the bulbs were

Anger stirred, then attached itself to the man who was now indulging himself The glass was intact on both taillights, but she couldn’t tell if the bulbs were freely.

out. She would have to wait until he turned the ignition.

* * *

Another laugh. The smell of a cigarette from the window. Something about

Finally, Watkins got up. He was on the move. A young woman in a tight

fifty bucks and that’s pretty steep and then, you should have asked before, minidress and thick platform boots had sidled up next to him half an hour before, asshole.

and now she was convincing him to leave. She wasn’t attractive but she’d been A door opening, closing. The woman stumbling away.

wearing him down. Touching his arm. His back. Laughing boisterously when he

Then Watkins in a cruel, mocking voice. Cheap whore.

spoke. He had already bought her two martinis and a pack of cigarettes.

And then the ignition. The lights. Both of them working. Still, it had been

They walked to another table where she’d left her coat. He helped her put it two weeks.

on. She led him to a back door.

She hurried back to the other side of the adjacent car, and managed to snap a photo with her phone as Chief Watkins drove away.

Nic ran out the front entrance, then turned right to where she thought they

might have exited. She saw no one as she walked around the side of the building.

Then she heard it—the laughter of a woman. Drunk laughter. Then the deep

voice of her companion. The voice of Chief Watkins.

Staying close to the building but out of the lights, she listened until she saw them move from the side of the building into the parking lot. She let them get ahead, then followed them, weaving through the rows of cars so she was out of sight. The laughter stopped. She heard the click of a car unlocking, then she saw headlights. Then a door opening, closing. She hurried now to see the row where the lights were coming from. She walked there slowly, quietly. The lights went off. The car was not leaving.

She got to the row and began to move along the back of each car, looking

inside, listening for sound.

She walked until she heard them. The unmistakable sound of a man

moaning. It was soft, coming through a small crack in the window. She slid to the far side of the adjacent car and looked through the windows. It was too dark to see, until a car rolled past on the other side, briefly shining a light through the windshields of each car in her row. It was quick, but unmistakable—Chief

Watkins sitting in the driver’s seat. Eyes closed. Face contorted with

anticipation, the melding together of pleasure and frustration as the woman

leaned over him from the passenger side, her head moving up and down. The

light was gone, but not the sound.

Nic walked around the car that was shielding her view. She could see that

Watkins’s car was gray, but it was not until she had a clear view that she saw the make. A charcoal-gray pickup truck. Chief Watkins. The woman.

She squatted down behind the truck, heart pounding now.

The glass was intact on both taillights, but she couldn’t tell if the bulbs were

The glass was intact on both taillights, but she couldn’t tell if the bulbs were out. She would have to wait until he turned the ignition.

Another laugh. The smell of a cigarette from the window. Something about

fifty bucks and that’s pretty steep and then, you should have asked before, asshole.

A door opening, closing. The woman stumbling away.

Then Watkins in a cruel, mocking voice. Cheap whore.

And then the ignition. The lights. Both of them working. Still, it had been

two weeks.

She hurried back to the other side of the adjacent car, and managed to snap a photo with her phone as Chief Watkins drove away.

Chapter Nineteen

Day fourteen

Mick does not come home. This is the first time he has not been home all

day and now, apparently, all evening.

He must be comfortable with me, with the way I am with Alice. And, of

course, he is always watching.

But then I think that he does not want to be here. That he is still hunting for whatever he lost when the woman who lived here before me died.

“I’m hungry,” Alice says. She reaches her arm through the bars and I take

her hand and press it to my lips.

“I know, sweetheart. Do you want to tell me what there is in the kitchen and I can teach you how to make something?”

She hangs her head, chin to chest, but then raises her narrowed eyes so I can still see them. Her lips disappear under her teeth and her nose scrunches. I call this expression of hers Angry Face . I don’t say this out loud, but I make a note of it, and also what makes it come, and what makes it leave.

“I don’t have any better ideas, but if you do I will try to help you with them,”

I say.

Now she crosses her arms and huffs. I try not to laugh, but it is amusing. I haven’t been amused for a very long time. Maybe even for years. There is a new power stirring inside me that has given this impulse of being amused some

latitude. Some room to breathe.

“Did he tell you what to do in case of an emergency?” I ask now. “For

example, if you got sick, or if there was a fire? Is there a way to reach him? I can help you study and play with you from inside my room, but that’s about it,” I say.

She uncrosses her arms. Angry Face softens, becomes whimsical,

mischievous. She tilts her head and pushes one shoulder, always the right one, a little ahead of her chest. This is Coy Face. She knows a secret and she wants me to get it out of her.

Nicole had this face by the time she was four. Annie didn’t have it until she was six or seven, and even then it was more playful than precocious. Evan never

was six or seven, and even then it was more playful than precocious. Evan never had it. My only boy, but I could read him like a book.

I have had time to think these past fourteen days, and not just about the man and Alice and my plan. I think about why I am here, and that perhaps I have

finally been sentenced for my crime. I am finally being punished. This has done something to me, shifted my insides.

With this shift has come a reversal of how I had come to see my own

daughters. Annie the good girl. Nicole the bad girl. We are not supposed to do Day fourteen

that. Parents. Good parents. But I have stopped pretending that I am one. I hate Mick does not come home. This is the first time he has not been home all

the person Nicole has become these past few years. If I met her on the street, I day and now, apparently, all evening.

would thank God she was not my child. I would judge her parents with

He must be comfortable with me, with the way I am with Alice. And, of

contempt. Who would allow such behavior? Who would permit their grown

course, he is always watching.

child to behave this way?

But then I think that he does not want to be here. That he is still hunting for But now I can see that it was Annie who was also precocious, strong-willed.

whatever he lost when the woman who lived here before me died.

She could be defiant to her sister when I left her in charge. And she resented her

“I’m hungry,” Alice says. She reaches her arm through the bars and I take

brother. She resented them both, how they pulled her, kicking and screaming, her hand and press it to my lips.

from her pedestal as the baby, wanting her to grow up and be less of a bother.

“I know, sweetheart. Do you want to tell me what there is in the kitchen and She had managed to become our sole focus. Our squeaky wheel. Babies always I can teach you how to make something?”

need more attention.

The memories keep crossing the line, and the pain they carry lessens each

time. Even now, as I speak to Alice about helping her cook, I see Nicole

I don’t say this out loud, but I make a note ofstanding on a stool, staring into a bowl of flour and sugar, mixing them together with a big wooden spoon that can barely fit in her hand.

“I don’t have any better ideas, but if you do I will try to help you with them,”

She liked blueberry muffins and we would make them together. I still know

I say.

the recipe by heart. It never leaves me. Two cups of flour. One cup of sugar . . .

Now she crosses her arms and huffs. I try not to laugh, but it is amusing. I And John, the memories of John . . . they reach back and unearth feelings

haven’t been amused for a very long time. Maybe even for years. There is a new that live more in my body than my mind. His hand on the small of my back. The power stirring inside me that has given this impulse of being amused some

rush that would follow. I thought they were gone forever.

latitude. Some room to breathe.

It doesn’t change what I did. I do not feel it should commute my sentence.

“Did he tell you what to do in case of an emergency?” I ask now. “For

To the contrary. I see now that this sentence, being forced to live here with this example, if you got sick, or if there was a fire? Is there a way to reach him? I can man and his child, has scratched an itch. The guilt recedes a little every day. The help you study and play with you from inside my room, but that’s about it,” I rock I carry gets lighter.

say.

I suffer now to keep Nicole safe. And possibly Evan. This man could know

She uncrosses her arms. Angry Face softens, becomes whimsical,

about him. Maybe he covets him as well. In the suffering, I make amends. And mischievous. She tilts her head and pushes one shoulder, always the right one, a the amends bring some kind of healing.

little ahead of her chest. This is Coy Face. She knows a secret and she wants me

“Alice,” I say with a smile. “I know that face! What are you thinking?”

to get it out of her.

Alice looks up at the monitor in the corner at the end of the hallway. She

Nicole had this face by the time she was four. Annie didn’t have it until she positions herself so her back faces it. She lowers her voice as well, for good was six or seven, and even then it was more playful than precocious. Evan never measure, I imagine.

was six or seven, and even then it was more playful than precocious. Evan never measure, I imagine.

had it. My only boy, but I could read him like a book.

“I know where the key is,” she says.

I have had time to think these past fourteen days, and not just about the man Her words reach out and choke me with surprise. But I manage a little smile, and Alice and my plan. I think about why I am here, and that perhaps I have

the smile of only a tepid curiosity.

finally been sentenced for my crime. I am finally being punished. This has done

“You do?” I ask.

something to me, shifted my insides.

She nods slowly, Coy Face firmly lodged.

With this shift has come a reversal of how I had come to see my own

“In case I really, really need you,” she says.

daughters. Annie the good girl. Nicole the bad girl. We are not supposed to do I sit back a little and uncross my legs. They have started to tingle.

that. Parents. Good parents. But I have stopped pretending that I am one. I hate It’s not easy to sit on the floor all day at my age.

the person Nicole has become these past few years. If I met her on the street, I I consider my options now. I could start to cry. Say how hungry I am and

would thank God she was not my child. I would judge her parents with

how much I need her to help me. But she does not seem to be wanting that. She contempt. Who would allow such behavior? Who would permit their grown

already saved me once with a glass of lemonade. Her daily fix has been had.

child to behave this way?

She craves other things, though, as I have come to learn.

But now I can see that it was Annie who was also precocious, strong-willed.

Hannah gave it away one day when she was talking to Suzannah.

She could be defiant to her sister when I left her in charge. And she resented her What do you want to be when you’re older? Suzannah is always asking brother. She resented them both, how they pulled her, kicking and screaming, questions.

from her pedestal as the baby, wanting her to grow up and be less of a bother.

I want to see a doctor who can help me go outside without my mask. And

She had managed to become our sole focus. Our squeaky wheel. Babies always then I will go everywhere in the world.

need more attention.

Can I come? Suzannah asked.

The memories keep crossing the line, and the pain they carry lessens each

No, silly. Only my mommy can come.

time. Even now, as I speak to Alice about helping her cook, I see Nicole

Only her mommy. She wants to be out of this house, free of these walls. And

standing on a stool, staring into a bowl of flour and sugar, mixing them together she knows Mick won’t be the one to save her.

with a big wooden spoon that can barely fit in her hand.

Only her mommy can save her.

She liked blueberry muffins and we would make them together. I still know

Her first mommy is dead. The one with the real blond hair and the lean body.

the recipe by heart. It never leaves me. Two cups of flour. One cup of sugar . . .

She’s stuck with me. And I can only help her if she gives me power over

And John, the memories of John . . . they reach back and unearth feelings

Mick.

that live more in my body than my mind. His hand on the small of my back. The

“What kind of situation would that be—when you really, really need me?” I

rush that would follow. I thought they were gone forever.

ask.

It doesn’t change what I did. I do not feel it should commute my sentence.

Coy Face recedes, and now comes Sad Face.

To the contrary. I see now that this sentence, being forced to live here with this

“I don’t know,” she says. I can tell that she means this. Confusion makes her man and his child, has scratched an itch. The guilt recedes a little every day. The sad. Uncertainty makes her sad. She needs to know the rules so she can keep her rock I carry gets lighter.

house in order. So she can keep another mommy from leaving.

I suffer now to keep Nicole safe. And possibly Evan. This man could know

I reach through the bars—something I rarely do—and touch her folded knee.

about him. Maybe he covets him as well. In the suffering, I make amends. And

“It’s okay,” I say. “Let’s figure it out together.”

the amends bring some kind of healing.

I continue.

“Alice,” I say with a smile. “I know that face! What are you thinking?”

“Do you think he just meant if you were hurt or sick?”

Alice looks up at the monitor in the corner at the end of the hallway. She

She shrugs.

positions herself so her back faces it. She lowers her voice as well, for good Then comes Happy Face.

measure, I imagine.

Then comes Happy Face.

measure, I imagine.

“I think if I did something in the kitchen that was dangerous. Like maybe if I

“I know where the key is,” she says.

burned something.”

Her words reach out and choke me with surprise. But I manage a little smile, I go with this idea.

the smile of only a tepid curiosity.

“Like if you burned something and didn’t know how to stop the smoke? Like

“You do?” I ask.

if you tried to boil some soup but maybe there was some butter on the coils of She nods slowly, Coy Face firmly lodged.

the burner? That kind of smoke?”

“In case I really, really need you,” she says.

She thinks about this. “Yes,” she says.

I sit back a little and uncross my legs. They have started to tingle.

“I’ve done that so many times back home!” I say. “Butter smokes a lot, but it It’s not easy to sit on the floor all day at my age.

doesn’t catch fire like oil. Still, it’s scary.”

I consider my options now. I could start to cry. Say how hungry I am and

Alice looks at me carefully. Then she turns her back around so she is facing how much I need her to help me. But she does not seem to be wanting that. She the monitor.

already saved me once with a glass of lemonade. Her daily fix has been had.

“I can make us soup!” she says. “Since he’s not home and it’s so late. We

She craves other things, though, as I have come to learn.

need to have dinner. I’ve seen him make the soup. I know how!”

Hannah gave it away one day when she was talking to Suzannah.

She says this loudly. She gets up and walks to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later I hear her feet running down the hall. I return to the edge of the grate and strain to see through the metal bars.

She runs toward me and she can hardly hold back a smile.

“I think I started a fire!” she says. “Cooking the soup!”

I stand now, look alarmed. We both speak loudly.

“Oh no!” I say. “Do you know how to put it out? Did he ever teach you?”

Only her mommy. She wants to be out of this house, free of these walls. And

“No! I really, really need you!”

she knows Mick won’t be the one to save her.

She reaches the grate. Happy Face belies the urgency in her voice.

Only her mommy can save her.

In her hand is a metal key.

Her first mommy is dead. The one with the real blond hair and the lean body.

A million things run through me as she puts it into the lock, turns. As I hear She’s stuck with me. And I can only help her if she gives me power over

the metal click and the bolt release. Thoughts. Emotions. Instincts. There are too Mick.

many to sort out. I feel dizzy with excitement. The possibilities seem endless,

“What kind of situation would that be—when you really, really need me?” I and yet I know there is only one choice that is right. I know there is only one ask.

chance to make it.

Coy Face recedes, and now comes Sad Face.

I step outside my prison cell and run with Alice to the kitchen. The key is

“I don’t know,” she says. I can tell that she means this. Confusion makes her still in the grate, the grate that now swings open on its hinges.

sad. Uncertainty makes her sad. She needs to know the rules so she can keep her In the kitchen, I see the burner coils smoking. I take the pot of soup off the house in order. So she can keep another mommy from leaving.

stove. I turn off the heat and go to the sink to get a towel. I wet the towel, then I reach through the bars—something I rarely do—and touch her folded knee. carefully wipe down the burner until the butter comes off, and the heat cools.

“It’s okay,” I say. “Let’s figure it out together.”

The smoke stops.

I continue.

I let my eyes move around the room, looking for one of Dolly’s eyes. I don’t

“Do you think he just meant if you were hurt or sick?”

see one, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

She shrugs.

I pull Alice close. “It’s fine now. You’re safe.”

Then comes Happy Face.

“Thank you so much!” she says. She is not a good actress, and I file this

Then comes Happy Face.

“Thank you so much!” she says. She is not a good actress, and I file this

“I think if I did something in the kitchen that was dangerous. Like maybe if I away with everything else I know about her.

burned something.”

“How did the butter get on the stove?” I ask her.

I go with this idea.

“I was trying to put it on the bread and it just fell off. I didn’t think it would

“Like if you burned something and didn’t know how to stop the smoke? Like cause any problems. I didn’t know butter could burn like that.” She says this if you tried to boil some soup but maybe there was some butter on the coils of very loud, as though she knows her voice has to carry. I think that maybe there the burner? That kind of smoke?”

are no cameras in this kitchen after all.

She thinks about this. “Yes,” she says.

“Okay,” I say. “It’s okay. How could you know that?”

“I’ve done that so many times back home!” I say. “Butter smokes a lot, but it I finish cleaning up. I heat the soup, butter the bread, and serve us dinner at doesn’t catch fire like oil. Still, it’s scary.”

the table. Alice glances out the door to the living room.

Alice looks at me carefully. Then she turns her back around so she is facing

“Alice,” I say.

the monitor.

“Yes?”

“I can make us soup!” she says. “Since he’s not home and it’s so late. We

“Can Dolly see in the kitchen?”

need to have dinner. I’ve seen him make the soup. I know how!”

Coy Face comes, and Alice slowly moves her head left to right. No.

She says this loudly. She gets up and walks to the kitchen.

Then her eyes move back to the living room. I follow them and see a monitor

Ten minutes later I hear her feet running down the hall. I return to the edge on the wall in the corner near the door. It sits at an angle that can see the table, of the grate and strain to see through the metal bars.

but not the stove. Not the sink.

She runs toward me and she can hardly hold back a smile.

And not the cupboard beneath the sink.

“I think I started a fire!” she says. “Cooking the soup!”

The cupboard which I opened to look for a dish towel, and where I found

I stand now, look alarmed. We both speak loudly.

remnants of some household products. Old sponges. Dish soap. WD-40.

“Oh no!” I say. “Do you know how to put it out? Did he ever teach you?”

And a bottle of antifreeze.

“No! I really, really need you!”

I smile at Alice. I place my hand on her back and gently rub it up and down.

She reaches the grate. Happy Face belies the urgency in her voice.

Coy Face becomes Happy Face, which has a nice big smile.

In her hand is a metal key.

And then I smile too.

A million things run through me as she puts it into the lock, turns. As I hear the metal click and the bolt release. Thoughts. Emotions. Instincts. There are too many to sort out. I feel dizzy with excitement. The possibilities seem endless, and yet I know there is only one choice that is right. I know there is only one chance to make it.

I step outside my prison cell and run with Alice to the kitchen. The key is

still in the grate, the grate that now swings open on its hinges.

In the kitchen, I see the burner coils smoking. I take the pot of soup off the stove. I turn off the heat and go to the sink to get a towel. I wet the towel, then carefully wipe down the burner until the butter comes off, and the heat cools.

The smoke stops.

I let my eyes move around the room, looking for one of Dolly’s eyes. I don’t see one, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

I pull Alice close. “It’s fine now. You’re safe.”

“Thank you so much!” she says. She is not a good actress, and I file this

“Thank you so much!” she says. She is not a good actress, and I file this away with everything else I know about her.

“How did the butter get on the stove?” I ask her.

“I was trying to put it on the bread and it just fell off. I didn’t think it would cause any problems. I didn’t know butter could burn like that.” She says this very loud, as though she knows her voice has to carry. I think that maybe there are no cameras in this kitchen after all.

“Okay,” I say. “It’s okay. How could you know that?”

I finish cleaning up. I heat the soup, butter the bread, and serve us dinner at the table. Alice glances out the door to the living room.

“Alice,” I say.

“Yes?”

“Can Dolly see in the kitchen?”

Coy Face comes, and Alice slowly moves her head left to right. No.

Then her eyes move back to the living room. I follow them and see a monitor

on the wall in the corner near the door. It sits at an angle that can see the table, but not the stove. Not the sink.

And not the cupboard beneath the sink.

The cupboard which I opened to look for a dish towel, and where I found

remnants of some household products. Old sponges. Dish soap. WD-40.

And a bottle of antifreeze.

I smile at Alice. I place my hand on her back and gently rub it up and down.

Coy Face becomes Happy Face, which has a nice big smile.

And then I smile too.

Chapter Twenty

Day fourteen

Nic walked quickly through the parking lot. The air was cold enough to see

her breath. And still enough to hear her steps on the pavement. Watkins was long gone. The woman had vanished as well, between a row of cars, maybe to the

back of the building.

Inside, Nic stopped, leaned against a wall just beneath one of the mounted

cameras. She didn’t want to be seen. Not by anyone.

She pulled out her phone but there was no one to call.

Her father had lied to her about the handwriting analysis.

Roger Booth had lied about Daisy Hollander, about being the boyfriend

she’d been running away from when she disappeared.

And Watkins had failed to mention he owned a dark gray truck. Now that

she thought about it, so had Officer Reyes. And who else? This was a small

town. Watkins must drive that truck when he is off duty. Up and down Hastings Pass. Day after day. Year after year. All of them would have seen it—Booth,

Mrs. Urbansky. Reyes. Even Kurt Kent, the bartender.

And what about Kurt? He’d driven her all the way into those woods to meet

Daisy’s sister, knowing about Roger Booth the whole time.

There was no one she trusted.

Was that true? Or was she just being paranoid? So what if Watkins drove a

gray truck? Edith Moore couldn’t even be sure of the color. It might have been black or brown. And so what if Watkins picked up a prostitute one day, then

helped teenagers with scholarships the next? People were complicated. She’d

learned that from all those nights spent in bars. She wasn’t a sheltered teenager anymore.

Still, her life these past five years had left her with just one person she could trust—and that person was now missing.

What now? She thought about her car just outside. She could leave—drive

straight home. Her father would come and collect her things from the inn. She didn’t have to stay here. There was nothing left to do.

The sea of humanity was all around her, coming from or going to the casino

The sea of humanity was all around her, coming from or going to the casino that was just on the other side of the lobby. So many faces—happy, pensive,

worried, excited. The energy began to seep inside, feeding the panic that had already taken hold.

Maybe everyone was lying to her for this very reason. Because she couldn’t

handle the facts. The truth. Because she hadn’t been able to navigate her life since Annie died.

She drew a breath but couldn’t feel it reach her lungs. It felt shallow.

Day fourteen

Suffocating.

Nic walked quickly through the parking lot. The air was cold enough to see

They weren’t wrong. After that Sunday afternoon when she’d had that first

her breath. And still enough to hear her steps on the pavement. Watkins was longdrink, she hadn’t been able to go back. It’s just peer pressure, the school had gone. The woman had vanished as well, between a row of cars, maybe to the

told her worried parents after she’d been drunk at a dance. This will scare her back of the building.

and she’ll stop. After all, she had so much to lose. Williams College had offered Inside, Nic stopped, leaned against a wall just beneath one of the mounted

her early acceptance. She was captain of the cross country team. In the running cameras. She didn’t want to be seen. Not by anyone.

for valedictorian.

She pulled out her phone but there was no one to call.

And then, after they’d found vodka in a water bottle she kept in her locker, Her father had lied to her about the handwriting analysis.

the counselors had gotten involved. It’s survivor’s guilt, they’d said. That one Roger Booth had lied about Daisy Hollander, about being the boyfriend

she’d read just recently in her mother’s emails and it all made perfect sense now.

she’d been running away from when she disappeared.

How they made her go to therapy sessions where they talked about how she’d

And Watkins had failed to mention he owned a dark gray truck. Now that

done nothing wrong by continuing to live.

she thought about it, so had Officer Reyes. And who else? This was a small

After the third time when she’d passed out in the school bathroom, drunk off town. Watkins must drive that truck when he is off duty. Up and down Hastings her ass, the month before graduation—her grades on free fall—they’d had no Pass. Day after day. Year after year. All of them would have seen it—Booth,

choice but to expel her. The new theory—she was looking for attention. She’d Mrs. Urbansky. Reyes. Even Kurt Kent, the bartender.

tried to get it by being good but it hadn’t been enough. Now she had to be bad.

And what about Kurt? He’d driven her all the way into those woods to meet The horror that had followed was now a powerful, visceral memory. Therapy Daisy’s sister, knowing about Roger Booth the whole time.

sessions with both parents, telling her they loved her and how sorry they were There was no one she trusted.

that they hadn’t noticed her suffering because they’d been dealing with their Was that true? Or was she just being paranoid? So what if Watkins drove a

own.

gray truck? Edith Moore couldn’t even be sure of the color. It might have been No one listened to her about the hollow spaces that nothing could fill. They black or brown. And so what if Watkins picked up a prostitute one day, then

didn’t understand how they’d come to be there if not from some affliction out of helped teenagers with scholarships the next? People were complicated. She’d

their textbooks. She wished she’d had a film of it—of Annie running and Nic

learned that from all those nights spent in bars. She wasn’t a sheltered teenager screaming and then the car and the blood. The dozens of missed calls on her

anymore.

phone from their mother, begging to know if they were all right. Why hadn’t

Still, her life these past five years had left her with just one person she could Annie made it to her friend’s house for the playdate?

trust—and that person was now missing.

The look on Evan’s face. The image of their mother holding her dead child.

What now? She thought about her car just outside. She could leave—drive

The harrowing sound that left her body that Nic could still hear.

straight home. Her father would come and collect her things from the inn. She Guilt. Despair. Self-loathing. There were so many words to describe what

didn’t have to stay here. There was nothing left to do.

lived in those hollow spaces. They laughed in the face of the counselors and The sea of humanity was all around her, coming from or going to the casino their box of shit.

The sea of humanity was all around her, coming from or going to the casino their box of shit.

that was just on the other side of the lobby. So many faces—happy, pensive,

And now she’d caused their mother’s disappearance with her wretched

worried, excited. The energy began to seep inside, feeding the panic that had words. Gone or dead—there was no way around it, no thinking her way out of

already taken hold.

those scenarios.

Maybe everyone was lying to her for this very reason. Because she couldn’t

Confusion. Panic—she had to get someplace quiet, alone, before people

handle the facts. The truth. Because she hadn’t been able to navigate her life started to notice.

since Annie died.

She walked along the side of the wall, head down, away from the entrance to

She drew a breath but couldn’t feel it reach her lungs. It felt shallow.

the casino. There was a hallway on the other side with restrooms, elevators, Suffocating.

conference areas. And a business center.

A young man passed and she grabbed his sleeve. Her expression seemed to

alarm him as she asked if he was staying at the hotel and if he could use his keycard to let her in.

He hesitated, but then swiped the card to open the door. Nic thanked him and he quickly left, looking over his shoulder. Wondering if he’d made a mistake by letting this lunatic into the room. Her breaths were short, her face flushed and wet.

She sat on the floor in the corner and let it out. She wanted a drink. The

she’d read just recently in her mother’s emails and it all made perfect sense now. thought of going back out into the crowd was the only thing stopping her.

So she’s dead. So she left us. What now? She could still be found. Nothing had changed since she’d packed a bag and driven to this place. She had to find After the third time when she’d passed out in the school bathroom, drunk off her mother and bring her home.

her ass, the month before graduation—her grades on free fall—they’d had no

The room had a long table with four desktop computers and a printer. Nic

choice but to expel her. The new theory—she was looking for attention. She’d pulled herself up from the floor and sat down in front of a large PC. She turned it tried to get it by being good but it hadn’t been enough. Now she had to be bad.

on, opened to a search engine.

The horror that had followed was now a powerful, visceral memory. Therapy

She typed them in, one after the other. The names spinning in her mind.

sessions with both parents, telling her they loved her and how sorry they were Daisy Hollander. Roger Booth. Charles Watkins. Kurt Kent. Results crowded the that they hadn’t noticed her suffering because they’d been dealing with their screen, faces with the same name, but none of them matching in any way that

own.

was helpful. She narrowed Daisy’s search to Hastings and got nothing. Then to No one listened to her about the hollow spaces that nothing could fill. They New York City, and got over thirty faces. She hadn’t asked to see a photo. Many didn’t understand how they’d come to be there if not from some affliction out of of the women in the search could be her—similar age, description. And yet, their textbooks. She wished she’d had a film of it—of Annie running and Nic

probably none of them would be. If she didn’t want to be found, she wouldn’t be screaming and then the car and the blood. The dozens of missed calls on her

blasting her profile on Facebook and Snapchat.

phone from their mother, begging to know if they were all right. Why hadn’t

The focus felt good. Her nerves began to settle, the panic subsiding. She

Annie made it to her friend’s house for the playdate?

continued.

The look on Evan’s face. The image of their mother holding her dead child.

Kurt Kent was on the social media sites, and all of them were active but

The harrowing sound that left her body that Nic could still hear.

private. Booth and Watkins showed up on people finder ads. Most of those were Guilt. Despair. Self-loathing. There were so many words to describe what

scams and, anyway, she didn’t need their addresses. She knew where they lived.

lived in those hollow spaces. They laughed in the face of the counselors and She needed social media sites, something that might give her a window into their their box of shit.

She needed social media sites, something that might give her a window into their their box of shit.

lives.

And now she’d caused their mother’s disappearance with her wretched

Then, a thought about Booth. About his property and the fence with the hole.

words. Gone or dead—there was no way around it, no thinking her way out of

She pulled up a satellite image of the Hastings Inn, zoomed out. It was taken those scenarios.

in the summer from the look of the trees—full canopies of green leaves. She

Confusion. Panic—she had to get someplace quiet, alone, before people

couldn’t see the fence behind the inn, but there was something on an adjacent started to notice.

property. A thin line running across a stretch of cleared land before disappearing She walked along the side of the wall, head down, away from the entrance to again in the dense woods.

the casino. There was a hallway on the other side with restrooms, elevators, She zoomed out and tried to connect the line to other structures—a house or

conference areas. And a business center.

barn or another fence. But it was impossible with all of the breaks into the A young man passed and she grabbed his sleeve. Her expression seemed to

woods. Still, that line of fence, if it was a fence, bent away from the inn, not alarm him as she asked if he was staying at the hotel and if he could use his toward it.

keycard to let her in.

Fences usually went in a circle or a square, closing off a parcel of land. It He hesitated, but then swiped the card to open the door. Nic thanked him and would be odd for the fence to veer off away from the parcel where the inn was he quickly left, looking over his shoulder. Wondering if he’d made a mistake by located, even if that parcel spanned hundreds of acres. No—this fence did not letting this lunatic into the room. Her breaths were short, her face flushed and enclose the parcel of land owned by Booth. It belonged to the parcel that sat wet.

behind it just like that person from town had told her father.

She sat on the floor in the corner and let it out. She wanted a drink. The

And then she saw something else—another stretch of clearing within that

thought of going back out into the crowd was the only thing stopping her.

adjacent parcel. She followed it, zoomed in until it was clear—a house.

A house, and the clearing before it—a driveway.

She zoomed out again, followed the driveway until it disappeared behind

more trees. But, assuming it remained straight, it would end at the next road.

The room had a long table with four desktop computers and a printer. Nic

Like the driveway and the fence, the road weaved through woods. Still, she

pulled herself up from the floor and sat down in front of a large PC. She turned itwas able to guess at the path it carved through Hastings. And the point where it on, opened to a search engine.

intersected another road, which ran along the river. River Road. And that road She typed them in, one after the other. The names spinning in her mind.

eventually intersected Hastings Pass.

Daisy Hollander. Roger Booth. Charles Watkins. Kurt Kent. Results crowded the Nic held her finger to the screen. She started at the inn, and followed

screen, faces with the same name, but none of them matching in any way that

Hastings Pass until it ended at the river. Then she followed it to the left, along was helpful. She narrowed Daisy’s search to Hastings and got nothing. Then to River Road, until it met the road with the driveway. Abel Hill Lane. And from New York City, and got over thirty faces. She hadn’t asked to see a photo. Many there, all the way to the driveway and then to the house—the house that sat on of the women in the search could be her—similar age, description. And yet,

the parcel enclosed by the fence. Farther down Abel Hill Lane was a small

probably none of them would be. If she didn’t want to be found, she wouldn’t be cluster of red brick buildings with flat black rooftops and narrow roads blasting her profile on Facebook and Snapchat.

connecting them to one another and to two roads—Abel Hill Lane and River

The focus felt good. Her nerves began to settle, the panic subsiding. She

Road. Maybe that had once been the pharmaceutical company that had closed

continued.

down years before. Or the chemical company before that. Maybe they were the

Kurt Kent was on the social media sites, and all of them were active but

same set of buildings, one company taking over the other.

private. Booth and Watkins showed up on people finder ads. Most of those were Nic searched for addresses on Abel Hill Lane. There were seven in total. She scams and, anyway, she didn’t need their addresses. She knew where they lived. pulled them up one at a time, first on the map and then on satellite imagery.

She needed social media sites, something that might give her a window into theirThere was a small ranch, number 53. Then a cape, number 67. Then five others

She needed social media sites, something that might give her a window into theirThere was a small ranch, number 53. Then a cape, number 67. Then five others lives.

—none of them matching the satellite image of the house with the fence. None Then, a thought about Booth. About his property and the fence with the hole. of them with a long driveway. None of them with enough acreage to be that She pulled up a satellite image of the Hastings Inn, zoomed out. It was taken same property.

in the summer from the look of the trees—full canopies of green leaves. She

She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes.

couldn’t see the fence behind the inn, but there was something on an adjacent Everyone was lying about something. And now Edith Moore wanted the

property. A thin line running across a stretch of cleared land before disappearing reward money. She knew about the purse, the three letters.

again in the dense woods.

But wait—Nic pictured that morning with Edith Moore and Reyes. In her

She zoomed out and tried to connect the line to other structures—a house or car, looking across the road to where she said she saw her mother. Rain coming barn or another fence. But it was impossible with all of the breaks into the down in sheets. That’s how she’d described it. Maybe she’d seen the color of the woods. Still, that line of fence, if it was a fence, bent away from the inn, not purse, but the letters? Could she really have seen the letters from that far away, toward it.

through the rain, at night? And yet she knew about them.

Fences usually went in a circle or a square, closing off a parcel of land. It She knew, or someone had told her—someone else who knew about her

would be odd for the fence to veer off away from the parcel where the inn was mother’s purse.

located, even if that parcel spanned hundreds of acres. No—this fence did not And what did that have to do with Abel Hill Lane?

enclose the parcel of land owned by Booth. It belonged to the parcel that sat Her father said they’d stopped searching when they reached that fence.

behind it just like that person from town had told her father.

Maybe she should just get a drink. Maybe get a few. Calm her nerves. Settle

And then she saw something else—another stretch of clearing within that

her mind.

adjacent parcel. She followed it, zoomed in until it was clear—a house.

But she couldn’t stop.

A house, and the clearing before it—a driveway.

She typed in Hastings and then history.

She zoomed out again, followed the driveway until it disappeared behind

And then she started to read.

more trees. But, assuming it remained straight, it would end at the next road.

Like the driveway and the fence, the road weaved through woods. Still, she

was able to guess at the path it carved through Hastings. And the point where it intersected another road, which ran along the river. River Road. And that road eventually intersected Hastings Pass.

Nic held her finger to the screen. She started at the inn, and followed

Hastings Pass until it ended at the river. Then she followed it to the left, along River Road, until it met the road with the driveway. Abel Hill Lane. And from there, all the way to the driveway and then to the house—the house that sat on the parcel enclosed by the fence. Farther down Abel Hill Lane was a small

cluster of red brick buildings with flat black rooftops and narrow roads

connecting them to one another and to two roads—Abel Hill Lane and River

Road. Maybe that had once been the pharmaceutical company that had closed

down years before. Or the chemical company before that. Maybe they were the

same set of buildings, one company taking over the other.

Nic searched for addresses on Abel Hill Lane. There were seven in total. She pulled them up one at a time, first on the map and then on satellite imagery.

There was a small ranch, number 53. Then a cape, number 67. Then five others

There was a small ranch, number 53. Then a cape, number 67. Then five others

—none of them matching the satellite image of the house with the fence. None of them with a long driveway. None of them with enough acreage to be that

same property.

She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes.

Everyone was lying about something. And now Edith Moore wanted the

reward money. She knew about the purse, the three letters.

But wait—Nic pictured that morning with Edith Moore and Reyes. In her

car, looking across the road to where she said she saw her mother. Rain coming down in sheets. That’s how she’d described it. Maybe she’d seen the color of the purse, but the letters? Could she really have seen the letters from that far away, through the rain, at night? And yet she knew about them.

She knew, or someone had told her—someone else who knew about her

mother’s purse.

And what did that have to do with Abel Hill Lane?

Her father said they’d stopped searching when they reached that fence.

Maybe she should just get a drink. Maybe get a few. Calm her nerves. Settle

her mind.

But she couldn’t stop.

She typed in Hastings and then history.

And then she started to read.

Chapter Twenty-one

Day fourteen

There is antifreeze in the cupboard. But this is not all that I assess in the kitchen with Alice. Alice and her Happy Face.

I assess many, many things. Thoughts and emotions, but mostly instincts

which, as before in the woods, require the closest scrutiny.

Alice has unlocked the grate. She has set me free and it is a gift I cannot

squander.

I could run for the front door, to my tools in the woods. But it’s dark and

cold and I don’t know where Mick is. He could be outside in his truck, watching the camera feeds. He could be five minutes away. Ten minutes away. Days of

work would be undone.

I could take this child hostage. Put a knife to her neck right in front of the camera. It is not beneath me. It is not out of my capabilities, and I don’t allow myself to think about the implications. It’s nothing personal, Alice.

There are other things, worse things. But nothing gets me the time I need to get through that fence.

I go back to what I have found here—to the antifreeze in the cupboard. I

know about this from my other life when I was a science teacher. When I was a good mother. When John and I were still in love. Before we had a child that

died. A child I killed.

Before life started to close its hands around my throat.

We finish eating and I clean the dishes and put a kettle of water on the stove.

“We should go to bed,” Alice says.

“Yes,” I agree. “You go ahead. I am going to make a cup of tea to bring with me.”

Alice leaves and I take a teacup from a cupboard. I bring the cup to the

cupboard under the sink and pour in the antifreeze. Dolly cannot see the sink.

We go to our bedrooms. She gets ready for bed. I get ready for bed. I change in the bathroom with the door open. I take my time, though I fear it is futile.

Alice comes now to lock the grate. I don’t resist. But then she changes her

mind.

mind.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” she asks.

Of course you can, sweetheart.

We close the grate but do not lock it. The key remains in the hole.

“What about your tea?” she asks. Nothing gets past her.

Alice snuggles up beside me.

“I would rather sleep now,” I whisper.

The heat from her body, her breath, her heart beating—none of it bothers me

Day fourteen

tonight. None of it pulls from my gut the feeling of my lost child, my precious, There is antifreeze in the cupboard. But this is not all that I assess in the precocious Annie. None of it stirs the longing, or the guilt, or the redemption kitchen with Alice. Alice and her Happy Face.

that has begun to appear.

I assess many, many things. Thoughts and emotions, but mostly instincts

Tonight, Alice and I are one. I absorb her into me while I lay awake, making which, as before in the woods, require the closest scrutiny.

assessments. Contemplating my instincts.

Alice has unlocked the grate. She has set me free and it is a gift I cannot

The grate is still open, and with it, my options.

squander.

It is a different kind of prison now that I know Dolly is watching me. Before I could run for the front door, to my tools in the woods. But it’s dark and

I knew about Dolly I felt the freedom to release my face. To have my own

cold and I don’t know where Mick is. He could be outside in his truck, watching Angry Face or Coy Face or Sad Face. There was freedom to pound my fists into the camera feeds. He could be five minutes away. Ten minutes away. Days of

the pillows, to cry, to hold myself and rock myself to a place of calm, like a work would be undone.

mother holding her child.

That freedom is now gone, and the open grate does nothing to mitigate this

other type of insidious confinement. I have done things in the line of the camera that should be the cause of humiliation. He has seen me naked, changing into the There are other things, worse things. But nothing gets me the time I need to clothes that he slides through the panel. He has seen me naked and unaware and get through that fence.

still, this has not kept him here with us. He still longs for more. I think about my I go back to what I have found here—to the antifreeze in the cupboard. I

old friends and our battle to hold on to youth. But being a size four can’t make know about this from my other life when I was a science teacher. When I was a you twenty-five. Age is about maturity and knowledge and it seeps out in the good mother. When John and I were still in love. Before we had a child that

way we move and carry ourselves. Here is the proof. I have skinny legs and

died. A child I killed.

blond hair and this man has seen all of me. Still, he longs for something more.

Before life started to close its hands around my throat.

Something he lost. And knowing this has caused me to reassess. I decide to

We finish eating and I clean the dishes and put a kettle of water on the stove. move on and think about my instincts. Make a new plan.

“We should go to bed,” Alice says.

Alice is also slow to drift off and she rambles now. I want to make all kinds

“Yes,” I agree. “You go ahead. I am going to make a cup of tea to bring with of faces but I hold my expression steady. Pleasant. For Dolly to see.

me.”

Alice talks about her first mommy, so I chase away my thoughts to

Alice leaves and I take a teacup from a cupboard. I bring the cup to the

concentrate on hers. I wonder if she is beginning to feel things for me that she cupboard under the sink and pour in the antifreeze. Dolly cannot see the sink.

felt for her. It’s been too long since she’s had anyone to have these feelings for.

We go to our bedrooms. She gets ready for bed. I get ready for bed. I change

“She smelled good,” Alice says, pressing her nose into the nape of my neck,

in the bathroom with the door open. I take my time, though I fear it is futile.

insinuating that I do not smell good. Maybe I do smell bad to her by comparison, Alice comes now to lock the grate. I don’t resist. But then she changes her

but I am stuck with the cheap body wash that Mick slid through the panel.

mind.

“She used to sing to me,” Alice says now. Her voice is soft, dreamlike. I

mind.

“She used to sing to me,” Alice says now. Her voice is soft, dreamlike. I

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” she asks.

decide not to sing to her because that might upset her, although I used to sing to my babies when they still slept in my arms. I could see my voice reach deep

We close the grate but do not lock it. The key remains in the hole.

inside them, settle their nerves. Mine was the voice they heard as I carried them

“What about your tea?” she asks. Nothing gets past her.

inside me. It is primal, the way the body reacts to the voice of the mother.

Alice snuggles up beside me.

I think that maybe I will sing to myself one day so she can overhear it, and

“I would rather sleep now,” I whisper.

that maybe she will come to me and ask me to sing. Yes, I think. I will lure her The heat from her body, her breath, her heart beating—none of it bothers me into asking me to sing to her like her first mommy. Maybe I can get close tonight. None of it pulls from my gut the feeling of my lost child, my precious, enough. Maybe it will reach her, even just a little.

precocious Annie. None of it stirs the longing, or the guilt, or the redemption There are other things she says, and I make a note of all of them.

that has begun to appear.

But my thoughts keep drifting back to the antifreeze under the sink in my

Tonight, Alice and I are one. I absorb her into me while I lay awake, making bathroom, poured into the teacup which I carried back to my room.

assessments. Contemplating my instincts.

Antifreeze contains ethylene glycol, which breaks down in the body by

The grate is still open, and with it, my options.

forming sharp crystals. Those crystals shred human tissue, especially the

It is a different kind of prison now that I know Dolly is watching me. Before kidneys. I taught some of this to my students when I introduced basic chemistry.

I knew about Dolly I felt the freedom to release my face. To have my own

Of course, I did not share the rest of it.

Angry Face or Coy Face or Sad Face. There was freedom to pound my fists into How death does not always occur. But severe illness does. Incapacitating

the pillows, to cry, to hold myself and rock myself to a place of calm, like a illness. The kind that makes it impossible to move, or run. The kind that would mother holding her child.

allow someone to lock you in a room behind metal bars and then drive away.

That freedom is now gone, and the open grate does nothing to mitigate this

It has a sweet taste.

other type of insidious confinement. I have done things in the line of the camera Sweet, like sugar.

that should be the cause of humiliation. He has seen me naked, changing into the Sweet, like Alice. I must believe this. I must hold her close.

clothes that he slides through the panel. He has seen me naked and unaware and And then this sweet girl tells me, in a sleepy voice, “Do you know that it’s still, this has not kept him here with us. He still longs for more. I think about my selfish to have children?”

old friends and our battle to hold on to youth. But being a size four can’t make I am very quiet now as I whisper, “What do you mean?”

you twenty-five. Age is about maturity and knowledge and it seeps out in the

“Well,” she says, “you had children so you could have someone to love. So

way we move and carry ourselves. Here is the proof. I have skinny legs and

you could have football games to watch every other Thursday.”

blond hair and this man has seen all of me. Still, he longs for something more.

I am still. Perfectly still as I always am in these moments when Alice reveals Something he lost. And knowing this has caused me to reassess. I decide to

something new to me. I fear if I move she will stop talking. But she stops

move on and think about my instincts. Make a new plan.

anyway.

Alice is also slow to drift off and she rambles now. I want to make all kinds

“I do love watching my son’s football games. Do you know where I go to see

of faces but I hold my expression steady. Pleasant. For Dolly to see.

them?”

Alice talks about her first mommy, so I chase away my thoughts to

But she doesn’t bite. She doesn’t care about my desperate need to understand concentrate on hers. I wonder if she is beginning to feel things for me that she what is going on, how they know these things about me—so many things, like

felt for her. It’s been too long since she’s had anyone to have these feelings for. he’s been watching me. But how?

“She smelled good,” Alice says, pressing her nose into the nape of my neck,

“That’s not the point!” she says. She wants to finish her story. Her theory.

insinuating that I do not smell good. Maybe I do smell bad to her by comparison,

“Okay, Alice. I’m sorry. You think it’s selfish to have children?”

but I am stuck with the cheap body wash that Mick slid through the panel.

“It’s not what I think. It’s just what is. It’s selfish to have children because

“She used to sing to me,” Alice says now. Her voice is soft, dreamlike. I

“It’s not what I think. It’s just what is. It’s selfish to have children because

“She used to sing to me,” Alice says now. Her voice is soft, dreamlike. I

they’re just going to die one day.”

decide not to sing to her because that might upset her, although I used to sing to I don’t know what to say to this. She is right and wrong all at the same time.

my babies when they still slept in my arms. I could see my voice reach deep

But then I think she is just right, so I have nothing to say.

inside them, settle their nerves. Mine was the voice they heard as I carried them But this is not the end of her little story.

inside me. It is primal, the way the body reacts to the voice of the mother.

“You should know that better than anyone,” she says. “You got to watch it

happen.”

I feel my arms release just a little, wanting to hold this child just a little less.

As little as I possibly can without prolonging this night. Without undoing my work.

There are other things she says, and I make a note of all of them.

I wonder who put this thought in her head, and if she knows how deeply she

But my thoughts keep drifting back to the antifreeze under the sink in my

has wounded me. I think, then, that wounding me was her intention. Now she

bathroom, poured into the teacup which I carried back to my room.

can feel sorry for me.

Antifreeze contains ethylene glycol, which breaks down in the body by

The muscles in my face quiver as I fight to keep them steady.

forming sharp crystals. Those crystals shred human tissue, especially the

I feel her drift off, and then I drift off too, not to sleep, but to thoughts.

kidneys. I taught some of this to my students when I introduced basic chemistry.

Thoughts about how we are born to die. Thoughts about death, period.

Of course, I did not share the rest of it.

And what I have hidden under my bathroom sink.

How death does not always occur. But severe illness does. Incapacitating

illness. The kind that makes it impossible to move, or run. The kind that would allow someone to lock you in a room behind metal bars and then drive away.

It has a sweet taste.

Sweet, like sugar.

Sweet, like Alice. I must believe this. I must hold her close.

And then this sweet girl tells me, in a sleepy voice, “Do you know that it’s selfish to have children?”

I am very quiet now as I whisper, “What do you mean?”

“Well,” she says, “you had children so you could have someone to love. So

you could have football games to watch every other Thursday.”

I am still. Perfectly still as I always am in these moments when Alice reveals something new to me. I fear if I move she will stop talking. But she stops

anyway.

“I do love watching my son’s football games. Do you know where I go to see

them?”

But she doesn’t bite. She doesn’t care about my desperate need to understand what is going on, how they know these things about me—so many things, like

he’s been watching me. But how?

“That’s not the point!” she says. She wants to finish her story. Her theory.

“Okay, Alice. I’m sorry. You think it’s selfish to have children?”

“It’s not what I think. It’s just what is. It’s selfish to have children because

“It’s not what I think. It’s just what is. It’s selfish to have children because they’re just going to die one day.”

I don’t know what to say to this. She is right and wrong all at the same time.

But then I think she is just right, so I have nothing to say.

But this is not the end of her little story.

“You should know that better than anyone,” she says. “You got to watch it

happen.”

I feel my arms release just a little, wanting to hold this child just a little less.

As little as I possibly can without prolonging this night. Without undoing my work.

I wonder who put this thought in her head, and if she knows how deeply she

has wounded me. I think, then, that wounding me was her intention. Now she

can feel sorry for me.

The muscles in my face quiver as I fight to keep them steady.

I feel her drift off, and then I drift off too, not to sleep, but to thoughts.

Thoughts about how we are born to die. Thoughts about death, period.

And what I have hidden under my bathroom sink.

Chapter Twenty-two

Day fourteen

Officer Reyes met Nic in the business center of the hotel. He was off duty

and Nic sensed that she’d pulled him away from something.

“Are you okay?” he asked. He sat down next to her then slid his chair closer to see what had captured her attention on the computer.

“I really don’t know,” she said. “But you didn’t have to come here. I could

have explained it on the phone.”

Reyes nodded. “I know. But I was just watching a game.” He looked up then,

around the empty room. “I’ve been here plenty of times. Never knew it had an office until . . .”

He stopped himself from saying it. Until your mother disappeared.

Nic moved them forward.

“It’s actually a business center.”

“Ahh,” Reyes said, smiling now. “A business center. Very upscale. And

clearly a big hit with the clientele.”

Nic felt her shoulders drop with an exhale. The bite of sarcasm was soothing.

She pulled up the satellite image of the property behind the inn. Reyes leaned in closer. His arm brushed hers, then pulled away.

“I’m not sure what you want me to see.”

Nic pointed to the screen—to the inn, the fence she’d seen on her run, how it turned away from Booth’s property and seemed to encircle a large parcel of land behind it. Then she traced the line of the driveway all the way up to a house.

“Okay. So there’s a property with a fence and a house on Abel Hill Lane. I

don’t get why this helps figure out what happened to your mother.”

Nic sat back in her chair. “It’s a tall fence, with barbed wire. Someone cut a hole into it, making a kind of flap. And the property isn’t listed on Zillow. It isn’t listed anywhere on the Internet.”

“Huh.” Reyes was curious now. He leaned in closer—again brushing her

arm. This time he did not pull it away as quickly.

“It doesn’t look familiar—this driveway or fence. I’m trying to think about

the houses on Abel Hill . . .”

the houses on Abel Hill . . .”

“Isn’t there some way you can search for it—on the police systems or

something? I’m wondering if anyone even lives there. Kurt Kent from the bar—

he said maybe some neighborhood kids were looking for a cut-through to town .

. . which means maybe it’s abandoned, and then maybe . . .”

“It wasn’t searched,” Reyes finished her thought.

“You tell me,” Nic said.

“I’d have to check the log of the canvas.”

Day fourteen

“Can you run the property, see who owns it? I researched the two companies

Officer Reyes met Nic in the business center of the hotel. He was off duty

that had plants here—RC Chemical and later, Ross Pharma. One article said

and Nic sensed that she’d pulled him away from something.

Ross bought the plant owned by RC. It looks like the house is on the same land

“Are you okay?” he asked. He sat down next to her then slid his chair closer with their buildings—red brick, black roofs.”

to see what had captured her attention on the computer.

“Town Hall has all the land records. I searched those buildings myself, me

“I really don’t know,” she said. “But you didn’t have to come here. I could

and a trooper—the ones that used to be Ross Pharma. We didn’t see a house.”

have explained it on the phone.”

“And utilities? Can we find out if they’re servicing that house?”

Reyes nodded. “I know. But I was just watching a game.” He looked up then,

“Yeah—from the companies who run them. Electric, cable. Or they might

around the empty room. “I’ve been here plenty of times. Never knew it had an have satellite or another provider for Internet, if they have it. Then there’s heat—

office until . . .”

natural gas or oil. We get both around here.”

Yes, she thought. That all makes sense. That all seems possible. She finally Nic moved them forward.

drew a breath that filled her lungs.

“Can I show you one last thing?” she asked.

“Ahh,” Reyes said, smiling now. “A business center. Very upscale. And

“Sure.”

clearly a big hit with the clientele.”

Nic zoomed in on the satellite image of the property on Abel Hill Lane.

Nic felt her shoulders drop with an exhale. The bite of sarcasm was soothing. She’d been staring at it on and off for over an hour, not believing her own eyes.

She pulled up the satellite image of the property behind the inn. Reyes leaned She pointed at a small object just beyond the house—beneath a tree, but a

in closer. His arm brushed hers, then pulled away.

tree with a missing limb right in the center. From the top, she could see through

“I’m not sure what you want me to see.”

it to the image hiding beneath the canopy.

Nic pointed to the screen—to the inn, the fence she’d seen on her run, how it

“What does that look like to you?”

turned away from Booth’s property and seemed to encircle a large parcel of land Reyes squinted, stared. “I have no idea. Maybe a tractor. Piece of farm

behind it. Then she traced the line of the driveway all the way up to a house.

equipment?”

“Okay. So there’s a property with a fence and a house on Abel Hill Lane. I

“Or a pickup truck. Dark color,” Nic said. She let the thought sink in.

don’t get why this helps figure out what happened to your mother.”

Reyes looked closer. “I suppose—can you zoom in more? Maybe get a

Nic sat back in her chair. “It’s a tall fence, with barbed wire. Someone cut a different angle, or a different shot from another day?”

hole into it, making a kind of flap. And the property isn’t listed on Zillow. It

“This is the only one I could find. But think about it, she was seen getting isn’t listed anywhere on the Internet.”

into a truck—heading into town, not away from town. And now there’s a

“Huh.” Reyes was curious now. He leaned in closer—again brushing her

property that hasn’t been searched . . .”

arm. This time he did not pull it away as quickly.

“That may not have been searched. We won’t know that until we look at the

“It doesn’t look familiar—this driveway or fence. I’m trying to think about

log.”

the houses on Abel Hill . . .”

Nic’s thoughts were running wild again.

the houses on Abel Hill . . .”

Nic’s thoughts were running wild again.

“Isn’t there some way you can search for it—on the police systems or

She wanted to tell him about Chief Watkins, about what she’d seen. She

something? I’m wondering if anyone even lives there. Kurt Kent from the bar— didn’t want to drive him away by accusing his boss of something. And what he said maybe some neighborhood kids were looking for a cut-through to town . something would that even be?

. . which means maybe it’s abandoned, and then maybe . . .”

She couldn’t hold back.

“It wasn’t searched,” Reyes finished her thought.

“Did you know Chief Watkins drives a dark gray truck?”

“You tell me,” Nic said.

Reyes burst out laughing. “Wait . . .” He covered his mouth with his hand,

“I’d have to check the log of the canvas.”

stifled the laughter. “You think the chief’s truck is the truck Edith Moore saw?”

“Can you run the property, see who owns it? I researched the two companies

“So you do know?”

that had plants here—RC Chemical and later, Ross Pharma. One article said

“Everyone knows. He’s had it for years.”

Ross bought the plant owned by RC. It looks like the house is on the same land

“And you didn’t say anything?”

with their buildings—red brick, black roofs.”

Reyes grew defensive. “No, I didn’t. Do you know who else has a truck? Mr.

“Town Hall has all the land records. I searched those buildings myself, me

Klinger down on Mullberry Street. Henry Drumming on Maple. Let me think . . .

and a trooper—the ones that used to be Ross Pharma. We didn’t see a house.”

oh—I know! Mrs. Urbansky! Sweet Orla Urbansky—now, hers is silver, but we

“And utilities? Can we find out if they’re servicing that house?”

already established that Edith Moore couldn’t see a fucking thing because of the

“Yeah—from the companies who run them. Electric, cable. Or they might

storm and is just hoping to cash in when your mother finally decides to come have satellite or another provider for Internet, if they have it. Then there’s heat—home!”

natural gas or oil. We get both around here.”

Nic stared at him now, stunned by the abrupt change. He was just as quick to anger as he was to soften.

“Maybe Mrs. Urbansky helped your mother disappear. Hell, maybe she and

“Can I show you one last thing?” she asked.

the chief are in it together.”

“Sure.”

“Okay—I get it,” Nic said. “I didn’t know. That’s all. I saw him here earlier Nic zoomed in on the satellite image of the property on Abel Hill Lane.

and it just surprised me.”

She’d been staring at it on and off for over an hour, not believing her own eyes.

“Was he with a woman?” Reyes asked.

She pointed at a small object just beyond the house—beneath a tree, but a

“How did you know?”

tree with a missing limb right in the center. From the top, she could see through

“Jesus, were you watching? I didn’t peg you for that sort of thing.”

it to the image hiding beneath the canopy.

Nic felt her cheeks burn. “I wasn’t watching.”

“What does that look like to you?”

Reyes stared at her, raised an eyebrow.

Reyes squinted, stared. “I have no idea. Maybe a tractor. Piece of farm

“Not like that. I saw him walk to the truck and I didn’t know what to do.”

equipment?”

Reyes was now contrite. “I’m sorry. I don’t meant to give you a hard time.

“Or a pickup truck. Dark color,” Nic said. She let the thought sink in.

Two things—first, the chief has his vices. It’s common knowledge. His wife’s Reyes looked closer. “I suppose—can you zoom in more? Maybe get a

death did a number on him. But second—the chief is also the man who took me

different angle, or a different shot from another day?”

in when I needed a change. Saved my life, really. And the things he does for the

“This is the only one I could find. But think about it, she was seen getting community—the kids in this town. You have no idea. Since he lost his wife

into a truck—heading into town, not away from town. And now there’s a

before they could have children, he’s been a man of service. And a man of vice.

property that hasn’t been searched . . .”

Every coin has two sides, right?”

Nic ran this information through the other facts she now held back. How

he’d helped Daisy Hollander leave town. The contempt Kurt Kent seemed to

Nic’s thoughts were running wild again.

he’d helped Daisy Hollander leave town. The contempt Kurt Kent seemed to Nic’s thoughts were running wild again.

have for him and Reyes, contempt that Nic had yet to understand but knew was She wanted to tell him about Chief Watkins, about what she’d seen. She

very real. And the tone of his voice when he was done with that prostitute in the didn’t want to drive him away by accusing his boss of something. And what

parking lot. He’d been cruel and degrading, practically shoving her out the door.

something would that even be?

“I didn’t know,” Nic said.

She couldn’t hold back.

“It’s all right.”

“Did you know Chief Watkins drives a dark gray truck?”

She thought then about two sides to every coin. About the two sides of her

Reyes burst out laughing. “Wait . . .” He covered his mouth with his hand,

father.

stifled the laughter. “You think the chief’s truck is the truck Edith Moore saw?”

“I need to tell you something.”

“So you do know?”

Reyes leaned in and listened intently as she told him about her suspicions,

“Everyone knows. He’s had it for years.”

the late nights, the car parked downtown and not at the train station.

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“I’m sorry about that,” Reyes said. “You think it had something to do with

Reyes grew defensive. “No, I didn’t. Do you know who else has a truck? Mr. your mother’s disappearance?”

Klinger down on Mullberry Street. Henry Drumming on Maple. Let me think . . .

“I don’t know. Except that I all but told her the morning she left. Maybe it oh—I know! Mrs. Urbansky! Sweet Orla Urbansky—now, hers is silver, but we pushed her over the edge.”

already established that Edith Moore couldn’t see a fucking thing because of the

“And now you blame yourself.”

storm and is just hoping to cash in when your mother finally decides to come He touched her arm. She didn’t pull away. And she felt it again, the

home!”

anticipation of relief that she knew would come if he held his hand there. If she Nic stared at him now, stunned by the abrupt change. He was just as quick to let it linger just long enough to travel through her. A little bolt of electricity. And anger as he was to soften.

from there, another touch, and another and another until they were swept away.

“Maybe Mrs. Urbansky helped your mother disappear. Hell, maybe she and

“Tell you what,” Reyes said, moving his hand. “Tomorrow we’ll check the

the chief are in it together.”

land records and utilities for the property, and the log for the search and canvas.

“Okay—I get it,” Nic said. “I didn’t know. That’s all. I saw him here earlier We can even go knock on the door if you want. And I’ll do a little looking into and it just surprised me.”

your father. Shouldn’t be too hard. We have all the bank and credit card

“Was he with a woman?” Reyes asked.

statements.”

“How did you know?”

That would all be fine, tomorrow. But tonight—what about tonight and right

“Jesus, were you watching? I didn’t peg you for that sort of thing.”

now? Exhausted, confused, the hollow spaces wanting to be filled. She couldn’t Nic felt her cheeks burn. “I wasn’t watching.”

fight it. Not now. Not tonight.

Reyes stared at her, raised an eyebrow.

The words flew from her mouth.

“Not like that. I saw him walk to the truck and I didn’t know what to do.”

“Let me buy you a drink.”

Reyes was now contrite. “I’m sorry. I don’t meant to give you a hard time.

Two things—first, the chief has his vices. It’s common knowledge. His wife’s death did a number on him. But second—the chief is also the man who took me

in when I needed a change. Saved my life, really. And the things he does for the community—the kids in this town. You have no idea. Since he lost his wife

before they could have children, he’s been a man of service. And a man of vice.

Every coin has two sides, right?”

Nic ran this information through the other facts she now held back. How

he’d helped Daisy Hollander leave town. The contempt Kurt Kent seemed to

he’d helped Daisy Hollander leave town. The contempt Kurt Kent seemed to have for him and Reyes, contempt that Nic had yet to understand but knew was very real. And the tone of his voice when he was done with that prostitute in the parking lot. He’d been cruel and degrading, practically shoving her out the door.

“I didn’t know,” Nic said.

“It’s all right.”

She thought then about two sides to every coin. About the two sides of her

father.

“I need to tell you something.”

Reyes leaned in and listened intently as she told him about her suspicions,

the late nights, the car parked downtown and not at the train station.

“I’m sorry about that,” Reyes said. “You think it had something to do with

your mother’s disappearance?”

“I don’t know. Except that I all but told her the morning she left. Maybe it pushed her over the edge.”

“And now you blame yourself.”

He touched her arm. She didn’t pull away. And she felt it again, the

anticipation of relief that she knew would come if he held his hand there. If she let it linger just long enough to travel through her. A little bolt of electricity. And from there, another touch, and another and another until they were swept away.

“Tell you what,” Reyes said, moving his hand. “Tomorrow we’ll check the

land records and utilities for the property, and the log for the search and canvas.

We can even go knock on the door if you want. And I’ll do a little looking into your father. Shouldn’t be too hard. We have all the bank and credit card

statements.”

That would all be fine, tomorrow. But tonight—what about tonight and right

now? Exhausted, confused, the hollow spaces wanting to be filled. She couldn’t fight it. Not now. Not tonight.

The words flew from her mouth.

“Let me buy you a drink.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Day sixteen

I wake up with two bodies beside me. Alice is lodged against my spine,

under the covers. One arm over my waist, the other on the back of my neck.

But I feel another hand on my hip. Over the covers, but still heavy enough to feel its weight. The hand of a man. The hand of Mick.

I do not move a single muscle. I do not turn my head to see him, to confirm

what I already know. I stare at the beams of light coming through the cracks of the boarded up window. And I wait for them to stir. His touch is repulsive, and yet I am suddenly filled with hope.

Be patient, I tell myself this morning, as the light comes in and the plan continues to form in my mind. Maybe I have more time than I thought. Maybe

he is starting to like me the way Alice does.

I feel the hands touching me, the bodies stealing comfort from mine. I lie

still.

Be patient.

Alice is the first to wake. She groans a bit and pulls me closer with her little arms, snuggling deeper.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Hi,” I whisper back.

“He’s here with us,” she whispers.

“I know.”

I wait for her to giggle or feel her cheeks smile against my back. I think that this should make her happy, that we are all together in this bed. That I am being a good second mommy to her and pleasing Mick.

But her voice grows shaky.

“This is how it begins,” she says. “When he gets into the bed with us.”

“How what begins?” I ask.

She pulls my hair so my head is forced closer to her ear.

I wince but I do not complain.

Be patient, I say to myself, even as I hear the words she says next. Words

that make me gasp in the cold air.

“The end,” she says. And then she gives me a kiss.

Day sixteen

I wake up with two bodies beside me. Alice is lodged against my spine,

under the covers. One arm over my waist, the other on the back of my neck.

But I feel another hand on my hip. Over the covers, but still heavy enough to feel its weight. The hand of a man. The hand of Mick.

I do not move a single muscle. I do not turn my head to see him, to confirm

what I already know. I stare at the beams of light coming through the cracks of the boarded up window. And I wait for them to stir. His touch is repulsive, and yet I am suddenly filled with hope.

I feel the hands touching me, the bodies stealing comfort from mine. I lie

still.

Alice is the first to wake. She groans a bit and pulls me closer with her little arms, snuggling deeper.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Hi,” I whisper back.

“He’s here with us,” she whispers.

“I know.”

I wait for her to giggle or feel her cheeks smile against my back. I think that this should make her happy, that we are all together in this bed. That I am being a good second mommy to her and pleasing Mick.

But her voice grows shaky.

“This is how it begins,” she says. “When he gets into the bed with us.”

“How what begins?” I ask.

She pulls my hair so my head is forced closer to her ear.

I wince but I do not complain.

that make me gasp in the cold air.

“The end,” she says. And then she gives me a kiss.

Chapter Twenty-four

Day sixteen

Nic awoke with a hangover and scattered memories. It was both familiar and

unnerving.

She did not linger in bed. Instead, she went straight to the bathroom and ran a shower. She stepped in while it was still cold and let the water sting her skin.

She brushed her teeth, downed four Advil.

Her head still ached from the four drinks with Officer Reyes. From going to

bed drunk.

Then she remembered that she’d had to leave her mother’s car at Laguna.

Reyes had driven her here, back to the inn, walked her to her room.

But that was all. She was certain. Although not for lack of trying.

Shit. What had she done, exactly? Tried to kiss him. Pulled him into her room? And he’d wanted to, hadn’t he? She’d felt his body respond. Now she was grateful he’d resisted. She needed someone to help her find her mother. Not

another stranger she had to kick out of her bed in the morning.

But it had been more than raw need last night. It was the story he’d told her, which she was also now remembering. A story worthy of four drinks and a new

perspective on Officer Jared Reyes. It explained why he’d come to Hastings, and why he had such a strong alliance with Chief Watkins.

Reyes had been involved in a shooting when he was a rookie back in his

hometown, in Worcester, three hours north of here. A lone gunman had been

lurking outside a school. Stalking the grounds, waiting, as it turned out, for the police to arrive. Waiting so he could draw them close, then pull his own weapon, forcing them to shoot. Forcing them to kill him. But his gun had been a toy, a fake. Reyes had killed an unarmed man in a suicide by cop. She could have

listened to him all night, talking about the emotional pain that was now a deep scar he’d learned to live with.

Nic looked in the bathroom mirror, stared into her own eyes to see if she was remembering all of this right.

Reyes had described his memory of the young man falling to the ground. The

blood pooling around his torso. The way it entered his own body as a fantasy, a scene from a movie. And then the rush of something vile as his brain processed reality. And this vile something changed every cell in his body in an instant.

Every single cell. Those had been his words. But they were also Nic’s.

Reyes had managed to describe exactly what had happened to her as she

stood on that driveway and watching her mother’s car send her little sister flying through air.

Day sixteen

Had she started to cry then? She stared into her own eyes now, trying to

Nic awoke with a hangover and scattered memories. It was both familiar and remember. Yes, she had cried. And Reyes had held her. Kissed her forehead.

unnerving.

Then driven her back here, sparing her the degradation of turning their new

She did not linger in bed. Instead, she went straight to the bathroom and ran connection into something sexual. He knew about living with hollow spaces.

a shower. She stepped in while it was still cold and let the water sting her skin.

I’m not going to help you make them bigger, he’d said to her as he walked She brushed her teeth, downed four Advil.

away from her room.

Her head still ached from the four drinks with Officer Reyes. From going to

No one else had understood why she did the things she did. It wasn’t in any

bed drunk.

textbook. But Reyes knew because he’d lived it as well.

Then she remembered that she’d had to leave her mother’s car at Laguna.

That explained so much about him—how he exuded confidence and

Reyes had driven her here, back to the inn, walked her to her room.

swagger, pulling women in. Probably sleeping his way through the county. But But that was all. She was certain. Although not for lack of trying.

also why he was the only one who seemed to give a shit about finding her

mother. And why he was so loyal to Chief Watkins, who had saved his life by

room? And he’d wanted to, hadn’t he? She’d felt his body respond. Now she wasgiving him a second chance at being a cop.

* * *

A young woman was at the front desk.

But it had been more than raw need last night. It was the story he’d told her,

“Can I speak to Roger?” Nic asked her.

which she was also now remembering. A story worthy of four drinks and a new

She smiled politely. “Is there something I can help you with?”

perspective on Officer Jared Reyes. It explained why he’d come to Hastings, and

“No.” Nic was insistent. “It’s important.”

why he had such a strong alliance with Chief Watkins.

The woman picked up the house phone. “Hold on,” she whispered. Then,

Reyes had been involved in a shooting when he was a rookie back in his

into the receiver, “Our guest asked to see you . . .”

hometown, in Worcester, three hours north of here. A lone gunman had been

Then a nod and a smile as she hung it up.

lurking outside a school. Stalking the grounds, waiting, as it turned out, for the

“He’s in his apartment,” she said. “It’s the second door down the hallway.”

police to arrive. Waiting so he could draw them close, then pull his own weapon, She pointed to the hallway that began just beneath the stairs.

forcing them to shoot. Forcing them to kill him. But his gun had been a toy, a Nic thanked her, then walked toward Roger Booth’s apartment.

fake. Reyes had killed an unarmed man in a suicide by cop. She could have

The door was already open when she got there, Booth greeting her with a

listened to him all night, talking about the emotional pain that was now a deep burst of surprise, and an “Oh my!”

scar he’d learned to live with.

“What?” Nic asked.

Nic looked in the bathroom mirror, stared into her own eyes to see if she was He motioned toward her face, her hair. “It’s cold out. Your hair is wet.”

remembering all of this right.

“I didn’t bring a hair dryer,” Nic said.

Reyes had described his memory of the young man falling to the ground. The

Booth looked confused. “There’s one under the sink.”

“I didn’t know. Can I come in?”

“I didn’t know. Can I come in?”

Booth hesitated, glancing behind him as though checking to see if his home

was worthy of visitors.

“Do you have company?” Nic asked. “I can come back.”

Booth looked nervously at the floor. His cheeks turned red, and when she

Reyes had managed to describe exactly what had happened to her as she

studied them they also seemed chapped from a recent shave.

stood on that driveway and watching her mother’s car send her little sister flying Shaved. Neatly dressed. Smelling of cologne. All just to sit in his apartment through air.

or work at the diner. He really seemed to have no idea about what this place was Had she started to cry then? She stared into her own eyes now, trying to

like, Hastings.

remember. Yes, she had cried. And Reyes had held her. Kissed her forehead.

“No, no,” he said. “Nothing like that.”

Then driven her back here, sparing her the degradation of turning their new

He stepped aside. “Come in. Please . . .”

connection into something sexual. He knew about living with hollow spaces.

His apartment was no bigger than her room upstairs. A bed, a small sitting

area. A bathroom. The only addition was a wall of kitchen appliances near the window that faced the odd patio out back.

No one else had understood why she did the things she did. It wasn’t in any

“Would you like some tea?” he asked.

textbook. But Reyes knew because he’d lived it as well.

“Do you have coffee?”

That explained so much about him—how he exuded confidence and

“Instant?”

swagger, pulling women in. Probably sleeping his way through the county. But

“Sure,” Nic said, taking a seat at the table.

also why he was the only one who seemed to give a shit about finding her

Booth put a kettle on a small gas stove. He prepared two cups on the counter mother. And why he was so loyal to Chief Watkins, who had saved his life by

—one with instant coffee grinds, and the other with a loose tea strainer.

giving him a second chance at being a cop.

“Hangover?” he asked.

* * *

Nic felt her heart jump. Had he seen them last night? Nic and Reyes, walking

A young woman was at the front desk.

up the creaky stairs to her room? Reyes hadn’t stayed—but Booth may not know

“Can I speak to Roger?” Nic asked her.

that. He would have heard them talking as they walked the stairs. He would have She smiled politely. “Is there something I can help you with?”

heard two sets of feet. And then silence, perhaps, if Reyes descended more

“No.” Nic was insistent. “It’s important.”

discreetly.

The woman picked up the house phone. “Hold on,” she whispered. Then,

Booth studied several canisters of tea before choosing one. They were lined

into the receiver, “Our guest asked to see you . . .”

up perfectly on the shelf.

Then a nod and a smile as she hung it up.

“It’s much better, you know? Loose leaf tea,” he said.

“He’s in his apartment,” she said. “It’s the second door down the hallway.”

Nic watched him, lost in her thoughts. And her fears about what he was now

She pointed to the hallway that began just beneath the stairs.

thinking.

Nic thanked her, then walked toward Roger Booth’s apartment.

He filled the strainer. The water boiled and he poured it into the cups.

The door was already open when she got there, Booth greeting her with a

Milk and sugar were on the table, but he brought saucers and spoons.

burst of surprise, and an “Oh my!”

Nic sipped the coffee as she looked around the room. Booth was busy fixing

“What?” Nic asked.

his tea just so—one and a half spoons of sugar. A long pour of milk. A

He motioned toward her face, her hair. “It’s cold out. Your hair is wet.”

meticulous stir.

“I didn’t bring a hair dryer,” Nic said.

“Do you live here all the time?” she asked. There weren’t many personal

Booth looked confused. “There’s one under the sink.”

effects. And hardly enough closet space for a few days of clothing.

“I didn’t know. Can I come in?”

“I didn’t know. Can I come in?”

“Yes,” he answered. Then he understood why she was asking.

Booth hesitated, glancing behind him as though checking to see if his home

“I have a second room next door. I keep most of my things there. I know it’s was worthy of visitors.

an odd arrangement, but I don’t see much point in renovating. I don’t mind it,

“Do you have company?” Nic asked. “I can come back.”

and who knows? One day we might get busy again and I’ll need these rooms for Booth looked nervously at the floor. His cheeks turned red, and when she

guests.”

studied them they also seemed chapped from a recent shave.

Nic looked at him carefully. Did he really believe that? After a decade-long Shaved. Neatly dressed. Smelling of cologne. All just to sit in his apartment spiral into an economic graveyard? How deep into this fantasy was he?

or work at the diner. He really seemed to have no idea about what this place was But none of this was why she was here.

like, Hastings.

“Remember when I went for that run?”

“No, no,” he said. “Nothing like that.”

Booth smiled, causing his glasses to slide down his nose. He pushed them up

He stepped aside. “Come in. Please . . .”

with his middle finger.

His apartment was no bigger than her room upstairs. A bed, a small sitting

“Of course. You escaped the bears and wolves.”

area. A bathroom. The only addition was a wall of kitchen appliances near the Nic smiled. “Yes. But I also found the fence my father saw.”

window that faced the odd patio out back.

“Oh right. The fence.”

“Would you like some tea?” he asked.

She heard Reyes now, in her head, telling her not to do this. Not to speak to

“Do you have coffee?”

Booth about his neighbors or Daisy Hollander or anything else from the past.

“Instant?”

What had he said? That Booth was wound tight as a drum.

“Sure,” Nic said, taking a seat at the table.

Then— just wait for me. The house on Abel Hill Lane had not been on the Booth put a kettle on a small gas stove. He prepared two cups on the counter search log—and it was not a registered address. It had no street number. He’d

—one with instant coffee grinds, and the other with a loose tea strainer.

promised to run the utility searches first thing this morning, then take her back to

“Hangover?” he asked.

Laguna to get her car. Then they would go to town hall. He said he would help Nic felt her heart jump. Had he seen them last night? Nic and Reyes, walkingher get through the red tape, whatever that meant. How much red tape could up the creaky stairs to her room? Reyes hadn’t stayed—but Booth may not know there be in Hastings? It was one parcel. Still, she’d promised to wait and go with that. He would have heard them talking as they walked the stairs. He would have him. They would find out who owned the place. Call them, ask about the night heard two sets of feet. And then silence, perhaps, if Reyes descended more

of the storm. They couldn’t search it without a warrant, but they could stop by.

discreetly.

Knock on the door.

Booth studied several canisters of tea before choosing one. They were lined

Still, Nic couldn’t sit around and do nothing all morning. Town hall was two up perfectly on the shelf.

miles down the road. She had no car. Roger Booth was here, right in front of her.

“It’s much better, you know? Loose leaf tea,” he said.

“It’s a tall, barbed wire fence,” she said, breaking her promise to Reyes.

Nic watched him, lost in her thoughts. And her fears about what he was now “And I think it belongs to the neighboring property—maybe one of the old thinking.

plants.”

He filled the strainer. The water boiled and he poured it into the cups.

Booth’s face lit up then. He seemed happy to be entertaining someone in his

Milk and sugar were on the table, but he brought saucers and spoons.

apartment, and Nic felt a wave of pity.

Nic sipped the coffee as she looked around the room. Booth was busy fixing

“Oh—yes!” he said then. “I’m so silly! I remember now—my father

his tea just so—one and a half spoons of sugar. A long pour of milk. A

speaking about this years ago. Not about the fence, exactly, but the investors meticulous stir.

who bought the land and old buildings from Ross Pharma—they were planning

“Do you live here all the time?” she asked. There weren’t many personal

to make it some kind of mental facility for criminals, but they never got the effects. And hardly enough closet space for a few days of clothing.

permits they needed. The whole town fought it. I remember him saying he’d

permits they needed. The whole town fought it. I remember him saying he’d

“Yes,” he answered. Then he understood why she was asking.

never let Hastings turn into a prison town. Their property must back right up to

“I have a second room next door. I keep most of my things there. I know it’s mine deep in the woods.”

an odd arrangement, but I don’t see much point in renovating. I don’t mind it,

“And you didn’t think of this when I asked you before?” It seemed very

and who knows? One day we might get busy again and I’ll need these rooms for strange to Nic—how many fences could there be in this town? And how did he guests.”

not know who owned the neighboring land?

Nic looked at him carefully. Did he really believe that? After a decade-long Booth appeared to be embarrassed. “I . . . I’m not sure. You were going for a spiral into an economic graveyard? How deep into this fantasy was he?

run in my woods and that made me nervous . . .”

But none of this was why she was here.

He had looked nervous then. And now as well.

“Remember when I went for that run?”

“Do they still own the property?”

Booth smiled, causing his glasses to slide down his nose. He pushed them up

Booth shrugged, set down his teacup. “I think they do. It’s never been for

with his middle finger.

sale. They probably keep it for a tax write-off.”

“Of course. You escaped the bears and wolves.”

“There’s a house on that property—with a driveway running down to Abel

Nic smiled. “Yes. But I also found the fence my father saw.”

Hill Lane. But it’s not a registered address. Do you know anything about it?”

“Oh right. The fence.”

“The foreman who kept the grounds had a house. That must be it. Probably

She heard Reyes now, in her head, telling her not to do this. Not to speak to ran the separate driveway for some privacy. I heard it was kind of strange. A Booth about his neighbors or Daisy Hollander or anything else from the past.

ranch but with a porch and false roof so it looks like a farm house from the front.

I think they started a renovation but then didn’t finish after the permits for the facility were blocked.”

“Then it might be abandoned?” Nic said. “And then never searched, the

promised to run the utility searches first thing this morning, then take her back to owners never questioned about the night of the storm . . .”

Booth contemplated this.

“I know the buildings were searched. Reyes did it himself—with one of the

there be in Hastings? It was one parcel. Still, she’d promised to wait and go with state troopers. I heard them talking about it at the diner, how they were falling apart—those old red brick buildings you can see from River Road. But the land

—all of it? And the foreman’s house, I don’t know.”

Nic smiled politely. Booth picked up a spoon and stirred his cup. He added

Still, Nic couldn’t sit around and do nothing all morning. Town hall was two more sugar. He added sugar like a person who really didn’t like tea.

miles down the road. She had no car. Roger Booth was here, right in front of her.

“Can I ask you something else?” she said then.

“It’s a tall, barbed wire fence,” she said, breaking her promise to Reyes.

Booth crossed his legs and leaned away from her. But he still managed a

“And I think it belongs to the neighboring property—maybe one of the old

polite, conversational smile.

plants.”

“How well did you know Daisy Hollander?”

Booth’s face lit up then. He seemed happy to be entertaining someone in his

The air became thick between them. Booth froze with that smile on his face.

apartment, and Nic felt a wave of pity.

Nic froze as well, acutely aware of the trigger she’d just pulled.

“Oh—yes!” he said then. “I’m so silly! I remember now—my father

Reyes had been right.

speaking about this years ago. Not about the fence, exactly, but the investors

“Daisy?” Booth said softly. “Why do you keep asking about her?”

who bought the land and old buildings from Ross Pharma—they were planning

Nic pushed her chair out and slowly got up.

to make it some kind of mental facility for criminals, but they never got the

“You know what,” she said. “Let’s finish this later—I forgot I needed to call permits they needed. The whole town fought it. I remember him saying he’d

my father.”

permits they needed. The whole town fought it. I remember him saying he’d my father.”

never let Hastings turn into a prison town. Their property must back right up to She started to walk away. When her back turned, she heard Booth’s chair

mine deep in the woods.”

scrape the wood floor. Then his feet shuffling.

“And you didn’t think of this when I asked you before?” It seemed very

He grabbed her by the arm and spun her around. And just like that time in

strange to Nic—how many fences could there be in this town? And how did he the shed, she felt a kind of strength that was belied by his appearance.

not know who owned the neighboring land?

“Why are you here?” he asked her.

Booth appeared to be embarrassed. “I . . . I’m not sure. You were going for a Nic shook her head back and forth. No words would come.

run in my woods and that made me nervous . . .”

“Why are you asking about Daisy?”

He had looked nervous then. And now as well.

Her fear seemed to startle him then. He stepped away and released her arm.

“Do they still own the property?”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Booth shrugged, set down his teacup. “I think they do. It’s never been for

Nic went for the door, but he was upon her again, holding it closed with one sale. They probably keep it for a tax write-off.”

arm.

“There’s a house on that property—with a driveway running down to Abel

“No—wait. Please don’t go thinking . . . I’m not like this. I’m not like this.”

Hill Lane. But it’s not a registered address. Do you know anything about it?”

Nic stood perfectly still as he began to cry. His face was close to her

“The foreman who kept the grounds had a house. That must be it. Probably

shoulder, warm tears dripping onto her skin.

ran the separate driveway for some privacy. I heard it was kind of strange. A

“You don’t understand,” he said then. “No one understands. No one knew

ranch but with a porch and false roof so it looks like a farm house from the front. the truth.”

I think they started a renovation but then didn’t finish after the permits for the Nic spoke softly but with conviction. “Let me open this door.”

facility were blocked.”

Booth stepped back several feet, his head hanging in shame. “I’m sorry,” he

“Then it might be abandoned?” Nic said. “And then never searched, the

said. “I’m not like this.”

owners never questioned about the night of the storm . . .”

Nic opened the door, her mind screaming at her to run from this room.

Booth contemplated this.

But instead, she turned around.

“I know the buildings were searched. Reyes did it himself—with one of the

“What is the truth?” she asked.

state troopers. I heard them talking about it at the diner, how they were falling Booth wept into his hands, his tall frame hunching over like an old woman.

apart—those old red brick buildings you can see from River Road. But the land

“She was pregnant,” he said.

—all of it? And the foreman’s house, I don’t know.”

Nic stared at him, mesmerized by his despair.

Nic smiled politely. Booth picked up a spoon and stirred his cup. He added

“That’s why you kept looking for her?” she asked.

more sugar. He added sugar like a person who really didn’t like tea.

Booth sat down on the bed. The sobs slowed as he took deeper breaths. It

“Can I ask you something else?” she said then.

seemed that he had been here before, to this place of anguish over his lost love.

Booth crossed his legs and leaned away from her. But he still managed a

His lost child. And he also knew how to make it recede.

polite, conversational smile.

“It was mine,” he answered after a long moment. “I couldn’t tell anyone. I

“How well did you know Daisy Hollander?”

promised her—her family would have been furious. They were strict, you know?

The air became thick between them. Booth froze with that smile on his face. Their father used to whip them with a belt over a kitchen chair—and he would Nic froze as well, acutely aware of the trigger she’d just pulled.

wait to do it, sometimes days, to make them suffer from the fear. He’d whip

Reyes had been right.

them over nothing, over taking food from the cupboard or being too loud.

“Daisy?” Booth said softly. “Why do you keep asking about her?”

There’s more—so many things. It was brutal, the way they lived.”

Nic pushed her chair out and slowly got up.

Nic remembered what Daisy’s sister had said about the locked cupboards

“You know what,” she said. “Let’s finish this later—I forgot I needed to call and how Daisy found a way to get to the crackers—and how she did it in spite of my father.”

and how Daisy found a way to get to the crackers—and how she did it in spite of my father.”

the punishment that followed.

She started to walk away. When her back turned, she heard Booth’s chair

She leaned against the door. She did not move closer to Booth, but she felt

scrape the wood floor. Then his feet shuffling.

safe somehow. And she wanted answers.

He grabbed her by the arm and spun her around. And just like that time in

“Do you think Chief Watkins helped her leave?”

the shed, she felt a kind of strength that was belied by his appearance.

Booth seemed surprised that she knew to ask this question.

“Why are you here?” he asked her.

“They were very close. He got her that scholarship to summer camp. When

Nic shook her head back and forth. No words would come.

she came back, things were different between us. She had met kids from all over

“Why are you asking about Daisy?”

the country. Gifted kids. Kids on their way to college. Kids who didn’t get bent Her fear seemed to startle him then. He stepped away and released her arm. over a chair in the kitchen and whipped for stealing food.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Kids who drank fancy tea?” she asked.

Nic went for the door, but he was upon her again, holding it closed with one Booth smiled, sadly. “Yes. She thought it made her more like them, if she

arm.

took on their likes, mimicked their behavior. There was a desperation about it,

“No—wait. Please don’t go thinking . . . I’m not like this. I’m not like this.” the way she wanted what they had. It still reminds me of her—the tea.”

Nic stood perfectly still as he began to cry. His face was close to her

Yes, Nic thought. The tea—it was here, but also at Veronica’s house.

shoulder, warm tears dripping onto her skin.

“Where would he have taken her?” Nic asked. “A pregnant teenager with no

“You don’t understand,” he said then. “No one understands. No one knew

money . . .”

the truth.”

Booth got up then and walked to a small dresser in the corner of the room.

Nic spoke softly but with conviction. “Let me open this door.”

He opened a drawer and took something out. When he turned around, Nic

Booth stepped back several feet, his head hanging in shame. “I’m sorry,” he stepped farther into the hallway, but then she saw it was a letter in his hand.

said. “I’m not like this.”

He held it out for her.

Nic opened the door, her mind screaming at her to run from this room.

“I got this about a year after she left. I’d been a maniac—people are right

But instead, she turned around.

about that. I went to Boston, tortured her poor sister there. I went to Woodstock,

“What is the truth?” she asked.

posted flyers with her picture. I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t believe that she just Booth wept into his hands, his tall frame hunching over like an old woman. left with our baby without saying a word.”

“She was pregnant,” he said.

Nic took the letter. It was folded into a small pink envelope that had

Nic stared at him, mesmerized by his despair.

yellowed around the edges. She pulled it out carefully. The paper was old,

“That’s why you kept looking for her?” she asked.

fragile.

Booth sat down on the bed. The sobs slowed as he took deeper breaths. It

It was a woman’s handwriting.

seemed that he had been here before, to this place of anguish over his lost love.

Nic read it to herself as Booth continued to tell the story.

His lost child. And he also knew how to make it recede.

“It was mine,” he answered after a long moment. “I couldn’t tell anyone. I

Dear Roger,

promised her—her family would have been furious. They were strict, you know?

I am sorry for what I’ve put you through. It has taken me all this time

Their father used to whip them with a belt over a kitchen chair—and he would to find the courage to write. I feel ashamed for not facing you before I wait to do it, sometimes days, to make them suffer from the fear. He’d whip

left, but I wanted a different life. I couldn’t be a mother. Please don’t them over nothing, over taking food from the cupboard or being too loud.

look for me. I hope you can forgive me. Daisy

There’s more—so many things. It was brutal, the way they lived.”

Nic remembered what Daisy’s sister had said about the locked cupboards

“She doesn’t say where she went or who helped her get rid of the baby. I’ll

and how Daisy found a way to get to the crackers—and how she did it in spite of never understand it. We were in love. And I could have given her things—my

and how Daisy found a way to get to the crackers—and how she did it in spite of never understand it. We were in love. And I could have given her things—my the punishment that followed.

family had resources. We could have moved from here. I told her I would work She leaned against the door. She did not move closer to Booth, but she felt

and take care of the baby so she could go to college. I promised to take care of safe somehow. And she wanted answers.

her and our child. And she believed me. I know she did.”

“Do you think Chief Watkins helped her leave?”

Nic finished the letter. It was short, and lacked any trace of the sentiments Booth seemed surprised that she knew to ask this question.

Booth claimed existed between them.

“They were very close. He got her that scholarship to summer camp. When

“There’s no postage or return address,” Nic said.

she came back, things were different between us. She had met kids from all over

“It was left in my mailbox. Whoever helped her leave must have helped her

the country. Gifted kids. Kids on their way to college. Kids who didn’t get bent get it to me. She didn’t want me to see where it was mailed from.”

over a chair in the kitchen and whipped for stealing food.”

“Her sister said she went to New York. Did you know that?” Nic asked then.

“Kids who drank fancy tea?” she asked.

Booth waved her off. “She told me. But she didn’t know about the baby and

Booth smiled, sadly. “Yes. She thought it made her more like them, if she

I never told anyone. Until now.”

took on their likes, mimicked their behavior. There was a desperation about it,

“But you don’t think she went to New York?”

the way she wanted what they had. It still reminds me of her—the tea.”

He shook his head then. “She hated the city. She wanted to go north—to a

place like Woodstock, a quiet place. People think I didn’t know her. But I did.

“Where would he have taken her?” Nic asked. “A pregnant teenager with no You can’t hide love. Not the love we had.”

money . . .”

Nic felt it again—pity, sadness for this man. She had never been in love, but Booth got up then and walked to a small dresser in the corner of the room.

people could hide anything if they wanted to. Her father included.

He opened a drawer and took something out. When he turned around, Nic

“I should go,” Nic said.

stepped farther into the hallway, but then she saw it was a letter in his hand.

“I’m sorry about before.” Booth spoke softly now. “I thought you knew

He held it out for her.

something about Daisy. I thought maybe you weren’t telling me. It caught me

“I got this about a year after she left. I’d been a maniac—people are right

off guard, how desperate I still am to know what happened to her.”

about that. I went to Boston, tortured her poor sister there. I went to Woodstock,

“I understand,” Nic said. And then, “Why don’t you just ask Chief Watkins?

posted flyers with her picture. I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t believe that she just You’re not the only one who thinks he helped her leave.”

left with our baby without saying a word.”

“I did. He swore he didn’t drive her, but he did say she’d asked him for a

Nic took the letter. It was folded into a small pink envelope that had

ride to Boston. What am I supposed to do? Put a gun to his head? I have to live yellowed around the edges. She pulled it out carefully. The paper was old,

in this town. Run a business here.”

fragile.

He stopped her one last time as she began to leave.

It was a woman’s handwriting.

“Has anyone told you?” he asked.

Nic read it to herself as Booth continued to tell the story.

Nic shrugged. “Told me what?”

Now his eyes, dancing across her face, then over her breasts and hips. All the way down to her feet, then back up to meet her eyes.

“You look like her,” he said. His face was flushed with longing that had

nowhere to go. “Something about you—your hair and the way you walk. I can’t

put my finger on it,” he said. “But you remind me of Daisy.”

“She doesn’t say where she went or who helped her get rid of the baby. I’ll

never understand it. We were in love. And I could have given her things—my

never understand it. We were in love. And I could have given her things—my family had resources. We could have moved from here. I told her I would work and take care of the baby so she could go to college. I promised to take care of her and our child. And she believed me. I know she did.”

Nic finished the letter. It was short, and lacked any trace of the sentiments Booth claimed existed between them.

“There’s no postage or return address,” Nic said.

“It was left in my mailbox. Whoever helped her leave must have helped her

get it to me. She didn’t want me to see where it was mailed from.”

“Her sister said she went to New York. Did you know that?” Nic asked then.

Booth waved her off. “She told me. But she didn’t know about the baby and

I never told anyone. Until now.”

“But you don’t think she went to New York?”

He shook his head then. “She hated the city. She wanted to go north—to a

place like Woodstock, a quiet place. People think I didn’t know her. But I did.

You can’t hide love. Not the love we had.”

Nic felt it again—pity, sadness for this man. She had never been in love, but people could hide anything if they wanted to. Her father included.

“I should go,” Nic said.

“I’m sorry about before.” Booth spoke softly now. “I thought you knew

something about Daisy. I thought maybe you weren’t telling me. It caught me

off guard, how desperate I still am to know what happened to her.”

“I understand,” Nic said. And then, “Why don’t you just ask Chief Watkins?

You’re not the only one who thinks he helped her leave.”

“I did. He swore he didn’t drive her, but he did say she’d asked him for a

ride to Boston. What am I supposed to do? Put a gun to his head? I have to live in this town. Run a business here.”

He stopped her one last time as she began to leave.

“Has anyone told you?” he asked.

Nic shrugged. “Told me what?”

Now his eyes, dancing across her face, then over her breasts and hips. All the way down to her feet, then back up to meet her eyes.

“You look like her,” he said. His face was flushed with longing that had

nowhere to go. “Something about you—your hair and the way you walk. I can’t

put my finger on it,” he said. “But you remind me of Daisy.”

Chapter Twenty-five

Day sixteen

Mick wakes soon after Alice tells me about the end that is coming. I fear that my quick, shallow breaths have shaken the bed. Some things must find their way out of the body. Some things cannot be contained. This fear that stirred from Alice’s warning was like that. Too big to hold inside.

I feel the hand that weighs heavily on my hip squeeze my flesh. It does not

feel intentional, and it pulls away quickly as if consciousness has suddenly taken over. I wonder if he was dreaming about his wife. Alice’s first mommy. I

wonder if they used to lie in bed like this and if he used to wake with his hands on her body and then fall into the physical pleasures of touch. Maybe more.

Maybe they made love while Alice lay beside them, still asleep. Pretending to sleep. Maybe they went to another room to be alone.

Or maybe the first mommy tried as I now do, to lie perfectly still even as the air rushes in and out. Feeling nothing but the fear.

He moves out of the bed. He does not kiss Alice or give her a hug. Instead,

he scoops her into his arms and carries her out of the room. He does this quickly as though wanting to remove himself from me.

I am relieved. I am despondent.

Yes, leave.

No, come back.

Want me. Desire me. Let me be enough. Don’t leave this house and find my daughter.

I do not move. I do not turn my head. I simply feel the arms slide across me until they are gone, and then the bed gets lighter behind me, and then the

floorboards creak as he walks.

There is whispering outside the room.

Then the sound of the metal grate closing. Metal on metal as the key turns

the lock.

I hear little feet stomping. A high-pitched voice whining. Alice is not happy about the locked grate.

The front door opens and closes. I hear a car in the driveway. Not the truck

The front door opens and closes. I hear a car in the driveway. Not the truck engine like before. It has been three days since I heard the truck. Not being able to see outside has made my hearing perceptive.

The car is light on the gravel. Turns with ease. I imagine it’s small. From

there, I am out of guesses. I do not know this man. Mick. I do not know if he would drive a sports car or a fuel-efficient smart car. I don’t know if he’s rich or poor or where he goes all day and now most of the night.

I shift my head away from the camera and go to the bathroom. I have

Day sixteen

searched in here for a camera and have found nothing. Not even in the vent for Mick wakes soon after Alice tells me about the end that is coming. I fear that the shower, or inside the light fixture. I have inspected every inch of this room my quick, shallow breaths have shaken the bed. Some things must find their way and have allowed myself to believe I am right. I need to believe.

out of the body. Some things cannot be contained. This fear that stirred from Still, I close the door and turn off the light before I let myself be free.

Alice’s warning was like that. Too big to hold inside.

I sit on the floor and cover my face with my hands. Alice’s words fly through I feel the hand that weighs heavily on my hip squeeze my flesh. It does not

my mind. Ominous words carried on that sweet little voice.

feel intentional, and it pulls away quickly as if consciousness has suddenly taken I refuse to hate her, though I feel it creeping in. She is a victim as much as I over. I wonder if he was dreaming about his wife. Alice’s first mommy. I

am. As much as her first mommy, I have come to believe.

wonder if they used to lie in bed like this and if he used to wake with his hands I am trying not to hate you, my little prison guard.

on her body and then fall into the physical pleasures of touch. Maybe more.

This is how it begins.

Maybe they made love while Alice lay beside them, still asleep. Pretending to The end.

sleep. Maybe they went to another room to be alone.

I don’t know how much time has passed when I hear her voice. I have fallen

Or maybe the first mommy tried as I now do, to lie perfectly still even as the asleep on the bathroom floor.

air rushes in and out. Feeling nothing but the fear.

“Hello?” It’s Alice.

He moves out of the bed. He does not kiss Alice or give her a hug. Instead,

I push myself to sit. I have slept in a puddle of tears. Wet hair sticks to

he scoops her into his arms and carries her out of the room. He does this quickly clammy skin. I am exhausted.

as though wanting to remove himself from me.

“Just a second,” I say. I manage to sound perky, though my voice cracks.

I am relieved. I am despondent.

I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Not with the hatred. It is toxic.

Hating a child, a victim. Poison.

“What have you been doing in there?” she asks.

I stand up and find the light switch. The light is bright and it burns my eyes, causing them to squint.

I do not move. I do not turn my head. I simply feel the arms slide across me

“I had a long bath,” I tell her.

until they are gone, and then the bed gets lighter behind me, and then the

“I didn’t hear the water,” she says.

floorboards creak as he walks.

God help me but it’s back. This hatred will kill me before Mick does. I have There is whispering outside the room.

to make peace with it. With her.

Then the sound of the metal grate closing. Metal on metal as the key turns

I don’t push the hair from my face. I don’t wipe away the tears. I open the

the lock.

door and walk to the edge of my cell. And I let her see me.

I hear little feet stomping. A high-pitched voice whining. Alice is not happy She is startled.

about the locked grate.

“What’s wrong with you?’ she asks.

The front door opens and closes. I hear a car in the driveway. Not the truck I sit on the floor and she sits down on the other side of the bars. I reach

The front door opens and closes. I hear a car in the driveway. Not the truck I sit on the floor and she sits down on the other side of the bars. I reach

engine like before. It has been three days since I heard the truck. Not being able through them and take both her hands.

to see outside has made my hearing perceptive.

I pull from inside me everything I know about children, from being their

The car is light on the gravel. Turns with ease. I imagine it’s small. From

teacher, from being their mother. It does no good to lie now. She is smart enough there, I am out of guesses. I do not know this man. Mick. I do not know if he to put together the evidence and lying will unnerve her. Children need to trust would drive a sports car or a fuel-efficient smart car. I don’t know if he’s rich or grown-ups. The moment they realize we are liars is the moment they lose their poor or where he goes all day and now most of the night.

childhood.

I shift my head away from the camera and go to the bathroom. I have

“Alice,” I say. “You’re right. I did not take a bath. I told you that because I searched in here for a camera and have found nothing. Not even in the vent for was crying in the bathroom and I didn’t want you to know.”

the shower, or inside the light fixture. I have inspected every inch of this room Her empathy appetite is strong today so she starts to cry.

and have allowed myself to believe I am right. I need to believe.

“I feel so bad for you. What made you cry for so long?”

Still, I close the door and turn off the light before I let myself be free.

I do not let go of her hands.

I sit on the floor and cover my face with my hands. Alice’s words fly through

“Alice,” I begin, then pause. I think of how to say the things I want to say to my mind. Ominous words carried on that sweet little voice.

her. The things I want to tell her so maybe she will understand. Maybe she will I refuse to hate her, though I feel it creeping in. She is a victim as much as I empathize with the person I really am—the mother taken from her own family, am. As much as her first mommy, I have come to believe.

missing her own children and her own husband and her own home. Maybe she

I am trying not to hate you, my little prison guard.

will understand, even from what little she knows of the world, that no one can be happy as a prisoner. I’ve seen the books in her playroom. I know the things she reads for her schoolwork. She has begun to learn about the world, and about

I don’t know how much time has passed when I hear her voice. I have fallen human suffering. I think that maybe she can use that knowledge and apply it asleep on the bathroom floor.

here, to our situation. The words begin to form. If I can make her see me, then

“Hello?” It’s Alice.

maybe I can rid myself of this hatred.

I push myself to sit. I have slept in a puddle of tears. Wet hair sticks to

None of this is her fault.

clammy skin. I am exhausted.

But something about her makes me stop. Something I know in my gut. The

“Just a second,” I say. I manage to sound perky, though my voice cracks.

exaggerated sobs. The flow of tears. It is not normal. It is reactive. Responsive, I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Not with the hatred. It is toxic. but not like any child I have ever known. Whatever has happened in this house, Hating a child, a victim. Poison.

it has invaded her mind, wired it in a way that I cannot comprehend. And if I

“What have you been doing in there?” she asks.

cannot comprehend it, I cannot trust it, either.

I stand up and find the light switch. The light is bright and it burns my eyes,

“Alice,” I say. “I’m sad because you told me this might be the end and I

causing them to squint.

don’t want to leave you. It makes me scared because I don’t know what it

“I had a long bath,” I tell her.

means.”

“I didn’t hear the water,” she says.

Her eyes widen. New tears fall from them.

God help me but it’s back. This hatred will kill me before Mick does. I have

“Well,” she says, trying to find words to explain things, “when my first

to make peace with it. With her.

mommy started to sleep with me, she said it was to get away from him. But then I don’t push the hair from my face. I don’t wipe away the tears. I open the

he would sneak in with us anyway, and that was when she got lost in the woods.

door and walk to the edge of my cell. And I let her see me.

That was when she died.”

She is startled.

I think about what this means—was her first mommy trying to escape him by

“What’s wrong with you?’ she asks.

sleeping with her child? Thinking he would leave her alone? And when he

I sit on the floor and she sits down on the other side of the bars. I reach

sleeping with her child? Thinking he would leave her alone? And when he I sit on the floor and she sits down on the other side of the bars. I reach

didn’t, when he still came into her bed, exposing Alice to whatever it was he did through them and take both her hands.

to her—maybe that was what made her try to escape. Maybe she thought it was

I pull from inside me everything I know about children, from being their

safer for Alice if she left than if she stayed.

teacher, from being their mother. It does no good to lie now. She is smart enough The thought is sickening. And yet, here I am, willing to do anything to keep to put together the evidence and lying will unnerve her. Children need to trust my own daughter safe. Maybe this other woman thought she could make it out

grown-ups. The moment they realize we are liars is the moment they lose their and then come back for Alice.

childhood.

Alice squeezes my hands tighter and a smile appears. Happy Face.

“Alice,” I say. “You’re right. I did not take a bath. I told you that because I

“But,” she says. “I think I was wrong about this being the same thing,” she

was crying in the bathroom and I didn’t want you to know.”

says.

Her empathy appetite is strong today so she starts to cry.

“How come?” I ask. “What’s happened?”

“I feel so bad for you. What made you cry for so long?”

She pulls her hands away and wipes her face.

I do not let go of her hands.

“He said I can’t sleep in your room anymore.”

“Alice,” I begin, then pause. I think of how to say the things I want to say to I am nervous about the implications. Is he trying to keep me from getting

her. The things I want to tell her so maybe she will understand. Maybe she will closer to Alice, or does he want me to himself now, at night?

empathize with the person I really am—the mother taken from her own family,

“And,” she says, excitedly, “he went to buy us groceries so you can help me

missing her own children and her own husband and her own home. Maybe she

cook—things that only go in the microwave so I don’t set the house on fire!”

will understand, even from what little she knows of the world, that no one can be She giggles then. “That’s what he said.”

happy as a prisoner. I’ve seen the books in her playroom. I know the things she I smile now. And it comes from my heart. My heart that turns darker every

reads for her schoolwork. She has begun to learn about the world, and about

moment I spend here.

human suffering. I think that maybe she can use that knowledge and apply it

“So we can make dinner tonight?”

here, to our situation. The words begin to form. If I can make her see me, then

“Yes,” she says. “I even asked him for the Jell-O like you said.”

maybe I can rid myself of this hatred.

My smile grows bigger. My heart darkens another shade.

None of this is her fault.

“Is he going to come home to eat with us?”

But something about her makes me stop. Something I know in my gut. The

Alice shrugs. “I don’t know. I never know anymore. Not since you came.”

exaggerated sobs. The flow of tears. It is not normal. It is reactive. Responsive, Information, I think. New information. I have been distracted by thoughts of but not like any child I have ever known. Whatever has happened in this house, poison. Poisonous thoughts. I should have thought to ask the questions that are it has invaded her mind, wired it in a way that I cannot comprehend. And if I now before me.

cannot comprehend it, I cannot trust it, either.

“What did he do before?” I ask now. I want to fire them off, all of them, but I

“Alice,” I say. “I’m sad because you told me this might be the end and I

speak slowly and wait patiently. I am just making conversation. Passing the

don’t want to leave you. It makes me scared because I don’t know what it

time. Getting to know her better.

means.”

Alice shrugs again. “Sometimes he would come home and bring dinner. He

Her eyes widen. New tears fall from them.

likes to watch TV until he falls asleep.”

“Well,” she says, trying to find words to explain things, “when my first

Patience. Patience.

mommy started to sleep with me, she said it was to get away from him. But then

“My husband likes to do that. He watches things I don’t like so I usually

he would sneak in with us anyway, and that was when she got lost in the woods. read. What does he watch on the television?”

That was when she died.”

Alice shrugs. Sad Face now.

I think about what this means—was her first mommy trying to escape him by

“Does he not let you watch with him?” I ask, guessing about the head-

sleeping with her child? Thinking he would leave her alone? And when he

spinning change in her mood.

sleeping with her child? Thinking he would leave her alone? And when he spinning change in her mood.

didn’t, when he still came into her bed, exposing Alice to whatever it was he did

“He doesn’t like to be here at night anymore. And I don’t like being alone.”

to her—maybe that was what made her try to escape. Maybe she thought it was

I consider this. And I tread carefully forward.

safer for Alice if she left than if she stayed.

“Is it because of what happened to your first mommy? Maybe that makes

The thought is sickening. And yet, here I am, willing to do anything to keep him sad to be here without her.”

my own daughter safe. Maybe this other woman thought she could make it out

Yes, I think. I need to know these things. Did he love her? Did she live here and then come back for Alice.

behind a prison grate? Or did she love him, too? Were they once family that

Alice squeezes my hands tighter and a smile appears. Happy Face.

went wrong? Very, very wrong?

“But,” she says. “I think I was wrong about this being the same thing,” she

I will stay here all day if I have to. Asking questions. Doing schoolwork.

says.

Asking questions. Eating peanut butter sandwiches. Asking questions. Playing

“How come?” I ask. “What’s happened?”

with our dolls, Hannah and Suzannah.

She pulls her hands away and wipes her face.

But she doesn’t answer. Sad Face is morphing into Angry Face.

“He said I can’t sleep in your room anymore.”

“That’s okay,” I say, trying to turn her mood again.

I am nervous about the implications. Is he trying to keep me from getting

“You don’t have to talk about it. I bet it makes you sad too. You know what I closer to Alice, or does he want me to himself now, at night?

think?” I ask.

“And,” she says, excitedly, “he went to buy us groceries so you can help me

She shrugs.

cook—things that only go in the microwave so I don’t set the house on fire!”

“I think you loved your first mommy.”

She giggles then. “That’s what he said.”

Sad Face, and with it are more tears. They are tears I haven’t seen before.

I smile now. And it comes from my heart. My heart that turns darker every

They run down cheeks that are bright red, with sobs that are uncontrollable.

moment I spend here.

They are real, these tears, and I know I have struck gold.

“So we can make dinner tonight?”

“Oh, sweetheart! I know. I know . . .”

“Yes,” she says. “I even asked him for the Jell-O like you said.”

I do not try to touch her. I do not even want to breathe. I have reached a well My smile grows bigger. My heart darkens another shade.

of humanity inside this child and it cannot be disrupted.

“Is he going to come home to eat with us?”

Even the hatred inside me begins to retreat. Even as I sit in a cage. Even

Alice shrugs. “I don’t know. I never know anymore. Not since you came.”

though she has the power to free me.

Information, I think. New information. I have been distracted by thoughts of Patience.

poison. Poisonous thoughts. I should have thought to ask the questions that are I think about the groceries and the dinner. I think about what I know of the now before me.

ethylene glycol and how I will put it into food that will be made just for him. I

“What did he do before?” I ask now. I want to fire them off, all of them, but Ithink about how he will collapse and writhe in pain as the chemicals form sharp speak slowly and wait patiently. I am just making conversation. Passing the

shards that slice through the tissue inside his gut. And how I will then leave him time. Getting to know her better.

to suffer. Perhaps even die.

Alice shrugs again. “Sometimes he would come home and bring dinner. He

I do not think what I will do with Alice or how I will feel when she watches likes to watch TV until he falls asleep.”

this happen. I cannot afford to think about that because it might ruin my plan and I can feel the weakness inside me—the weakness for the girl who now cries real

“My husband likes to do that. He watches things I don’t like so I usually

tears.

read. What does he watch on the television?”

“I know . . .” I say this several times with long pauses. I let her cry.

Alice shrugs. Sad Face now.

When she begins to calm, I wait just a little bit longer before I start back in

“Does he not let you watch with him?” I ask, guessing about the head-

with my questions.

spinning change in her mood.

with my questions.

spinning change in her mood.

Patience.

“He doesn’t like to be here at night anymore. And I don’t like being alone.”

“Alice,” I say. “What was her name, your first mommy?”

I consider this. And I tread carefully forward.

She becomes ethereal now, daydreaming about her first mommy with the

“Is it because of what happened to your first mommy? Maybe that makes

real blond hair.

him sad to be here without her.”

Then she says her first mommy’s name. The one who is dead. Who died in

Yes, I think. I need to know these things. Did he love her? Did she live here the woods.

behind a prison grate? Or did she love him, too? Were they once family that

“Daisy,” she says. “Daisy Alice Hollander.”

went wrong? Very, very wrong?

I will stay here all day if I have to. Asking questions. Doing schoolwork.

Asking questions. Eating peanut butter sandwiches. Asking questions. Playing with our dolls, Hannah and Suzannah.

But she doesn’t answer. Sad Face is morphing into Angry Face.

“That’s okay,” I say, trying to turn her mood again.

“You don’t have to talk about it. I bet it makes you sad too. You know what I think?” I ask.

She shrugs.

“I think you loved your first mommy.”

Sad Face, and with it are more tears. They are tears I haven’t seen before.

They run down cheeks that are bright red, with sobs that are uncontrollable.

They are real, these tears, and I know I have struck gold.

“Oh, sweetheart! I know. I know . . .”

I do not try to touch her. I do not even want to breathe. I have reached a well of humanity inside this child and it cannot be disrupted.

Even the hatred inside me begins to retreat. Even as I sit in a cage. Even

though she has the power to free me.

I think about the groceries and the dinner. I think about what I know of the ethylene glycol and how I will put it into food that will be made just for him. I think about how he will collapse and writhe in pain as the chemicals form sharp shards that slice through the tissue inside his gut. And how I will then leave him to suffer. Perhaps even die.

I do not think what I will do with Alice or how I will feel when she watches this happen. I cannot afford to think about that because it might ruin my plan and I can feel the weakness inside me—the weakness for the girl who now cries real tears.

“I know . . .” I say this several times with long pauses. I let her cry.

When she begins to calm, I wait just a little bit longer before I start back in with my questions.

with my questions.

Patience.

“Alice,” I say. “What was her name, your first mommy?”

She becomes ethereal now, daydreaming about her first mommy with the

real blond hair.

Then she says her first mommy’s name. The one who is dead. Who died in

the woods.

“Daisy,” she says. “Daisy Alice Hollander.”

Chapter Twenty-six

Day sixteen

Nic left Booth’s apartment and ran across the street to the bar. It was just after eleven. Kurt was opening for lunch.

She burst through the door, sending the string of bells clanging against the wall. Kurt was behind the bar pulling glasses from the dishwasher.

He looked up, surprised to see her.

“Hey,” he said. “How did things go yesterday?”

Nic walked quickly to the bar, standing across from him. In the mirror

behind the bottles of alcohol she could see herself. It was startling—the wet hair, loose sweatshirt, crazy expression on her face.

She took a breath before speaking. Crazy was not a good place to start.

“I have to ask you something,” she said.

Kurt shrugged, wiped a glass. “Sure.”

“Do I look like Daisy Hollander?”

Now he put down the glass to study her.

“I mean . . . you have similar hair. Same color, length. And she was thin as well. Long legs which she loved to show off. Even in the winter she would wear short skirts with no stockings. But I wouldn’t have thought it if you hadn’t said something.”

Nic sat on a stool. She felt her nerves calm. Kurt had that effect on her.

“Why are you asking that?”

“Roger said I looked like her. Or reminded him of her.”

Kurt scrunched his face. “That’s a little creepy.”

“And he showed me the letter,” Nic said.

“Ah!” Kurt said, his eyes wide with sarcasm. “The infamous Dear Roger

letter.”

“Do you know about it? What it says?” Nic asked. Booth had told her that no

one else knew about the baby.

“Just that he got one. He had to explain why he suddenly stopped looking for her, harassing her family. People were curious. He went from this frantic lunatic

—hounding the police, her friends, her poor sister in Boston—to this eerie state

—hounding the police, her friends, her poor sister in Boston—to this eerie state of calm. Everyone knew he’d found out what happened to her.”

“He’s pretty sure Chief Watkins drove her out of town, wherever she was

going.”

“Yeah, I told you that before. He had this thing about helping kids get out of here.”

Kurt’s voice hinted of disdain. Nic hadn’t picked it up before.

“You don’t like him,” she said.

Day sixteen

He smiled then, a big happy smile. “Everybody loves the chief,” he said.

Nic left Booth’s apartment and ran across the street to the bar. It was just Again, with the sarcasm. “Especially his mini me.”

after eleven. Kurt was opening for lunch.

“Reyes?”

She burst through the door, sending the string of bells clanging against the Now he looked surprised again. “Haven’t you noticed it?”

wall. Kurt was behind the bar pulling glasses from the dishwasher.

“Not really. Not like that,” Nic thought about the casino, those four drinks.

He looked up, surprised to see her.

The story that had kept her glued to her seat, drinking those drinks late into the

“Hey,” he said. “How did things go yesterday?”

night.

Nic walked quickly to the bar, standing across from him. In the mirror

“I know Watkins helped him get a job here.”

behind the bottles of alcohol she could see herself. It was startling—the wet hair, She didn’t know what more to say. How much was public knowledge. How

loose sweatshirt, crazy expression on her face.

much Reyes had spilled out over drinks right here, at this bar. Reyes had been She took a breath before speaking. Crazy was not a good place to start.

here for eleven years—that was a long time to hide a story from the past that

“I have to ask you something,” she said.

changed your life.

Kurt shrugged, wiped a glass. “Sure.”

Kurt answered her question before she could ask it.

“Do I look like Daisy Hollander?”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We all know the story. How Reyes was a rookie up

Now he put down the glass to study her.

in Worcester. Shot and killed an unarmed kid.”

“I mean . . . you have similar hair. Same color, length. And she was thin as

“Wait a second,” Nic said, feeling an urgent need to defend Reyes. “The kid

well. Long legs which she loved to show off. Even in the winter she would wear had a toy gun. And he wasn’t a kid. He was almost twenty. Untreated short skirts with no stockings. But I wouldn’t have thought it if you hadn’t said schizophrenia. Living in the bus station—he drew the gun outside a school and something.”

wandered around until the police showed up.”

Nic sat on a stool. She felt her nerves calm. Kurt had that effect on her.

Now Kurt studied her face, the way she’d expected him to do before, when

“Why are you asking that?”

she asked about Daisy Hollander.

“Roger said I looked like her. Or reminded him of her.”

“He’s gotten to you, hasn’t he?”

Kurt scrunched his face. “That’s a little creepy.”

“What?”

“And he showed me the letter,” Nic said.

“He is a charmer. I’ll give him that.” Kurt’s tone turned bitter and Nic had a

“Ah!” Kurt said, his eyes wide with sarcasm. “The infamous Dear Roger

sudden realization that the things she knew about this town and the people who letter.”

lived here were next to nothing. Like background music distracting her from

“Do you know about it? What it says?” Nic asked. Booth had told her that no what was really going on.

one else knew about the baby.

“That has nothing to do with the story. And, no, I have not been charmed or

“Just that he got one. He had to explain why he suddenly stopped looking for ‘gotten to.’”

her, harassing her family. People were curious. He went from this frantic lunatic

“But he got you drinking, didn’t he? With his sad tale? I can still smell it on

—hounding the police, her friends, her poor sister in Boston—to this eerie state you.”

—hounding the police, her friends, her poor sister in Boston—to this eerie state you.”

of calm. Everyone knew he’d found out what happened to her.”

Stunned by the truth that had just left his mouth, Nic continued with her

“He’s pretty sure Chief Watkins drove her out of town, wherever she was

defense. “What does that matter? If I had some drinks? It doesn’t change the going.”

facts—four cops came to the scene. He was just one of them. They were waiting

“Yeah, I told you that before. He had this thing about helping kids get out of for the SWAT team but the kid kept pointing the gun at them, and then at the here.”

glass windows of the school. Three of the four opened fire. It just happened to be Kurt’s voice hinted of disdain. Nic hadn’t picked it up before.

Reyes’s bullet that caught him in the chest.”

“You don’t like him,” she said.

“I know the story.”

He smiled then, a big happy smile. “Everybody loves the chief,” he said.

“It was suicide by cop. It wasn’t his fault, but it messed him up.”

Again, with the sarcasm. “Especially his mini me.”

“And there was the chief, coming in for the save.”

“Reyes?”

“No—that’s not what happened. At least, not how Reyes told it.”

Now he looked surprised again. “Haven’t you noticed it?”

“Look,” Kurt said, leaning on the counter so he could get closer to her. “I

“Not really. Not like that,” Nic thought about the casino, those four drinks.

know all of it. He needed a new start. Applied for the job. The chief took a The story that had kept her glued to her seat, drinking those drinks late into the chance on him, got him all straightened out in his head. But that’s the point.

night.

That’s why Reyes has his back, whatever the hell he does.”

“I know Watkins helped him get a job here.”

Nic had a flash of Chief Watkins with that prostitute, pushing her out of the She didn’t know what more to say. How much was public knowledge. How truck. Calling her a cheap whore.

much Reyes had spilled out over drinks right here, at this bar. Reyes had been The dark gray pickup truck.

here for eleven years—that was a long time to hide a story from the past that

“And what is it he does?” Nic asked.

changed your life.

Kurt stepped back, threw his hands in the air. “Doesn’t matter. He helps kids, Kurt answered her question before she could ask it.

right? He helped Reyes. They run the town. The cops with their authority. And

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We all know the story. How Reyes was a rookie up Roger Booth with his money. People like me working two, three jobs. I just left in Worcester. Shot and killed an unarmed kid.”

the Gas n’ Go after an all-nighter—and now I’m here. It’s all a fucking joke.

“Wait a second,” Nic said, feeling an urgent need to defend Reyes. “The kid Because this town’s a fucking joke.”

had a toy gun. And he wasn’t a kid. He was almost twenty. Untreated

Nic didn’t respond. These were relationships that went back many years.

schizophrenia. Living in the bus station—he drew the gun outside a school and Kurt had wanted to get out but got stuck here. Booth lost the love of his life.

wandered around until the police showed up.”

Reyes lost his future to a horrible misfortune and now had to be grateful for the Now Kurt studied her face, the way she’d expected him to do before, when

scraps Watkins threw his way. And Watkins—Nic couldn’t even begin to

she asked about Daisy Hollander.

unravel him.

“He’s gotten to you, hasn’t he?”

Her phone rang.

“What?”

“Excuse me a second.”

“He is a charmer. I’ll give him that.” Kurt’s tone turned bitter and Nic had a It was her father’s number. She closed her eyes, shook her head. She didn’t

sudden realization that the things she knew about this town and the people who want to deal with this now.

lived here were next to nothing. Like background music distracting her from

“Hey, Dad,” she said.

what was really going on.

He did not return the greeting.

“That has nothing to do with the story. And, no, I have not been charmed or

“Where are you right now?” he asked.

‘gotten to.’”

“Back at the inn. I was about to go upstairs,” she lied. She didn’t want to

“But he got you drinking, didn’t he? With his sad tale? I can still smell it on explain why she was at the bar at eleven a.m. “Why? What’s wrong?”

you.”

explain why she was at the bar at eleven a.m. “Why? What’s wrong?”

you.”

“I’m sending you a photo. It’s from Mark.”

Stunned by the truth that had just left his mouth, Nic continued with her

Mark—the PI her father had hired.

defense. “What does that matter? If I had some drinks? It doesn’t change the

“Did he find her?” The world stopped for one short moment.

facts—four cops came to the scene. He was just one of them. They were waiting

“No, no—I’m sorry, I should have explained this better. I had him look into

for the SWAT team but the kid kept pointing the gun at them, and then at the that woman, Edith Moore. It’s just too strange that she waited this long to come glass windows of the school. Three of the four opened fire. It just happened to beforward.”

Reyes’s bullet that caught him in the chest.”

Nic had been so preoccupied with Chief Watkins and Daisy Hollander,

“I know the story.”

Reyes and Booth and Kurt Kent, she had nearly forgotten about Edith Moore and

“It was suicide by cop. It wasn’t his fault, but it messed him up.”

the lie she’d told about having been in New York.

“And there was the chief, coming in for the save.”

“Listen—she met with a man in the parking lot of the hospital where she

“No—that’s not what happened. At least, not how Reyes told it.”

works as a nurse. I couldn’t place him, but I swear he looks familiar. Like

“Look,” Kurt said, leaning on the counter so he could get closer to her. “I

someone we met in Hastings. Schenectady is a long way to go for a visit in a know all of it. He needed a new start. Applied for the job. The chief took a parking lot.”

chance on him, got him all straightened out in his head. But that’s the point.

Nic felt a shiver.

That’s why Reyes has his back, whatever the hell he does.”

“Can you send it?”

Nic had a flash of Chief Watkins with that prostitute, pushing her out of the

“I just did. Put me on speaker. I don’t want to lose you.”

truck. Calling her a cheap whore.

Nic hit the speaker button, then opened the text from her father. She could

The dark gray pickup truck.

easily make out Edith Moore. The other figure was slightly hidden behind her,

“And what is it he does?” Nic asked.

but she had no trouble making him out either. He was unmistakable.

Kurt stepped back, threw his hands in the air. “Doesn’t matter. He helps kids, No . . .

“Nic? Did you get it?”

Nic took the phone off speaker and held it to her ear. She smiled and slid

down from the bar stool. Her cheeks were trembling.

“Do you know who it is?” her father asked.

Nic didn’t respond. These were relationships that went back many years.

She held her hand over the receiver as she started to walk toward the door.

Kurt had wanted to get out but got stuck here. Booth lost the love of his life.

Kurt was watching her carefully, curious now.

Reyes lost his future to a horrible misfortune and now had to be grateful for the

“I have to go—something back home,” she said to him.

scraps Watkins threw his way. And Watkins—Nic couldn’t even begin to

But he didn’t believe her. She could tell by the expression that didn’t change.

unravel him.

“Nicole!” her father said again in the phone, pleading with her to answer.

Her phone rang.

With the phone still pressed to her ear, she bounded the last few steps until

“Excuse me a second.”

she was at the door. She swung it open and walked outside, then raced across the It was her father’s number. She closed her eyes, shook her head. She didn’t street.

want to deal with this now.

“Nic? Are you there?”

“Hey, Dad,” she said.

Finally, she stopped moving.

He did not return the greeting.

“I’m here,” she said, standing at the edge of the parking lot for the inn.

“Where are you right now?” he asked.

Her father repeated the question.

“Back at the inn. I was about to go upstairs,” she lied. She didn’t want to

“Nic—do you know that man?”

explain why she was at the bar at eleven a.m. “Why? What’s wrong?”

She exhaled to calm her voice. Then she answered.

explain why she was at the bar at eleven a.m. “Why? What’s wrong?”

She exhaled to calm her voice. Then she answered.

“I’m sending you a photo. It’s from Mark.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Mark—the PI her father had hired.

“Did he find her?” The world stopped for one short moment.

“No, no—I’m sorry, I should have explained this better. I had him look into

that woman, Edith Moore. It’s just too strange that she waited this long to come forward.”

Nic had been so preoccupied with Chief Watkins and Daisy Hollander,

Reyes and Booth and Kurt Kent, she had nearly forgotten about Edith Moore and the lie she’d told about having been in New York.

“Listen—she met with a man in the parking lot of the hospital where she

works as a nurse. I couldn’t place him, but I swear he looks familiar. Like

someone we met in Hastings. Schenectady is a long way to go for a visit in a parking lot.”

Nic felt a shiver.

“Can you send it?”

“I just did. Put me on speaker. I don’t want to lose you.”

Nic hit the speaker button, then opened the text from her father. She could

easily make out Edith Moore. The other figure was slightly hidden behind her, but she had no trouble making him out either. He was unmistakable.

“Nic? Did you get it?”

Nic took the phone off speaker and held it to her ear. She smiled and slid

down from the bar stool. Her cheeks were trembling.

“Do you know who it is?” her father asked.

She held her hand over the receiver as she started to walk toward the door.

Kurt was watching her carefully, curious now.

“I have to go—something back home,” she said to him.

But he didn’t believe her. She could tell by the expression that didn’t change.

“Nicole!” her father said again in the phone, pleading with her to answer.

With the phone still pressed to her ear, she bounded the last few steps until she was at the door. She swung it open and walked outside, then raced across the street.

“Nic? Are you there?”

Finally, she stopped moving.

“I’m here,” she said, standing at the edge of the parking lot for the inn.

Her father repeated the question.

“Nic—do you know that man?”

She exhaled to calm her voice. Then she answered.

She exhaled to calm her voice. Then she answered.

“Yeah, I do.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

Day sixteen

I hear the car outside. So does Alice, and she leaves me to run to the front door.

We have been doing her schoolwork through the bars, making sure Dolly

sees us.

I hear a high-pitched squeal of excitement. Then a man’s deep laughter.

They go to the kitchen. Cupboards open and close. Voices muted. Plates.

Glasses clanking.

I sit with my back to the camera and make no motions. I am perfectly still on the outside.

On the inside, I am racing—to the end of this day, to my escape.

Time passes. I hear footsteps and turn. It’s Alice with a tray of food. Not the usual peanut butter sandwich. Today I have grilled cheese and tomato soup.

“It’s so good if you dip the sandwich into the soup!” she explains.

She opens the bottom panel. She slides the tray through, then relocks it.

I wonder now why she has brought me the food and not Mick. Usually he

does it when he’s home with us.

“Why did you bring the tray?” I decide to ask her.

Alice shrugs. “I don’t know. He asked me to do it.”

This, and he hasn’t looked at me since he slept in the bed with us.

She stands now, watching me.

“Do it!” she says.

I look up at her from my spot on the floor.

“Do what?” I ask. And I ask so nicely.

“Dip the sandwich in the soup!”

“I will,” I say. “You don’t have to watch me. I know he’s waiting for you in the kitchen. He came home just to see you, right?”

It was not easy to remember to ask a question. I feel anger boiling up as I sit behind my bars. An animal trapped. There is no way around it, the feeling this provokes.

“He came home with groceries so you can make dinner later. Just like he

“He came home with groceries so you can make dinner later. Just like he promised! And besides, he’s busy cleaning up.”

Alice crosses her arms defiantly.

“Do it!” she commands again. “Take a bite!”

I force out a smile. I take the sandwich and dip a corner in the soup. I put it to my mouth and insert it and close my lips around it and pull off a portion with my teeth.

I gag as I chew and swallow, making facial expressions and sounds of

Day sixteen

culinary delight.

I hear the car outside. So does Alice, and she leaves me to run to the front Mmm.

door.

I used to make this for my kids. We first had it at a ski resort in Vermont

We have been doing her schoolwork through the bars, making sure Dolly

where we went in the winter months. John and I both love to ski. Loved to ski, I sees us.

should say. I can’t remember the last time we went skiing.

I hear a high-pitched squeal of excitement. Then a man’s deep laughter.

It was different after we had children. Our days were spent tethered to little They go to the kitchen. Cupboards open and close. Voices muted. Plates.

bodies that grew heavy with the pull of gravity, and we would become exhausted Glasses clanking.

after a few runs on easy trails. John liked to hold Nicole’s poles and ski beside I sit with my back to the camera and make no motions. I am perfectly still on her, forcing her to make turns and learn how to control her speed. I would hold the outside.

the back of a harness tied to Annie’s waist and snowplow behind her. Evan—he On the inside, I am racing—to the end of this day, to my escape.

always went with the other kids in the group lessons. It was too embarrassing to Time passes. I hear footsteps and turn. It’s Alice with a tray of food. Not the learn from his parents.

usual peanut butter sandwich. Today I have grilled cheese and tomato soup.

Oh, how Nicole had the taste for speed! She would scream into the cold air,

“It’s so good if you dip the sandwich into the soup!” she explains.

faster, Daddy!

She opens the bottom panel. She slides the tray through, then relocks it.

When they were settled in the hotel room, John and I would sneak down to

I wonder now why she has brought me the food and not Mick. Usually he

the pub and drink cold beer and listen to country music cover bands. It would does it when he’s home with us.

remind us of our time together before the kids when we would ski hard all day,

“Why did you bring the tray?” I decide to ask her.

get drunk on beer, make love, and fall asleep. Spent and happy.

Alice shrugs. “I don’t know. He asked me to do it.”

There was one day that could make us laugh even years later. A man had

This, and he hasn’t looked at me since he slept in the bed with us.

ridden up with us on the lift, bragging about his proficiency, his house on the She stands now, watching me.

mountain, his brilliant children. Then he’d fallen just sliding off the chair, poles,

“Do it!” she says.

skis scattered around him; the lift stopped, people rushing to help him. Only his I look up at her from my spot on the floor.

ego was hurt, and we laughed so hard it made us cry. We laughed well into the

“Do what?” I ask. And I ask so nicely.

night.

“Dip the sandwich in the soup!”

The thought of this takes my breath away. Makes me gag on the food in my

“I will,” I say. “You don’t have to watch me. I know he’s waiting for you in mouth which provokes these precious, painful memories.

the kitchen. He came home just to see you, right?”

The mountain had a hut near the lodge that served grilled cheese and tomato

It was not easy to remember to ask a question. I feel anger boiling up as I sit soup. People would stand in line for half an hour, sometimes longer, even in the behind my bars. An animal trapped. There is no way around it, the feeling this cold and the snow, and they would eat standing up, helmets on, gloves on

provokes.

sometimes. It was the kind of thing that when we met someone who skied there,

“He came home with groceries so you can make dinner later. Just like he

“He came home with groceries so you can make dinner later. Just like he promised! And besides, he’s busy cleaning up.”

it would come out simultaneously— grilled cheese and tomato soup!

Alice crosses her arms defiantly.

We stopped skiing after Annie died. I don’t know why I think of that for the

“Do it!” she commands again. “Take a bite!”

first time only now. We stopped skiing, and I stopped making grilled cheese and I force out a smile. I take the sandwich and dip a corner in the soup. I put it tomato soup.

to my mouth and insert it and close my lips around it and pull off a portion with

“I told you,” Alice says precociously.

my teeth.

I swallow it down.

I gag as I chew and swallow, making facial expressions and sounds of

“It’s delicious,” I say as though I have never had it. As though I am just a culinary delight.

silly little animal behind the bars. As though she is my master.

* * *

Hours pass. I play with Alice. We finish her schoolwork.

And finally it’s time. Alice brings me a bag of food and some plastic bowls

and dishes.

It was different after we had children. Our days were spent tethered to little Mick has bought a small roasted chicken. He has also bought a bag of frozen

bodies that grew heavy with the pull of gravity, and we would become exhaustedpeas and carrots. I place the chicken in the largest dish. I sprinkle the carrots and after a few runs on easy trails. John liked to hold Nicole’s poles and ski beside peas around it and add some water.

her, forcing her to make turns and learn how to control her speed. I would hold

“You can put this right in the microwave,” I say. “For three minutes. Do you the back of a harness tied to Annie’s waist and snowplow behind her. Evan—he know how it works?”

always went with the other kids in the group lessons. It was too embarrassing to

“Yes!” Alice says. “We got the microwave from the Gas n’ Go. They got a learn from his parents.

new one so they gave their old one to us. It has instructions on the front. You can microwave hot dogs at the Gas n’ Go.”

Now I pause. Information, I think.

When they were settled in the hotel room, John and I would sneak down to

“You’ve been inside the gas station? I thought it was dangerous for you to go the pub and drink cold beer and listen to country music cover bands. It would outside?”

remind us of our time together before the kids when we would ski hard all day,

“I haven’t been inside it. But he told me about the hot dogs when he brought get drunk on beer, make love, and fall asleep. Spent and happy.

the microwave home. Cause I asked him why you needed a microwave to get

There was one day that could make us laugh even years later. A man had

gas.”

ridden up with us on the lift, bragging about his proficiency, his house on the Slowly, I tell myself. Ease into it.

mountain, his brilliant children. Then he’d fallen just sliding off the chair, poles,

“Well, that’s very nice that they gave him their microwave.”

skis scattered around him; the lift stopped, people rushing to help him. Only his I take more things from the bag. The instant Jell-O is there and I let out a ego was hurt, and we laughed so hard it made us cry. We laughed well into the sigh of relief.

night.

My words linger inside her. I haven’t asked a question so she is not afraid to The thought of this takes my breath away. Makes me gag on the food in my give an answer. She likes to tell me things when she feels like it. And tonight she mouth which provokes these precious, painful memories.

does.

“Do you want to know a secret?” she says, in a whisper now.

Always.

“Yes,” I say.

“Dolly has eyes there.” Her face is full of mischief.

“At the Gas n’ Go?” I ask, thinking now about all the times I’ve stopped to We stopped skiing after Annie died. I don’t know why I think of that for the get gas.

first time only now. We stopped skiing, and I stopped making grilled cheese and Every other Thursday in the months of September through November. Again

tomato soup.

at Thanksgiving and Christmas, several times during the winter and spring,

“I told you,” Alice says precociously.

though not on an exact schedule. For three years in a row, I have been making I swallow it down.

this trip to see my son. Stopping for gas many times. I’ve always been alone.

“It’s delicious,” I say as though I have never had it. As though I am just a When Nicole came with me, she reminded me to get gas before we left the

silly little animal behind the bars. As though she is my master.

school. She liked to fall asleep and not have to stop.

* * *

“Yes,” she says. “All kinds of people come there. They’re all heading north

Hours pass. I play with Alice. We finish her schoolwork.

to get to the their kids’ schools. They all have a lot of money, so it doesn’t And finally it’s time. Alice brings me a bag of food and some plastic bowls matter if they have to pay when they crash into his truck.”

and dishes.

I think about all the times I stood at the counter, buying coffee, candy for Mick has bought a small roasted chicken. He has also bought a bag of frozen Evan, or a bottle of water. How many times I swiped my credit card. How many peas and carrots. I place the chicken in the largest dish. I sprinkle the carrots and times my car sat parked at the pump, with my Connecticut plates. You can find peas around it and add some water.

plates on the Internet now. People have hacked DMV records and they sell the

“You can put this right in the microwave,” I say. “For three minutes. Do you information. It happened to one of the parents at Nic’s old school in our town.

know how it works?”

Someone found her name and address from her plates and tried to break into her house. My car is registered to John’s company. Still, there would be a trail.

new one so they gave their old one to us. It has instructions on the front. You can Maybe Mick works at the Gas n’ Go. Maybe he owns it. Maybe he knows

the owners. He managed to put cameras there. And he has their old microwave

oven.

“You’ve been inside the gas station? I thought it was dangerous for you to go I am stunned, but grateful for this new information.

outside?”

Alice starts to laugh harder than I’ve ever seen her laugh. “One time,” she

“I haven’t been inside it. But he told me about the hot dogs when he brought says. She laughs so hard she can barely get the words out, just like me and John the microwave home. Cause I asked him why you needed a microwave to get

that day we were skiing. “One time, this man was looking at some sodas in the gas.”

back . . . and he. . . . and he . . . he picked his nose! Right in front of Dolly!” She laughs so hard her eyes begin to water.

“Well, that’s very nice that they gave him their microwave.”

“That is very funny,” I say. I think about how many times I stood right in

I take more things from the bag. The instant Jell-O is there and I let out a that spot, looking for a bottle of water.

sigh of relief.

Her laughter slows quickly, as though she’s caught herself. I can see now

My words linger inside her. I haven’t asked a question so she is not afraid to that she’s done with this secret because her eyes glance at the camera down the give an answer. She likes to tell me things when she feels like it. And tonight shehall and her face grows apprehensive.

does.

I change the subject.

“Do you want to know a secret?” she says, in a whisper now.

“Do you like lime?” I ask, forcing myself to remain neutral. Normal,

whatever that is under these circumstances. I hold the Jell-O pack in front of her.

“Yes,” I say.

“No!” she says. “I hate lime.”

“Dolly has eyes there.” Her face is full of mischief.

Yes, I think. I already know this because she’s told me before.

“I like orange,” I say. “Do you want strawberry?”

“I like orange,” I say. “Do you want strawberry?”

She nods.

“Okay—you bring this to the kitchen and heat it up, and I will mix the Jell-

Every other Thursday in the months of September through November. Again O.”

at Thanksgiving and Christmas, several times during the winter and spring,

She picks up the chicken and walks carefully down the hall. When she is out

though not on an exact schedule. For three years in a row, I have been making of sight, I take the Jell-O and the bowls and I go to the bathroom.

this trip to see my son. Stopping for gas many times. I’ve always been alone.

I close the door and I grab the antifreeze from beneath the sink. I pour the When Nicole came with me, she reminded me to get gas before we left the

small amount that is in the coffee cup into one of the bowls, thinking about Mick school. She liked to fall asleep and not have to stop.

as he watched me pick out water.

“Yes,” she says. “All kinds of people come there. They’re all heading north

I mix the antifreeze with the powder of lime Jell-O, thinking about Mick as

to get to the their kids’ schools. They all have a lot of money, so it doesn’t he watched me at the register.

matter if they have to pay when they crash into his truck.”

Then I make the orange and the strawberry and pour them into separate

I think about all the times I stood at the counter, buying coffee, candy for bowls, thinking about Mick as he wrote down my license plate number and

Evan, or a bottle of water. How many times I swiped my credit card. How many researched my family.

times my car sat parked at the pump, with my Connecticut plates. You can find Alice returns with the chicken and some plates and silverware. Then I send

plates on the Internet now. People have hacked DMV records and they sell the her back to the kitchen three times, carrying with two hands each of the bowls so information. It happened to one of the parents at Nic’s old school in our town.

they don’t spill. My life may be in one of them.

Someone found her name and address from her plates and tried to break into her Then we eat. And we wait for Mick to come home.

house. My car is registered to John’s company. Still, there would be a trail.

So we can have our dessert.

I am stunned, but grateful for this new information.

Alice starts to laugh harder than I’ve ever seen her laugh. “One time,” she

says. She laughs so hard she can barely get the words out, just like me and John that day we were skiing. “One time, this man was looking at some sodas in the back . . . and he. . . . and he . . . he picked his nose! Right in front of Dolly!” She laughs so hard her eyes begin to water.

“That is very funny,” I say. I think about how many times I stood right in

that spot, looking for a bottle of water.

Her laughter slows quickly, as though she’s caught herself. I can see now

that she’s done with this secret because her eyes glance at the camera down the hall and her face grows apprehensive.

I change the subject.

“Do you like lime?” I ask, forcing myself to remain neutral. Normal,

whatever that is under these circumstances. I hold the Jell-O pack in front of her.

“No!” she says. “I hate lime.”

“I like orange,” I say. “Do you want strawberry?”

“I like orange,” I say. “Do you want strawberry?”

She nods.

“Okay—you bring this to the kitchen and heat it up, and I will mix the Jell-

O.”

She picks up the chicken and walks carefully down the hall. When she is out

of sight, I take the Jell-O and the bowls and I go to the bathroom.

I close the door and I grab the antifreeze from beneath the sink. I pour the small amount that is in the coffee cup into one of the bowls, thinking about Mick as he watched me pick out water.

I mix the antifreeze with the powder of lime Jell-O, thinking about Mick as

he watched me at the register.

Then I make the orange and the strawberry and pour them into separate

bowls, thinking about Mick as he wrote down my license plate number and

researched my family.

Alice returns with the chicken and some plates and silverware. Then I send

her back to the kitchen three times, carrying with two hands each of the bowls so they don’t spill. My life may be in one of them.

Then we eat. And we wait for Mick to come home.

So we can have our dessert.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Day sixteen

“Where are we going?” Reyes asked.

He’d done what she’d requested the second she’d jumped in his car— drive!

Nic was breathing hard and fast. She managed to get out one word.

“Laguna.”

“Okay,” Reyes said. “But I thought you wanted to go to town hall—to look

up that property.”

Nic shook her head no. Then she said more words. “I need to get out of Hastings. I need time to think.”

Reyes jerked his head back quickly. “Okay. Here . . .” He placed his hand on her back. “Lean forward—head between your knees. You’re hyperventilating.”

Nic leaned down and rested her head in the palms of her hands. When her

mind cleared, she pulled out her phone and studied the photo—making sure she was right.

Then she told Reyes.

“Kurt Kent and Edith Moore,” she began. “They know each other. They met

in a car outside the hospital where she works.”

Reyes looked at her quickly, then back at the road. “Whoa!” he said. “Slow

down. Start from the beginning.”

Nic told him about her father’s PI. How he’d gone to Schenectady to look

into Edith. How he’d followed her from the moment after they’d met with her in Hastings.

Reyes pulled over then, parking on the dirt shoulder just before the entrance to the Gas n’ Go.

He motioned to see the photo.

Reyes looked at it closely. “Damn. That’s Kurt, all right.”

The phone rang. Nic took it back, picked up the call.

“Dad—I’m fine. I’m with the police.”

She listened patiently then as he told her to come home, to get the hell out of there, to let the PI handle things from here. She agreed to everything, though she had no intention of going home without her mother. She would get out of

had no intention of going home without her mother. She would get out of Hastings, as far as the casino. But that was all.

Kurt was a liar, and he had tried to cast doubt on Reyes’s story and his

intentions. He’d tried to implicate Watkins in her mother’s disappearance. The truth was, Reyes could have fallen into her bed last night. But instead, he’d turned around and left.

She hung up the call, then looked at Reyes.

“This is what my father thinks. And the PI,” she began. “After my mother

Day sixteen

went missing, Kurt knew to wait until all the other calls lead to nothing. Until

“Where are we going?” Reyes asked.

everyone stopped calling in tips and the case got cold. Then he had his girlfriend, or whatever she is to him, come out of the woodwork with this bullshit story Nic was breathing hard and fast. She managed to get out one word.

about passing through town the night of the storm.”

“Laguna.”

Reyes continued the story.

“Okay,” Reyes said. “But I thought you wanted to go to town hall—to look

“And now—whenever you happen to find your mother—Edith Moore is first

up that property.”

in line to collect the cash. That’s what I feared when we found out she was lying about being in New York.”

“And how could she have seen the letters on my mother’s purse? From

Reyes jerked his head back quickly. “Okay. Here . . .” He placed his hand on across the street and through the rain?”

her back. “Lean forward—head between your knees. You’re hyperventilating.”

“Shit,” Reyes said. “I can’t believe I missed that. I was so focused on

Nic leaned down and rested her head in the palms of her hands. When her

trapping her in the lie about her E-ZPass records.”

mind cleared, she pulled out her phone and studied the photo—making sure she Nic nodded but then felt her face tighten.

was right.

“What?” Reyes asked, leaning forward, reaching for her hand.

Then she told Reyes.

“What if he knows where she is? What if he’s known all along and he waited

“Kurt Kent and Edith Moore,” she began. “They know each other. They met for the other leads to die down so that now he could lead me to her?”

in a car outside the hospital where she works.”

Reyes squeezed her hand tighter and smiled. “Well, who cares, right? If he

Reyes looked at her quickly, then back at the road. “Whoa!” he said. “Slow helps you find your mother, that’s all that matters! We can go after the little down. Start from the beginning.”

prick later. I think we have to play this out—pretend you don’t know a thing Nic told him about her father’s PI. How he’d gone to Schenectady to look

about it and let him lead you to her however he plans to do it.”

into Edith. How he’d followed her from the moment after they’d met with her in Nic pulled away.

Hastings.

“What if it’s not that? What if he knows where her body is? And that’s why

he knew it was safe to wait. That no one else would find her and that she . . .”

“Stop,” Reyes said. “Don’t let yourself go there.”

He motioned to see the photo.

But Nic had to say it out loud.

Reyes looked at it closely. “Damn. That’s Kurt, all right.”

“No one else would find her because she’d dead.”

The phone rang. Nic took it back, picked up the call.

Reyes reached in his pocket and took out a piece of paper. It was a copy,

“Dad—I’m fine. I’m with the police.”

white on one side and folded in quarters. He held it out for Nic.

She listened patiently then as he told her to come home, to get the hell out of

“What’s this?” She took the paper and unfolded it. It was some kind of

there, to let the PI handle things from here. She agreed to everything, though she invoice, something billed to the police department.

had no intention of going home without her mother. She would get out of

“I wanted to close the door on the truck with the missing taillight. I wanted

had no intention of going home without her mother. She would get out of

“I wanted to close the door on the truck with the missing taillight. I wanted Hastings, as far as the casino. But that was all.

to close the door on the chief. Move on to another truck. Another theory. Maybe Kurt was a liar, and he had tried to cast doubt on Reyes’s story and his

the property with the fence.”

intentions. He’d tried to implicate Watkins in her mother’s disappearance. The Nic looked closer at the receipt. It was for thirty-seven dollars and change.

truth was, Reyes could have fallen into her bed last night. But instead, he’d Billed from an auto parts store in Waterbury.

turned around and left.

The item on the invoice was listed only as a number.

She hung up the call, then looked at Reyes.

“That number,” Reyes explained, “it’s for a taillight bulb and cover—fitting

“This is what my father thinks. And the PI,” she began. “After my mother

a Chevy Silverado.”

went missing, Kurt knew to wait until all the other calls lead to nothing. Until Nic grabbed her phone and pulled up the photo of Chief Watkins’s truck.

everyone stopped calling in tips and the case got cold. Then he had his girlfriend,

“Watkins drives a Silverado,” she said, staring at the photo of the truck that or whatever she is to him, come out of the woodwork with this bullshit story may have picked up her mother. “You think he fixed it himself?”

about passing through town the night of the storm.”

“Yeah. Which means he knew someone saw him, saw the truck that night.

Reyes continued the story.

Otherwise he’d have gone to the auto body shop right in town. And he didn’t

“And now—whenever you happen to find your mother—Edith Moore is first drive that truck the whole time you and your father were here searching for your in line to collect the cash. That’s what I feared when we found out she was lying mother. I remember that now. I didn’t think much of it, but now . . .”

about being in New York.”

“Now it fits.”

“And how could she have seen the letters on my mother’s purse? From

“Which means,” Reyes continued the thought, “that Edith Moore probably

across the street and through the rain?”

did see your mother that night. She told her boyfriend she was going to New

“Shit,” Reyes said. “I can’t believe I missed that. I was so focused on

York to meet friends. Then came to see Kurt—maybe they’re lovers. The storm

trapping her in the lie about her E-ZPass records.”

rolled in and she knew she had to get out of it so she didn’t get trapped here. So Nic nodded but then felt her face tighten.

she waited until the last minute, then drove toward Route 7.”

“What?” Reyes asked, leaning forward, reaching for her hand.

Nic picked it up from there. “She saw Chief Watkins pick up my mother, but

“What if he knows where she is? What if he’s known all along and he waited she thought nothing of it. Then the next time she saw Kurt, he mentioned the for the other leads to die down so that now he could lead me to her?”

missing woman and she told him what she saw.”

Reyes squeezed her hand tighter and smiled. “Well, who cares, right? If he

“That could have been the next day or a few days ago. Look, Kurt Kent may

helps you find your mother, that’s all that matters! We can go after the little be a loser bartender, but I don’t see him plotting such a complicated crime. It prick later. I think we have to play this out—pretend you don’t know a thing could be that everything Edith Moore said is true, except for the small detail that about it and let him lead you to her however he plans to do it.”

she was here visiting Kurt before the storm.”

Nic pulled away.

“What about the purse? And the letters?”

“What if it’s not that? What if he knows where her body is? And that’s why

“She could have seen them. We can’t know without recreating the scene.”

he knew it was safe to wait. That no one else would find her and that she . . .”

“And Watkins?” Nic asked now.

“Stop,” Reyes said. “Don’t let yourself go there.”

“I know . . .”

But Nic had to say it out loud.

“What did he do with my mother?”

“No one else would find her because she’d dead.”

Reyes started the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

Reyes reached in his pocket and took out a piece of paper. It was a copy,

“Let’s find out,” he said. “First, we get your car. Then we find the chief and white on one side and folded in quarters. He held it out for Nic.

ask him straight up what’s going on.”

“What’s this?” She took the paper and unfolded it. It was some kind of

Nic felt a wave of relief.

invoice, something billed to the police department.

Reyes was right about everything. Kurt Kent was not a bad man. Edith

“I wanted to close the door on the truck with the missing taillight. I wanted

Reyes was right about everything. Kurt Kent was not a bad man. Edith

“I wanted to close the door on the truck with the missing taillight. I wanted Moore was just lying to her boyfriend, that was all. Maybe she had come

to close the door on the chief. Move on to another truck. Another theory. Maybe forward as soon as she found out about Nic’s mother—or maybe she waited to the property with the fence.”

make sure she was the one to get the reward money. But either way, it didn’t Nic looked closer at the receipt. It was for thirty-seven dollars and change.

mean they knew where her mother was. Only what Edith Moore had seen.

Billed from an auto parts store in Waterbury.

It was Watkins with his truck. The broken taillight. No way that was a

The item on the invoice was listed only as a number.

coincidence.

“That number,” Reyes explained, “it’s for a taillight bulb and cover—fitting Edith Moore saw her mother get in that truck. Watkins’s Silverado.

a Chevy Silverado.”

Watkins was the one who knew where her mother was.

Nic grabbed her phone and pulled up the photo of Chief Watkins’s truck.

Reyes was smiling now. “You feel better? Your breathing has slowed.”

“Watkins drives a Silverado,” she said, staring at the photo of the truck that Nic smiled back. “I think she’s alive. I think Watkins drove her somewhere.

may have picked up her mother. “You think he fixed it himself?”

Helped her leave. I don’t even care that she walked away, or why she did it. I

“Yeah. Which means he knew someone saw him, saw the truck that night.

just want her back.”

Otherwise he’d have gone to the auto body shop right in town. And he didn’t

Reyes patted her knee. “I know. And we will get her . . .” He stopped

drive that truck the whole time you and your father were here searching for your speaking but Nic could tell he was holding something back.

mother. I remember that now. I didn’t think much of it, but now . . .”

“What?” she asked.

“Now it fits.”

“I found something else. On your father’s credit card statements.”

“Which means,” Reyes continued the thought, “that Edith Moore probably

“Just tell me.” Nic braced herself for what she knew was coming.

did see your mother that night. She told her boyfriend she was going to New

“There are some hotel charges. Local ones, in your town.”

York to meet friends. Then came to see Kurt—maybe they’re lovers. The storm

Nic stared out the window, feeling the traces of hope leave her. “I knew, but rolled in and she knew she had to get out of it so she didn’t get trapped here. So I still didn’t believe it. Not completely.”

she waited until the last minute, then drove toward Route 7.”

“There’s one other charge that I can’t explain. At a gas station near West

Nic picked it up from there. “She saw Chief Watkins pick up my mother, but Cornwall.”

she thought nothing of it. Then the next time she saw Kurt, he mentioned the

“That’s just south of here. When was that?”

missing woman and she told him what she saw.”

Reyes didn’t answer. And then he didn’t need to.

“That could have been the next day or a few days ago. Look, Kurt Kent may

“The same day. The day she disappeared,” Nic said.

be a loser bartender, but I don’t see him plotting such a complicated crime. It

“Look, maybe it was her—the charges are on the same statement.”

could be that everything Edith Moore said is true, except for the small detail that

“But then she wouldn’t have run out of gas,” Nic said. “If she’d filled up in she was here visiting Kurt before the storm.”

West Cornwall, she would have made it well past Hastings coming home.”

“What about the purse? And the letters?”

Reyes was silent again. He’d come to the same conclusion.

“She could have seen them. We can’t know without recreating the scene.”

“This can’t be right,” Nic said.

“And Watkins?” Nic asked now.

“I can call them, find out the exact time of the charge.”

“I know . . .”

Nic closed her eyes, hard. This couldn’t be happening. Her father couldn’t be

“What did he do with my mother?”

involved.

Reyes started the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

“Do you want me to call?” Reyes asked.

“Let’s find out,” he said. “First, we get your car. Then we find the chief and Slowly, but with conviction, Nic nodded.

ask him straight up what’s going on.”

Yes.

Nic felt a wave of relief.

Reyes was right about everything. Kurt Kent was not a bad man. Edith

Reyes was right about everything. Kurt Kent was not a bad man. Edith Moore was just lying to her boyfriend, that was all. Maybe she had come

forward as soon as she found out about Nic’s mother—or maybe she waited to

make sure she was the one to get the reward money. But either way, it didn’t mean they knew where her mother was. Only what Edith Moore had seen.

It was Watkins with his truck. The broken taillight. No way that was a

coincidence.

Edith Moore saw her mother get in that truck. Watkins’s Silverado.

Watkins was the one who knew where her mother was.

Reyes was smiling now. “You feel better? Your breathing has slowed.”

Nic smiled back. “I think she’s alive. I think Watkins drove her somewhere.

Helped her leave. I don’t even care that she walked away, or why she did it. I just want her back.”

Reyes patted her knee. “I know. And we will get her . . .” He stopped

speaking but Nic could tell he was holding something back.

“What?” she asked.

“I found something else. On your father’s credit card statements.”

“Just tell me.” Nic braced herself for what she knew was coming.

“There are some hotel charges. Local ones, in your town.”

Nic stared out the window, feeling the traces of hope leave her. “I knew, but I still didn’t believe it. Not completely.”

“There’s one other charge that I can’t explain. At a gas station near West

Cornwall.”

“That’s just south of here. When was that?”

Reyes didn’t answer. And then he didn’t need to.

“The same day. The day she disappeared,” Nic said.

“Look, maybe it was her—the charges are on the same statement.”

“But then she wouldn’t have run out of gas,” Nic said. “If she’d filled up in West Cornwall, she would have made it well past Hastings coming home.”

Reyes was silent again. He’d come to the same conclusion.

“This can’t be right,” Nic said.

“I can call them, find out the exact time of the charge.”

Nic closed her eyes, hard. This couldn’t be happening. Her father couldn’t be involved.

“Do you want me to call?” Reyes asked.

Slowly, but with conviction, Nic nodded.

Yes.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Day sixteen

We lie on the floor. I am on my side of the bars. Alice is on the other. She wanted to sleep near me even though we are not allowed to sleep together

anymore, so I told her to get some blankets and cushions from the sofa. I showed her how to make a pillow bed and she liked it very much. Of course she did. My kids used to love pillow beds. When we would go to a hotel, all of us, as a

family—oh, that was another life—we would share a room. Me and John in one

bed. Two kids in the other. And the third on a cozy bed between them, made

from cushions or extra pillows—whatever we could find in the room.

The trick is to tuck a sheet tightly beneath them so they don’t come apart.

Evan usually chose the pillow bed. Even as he grew too big for anything we

could make, he would sleep on the bound pillows, arms and legs hanging off the sides. He didn’t want to sleep with one of his sisters. Girls were yuck.

Thankfully, I wasn’t recognized as being a girl. These memories flow now,

freely and with the semblances of joy. Leaning over to kiss him goodnight, he would pull me to him with both arms and hug me tight. Still a little boy inside, but with the strong arms of a big boy. He needed me. And it was blissful. Even as the memory retreats to the other side of the line, the joy lingers. But it does not last. This night has ended in disaster.

Alice sleeps soundly in her pillow bed, even though I have untangled her

arms from my waist and moved beyond her reach.

It is not far enough.

I let the feeling flow through me, still and silent, because Alice has left the hallway light on for Mick and now Dolly can see my face.

It is probably for the best. I don’t know what I might do if these feelings are set free.

We waited for Mick for a long time last night. We waited until we had

watched all of her shows on the iPad and grown bored and tired.

“I want my Jell-O,” she’d said then.

I told her it was okay. She could bring us our Jell-O but she should leave the one for Mick, the lime Jell-O, in a place where he would see it. Maybe he would

one for Mick, the lime Jell-O, in a place where he would see it. Maybe he would want dessert when he finally came home.

I can still see her face as she told me, “No!”

It was Coy Face, speaking with defiance.

Then she said, “I threw it away.”

“What? Why?’ I asked because it was all I could think to do. The hatred

surged. Pulsated. Took over every inch of me and crawled over my skin, making me shudder.

Day sixteen

“Because he didn’t come home so he doesn’t deserve Jell-O,” she said.

We lie on the floor. I am on my side of the bars. Alice is on the other. She

“Alice—that’s not nice!” I was so close to reaching through those bars and

wanted to sleep near me even though we are not allowed to sleep together

shaking her, violently. “Go and get it right now—out of the garbage and bring it anymore, so I told her to get some blankets and cushions from the sofa. I showed to me!”

her how to make a pillow bed and she liked it very much. Of course she did. My It was a ridiculous request. The Jell-O would be scattered among the

kids used to love pillow beds. When we would go to a hotel, all of us, as a

remnants of the chicken and coffee grinds from the morning and who knew what family—oh, that was another life—we would share a room. Me and John in one else. Still, I needed it. I needed her to bring it to me.

bed. Two kids in the other. And the third on a cozy bed between them, made

But then she said, “It’s not in there. I can’t even stand the smell of it.”

from cushions or extra pillows—whatever we could find in the room.

“What did you do with it?” I asked, my mouth bone dry.

The trick is to tuck a sheet tightly beneath them so they don’t come apart.

Coy Face answered, and my only plan for escape disappeared before my

eyes.

“I put it down the drain.”

* * *

Alice has killed my chance to escape. She has done it over her frivolous

hatred of lime-flavored things and she has done it in a way that demonstrates the extent of her hatred.

It does not matter that in any other set of circumstances I would not care

about her actions. It does not matter that she did it without knowing what her actions would cost me.

Alice sleeps soundly in her pillow bed, even though I have untangled her

I find this all ironic. How her hatred of lime-flavored things has caused me to arms from my waist and moved beyond her reach.

feel hatred for her. Truly feel it for the first time, in depths that are beyond the It is not far enough.

reach of my ability to pull them back. The hatred is deep inside my bones. Inside I let the feeling flow through me, still and silent, because Alice has left the my mind. Inside my heart.

hallway light on for Mick and now Dolly can see my face.

I am too tired to reach for it. Too tired to fight it. I hate a child.

It is probably for the best. I don’t know what I might do if these feelings are It is hard to think straight. I had a plan which is now gone. New plans swim set free.

and swirl, but there are too many unknowns.

We waited for Mick for a long time last night. We waited until we had

I do not know where we are, and what is beyond that fence. I do not know

watched all of her shows on the iPad and grown bored and tired.

how far away he is, and whether he could get to me while I run there, back to the

“I want my Jell-O,” she’d said then.

hole and the tools I left beneath the dead leaves.

I told her it was okay. She could bring us our Jell-O but she should leave the I don’t even know if the tools are still there. And yet, I could get another one for Mick, the lime Jell-O, in a place where he would see it. Maybe he would knife from the kitchen. Maybe there are more scissors as well.

one for Mick, the lime Jell-O, in a place where he would see it. Maybe he would knife from the kitchen. Maybe there are more scissors as well.

want dessert when he finally came home.

I think through the steps. I would have to convince Alice to open the grate. I I can still see her face as she told me, “No!”

would have to find the boots, maybe a coat. The air is still cold at night. I could It was Coy Face, speaking with defiance.

run through the woods this time, in the direction of the fence to the right side of Then she said, “I threw it away.”

the driveway, not down the driveway. But then—what if I overshoot the place

“What? Why?’ I asked because it was all I could think to do. The hatred

where I cut the fence and hid the tools? I could just make a new hole.

surged. Pulsated. Took over every inch of me and crawled over my skin, making No, no, no.

me shudder.

This plan will not work unless I can be sure he’s far enough away. He will

“Because he didn’t come home so he doesn’t deserve Jell-O,” she said.

see me leave. He will know.

“Alice—that’s not nice!” I was so close to reaching through those bars and

I can’t go back to that dark room. I can’t go wherever Daisy Alice Hollander shaking her, violently. “Go and get it right now—out of the garbage and bring it has gone.

to me!”

I have to stay and be a good second mommy to one child to protect another

It was a ridiculous request. The Jell-O would be scattered among the

—my daughter. To protect Nicole.

remnants of the chicken and coffee grinds from the morning and who knew what I fight to keep my face calm, though the tears fall down my cheeks and into

else. Still, I needed it. I needed her to bring it to me.

the pillow around my ear.

But then she said, “It’s not in there. I can’t even stand the smell of it.”

Stillness brings chaos inside my mind.

“What did you do with it?” I asked, my mouth bone dry.

Nicole.

Coy Face answered, and my only plan for escape disappeared before my

You used to be a glorious warrior. That was how I saw you, though I never

eyes.

said it. I didn’t want you to become something simply because I put the image in

“I put it down the drain.”

your head. Parents do that all the time. My mother did that to me.

* * *

You’re a smart girl, Molly. Not the prettiest girl, but smart. You need to use Alice has killed my chance to escape. She has done it over her frivolous

that to get ahead of the other girls who have their looks.

hatred of lime-flavored things and she has done it in a way that demonstrates the Maybe it served me well to hear those words. I studied hard and made a

extent of her hatred.

career for myself. And John always told me that’s what he loved most. That I It does not matter that in any other set of circumstances I would not care

was smart.

about her actions. It does not matter that she did it without knowing what her God, how I love that man. I don’t even know why. It just happened and it

actions would cost me.

was glorious. And now that glory is agony.

I find this all ironic. How her hatred of lime-flavored things has caused me to It would be easy to tell myself that he stopped loving me because the scale

feel hatred for her. Truly feel it for the first time, in depths that are beyond the tipped too far to his side. That I got older and less attractive. That I stopped reach of my ability to pull them back. The hatred is deep inside my bones. Inside working, stopped being so smart. Up, up, up, my side of the scale drifted, losing my mind. Inside my heart.

the weight of these things.

I am too tired to reach for it. Too tired to fight it. I hate a child.

But that would be a lie. There is no scale that can bear what I have done.

It is hard to think straight. I had a plan which is now gone. New plans swim I feel my lips part, taking in air as the tears fall. I taste the salt on my tongue.

and swirl, but there are too many unknowns.

I hear the argument for the first time in years. The argument I lost then and I do not know where we are, and what is beyond that fence. I do not know

will always lose.

how far away he is, and whether he could get to me while I run there, back to the No—I was not speeding around that corner. I had slowed down, of course I

hole and the tools I left beneath the dead leaves.

had, because the driveway was just around the curve.

I don’t even know if the tools are still there. And yet, I could get another No—there was nothing more I could have done. My eyes were on the road.

knife from the kitchen. Maybe there are more scissors as well.

No—there was nothing more I could have done. My eyes were on the road.

knife from the kitchen. Maybe there are more scissors as well.

My hands on the wheel. I wasn’t adjusting the radio, or using my phone, or

I think through the steps. I would have to convince Alice to open the grate. I reaching for my coffee.

would have to find the boots, maybe a coat. The air is still cold at night. I could No—I could not have slammed on those brakes any harder than I did! The

run through the woods this time, in the direction of the fence to the right side of forensic report confirmed all of this. The skid marks. The air bag. The turn of the the driveway, not down the driveway. But then—what if I overshoot the place

wheel away from the object in the road. From the child. My child. My Annie.

where I cut the fence and hid the tools? I could just make a new hole.

Six more inches and I would have been clear. I would have slammed into the

No, no, no.

mailbox and the boxwoods and the flower bed. But the wheel only turned so far.

This plan will not work unless I can be sure he’s far enough away. He will

Six more inches.

see me leave. He will know.

People say things. Things beyond put one foot in front of the other. They I can’t go back to that dark room. I can’t go wherever Daisy Alice Hollander pose questions and force you to answer. Would it be your fault if you gave up has gone.

your seat on a plane and the plane went down? If you ducked from a gunshot I have to stay and be a good second mommy to one child to protect another

and it hit someone else?

—my daughter. To protect Nicole.

There is no logic to the guilt.

I fight to keep my face calm, though the tears fall down my cheeks and into

But you gave her life.

the pillow around my ear.

Yes, but then I killed her.

Stillness brings chaos inside my mind.

I killed her.

I killed her.

You used to be a glorious warrior. That was how I saw you, though I never

It never goes away. God, help me. It never leaves.

said it. I didn’t want you to become something simply because I put the image in I’m sorry, John, for falling off the scale. For being unworthy of you.

your head. Parents do that all the time. My mother did that to me.

I’m sorry Evan, for infusing you with anger. It seeps from my pores. I should have known it would reach you.

And Nicole—my fierce warrior. You had everything! You were beautiful

Maybe it served me well to hear those words. I studied hard and made a

and strong and brilliant. You were that glorious firstborn child who saw the career for myself. And John always told me that’s what he loved most. That I world as a thing to behold, and a thing to be conquered. And now you live

was smart.

behind a sword and shield but the enemy still comes for you. To vanquish you.

God, how I love that man. I don’t even know why. It just happened and it

To kill you as well.

was glorious. And now that glory is agony.

My chest rises and falls quickly now as I gasp for air. I cannot hide it any It would be easy to tell myself that he stopped loving me because the scale

longer. The tears are now sobs as I lie here in my prison, unable to see a way tipped too far to his side. That I got older and less attractive. That I stopped out. I am forced to surrender. And it comes. It all comes, storming the unarmed working, stopped being so smart. Up, up, up, my side of the scale drifted, losing gates.

the weight of these things.

Nicole.

But that would be a lie. There is no scale that can bear what I have done.

I see your face as you stand in the driveway. I see your face staring at your I feel my lips part, taking in air as the tears fall. I taste the salt on my tongue. sister as she lies in the road. I see your face when you realize what has happened.

I hear the argument for the first time in years. The argument I lost then and I prayed that the warrior in you would win the war. I did not have the

will always lose.

strength to carry you through the storm of our grief. And our guilt.

No—I was not speeding around that corner. I had slowed down, of course I

I will not sleep tonight. And without sleep, I will not have the strength to had, because the driveway was just around the curve.

fight him. I will not have the mental agility to make a new plan.

No—there was nothing more I could have done. My eyes were on the road.

The tears have stopped though I cannot stop the panic.

No—there was nothing more I could have done. My eyes were on the road.

The tears have stopped though I cannot stop the panic.

My hands on the wheel. I wasn’t adjusting the radio, or using my phone, or

There is no evidence of an imminent fight. No need for an immediate plan.

reaching for my coffee.

And yet it is here. This panic.

No—I could not have slammed on those brakes any harder than I did! The

I sit up then. Not caring about the camera, about Dolly. Not caring if I wake forensic report confirmed all of this. The skid marks. The air bag. The turn of theAlice. I sit up because I have to shift the blood that has pooled in my head and wheel away from the object in the road. From the child. My child. My Annie.

caused this chaos.

Six more inches and I would have been clear. I would have slammed into the

I let it all settle, recalibrate. I can’t make any sense of it. But it does not mailbox and the boxwoods and the flower bed. But the wheel only turned so far. leave.

Six more inches.

I allow my gut to weigh in, the feelings I have had these past sixteen days.

Mick was cheerful when he picked me up that night. He was almost giddy.

His plan had worked. His stalking and scheduling. Using Alice to lure me into this house.

And then he was hopeful as I was kind to Alice and then returned to the

There is no logic to the guilt.

house after going into the woods.

And then I tried to take that phone and he wrestled me to the floor, dragged Yes, but then I killed her.

me to that room. There was excitement in his eyes, from the physical violence.

I killed her.

From the dominion he then had over my body, but also my emotions. He

I killed her.

provoked terror and relief each time he walked down the hall to that dark room.

It never goes away. God, help me. It never leaves.

But Nicole had arrived and he had seen her in the town. She reminded him of

I’m sorry, John, for falling off the scale. For being unworthy of you.

his dead wife and the thought got in his head. Under his skin.

I’m sorry Evan, for infusing you with anger. It seeps from my pores. I should Still, he gave us some time. Me and Alice. But also me and him. He watched

have known it would reach you.

me changing. He watched me standing before him, and sitting with Alice. He

And Nicole—my fierce warrior. You had everything! You were beautiful

slept in the bed with us. I know he tried to want me. But hope turned to

and strong and brilliant. You were that glorious firstborn child who saw the frustration. I was not enough. I have not been enough.

world as a thing to behold, and a thing to be conquered. And now you live

And now, he is planning something. With his avoidance of me, but his

behind a sword and shield but the enemy still comes for you. To vanquish you.

leniency with the food. He makes accommodations to appease me and Alice.

To kill you as well.

I must accept the truth now. The kind of truth that is known from inside,

My chest rises and falls quickly now as I gasp for air. I cannot hide it any without the need for objective evidence.

longer. The tears are now sobs as I lie here in my prison, unable to see a way I see Alice squirm on the other side of the bars. Her little arms reach through out. I am forced to surrender. And it comes. It all comes, storming the unarmed them for my body. A little octopus. I lie back down and let her wrap them gates.

around me.

I feel it.

I see your face as you stand in the driveway. I see your face staring at your The truth.

sister as she lies in the road. I see your face when you realize what has happened.

The fight is coming.

I prayed that the warrior in you would win the war. I did not have the

strength to carry you through the storm of our grief. And our guilt.

I will not sleep tonight. And without sleep, I will not have the strength to fight him. I will not have the mental agility to make a new plan.

The tears have stopped though I cannot stop the panic.

The tears have stopped though I cannot stop the panic.

There is no evidence of an imminent fight. No need for an immediate plan.

And yet it is here. This panic.

I sit up then. Not caring about the camera, about Dolly. Not caring if I wake Alice. I sit up because I have to shift the blood that has pooled in my head and caused this chaos.

I let it all settle, recalibrate. I can’t make any sense of it. But it does not leave.

I allow my gut to weigh in, the feelings I have had these past sixteen days.

Mick was cheerful when he picked me up that night. He was almost giddy.

His plan had worked. His stalking and scheduling. Using Alice to lure me into this house.

And then he was hopeful as I was kind to Alice and then returned to the

house after going into the woods.

And then I tried to take that phone and he wrestled me to the floor, dragged me to that room. There was excitement in his eyes, from the physical violence.

From the dominion he then had over my body, but also my emotions. He

provoked terror and relief each time he walked down the hall to that dark room.

But Nicole had arrived and he had seen her in the town. She reminded him of

his dead wife and the thought got in his head. Under his skin.

Still, he gave us some time. Me and Alice. But also me and him. He watched

me changing. He watched me standing before him, and sitting with Alice. He

slept in the bed with us. I know he tried to want me. But hope turned to

frustration. I was not enough. I have not been enough.

And now, he is planning something. With his avoidance of me, but his

leniency with the food. He makes accommodations to appease me and Alice.

I must accept the truth now. The kind of truth that is known from inside,

without the need for objective evidence.

I see Alice squirm on the other side of the bars. Her little arms reach through them for my body. A little octopus. I lie back down and let her wrap them

around me.

I feel it.

The truth.

The fight is coming.

Chapter Thirty

Day sixteen

The day turned to night in a heartbeat, it seemed.

She and Reyes arrived at Laguna just after noon.

They got something to eat in the hotel dining room. Nic could barely get

anything down.

She texted with her father to avoid having to hear his voice. She didn’t want him to know what she’d found out, about the affair and the credit card charge in West Cornwall that day. She texted him what she knew about Kurt Kent and

Edith Moore. He texted back that his PI was looking into the connection. Reyes called Mrs. Urbansky at the station, asking her to find out about the utility bills at the property on Abel Hill Lane. He asked where Chief Watkins was, said he needed to speak with him.

Then came talk of Nic going home, but she refused.

Then stay here.

Reyes insisted. He didn’t want her near Booth after the incident in his

apartment, or across the street from the bar and Kurt Kent who could very well have read her expression when she saw that picture on her phone of him with

Edith Moore.

It’s safer here.

He checked her into a room, then went back to Hastings to gather her things

from the inn. She gave him her key—the one with the giant wooden ring. He

returned a few hours later and they went to the bar.

Watkins is nowhere, Reyes reported. Not at the station or at home.

Mrs. Urbansky said he was taking a personal day. He hadn’t answered his

cell, and Reyes didn’t want to alarm him by having Mrs. Urbansky track him

down on the police radio. Confronting the chief would have to wait until

tomorrow.

But he did have news—and a document. A title copied from the land records

at town hall for a property on Abel Hill Lane.

It is a corporation—a group of investors like Booth said, he explained. A

holding company. They would have to search the records with the secretary of state to get the names of the investors. Reyes said he hadn’t lived here back then, but remembered there was talk of turning the buildings into a mental facility for criminals. Again—just like Booth had said. It never happened—but that

explained the fence with the barbed wire. He said the same corporation also

owned the Gas n’ Go.

There was nothing online. The corporation was no longer active. But that

Day sixteen

made sense—Booth had told her the investors probably only held on to the

The day turned to night in a heartbeat, it seemed.

property for tax reasons.

She and Reyes arrived at Laguna just after noon.

Reyes and the state trooper had searched the red brick buildings, but not the They got something to eat in the hotel dining room. Nic could barely get

house where the foreman once lived. They didn’t know it was part of the same anything down.

parcel. It had a separate driveway but no registered street address. It was as She texted with her father to avoid having to hear his voice. She didn’t want though it didn’t exist at all.

him to know what she’d found out, about the affair and the credit card charge in Except it did.

West Cornwall that day. She texted him what she knew about Kurt Kent and

And then . . .

Edith Moore. He texted back that his PI was looking into the connection. Reyes Vodka.

called Mrs. Urbansky at the station, asking her to find out about the utility bills Reyes talked about his childhood and what had happened to him after he

at the property on Abel Hill Lane. He asked where Chief Watkins was, said he killed that boy. Nic had confided in him about Annie and the guilt she still needed to speak with him.

carried. The afternoon became evening.

Then came talk of Nic going home, but she refused.

I guess we’re the same that way.

And then . . .

Reyes insisted. He didn’t want her near Booth after the incident in his

I can’t believe my father . . .

apartment, or across the street from the bar and Kurt Kent who could very well Don’t go there. Let’s see what more we find.

have read her expression when she saw that picture on her phone of him with

And then . . .

Edith Moore.

I can’t believe Kurt did this . . .

Don’t take it personally. It’s just money.

He checked her into a room, then went back to Hastings to gather her things

And then . . .

from the inn. She gave him her key—the one with the giant wooden ring. He

Easy for you to say. There was a night—when I was here the first time.

returned a few hours later and they went to the bar.

The night at the bar?

Yeah.

Mrs. Urbansky said he was taking a personal day. He hadn’t answered his

You were pretty lit.

cell, and Reyes didn’t want to alarm him by having Mrs. Urbansky track him

Something happened.

down on the police radio. Confronting the chief would have to wait until

I remember.

tomorrow.

What do you mean?

But he did have news—and a document. A title copied from the land records

In the back. You and Kurt.

at town hall for a property on Abel Hill Lane.

How did you know that? Did he tell you?

Then silence.

Then recognition.

Then recognition.

You were there? You saw us?

state to get the names of the investors. Reyes said he hadn’t lived here back then, Reyes motioned to the waitress.

“Another round,” he said. Then to Nic, “I think we’re going to need it now.”

Nic protested. “No, no—I can’t. Not after what you just told me. I can’t

believe you saw me with Kurt, with anyone, like that.”

Reyes drained what was left in his glass. Then his face got serious, mirroring There was nothing online. The corporation was no longer active. But that

hers. He reached out and took her hand. “It’s no big deal. So you made out with made sense—Booth had told her the investors probably only held on to the

a complete stranger in a completely strange town. It happens.”

property for tax reasons.

This got a slight smile out of her. Thank God for vodka. Her father was

Reyes and the state trooper had searched the red brick buildings, but not the receding from her mind as the conversation turned to flirtatious banter.

house where the foreman once lived. They didn’t know it was part of the same

“It shouldn’t, though. It shouldn’t happen. That’s not who I am.” Then she

parcel. It had a separate driveway but no registered street address. It was as reconsidered. “It’s not who I used to be, anyway.”

though it didn’t exist at all.

He leaned back and nodded. “I was just trying to make you feel better.”

Except it did.

“Not possible,” Nic said. “These past five years have been such a mess. I’ve And then . . .

been such a mess.”

Vodka.

The drinks came. Reyes took his, but then waved off the vodka tonic for Nic.

Reyes talked about his childhood and what had happened to him after he

“No—wait.” She reached for the drink, grabbing it from the tray before the

killed that boy. Nic had confided in him about Annie and the guilt she still waitress could leave.

carried. The afternoon became evening.

“It wasn’t right away,” Nic explained. “After my sister died, I felt like I had to make up for her being gone, you know? I actually tried harder. Got better And then . . .

grades. Stopped going out with my friends, doing things teenagers do. Shopping, movies, texting all day about stupid shit on the Internet. But it didn’t last.”

“Because of the hollow spaces you told me about—last night. I get it. Is that And then . . .

when you started drinking?”

“Yeah. It’s so strange how all of it, the drinking, the men, it gives you this relief, you know? In the moment. But then it just makes it worse. Digs into those And then . . .

spaces.”

Reyes leaned forward and took both of her hands in his.

“Listen, I was a disaster before the chief brought me here. After killing that boy, leaving the job—it was like I wanted to die, only I didn’t have the courage to do it, and more than that . . . there was this annoying part of me that wanted to live, that kept whispering that it wasn’t my fault and that I deserved to live, and I hated that part.”

Every word he said resonated inside her.

“I know—you’re not really trying to kill yourself, you want to kill that

annoying voice that keeps telling you to let go of the guilt and start living again.

Then silence.

That’s the thing I’ve been trying to kill—with the drinking and the . . . the men.”

Then recognition.

Then recognition.

“If you keep degrading yourself, maybe that annoying voice will finally shut the hell up and let you drown in the guilt.”

Reyes motioned to the waitress.

“Yes,” Nic said. “The first time I ever had a drink, I was so desperate to stop

“Another round,” he said. Then to Nic, “I think we’re going to need it now.” feeling. I actually had thoughts of wanting to die. Of jumping off this bridge that Nic protested. “No, no—I can’t. Not after what you just told me. I can’t

runs through our downtown.”

believe you saw me with Kurt, with anyone, like that.”

“Jesus, Nic. That’s horrible. Did you ever tell anyone? How you wanted to

Reyes drained what was left in his glass. Then his face got serious, mirroring kill yourself? Jump off a bridge?”

hers. He reached out and took her hand. “It’s no big deal. So you made out with

“I told the counselor they made me see. I don’t think she really got it. I don’t a complete stranger in a completely strange town. It happens.”

think anyone gets it unless they’ve lived it. They were just words to her, when I This got a slight smile out of her. Thank God for vodka. Her father was

tried to describe it, the hollow spaces wanting to be filled, but never could, receding from her mind as the conversation turned to flirtatious banter.

because that day can’t be unlived. I can’t get my sister back. And now my

“It shouldn’t, though. It shouldn’t happen. That’s not who I am.” Then she

mother . . .”

reconsidered. “It’s not who I used to be, anyway.”

Nic cried and Reyes pulled her close. Stroked her hair.

He leaned back and nodded. “I was just trying to make you feel better.”

Then he repeated what he’d said earlier.

“Not possible,” Nic said. “These past five years have been such a mess. I’ve

“We are the same, Nicole. And I understand everything you’re saying.”

been such a mess.”

Nic closed her eyes and let herself go. She let the alcohol settle in, warm her The drinks came. Reyes took his, but then waved off the vodka tonic for Nic. blood and blur her thoughts. There were too many of them, and none she liked.

“No—wait.” She reached for the drink, grabbing it from the tray before the

Except this one. This one thought he had put in her head.

waitress could leave.

We are the same.

“It wasn’t right away,” Nic explained. “After my sister died, I felt like I had She liked that thought very much, even though she knew, before they even

to make up for her being gone, you know? I actually tried harder. Got better left the table, where it was going to lead.

grades. Stopped going out with my friends, doing things teenagers do. Shopping, movies, texting all day about stupid shit on the Internet. But it didn’t last.”

“Because of the hollow spaces you told me about—last night. I get it. Is that when you started drinking?”

“Yeah. It’s so strange how all of it, the drinking, the men, it gives you this relief, you know? In the moment. But then it just makes it worse. Digs into those spaces.”

Reyes leaned forward and took both of her hands in his.

“Listen, I was a disaster before the chief brought me here. After killing that boy, leaving the job—it was like I wanted to die, only I didn’t have the courage to do it, and more than that . . . there was this annoying part of me that wanted to live, that kept whispering that it wasn’t my fault and that I deserved to live, and I hated that part.”

Every word he said resonated inside her.

“I know—you’re not really trying to kill yourself, you want to kill that

annoying voice that keeps telling you to let go of the guilt and start living again.

That’s the thing I’ve been trying to kill—with the drinking and the . . . the men.”

“If you keep degrading yourself, maybe that annoying voice will finally shut the hell up and let you drown in the guilt.”

“Yes,” Nic said. “The first time I ever had a drink, I was so desperate to stop feeling. I actually had thoughts of wanting to die. Of jumping off this bridge that runs through our downtown.”

“Jesus, Nic. That’s horrible. Did you ever tell anyone? How you wanted to

kill yourself? Jump off a bridge?”

“I told the counselor they made me see. I don’t think she really got it. I don’t think anyone gets it unless they’ve lived it. They were just words to her, when I tried to describe it, the hollow spaces wanting to be filled, but never could, because that day can’t be unlived. I can’t get my sister back. And now my

mother . . .”

Nic cried and Reyes pulled her close. Stroked her hair.

Then he repeated what he’d said earlier.

“We are the same, Nicole. And I understand everything you’re saying.”

Nic closed her eyes and let herself go. She let the alcohol settle in, warm her blood and blur her thoughts. There were too many of them, and none she liked.

Except this one. This one thought he had put in her head.

We are the same.

She liked that thought very much, even though she knew, before they even

left the table, where it was going to lead.

Chapter Thirty-one

Day seventeen

The morning begins with chaos. The sound of a drill. Then silence. Then the

front door banging as it swings so wide it hits the wall.

Alice sits up, startled, arms pulling away from my body on the other side of the bars.

She lets out a holler of surprise, but says nothing.

I sit up now and see Mick reaching for her, scooping her in his arms and

carrying her away from me.

She is quiet as she looks at me from over his shoulder, as they move down

the hall.

It is a new face I see. I do not give it a name because I don’t ever want to see it again.

It is a face of terror, as though she knows she is about to lose me.

I take a breath now because the chaos seems to be over. At least for the

moment. I get up and walk to the far side of the bed. Something has drawn me there. I hear no more sounds. It is quiet.

The light is different somehow, brighter and sharper.

I can see now, I can see why the light has changed.

Mick has drilled a hole in the wood.

I slide the glass panel down and touch the little hole with my finger. It’s been drilled from the outside. It is no wider than my pinky.

But it is wide enough to let in the light.

And it is wide enough for me to see outside.

I look through the hole, I can see one side of the driveway circle and realize the room must face the front of the house.

I feel relief at first that he has given me this gift of light.

But then another thought enters. A thought that fits better with the chaos that has just occurred.

Mick has drilled this hole so that I can see outside.

I don’t know what it is he wants me to see.

But I suddenly long for darkness.

But I suddenly long for darkness.

Day seventeen

The morning begins with chaos. The sound of a drill. Then silence. Then the

front door banging as it swings so wide it hits the wall.

Alice sits up, startled, arms pulling away from my body on the other side of the bars.

She lets out a holler of surprise, but says nothing.

I sit up now and see Mick reaching for her, scooping her in his arms and

carrying her away from me.

She is quiet as she looks at me from over his shoulder, as they move down

the hall.

It is a new face I see. I do not give it a name because I don’t ever want to see it again.

It is a face of terror, as though she knows she is about to lose me.

I take a breath now because the chaos seems to be over. At least for the

moment. I get up and walk to the far side of the bed. Something has drawn me there. I hear no more sounds. It is quiet.

The light is different somehow, brighter and sharper.

I can see now, I can see why the light has changed.

Mick has drilled a hole in the wood.

I slide the glass panel down and touch the little hole with my finger. It’s been drilled from the outside. It is no wider than my pinky.

But it is wide enough to let in the light.

And it is wide enough for me to see outside.

I look through the hole, I can see one side of the driveway circle and realize the room must face the front of the house.

I feel relief at first that he has given me this gift of light.

But then another thought enters. A thought that fits better with the chaos that has just occurred.

Mick has drilled this hole so that I can see outside.

I don’t know what it is he wants me to see.

But I suddenly long for darkness.

But I suddenly long for darkness.

Chapter Thirty-two

Day seventeen

Nic awoke, startled by her surroundings. She sat upright, her eyes slowly

taking in the things that were visible in the dim morning light.

Stiff white sheets. A fluffy duvet. Blackout shades behind thick beige

curtains.

She heard a quiet hum from the heating unit above the door to the bathroom.

It crept into her brain, this fog carrying information about where she was and how she’d come to be here. Hungover. Naked. Alone.

“No,” she said out loud. “This isn’t happening. I didn’t do this. Not again.”

She pulled the sheet tightly around her. There was no one to kick out of her bed. No one to hold on to.

Hand shaking now, she reached for her phone. It was nearly ten. She needed

something, someone.

Her mother was gone. Her father was lying. And this new man who had

made her feel so good last night—the man and the vodka, both gone now.

“Evan?” she said, her voice trembling into the phone. He was all she had left.

“Nic? What is it? What’s happened?”

His name was the only word she could get out.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“At a hotel. At that casino. The one where Mom used her credit card.”

She cried the words. Evan was confused.

“What are you doing there?”

“Ev—I think I know who gave Mom a ride here. I think she may have left.”

Evan was quiet for a moment. But then—

“I don’t care! We still have to find her. You’re still going to look for her, right?”

“Yes. Of course. I promised you I would.”

More silence. She couldn’t tell him why she’d called, that she had dug so

deeply into the hollow spaces they were nearly all that was left of her. And that she didn’t think she would survive it. Not this time.

“Evan?” she said.

“Evan?” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Just keep your shit together, okay? I’m sorry I called. I’m so sorry . . .”

Then a knock at the door. And Reyes’s voice.

“Are you decent?”

Then Evan again. He’d heard it—the man’s voice.

“Who was that?”

Then Reyes.

Day seventeen

“Are you ready?”

Nic awoke, startled by her surroundings. She sat upright, her eyes slowly

Nic jumped out of the bed, raced to the bathroom for a towel which she

taking in the things that were visible in the dim morning light.

wrapped around her body. She called out to Reyes, covering the phone with her Stiff white sheets. A fluffy duvet. Blackout shades behind thick beige

hand so Evan wouldn’t hear her.

curtains.

“Just a second . . .”

She heard a quiet hum from the heating unit above the door to the bathroom.

Then to Evan on the phone, “I’m fine. I have to go . . . I just needed to hear It crept into her brain, this fog carrying information about where she was and your voice.” She made quick excuses, then hung up the call.

how she’d come to be here. Hungover. Naked. Alone.

She opened the door, her hand still clutching the phone.

“No,” she said out loud. “This isn’t happening. I didn’t do this. Not again.”

Reyes stood there with two cups of coffee and a disarming smile.

She pulled the sheet tightly around her. There was no one to kick out of her He walked inside, his eyes moving over her, head to toe, wrapped in the

bed. No one to hold on to.

towel.

Hand shaking now, she reached for her phone. It was nearly ten. She needed

“Good morning,” he said. He set down the coffee and pulled her close.

something, someone.

She buried her face into the crease of his neck. She wanted to cry, with

Her mother was gone. Her father was lying. And this new man who had

despair, or relief. All of this was disorienting.

made her feel so good last night—the man and the vodka, both gone now.

He held her until she let go first. Then he handed her a coffee and sat on the

“Evan?” she said, her voice trembling into the phone. He was all she had left.bed.

“Nic? What is it? What’s happened?”

“Are you all right? You seem upset. Is it about what happened last night?”

His name was the only word she could get out.

She told him the truth. “I don’t know.”

“Where are you?” he asked.

Had it been like all the others? She had told herself it was different

“At a hotel. At that casino. The one where Mom used her credit card.”

somehow.

She cried the words. Evan was confused.

Sweet and tender. Wasn’t it? She could still hear his soft voice on warm

“What are you doing there?”

breath. We are the same. We are just the same. Whispering in her ear as they fell

“Ev—I think I know who gave Mom a ride here. I think she may have left.” onto the bed. And then the silence of his voice, but the words his body spoke as Evan was quiet for a moment. But then—

he touched her and kissed her and held her. They were kind words. Loving

“I don’t care! We still have to find her. You’re still going to look for her, words. The silent conversation of lovers, not just people fucking, but making right?”

love, connected by the torture of guilt they both understood, from the role they’d

“Yes. Of course. I promised you I would.”

played in the death of another human being. It was something few people could More silence. She couldn’t tell him why she’d called, that she had dug so

understand.

deeply into the hollow spaces they were nearly all that was left of her. And that

“It’s okay,” he said to her. “Why don’t I wait outside. You take your time.

she didn’t think she would survive it. Not this time.

Get dressed. Come down when you’re ready and we’ll head back to town.”

“Evan?” she said.

When the door closed behind him, Nic took a shower. Got dressed. Drank

“Evan?” she said.

When the door closed behind him, Nic took a shower. Got dressed. Drank

“Yeah?”

the coffee he’d left for her.

“Just keep your shit together, okay? I’m sorry I called. I’m so sorry . . .”

It was different, wasn’t it? How could she not know?

Then a knock at the door. And Reyes’s voice.

* * *

“Are you decent?”

They drove half an hour back to Hastings, then another fifteen minutes

Then Evan again. He’d heard it—the man’s voice.

through winding back roads before arriving at the parcel on Abel Hill Lane that

“Who was that?”

Reyes had found in the land records. It felt like they’d been driving in circles.

Then Reyes.

“It’s such a maze of woods and cornfields,” Nic said.

“Are you ready?”

Reyes nodded. “It’s a small town, but you’d be surprised how easy it is to get Nic jumped out of the bed, raced to the bathroom for a towel which she

lost.”

wrapped around her body. She called out to Reyes, covering the phone with her They pulled into the dirt driveway. Then they stopped in front of a metal

hand so Evan wouldn’t hear her.

gate. On either side was a tall, wire fence with coiled barbed wire lining the top.

“Just a second . . .”

Nic stared at it for a long moment, then got out of the car.

Then to Evan on the phone, “I’m fine. I have to go . . . I just needed to hear Reyes joined her.

your voice.” She made quick excuses, then hung up the call.

He went to the gate and swung it open. It was not locked, though a loose

She opened the door, her hand still clutching the phone.

chain hung from one side.

Reyes stood there with two cups of coffee and a disarming smile.

“Strange,” he said. “Why go to all this trouble to hang a lock on the gate but He walked inside, his eyes moving over her, head to toe, wrapped in the

not close it?”

towel.

Nic looked up at the fence, then touched one of the wires. She could feel the

“Good morning,” he said. He set down the coffee and pulled her close.

small barbs.

She buried her face into the crease of his neck. She wanted to cry, with

“This is the same fence!” she said.

despair, or relief. All of this was disorienting.

Reyes started walking back to car. “I guess you were right about it.”

He held her until she let go first. Then he handed her a coffee and sat on the They got back in the car and drove up the long driveway to the top of a hill.

bed.

They stopped just past the front porch of a strange, old house. It was exactly as

“Are you all right? You seem upset. Is it about what happened last night?”

Booth had described it. An old ranch with a partial renovation.

She told him the truth. “I don’t know.”

“Stay here,” Reyes said.

Had it been like all the others? She had told herself it was different

Nic didn’t argue. He walked around the car, but then stopped by her window.

somehow.

She rolled it down.

“What?” she asked.

Whispering in her ear as they fell

He leaned in and gave her a kiss. It was the first kiss all morning and it made her want more.

“Is that okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” Nic answered.

love, connected by the torture of guilt they both understood, from the role they’d She leaned out the window, watching as he walked to the porch steps, then

up the steps to the front door. He rang the doorbell and waited. He knocked, and waited. He looked back, shrugged. Rang again. Knocked again. Waited.

“It’s okay,” he said to her. “Why don’t I wait outside. You take your time.

He placed his hand on his holstered gun.

Get dressed. Come down when you’re ready and we’ll head back to town.”

Then he turned the doorknob. It opened. He looked back to motion that he

When the door closed behind him, Nic took a shower. Got dressed. Drank

Then he turned the doorknob. It opened. He looked back to motion that he When the door closed behind him, Nic took a shower. Got dressed. Drank

was going inside. Nic nodded at him, and watched as he disappeared into the

the coffee he’d left for her.

house, closing the door behind him.

It was different, wasn’t it? How could she not know?

* * *

They drove half an hour back to Hastings, then another fifteen minutes

through winding back roads before arriving at the parcel on Abel Hill Lane that Reyes had found in the land records. It felt like they’d been driving in circles.

“It’s such a maze of woods and cornfields,” Nic said.

Reyes nodded. “It’s a small town, but you’d be surprised how easy it is to get lost.”

They pulled into the dirt driveway. Then they stopped in front of a metal

gate. On either side was a tall, wire fence with coiled barbed wire lining the top.

Nic stared at it for a long moment, then got out of the car.

Reyes joined her.

He went to the gate and swung it open. It was not locked, though a loose

chain hung from one side.

“Strange,” he said. “Why go to all this trouble to hang a lock on the gate but not close it?”

Nic looked up at the fence, then touched one of the wires. She could feel the small barbs.

“This is the same fence!” she said.

Reyes started walking back to car. “I guess you were right about it.”

They got back in the car and drove up the long driveway to the top of a hill.

They stopped just past the front porch of a strange, old house. It was exactly as Booth had described it. An old ranch with a partial renovation.

“Stay here,” Reyes said.

Nic didn’t argue. He walked around the car, but then stopped by her window.

She rolled it down.

“What?” she asked.

He leaned in and gave her a kiss. It was the first kiss all morning and it made her want more.

“Is that okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” Nic answered.

She leaned out the window, watching as he walked to the porch steps, then

up the steps to the front door. He rang the doorbell and waited. He knocked, and waited. He looked back, shrugged. Rang again. Knocked again. Waited.

He placed his hand on his holstered gun.

Then he turned the doorknob. It opened. He looked back to motion that he

Then he turned the doorknob. It opened. He looked back to motion that he was going inside. Nic nodded at him, and watched as he disappeared into the

house, closing the door behind him.

Chapter Thirty-three

Day seventeen

I hear a car in the driveway. Mick has been gone for two hours. Alice has not come to me, not even to bring me food. I have listened to her play alone in her toy room, making the voices for both Hannah and Suzannah. I cannot hear what they say to one another but it worries me that she stays away.

I get up and walk to the window. I look out the hole to see what it is Mick

wants me to see. There is no point in avoiding it.

I have been looking out all morning and I have already turned his plan to my advantage. Beyond the driveway, I see my new weapon.

A row of apple trees flank the side of the driveway. They are mature trees

and I imagine they were planted before Mick took over this house. He does not seem to have an interest in property maintenance.

The apples have ripened and fallen days, maybe weeks ago.

Apple seeds contain amygdalin.

Amygdalin can convert to cyanide.

Cyanide can make you sick. It can even kill you.

I have been back and forth to the hole in the window, studying the trees,

counting the apples that have fallen to the ground.

Plotting how I can get to them.

I watch now as the car pulls around the driveway just enough for me to see.

It takes a moment for the image to settle in my brain. And then it explodes. A police car.

A police car!

I hear footsteps. Alice is coming. She is at the bars of my cell. She pushes the wood door open so she can see me. I look back at her, and I know I cannot change the look on my face.

Desperation.

She shakes her head sternly and raises her finger to her lips.

Shhhhhh! She makes this sound. I look back out through the hole.

I have to be careful. I will have one chance to call out before Dolly’s eyes see that I am being a bad mommy.

see that I am being a bad mommy.

I don’t know how far away Mick is. He could still be in the house, though I

thought I heard him leave. He may have returned.

Think, Molly! Think!

I wait for the officer to open the door and step outside. He walks around the back of the car and I lose sight of him. But then I see his back as he walks to the passenger side. A window rolls down. A head leans out. It’s a woman, I can see her blond hair. He kisses her and I think how strange this is.

Day seventeen

Is he not here to save me? To look for me?

I hear a car in the driveway. Mick has been gone for two hours. Alice has not He stands up straight and steps away. I think that I will press my lips to the come to me, not even to bring me food. I have listened to her play alone in her hole now and scream out for help.

toy room, making the voices for both Hannah and Suzannah. I cannot hear what Alice taps nervously on the metals bars.

they say to one another but it worries me that she stays away.

“Stop!” she screams in a whisper.

I get up and walk to the window. I look out the hole to see what it is Mick

I look back at her, then once more through the hole, ready to call out for

wants me to see. There is no point in avoiding it.

help.

I have been looking out all morning and I have already turned his plan to my Alice leaves. I hear her feet running now toward the front of the house.

advantage. Beyond the driveway, I see my new weapon.

The officer turns. I am ready to do it, ready to look away and press my lips to A row of apple trees flank the side of the driveway. They are mature trees

the wood. But then I see the face of the woman. I think my eyes have gone

and I imagine they were planted before Mick took over this house. He does not crazy. But I stare long enough to know that what I am seeing is real.

seem to have an interest in property maintenance.

I do not look away. I do not scream for help.

The apples have ripened and fallen days, maybe weeks ago.

Because the woman in the car is my daughter.

Apple seeds contain amygdalin.

And the man in the uniform, is Mick.

Amygdalin can convert to cyanide.

Cyanide can make you sick. It can even kill you.

I have been back and forth to the hole in the window, studying the trees,

counting the apples that have fallen to the ground.

Plotting how I can get to them.

I watch now as the car pulls around the driveway just enough for me to see.

It takes a moment for the image to settle in my brain. And then it explodes. A police car.

A police car!

I hear footsteps. Alice is coming. She is at the bars of my cell. She pushes the wood door open so she can see me. I look back at her, and I know I cannot change the look on my face.

Desperation.

She shakes her head sternly and raises her finger to her lips.

I have to be careful. I will have one chance to call out before Dolly’s eyes see that I am being a bad mommy.

see that I am being a bad mommy.

I don’t know how far away Mick is. He could still be in the house, though I

thought I heard him leave. He may have returned.

Think, Molly! Think!

I wait for the officer to open the door and step outside. He walks around the back of the car and I lose sight of him. But then I see his back as he walks to the passenger side. A window rolls down. A head leans out. It’s a woman, I can see her blond hair. He kisses her and I think how strange this is.

Is he not here to save me? To look for me?

He stands up straight and steps away. I think that I will press my lips to the hole now and scream out for help.

Alice taps nervously on the metals bars.

“Stop!” she screams in a whisper.

I look back at her, then once more through the hole, ready to call out for

help.

Alice leaves. I hear her feet running now toward the front of the house.

The officer turns. I am ready to do it, ready to look away and press my lips to the wood. But then I see the face of the woman. I think my eyes have gone

crazy. But I stare long enough to know that what I am seeing is real.

I do not look away. I do not scream for help.

Because the woman in the car is my daughter.

And the man in the uniform, is Mick.

Chapter Thirty-four

Day seventeen

Nic stared at the house. There was no movement now. No sound. Apple trees

lined the driveway, then woods. More woods, as far as the eye could see.

Probably all the way to the edge of the fence.

She thought then that if no one was inside the house, they would track down

the owners, those investors from New York. Maybe they had someone check on

the place the night of the storm. They owned a black truck. Or a gray one. But a truck, like the one Edith Moore had seen her mother get into.

How this fit with Chief Watkins and his truck, his broken taillight, was still a question. But she would follow every lead until it brought her to her mother.

She looked back to the house and noticed a window to a room in the back. It

was boarded up—from the storm, she imagined—only it was fortified with steel bars.

She stared at the one boarded window. It was odd. Out of place.

And for a second, she wondered what was behind it.

Chapter Thirty-four

Day seventeen

Nic stared at the house. There was no movement now. No sound. Apple trees

lined the driveway, then woods. More woods, as far as the eye could see.

Probably all the way to the edge of the fence.

She thought then that if no one was inside the house, they would track down

the owners, those investors from New York. Maybe they had someone check on

the place the night of the storm. They owned a black truck. Or a gray one. But a truck, like the one Edith Moore had seen her mother get into.

How this fit with Chief Watkins and his truck, his broken taillight, was still a question. But she would follow every lead until it brought her to her mother.

She looked back to the house and noticed a window to a room in the back. It

was boarded up—from the storm, she imagined—only it was fortified with steel bars.

She stared at the one boarded window. It was odd. Out of place.

And for a second, she wondered what was behind it.

Chapter Thirty-five

Day seventeen

Terror is now mine to hold as I hear the doorbell and the knocking and the

waiting. Then more ringing and knocking until finally the door opens and closes.

I look out the hole and pray Nicole is still in that car. That she is still unaware.

Footsteps bound the hallway. Smaller ones scurry behind them.

Then the lock turns. The grate opens.

Mick walks in, wearing a police uniform. He is calm and steady.

He wears a face that is smug and laden with the power he has just acquired

over me. Just like the moment when I heard his cell phone ring on the kitchen counter. The moment I knew I was his prisoner.

I have a flash of memory, provoked now, by the uniform. A traffic stop

somewhere along Route 7. I don’t remember the name of the town. I only

remember now how John hired a lawyer to make it go away because he was

worried about our insurance. And how it was never submitted by the officer. It was as though it had never happened. I thought I’d gotten lucky.

I had been traveling twenty miles over the speed limit. I had been trying to get away from these dying towns, trying to get home. I hadn’t noticed how fast I’d been going.

I study his face and know it is the same man.

How long has he known me? How long has he been planning this? That stop

was last spring.

Mick is a cop. Everything I have come to think about him now unravels. I try to put the pieces back in a way that fits with this new one.

Mick is a cop—a real cop. He has access to records. He can get people to

pull over, the way I did. To give him their information.

What else? The cameras—at the Gas n’ Go. Mick watches people coming

and going. He can see their license plates and credit cards. I think about how these pieces fit together—how perfect it is. How he can gather information, and then use it however he wants.

He knew I came every other Thursday in the afternoons from the cameras at

the gas station. He got my driver’s license and car registration from the traffic

the gas station. He got my driver’s license and car registration from the traffic stop. And how easy it was from there—one Google search and my whole life

unfolded for him, like a nicely wrapped present.

I want to fight against it. I want to pound my fists into him and tear out his eyes with my fingernails. I think that maybe my rage is finally big enough to overtake him, but that delusion is dispelled the moment his hands take hold of my wrists. His physical strength is undeniable.

He pulls me back to the window. Presses my face to the wood until it scrapes Day seventeen

my skin. I can feel the small splinters as they enter and dig their way through the Terror is now mine to hold as I hear the doorbell and the knocking and the

flesh.

waiting. Then more ringing and knocking until finally the door opens and closes.

“Look,” he says calmly, though his strength feels like an explosion against

I look out the hole and pray Nicole is still in that car. That she is still unaware.

me.

Footsteps bound the hallway. Smaller ones scurry behind them.

I do as I’m told. I look at my precious daughter through the hole.

Then the lock turns. The grate opens.

“I have her now. Nod if you understand.”

Mick walks in, wearing a police uniform. He is calm and steady.

I nod. I do exactly as I’m told.

He wears a face that is smug and laden with the power he has just acquired

“I think she would make a good mother, don’t you? And a good wife.”

over me. Just like the moment when I heard his cell phone ring on the kitchen A cry leaves my mouth. I can’t hold it in.

counter. The moment I knew I was his prisoner.

“She is so lovely. Every inch of her, so, so lovely. And she is in love with I have a flash of memory, provoked now, by the uniform. A traffic stop

me.”

somewhere along Route 7. I don’t remember the name of the town. I only

He lets go of me and I fall to the floor.

remember now how John hired a lawyer to make it go away because he was

“Nod if you understand,” he says again.

worried about our insurance. And how it was never submitted by the officer. It Again, I do as I am told.

was as though it had never happened. I thought I’d gotten lucky.

Of course I understand.

I had been traveling twenty miles over the speed limit. I had been trying to If I am not the best mommy to Alice, he will take my daughter.

get away from these dying towns, trying to get home. I hadn’t noticed how fast But then I also know the truth.

I’d been going.

He is delusional, thinking she loves him. Thinking whatever it is they’ve

I study his face and know it is the same man.

shared will last beyond this morning. She will grow tired of him before the sun How long has he known me? How long has he been planning this? That stop goes down.

was last spring.

And yet, it doesn’t matter.

Mick is a cop. Everything I have come to think about him now unravels. I try He will take her anyway. But first, he will kill me.

to put the pieces back in a way that fits with this new one.

Unless I can stop him.

Mick is a cop—a real cop. He has access to records. He can get people to

pull over, the way I did. To give him their information.

He knew I came every other Thursday in the afternoons from the cameras at

the gas station. He got my driver’s license and car registration from the traffic

the gas station. He got my driver’s license and car registration from the traffic stop. And how easy it was from there—one Google search and my whole life

unfolded for him, like a nicely wrapped present.

I want to fight against it. I want to pound my fists into him and tear out his eyes with my fingernails. I think that maybe my rage is finally big enough to overtake him, but that delusion is dispelled the moment his hands take hold of my wrists. His physical strength is undeniable.

He pulls me back to the window. Presses my face to the wood until it scrapes my skin. I can feel the small splinters as they enter and dig their way through the flesh.

“Look,” he says calmly, though his strength feels like an explosion against

me.

I do as I’m told. I look at my precious daughter through the hole.

“I have her now. Nod if you understand.”

I nod. I do exactly as I’m told.

“I think she would make a good mother, don’t you? And a good wife.”

A cry leaves my mouth. I can’t hold it in.

“She is so lovely. Every inch of her, so, so lovely. And she is in love with me.”

He lets go of me and I fall to the floor.

“Nod if you understand,” he says again.

Again, I do as I am told.

Of course I understand.

If I am not the best mommy to Alice, he will take my daughter.

But then I also know the truth.

He is delusional, thinking she loves him. Thinking whatever it is they’ve

shared will last beyond this morning. She will grow tired of him before the sun goes down.

And yet, it doesn’t matter.

He will take her anyway. But first, he will kill me.

Unless I can stop him.

Chapter Thirty-six

Day seventeen

It was only a few minutes before the door opened again and Reyes appeared.

He shrugged once more, then walked back to the car.

“The place looks abandoned. No heat. No water. I checked every room in

case . . . but no sign that anyone’s been living there.”

Nic stared back up at the house.

“We have to find out what the story is with this place.”

“We will,” he said. Then he leaned over to kiss her again.

He started the car and pulled forward.

Nic looked back one last time, at the window with the wood and the metal.

“Did you see the room with the boarded window? There are metal slats on

the outside.”

“Yeah,” Reyes said. “Strange, right? But the window inside was broken.

Maybe they didn’t want to pay to replace the glass. I told you, no one’s lived there for a while.”

They drove through the gate. Reyes stopped. Got out.

“I’m just going to close it. Leave things the way we found them. Probably

shouldn’t have come without a warrant.”

Nic didn’t turn around to watch him, though his image in the side mirror

caught her eye.

He closed the gate.

But then he replaced the chain—which was not how they’d found it—

wrapping it three times as though he knew that would be the right number. And then he did something else.

Something that made her gasp one breath of air.

He took a padlock from behind a post—as though he knew it would be there,

just like he knew about the chains—and he put it through the loops of the chain, locking it shut.

Chapter Thirty-six

Day seventeen

It was only a few minutes before the door opened again and Reyes appeared.

He shrugged once more, then walked back to the car.

“The place looks abandoned. No heat. No water. I checked every room in

case . . . but no sign that anyone’s been living there.”

Nic stared back up at the house.

“We have to find out what the story is with this place.”

“We will,” he said. Then he leaned over to kiss her again.

He started the car and pulled forward.

Nic looked back one last time, at the window with the wood and the metal.

“Did you see the room with the boarded window? There are metal slats on

the outside.”

“Yeah,” Reyes said. “Strange, right? But the window inside was broken.

Maybe they didn’t want to pay to replace the glass. I told you, no one’s lived there for a while.”

They drove through the gate. Reyes stopped. Got out.

“I’m just going to close it. Leave things the way we found them. Probably

shouldn’t have come without a warrant.”

Nic didn’t turn around to watch him, though his image in the side mirror

caught her eye.

He closed the gate.

But then he replaced the chain—which was not how they’d found it—

wrapping it three times as though he knew that would be the right number. And then he did something else.

Something that made her gasp one breath of air.

He took a padlock from behind a post—as though he knew it would be there,

just like he knew about the chains—and he put it through the loops of the chain, locking it shut.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Day seventeen

I watch the car drive away. I watch the man, the monster, drive away with

my daughter.

Now, more clanking on my prison bars. Alice is there with her Sad Face.

“Come over here,” she says.

She wants to comfort me. The chaos of the morning, the violence, has made

her hungry.

I don’t move. I can’t.

“Come here!” she demands, and I see Angry Face coming. She points to the

camera in the corner of the room, reminding me that he is watching.

She does not need to say the rest. That he has my daughter. That he will take her and kill me if I do not behave.

I manage to walk across the floor to the grate. My skin stings in the places where the splinters of wood have entered.

“Sit down,” Alice says. Sad Face has returned. She is volatile now, and I

have to calm her. I have to feed her need to empathize with me, to comfort me.

So I sit.

“Give me your hands,” she demands.

I give her my hands.

She holds them tight and presses her cheek into them.

“What will happen to you if I have to have that new mommy? What if she’s

not as good a mommy as you are? What if she only loves him the way you only

love me?”

She begins to cry now, tears of empathy as I knew she would, and I can feel

her calming. She presses my hands to her wet little face and cries into my skin.

“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I will be better. I will make him happy so you

don’t have to get a new mommy.”

She looks at me as though I’ve just tried to tell her the sky is purple. We both know what Mick wants.

He wants Nicole.

But I remind myself that Mick is not the only one in this house with power.

But I remind myself that Mick is not the only one in this house with power.

He has physical strength. Metal bars. Locks and keys and Dolly’s eyes. But I have those apples and inside of them, in their tiny seeds, is everything I need to take him down.

I watch Alice melt in my presence. And I think something else. Something

about power.

“Have you ever tried an apple muffin?” I ask her. She looks up at me with

wonder. As though it sounds delicious, and like something we will do together.

Day seventeen

And I think, Mick may have my daughter. But I have his.

I watch the car drive away. I watch the man, the monster, drive away with

my daughter.

Now, more clanking on my prison bars. Alice is there with her Sad Face.

“Come over here,” she says.

She wants to comfort me. The chaos of the morning, the violence, has made

her hungry.

I don’t move. I can’t.

“Come here!” she demands, and I see Angry Face coming. She points to the

camera in the corner of the room, reminding me that he is watching.

She does not need to say the rest. That he has my daughter. That he will take her and kill me if I do not behave.

I manage to walk across the floor to the grate. My skin stings in the places where the splinters of wood have entered.

“Sit down,” Alice says. Sad Face has returned. She is volatile now, and I

have to calm her. I have to feed her need to empathize with me, to comfort me.

So I sit.

“Give me your hands,” she demands.

I give her my hands.

She holds them tight and presses her cheek into them.

“What will happen to you if I have to have that new mommy? What if she’s

not as good a mommy as you are? What if she only loves him the way you only

love me?”

She begins to cry now, tears of empathy as I knew she would, and I can feel

her calming. She presses my hands to her wet little face and cries into my skin.

“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I will be better. I will make him happy so you

don’t have to get a new mommy.”

She looks at me as though I’ve just tried to tell her the sky is purple. We both know what Mick wants.

He wants Nicole.

But I remind myself that Mick is not the only one in this house with power.

But I remind myself that Mick is not the only one in this house with power.

He has physical strength. Metal bars. Locks and keys and Dolly’s eyes. But I have those apples and inside of them, in their tiny seeds, is everything I need to take him down.

I watch Alice melt in my presence. And I think something else. Something

about power.

“Have you ever tried an apple muffin?” I ask her. She looks up at me with

wonder. As though it sounds delicious, and like something we will do together.

And I think, Mick may have my daughter. But I have his.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Day seventeen

“I’m sorry that was a dead end,” Reyes said to Nic as they turned back

toward town.

Nic was confused. He’d just said something entirely different not five

minutes before.

“What about finding those investors? And the utility companies? I thought

we were going to see if anyone checks in on the place—they left the gate open, right?”

Nic had just watched Reyes lock the chains as they were leaving. And now

this sudden shift in his demeanor. He was distracted, like his mind was now

preoccupied, unable to even remember what he’d just said to her.

“I think it’s futile—I know you don’t want to hear that,” he said. “It was cold and dark in there. No utilities running. And that broken window . . . we can still check if you want, but it’s a dead end. The fence is there because of that loony bin they wanted to build. Trust me,” he said. “I am the cop, you know.” He let out a slight laugh.

Nic was dazed. Things were moving too fast now. Why had they even come

to this house? Because no one checked it. Because no one knew it was here. And now it was checked, with no sign of her mother. Reyes was right to be

dismissive.

“What about Chief Watkins?” Nic asked.

“Don’t worry. I’ll speak with him as soon as I can. And I still need to find out about that credit card charge your father made in West Cornwall.”

Nic let all of this sink in.

She wasn’t losing her mind. Reyes was the same man who’d held her all

night, who’d brought her coffee and taken her to this house. He’d told her about Chief Watkins even though it was likely to hurt him in the end. And he would find out the truth about her father.

“Thank you,” Nic said.

“And what will you do? Where do you want to go?”

“To the hotel, I guess. I don’t know. Where should I go? What should I do

“To the hotel, I guess. I don’t know. Where should I go? What should I do now?”

How pathetic she sounded, even to herself. But that was how she felt.

“I think you need to figure things out with your father.”

“Yes.”

“Who do you think it is? This other woman?”

Nic had her suspicions. “He has an office manager who’s divorced. Same

age. He wouldn’t look for someone younger. He would want someone like . . .”

Day seventeen

“Your mother,” Reyes finished the thought. “I get it. He lost her the same

“I’m sorry that was a dead end,” Reyes said to Nic as they turned back

day he lost your sister. It makes sense he’d want to get that feeling back. When toward town.

you lose someone you love that much, you want someone who was just the

Nic was confused. He’d just said something entirely different not five

same. Because you know that’s the kind of person your heart desires and nothing minutes before.

else will satisfy it.”

“What about finding those investors? And the utility companies? I thought

Nic studied him now, curiously.

we were going to see if anyone checks in on the place—they left the gate open,

“Did you lose someone you were in love with?”

right?”

Reyes sat up straighter. His face flinched. She’d hit a nerve.

Nic had just watched Reyes lock the chains as they were leaving. And now

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s none of my business.”

this sudden shift in his demeanor. He was distracted, like his mind was now

“It’s okay.”

preoccupied, unable to even remember what he’d just said to her.

But then, he didn’t answer.

“I think it’s futile—I know you don’t want to hear that,” he said. “It was cold When they reached Laguna, Reyes pulled the car up to the curb. He handed

and dark in there. No utilities running. And that broken window . . . we can still her a piece of paper and a pen from the center console.

check if you want, but it’s a dead end. The fence is there because of that loony

“Here—do me a favor. Write down your father’s full name. Make and model

bin they wanted to build. Trust me,” he said. “I am the cop, you know.” He let of his car. Where he works. The name of the office manager. Anything else that out a slight laugh.

might help me look into this for you.”

Nic was dazed. Things were moving too fast now. Why had they even come

“I don’t know . . .”

to this house? Because no one checked it. Because no one knew it was here. And

“Just write it down and then call me later if you want me to do something

now it was checked, with no sign of her mother. Reyes was right to be

about it. I’ll wait to hear from you—promise.”

dismissive.

Nic wrote down the information, though each stroke of the pen felt like a

“What about Chief Watkins?” Nic asked.

stab in her father’s back.

“Don’t worry. I’ll speak with him as soon as I can. And I still need to find

“Do you want me to go up with you?” Reyes asked, folding the paper into

out about that credit card charge your father made in West Cornwall.”

his pocket.

Nic let all of this sink in.

“No, I’m fine. Will you come back later?” It was strange how she wanted to

She wasn’t losing her mind. Reyes was the same man who’d held her all

be alone but how it also terrified her.

night, who’d brought her coffee and taken her to this house. He’d told her about

“Of course,” he said. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Chief Watkins even though it was likely to hurt him in the end. And he would And then the anxiety shifted. As she got out of the car. Watched him drive

find out the truth about her father.

away. And remembered the gate that was now locked at that house.

“Thank you,” Nic said.

And who was this woman he’d loved and lost and was trying to replace?

“And what will you do? Where do you want to go?”

Maybe with her?

“To the hotel, I guess. I don’t know. Where should I go? What should I do

She walked into the lobby and smelled the sickening sweet pull of the bar,

“To the hotel, I guess. I don’t know. Where should I go? What should I do She walked into the lobby and smelled the sickening sweet pull of the bar,

now?”

and the instant relief that was waiting for her there.

How pathetic she sounded, even to herself. But that was how she felt.

“I think you need to figure things out with your father.”

“Yes.”

“Who do you think it is? This other woman?”

Nic had her suspicions. “He has an office manager who’s divorced. Same

age. He wouldn’t look for someone younger. He would want someone like . . .”

“Your mother,” Reyes finished the thought. “I get it. He lost her the same

day he lost your sister. It makes sense he’d want to get that feeling back. When you lose someone you love that much, you want someone who was just the

same. Because you know that’s the kind of person your heart desires and nothing else will satisfy it.”

Nic studied him now, curiously.

“Did you lose someone you were in love with?”

Reyes sat up straighter. His face flinched. She’d hit a nerve.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s none of my business.”

“It’s okay.”

But then, he didn’t answer.

When they reached Laguna, Reyes pulled the car up to the curb. He handed

her a piece of paper and a pen from the center console.

“Here—do me a favor. Write down your father’s full name. Make and model

of his car. Where he works. The name of the office manager. Anything else that might help me look into this for you.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Just write it down and then call me later if you want me to do something

about it. I’ll wait to hear from you—promise.”

Nic wrote down the information, though each stroke of the pen felt like a

stab in her father’s back.

“Do you want me to go up with you?” Reyes asked, folding the paper into

his pocket.

“No, I’m fine. Will you come back later?” It was strange how she wanted to

be alone but how it also terrified her.

“Of course,” he said. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

And then the anxiety shifted. As she got out of the car. Watched him drive

away. And remembered the gate that was now locked at that house.

And who was this woman he’d loved and lost and was trying to replace?

Maybe with her?

She walked into the lobby and smelled the sickening sweet pull of the bar,

She walked into the lobby and smelled the sickening sweet pull of the bar, and the instant relief that was waiting for her there.

Chapter Thirty-nine

Day seventeen

Cyanide.

I taught this in one of my eighth grade chemistry units.

Hours pass as I sit on the floor and help Alice with her homework. She is

very sorry about my daughter but life must go on. I must be a good mommy.

Thank you, Alice, for reminding me of what’s important.

She does a math problem on the other side of the bars. I sit cross-legged and pull from my memory what I learned years ago about cyanide. I steady my

expression because Dolly’s eyes are surely watching very carefully now.

In small doses, the body will change cyanide into thiocyanate which can be

excreted in urine. In larger doses, it prevents cells from using oxygen, causing those cells to die.

The heart, lungs, and central nervous system are the most susceptible.

Symptoms can include shortness of breath, vomiting, dizziness, weakness, and confusion. Seizures. Cardiac arrest. Death.

Apple seeds contain amygdalin, which will turn into cyanide when exposed

to the enzymes in the human gut. They must be crushed or chewed for the

amygdalin to be released. It can take thousands of apple seeds to kill a grown man. But how many, I wonder, to make him sick?

The time does not go to waste. I do not allow myself to indulge in the panic that is at my door. I have removed the splinters from my skin and applied some ointment Alice found in her bathroom. I have changed my clothes which were

drenched in the sweat of the morning’s terror. I have showered. And I have cried the last of the tears I will cry.

I think about cyanide. I also think about Nicole as the clock ticks away.

There are only two things that would bring her back to this town. The first is a man. The second is me. I know my daughter. I understand her suffering. A

man would not hold her attention for long. The newspaper article said she was here for four days. That’s long enough for her to get drunk and meet a man. A man like Mick. A cop, probably involved in the search. I remember those first few days—how he came and went. And now—she has returned, maybe for him.

few days—how he came and went. And now—she has returned, maybe for him.

But it won’t last.

She will peel him off of her like the rotten skin on the apples outside. Even if he was wonderful. Perfect. Even if he offered love. Especially if he offered love.

She cannot accept love. Not from anyone.

Oh, how I understand her suffering.

That leaves one reason for her to stay now. Me. Finding me.

I remember her words the morning I left for Evan’s school. I remember her

Day seventeen

face when she said them, and how they jabbed at my heart in quick bursts as

Cyanide.

they left her mouth.

I taught this in one of my eighth grade chemistry units.

I hate you—but that was just a small one. A little jab. But then,

Hours pass as I sit on the floor and help Alice with her homework. She is

You killed my sister! The first big one, and then,

very sorry about my daughter but life must go on. I must be a good mommy.

You killed your own child!

Thank you, Alice, for reminding me of what’s important.

I know my daughter. She has carried her own guilt from that fateful day. Not She does a math problem on the other side of the bars. I sit cross-legged and answering her phone. Not driving Annie to her friend’s house. Not being there in pull from my memory what I learned years ago about cyanide. I steady my

time as her sister ran down the driveway.

expression because Dolly’s eyes are surely watching very carefully now.

And now this—the belief that she caused me to walk away from them. Not

In small doses, the body will change cyanide into thiocyanate which can be just her, but Evan and John. This thought nearly breaks my steeled expression.

excreted in urine. In larger doses, it prevents cells from using oxygen, causing This thought causes the blood to surge into my face, pulsing around the scrapes.

those cells to die.

Evan. John. Nicole. My life.

The heart, lungs, and central nervous system are the most susceptible.

In these long hours I have thought about the possibilities. I know how Mick

Symptoms can include shortness of breath, vomiting, dizziness, weakness, and learned about me. The cameras at the Gas n’ Go. The traffic stop. There is a lot confusion. Seizures. Cardiac arrest. Death.

of information online because of Annie’s death.

Apple seeds contain amygdalin, which will turn into cyanide when exposed

But then my family came to look for me, and everything changed. Now he

to the enzymes in the human gut. They must be crushed or chewed for the

wants Nicole.

amygdalin to be released. It can take thousands of apple seeds to kill a grown Why did he bring her here? Why did he drill that hole so I could see her?

man. But how many, I wonder, to make him sick?

I know about human nature, about need that overcomes reason. Teaching

The time does not go to waste. I do not allow myself to indulge in the panic children who were on the cusp of maturity has given me this tool, which I now that is at my door. I have removed the splinters from my skin and applied some use. Mick needed me to know what he’s done. What power he yields.

ointment Alice found in her bathroom. I have changed my clothes which were

He wanted this more than he feared what I might do.

drenched in the sweat of the morning’s terror. I have showered. And I have cried Or maybe he doesn’t know how fiercely a mother will fight to protect her

the last of the tears I will cry.

child. Maybe he never learned that.

I think about cyanide. I also think about Nicole as the clock ticks away.

Either way, he has misjudged me like an adolescent child. I will not yield to There are only two things that would bring her back to this town. The first is his power. I will not behave when he has set his hands upon my daughter.

a man. The second is me. I know my daughter. I understand her suffering. A

Alice looks up.

man would not hold her attention for long. The newspaper article said she was

“I can’t get this one!” she says. Angry Face is here.

here for four days. That’s long enough for her to get drunk and meet a man. A She shoves the paper through the bars and I see what she’s done wrong.

man like Mick. A cop, probably involved in the search. I remember those first

“Two negatives make a positive,” I remind her.

few days—how he came and went. And now—she has returned, maybe for him.

I hand the paper back. She takes it and resumes the problem.

few days—how he came and went. And now—she has returned, maybe for him.

I hand the paper back. She takes it and resumes the problem.

But it won’t last.

“I have an idea when we finish your homework,” I say.

She will peel him off of her like the rotten skin on the apples outside. Even if

“Shhh! ” she commands.

he was wonderful. Perfect. Even if he offered love. Especially if he offered love.

Fine, Alice. But we will talk about my idea. About the apples in the yard.

She cannot accept love. Not from anyone.

The ones that have fallen and begun to rot. We will talk about how you and I are Oh, how I understand her suffering.

going to make a special treat for Mick and how you are going to sneak around That leaves one reason for her to stay now. Me. Finding me.

Dolly’s eyes to get outside, and put on your mask, and collect as many apples as I remember her words the morning I left for Evan’s school. I remember her

you can find.

face when she said them, and how they jabbed at my heart in quick bursts as

Maybe I was selfish to have children, knowing they would have to die one

they left her mouth.

day. Maybe I deserve to suffer for it. More than I already have.

But further punishment will have to wait. Because today, we are going to

talk about those things.

We are going to do those things.

I know my daughter. She has carried her own guilt from that fateful day. Not And we are going to save my daughter.

answering her phone. Not driving Annie to her friend’s house. Not being there in time as her sister ran down the driveway.

And now this—the belief that she caused me to walk away from them. Not

just her, but Evan and John. This thought nearly breaks my steeled expression.

This thought causes the blood to surge into my face, pulsing around the scrapes.

Evan. John. Nicole. My life.

But then my family came to look for me, and everything changed. Now he

wants Nicole.

Why did he bring her here? Why did he drill that hole so I could see her?

I know about human nature, about need that overcomes reason. Teaching

children who were on the cusp of maturity has given me this tool, which I now use. Mick needed me to know what he’s done. What power he yields.

He wanted this more than he feared what I might do.

Or maybe he doesn’t know how fiercely a mother will fight to protect her

child. Maybe he never learned that.

Either way, he has misjudged me like an adolescent child. I will not yield to his power. I will not behave when he has set his hands upon my daughter.

Alice looks up.

“I can’t get this one!” she says. Angry Face is here.

She shoves the paper through the bars and I see what she’s done wrong.

“Two negatives make a positive,” I remind her.

I hand the paper back. She takes it and resumes the problem.

I hand the paper back. She takes it and resumes the problem.

“I have an idea when we finish your homework,” I say.

“Shhh! ” she commands.

Fine, Alice. But we will talk about my idea. About the apples in the yard.

The ones that have fallen and begun to rot. We will talk about how you and I are going to make a special treat for Mick and how you are going to sneak around Dolly’s eyes to get outside, and put on your mask, and collect as many apples as you can find.

Maybe I was selfish to have children, knowing they would have to die one

day. Maybe I deserve to suffer for it. More than I already have.

But further punishment will have to wait. Because today, we are going to

talk about those things.

We are going to do those things.

And we are going to save my daughter.

Chapter Forty

Day seventeen

It took sheer will to walk back outside, away from the bar. She needed the

fresh air. She needed to drive, and to push aside the thoughts that were twisted up in her mind.

Reyes, the tortured soul who truly understood her—who might be strong

enough to save her from herself.

Reyes, the damaged man who used women the way she used men—and who

might just pull her into his despair as well as her own.

She couldn’t possibly know the difference. Not in two days’ time. And not

with all that had happened.

She found her mother’s car where she’d parked it the day before. She wasn’t

sure where she was going. Not back to Hastings. Not home.

She checked her phone and the texts that had been piling up. Three from her

father—all with the same message. When are you coming home? Come

home, sweetheart. Where are you—you need to come home .

One from Evan. Did you find her? What’s happening?

It was the final one from her father that provided the most distraction.

Edith Moore is Edith Bickman. Moore is her boyfriend’s

name. Probably used it to hide the fact that she

worked at the bar in Hastings four years ago. And Kurt

Kent did time for drug offense. Two bad apples. Scam.

Also—Mrs. Urbansky said she did not give out your

number to anyone. Another lie! Call me or answer your

phone!

She had two missed calls and voicemails from him as well. She responded

with a text. I’m fine. Will call soon.

But was she fine? Drinking and sleeping with strangers again. Infusing her

reckless actions with meaning that might be pure fiction?

We are the same . . .

How could he say that when they’d just met? How could she have believed

it. And yet it had felt so real. She wanted it to be real, even now, as the doubt

it. And yet it had felt so real. She wanted it to be real, even now, as the doubt crept in.

She sat in her mother’s car. Smelled her smell, which was fading more every

day. She turned on the ignition and closed her eyes. The list of loose ends—what was on it now? Edith Moore—or Bickman—and her plot with Kurt Kent, her

father’s PI was looking into that. But what about the lie she’d told about getting Nic’s cell phone number from Mrs. Urbansky? It had been Reyes who’d put

Day seventeen

those words in her mouth. She remembered that now. Maybe he’d assumed it,

It took sheer will to walk back outside, away from the bar. She needed the

and then she jumped on board, not having a better answer.

fresh air. She needed to drive, and to push aside the thoughts that were twisted Her mother had not been at that house. No one had, and it was a long shot

up in her mind.

anyone had been there the night of the storm. Next, Watkins and the truck—but Reyes, the tortured soul who truly understood her—who might be strong

Reyes said he was going back to find him. Her father and his affair, and the stop enough to save her from herself.

he’d made at the gas station in West Cornwall. She should call him, ask him for Reyes, the damaged man who used women the way she used men—and who the truth, for once. But he had already lied to her about the handwriting analysis.

might just pull her into his despair as well as her own.

And then, Daisy Hollander—the woman Chief Watkins helped get a

She couldn’t possibly know the difference. Not in two days’ time. And not

scholarship to a fancy summer camp in Woodstock, whom he’d supposedly

with all that had happened.

driven out of town when she’d needed to escape the fate of becoming Mrs.

She found her mother’s car where she’d parked it the day before. She wasn’t Roger Booth. Watkins and his truck. Watkins and Daisy Hollander.

sure where she was going. Not back to Hastings. Not home.

Daisy Hollander. She remembered the way. The names of the roads, and even the road with no name.

Down Laguna Drive to the end. Then right on Route 7. She was a mile from

When are you coming home? Come the Gas n’ Go when she saw the dark gray truck—the Silverado—with Chief Watkins in the driver’s seat. She turned her head and sat low as he drove by.

Then she picked up speed, turning onto Hastings Pass. She drove through town, past the police station, until she got to the end—to River Road. Then right onto Edith Moore is Edith Bickman. Moore is her boyfriend’s Pond, left onto Jeliff. Then the road with no name. She remembered the way.

As she made the final turn into the dense woods, those words were still

worked at the bar in Hastings four years ago. And Kurt ringing in her head. Making her stomach turn now.

We are the same.

But was she fine? Drinking and sleeping with strangers again. Infusing her

reckless actions with meaning that might be pure fiction?

How could he say that when they’d just met? How could she have believed

it. And yet it had felt so real. She wanted it to be real, even now, as the doubt

it. And yet it had felt so real. She wanted it to be real, even now, as the doubt crept in.

She sat in her mother’s car. Smelled her smell, which was fading more every

day. She turned on the ignition and closed her eyes. The list of loose ends—what was on it now? Edith Moore—or Bickman—and her plot with Kurt Kent, her

father’s PI was looking into that. But what about the lie she’d told about getting Nic’s cell phone number from Mrs. Urbansky? It had been Reyes who’d put

those words in her mouth. She remembered that now. Maybe he’d assumed it,

and then she jumped on board, not having a better answer.

Her mother had not been at that house. No one had, and it was a long shot

anyone had been there the night of the storm. Next, Watkins and the truck—but Reyes said he was going back to find him. Her father and his affair, and the stop he’d made at the gas station in West Cornwall. She should call him, ask him for the truth, for once. But he had already lied to her about the handwriting analysis.

And then, Daisy Hollander—the woman Chief Watkins helped get a

scholarship to a fancy summer camp in Woodstock, whom he’d supposedly

driven out of town when she’d needed to escape the fate of becoming Mrs.

Roger Booth. Watkins and his truck. Watkins and Daisy Hollander.

Daisy Hollander. She remembered the way. The names of the roads, and even the road with no name.

Down Laguna Drive to the end. Then right on Route 7. She was a mile from

the Gas n’ Go when she saw the dark gray truck—the Silverado—with Chief Watkins in the driver’s seat. She turned her head and sat low as he drove by.

Then she picked up speed, turning onto Hastings Pass. She drove through town, past the police station, until she got to the end—to River Road. Then right onto Pond, left onto Jeliff. Then the road with no name. She remembered the way.

As she made the final turn into the dense woods, those words were still

ringing in her head. Making her stomach turn now.

We are the same.

Chapter Forty-one

Day seventeen

Alice has been such a good girl.

“Can we play Hannah and Suzannah?” she asks me.

Of course we can, you good, good girl.

“Of course we can,” I say, hiding my excitement.

She runs off to get the dolls and I return to the bathtub to check on the rotting apples Alice has collected from the yard.

There are forty-five of them. And they all have seeds.

Alice went to the kitchen like I told her. She went to make us lunch. Peanut butter sandwiches and milk. Yes, milk today, because she wants to make me

suffer a little. She wants me to suffer because somewhere inside her little brain is the knowledge that I am lying to her about the surprise for Mick.

Still, she climbed out the back window of the kitchen. The back window near

the sink, where Dolly’s eyes can’t see.

She wore her mask and carried two brown grocery bags. She scurried like a

little bunny rabbit, picking up the apples and filling the bags. She had to make two trips to bring them back to the window. They were heavy.

She did all of these things. And she did them fast. She brought the apples to me in the bags, along with some groceries she placed on top. I emptied the

groceries, bread and milk and peanut butter, then pulled the bags with the apples through the bars and brought them to the bathroom. I put the apples in the

bathtub, then threw the bags in the garbage.

I try not to think about where he is. And when I do, like I am now, I look at the apples and think about his cells suffocating. I think about his lungs closing. I think about his heart stopping.

“Hey!” Alice calls out now. “Come out and play!”

I have been too long in the bathroom with my apples.

“Sorry,” I tell her, resuming my spot on the floor.

We make lunch and eat. Then she hands me Suzannah and I straighten the

doll’s hair.

Half an hour passes slowly. It is late afternoon and there is no sign of Mick.

Half an hour passes slowly. It is late afternoon and there is no sign of Mick.

Flashes of him kissing my daughter in the police car come and go. But mostly come and stay.

Hannah and Suzannah have been discussing their mothers again. Alice likes

this and I need this. Yes, I have my apples, but I will not waste one opportunity to gather information. To make inroads into my little prison guard. Into her head.

Into her heart.

What she did today was extraordinary. Not because of the logistics of getting Day seventeen

the apples. But because she knows I am planning something devious. Wrong.

Alice has been such a good girl.

Hurtful. She knows, and she helped me anyway.

“Can we play Hannah and Suzannah?” she asks me.

Then she served me my milk and I drank it down.

Oh, the games we play, Alice and I.

“Of course we can,” I say, hiding my excitement.

“It makes me so sad,” Suzannah says. She has been telling Hannah a terrible

She runs off to get the dolls and I return to the bathtub to check on the rottingstory about a fight her parents had and how her mommy still won’t be happy.

apples Alice has collected from the yard.

Now she’s run away and Suzannah is afraid she will never come back.

There are forty-five of them. And they all have seeds.

“I know,” Hannah says, and she reaches through the bars to give Suzannah a

Alice went to the kitchen like I told her. She went to make us lunch. Peanut plastic doll hug.

butter sandwiches and milk. Yes, milk today, because she wants to make me

“Thank you, Hannah. You always make me feel better.” Suzannah pauses

suffer a little. She wants me to suffer because somewhere inside her little brain islong enough for the sweet moment to pass. Then—

the knowledge that I am lying to her about the surprise for Mick.

“Do yours ever fight?” Suzannah asks.

Still, she climbed out the back window of the kitchen. The back window near

I swear I can see Coy Face run all the way down from Alice’s face, through

the sink, where Dolly’s eyes can’t see.

her arm and fingers and onto the stupid plastic doll.

She wore her mask and carried two brown grocery bags. She scurried like a

“What do you mean?” Hannah asks.

little bunny rabbit, picking up the apples and filling the bags. She had to make

“Do they ever get mad at each other? Do they yell sometimes?”

two trips to bring them back to the window. They were heavy.

I am desperate to get back to my apples. I need to take out the seeds and

She did all of these things. And she did them fast. She brought the apples to grind them. I need to do this before we can bake the muffins.

me in the bags, along with some groceries she placed on top. I emptied the

Time passes. Mick is with my daughter. A bead of sweat rolls down the side

groceries, bread and milk and peanut butter, then pulled the bags with the apples of my face.

through the bars and brought them to the bathroom. I put the apples in the

Hannah finally answers.

bathtub, then threw the bags in the garbage.

“He loves my mommy,” Hannah says finally. “He loves her so much it

I try not to think about where he is. And when I do, like I am now, I look at makes him cry.”

the apples and think about his cells suffocating. I think about his lungs closing. I The image of Mick with my daughter leaves for a brief moment as I try to

think about his heart stopping.

think about what this means. I can’t picture Mick crying.

“Hey!” Alice calls out now. “Come out and play!”

But then suddenly I can. Suddenly, my perspective shifts. Love can make

I have been too long in the bathroom with my apples.

people crazy. It can make them do crazy, evil things.

“Sorry,” I tell her, resuming my spot on the floor.

“Because she’s so beautiful?” Suzannah asks.

We make lunch and eat. Then she hands me Suzannah and I straighten the

Hannah nods.

doll’s hair.

“With her real blond hair and her thin body?”

Half an hour passes slowly. It is late afternoon and there is no sign of Mick.

Hannah nods again.

Half an hour passes slowly. It is late afternoon and there is no sign of Mick.

Hannah nods again.

Flashes of him kissing my daughter in the police car come and go. But mostly Alice reaches through the bars and takes Suzannah from me. She lays her on

come and stay.

the ground, and then lays Hannah down beside her. Alice leans in close and so I Hannah and Suzannah have been discussing their mothers again. Alice likes lean in close. She doesn’t want Dolly to hear.

this and I need this. Yes, I have my apples, but I will not waste one opportunity

“I have to show you something. It has to be a secret.”

to gather information. To make inroads into my little prison guard. Into her head.

Yes. Please. Tell me your secrets.

Into her heart.

“I promise,” I say to her. Then she gets up and leaves. I hear her walk softly What she did today was extraordinary. Not because of the logistics of getting to her room. A moment passes and she returns.

the apples. But because she knows I am planning something devious. Wrong.

She sits down casually. Too casually, like she’s acting. And I can feel that Hurtful. She knows, and she helped me anyway.

her heart is exploding.

Then she served me my milk and I drank it down.

She carries a small book of nursery rhymes. She hands it to me through the

Oh, the games we play, Alice and I.

bars.

“It makes me so sad,” Suzannah says. She has been telling Hannah a terrible

“The story on page twenty-three is my favorite,” she says.

story about a fight her parents had and how her mommy still won’t be happy.

I open the book and carefully turn the pages until I find what she wants me to Now she’s run away and Suzannah is afraid she will never come back.

see. On page twenty-three, tucked into the crease, is a picture of a young woman.

“I know,” Hannah says, and she reaches through the bars to give Suzannah a

A young woman with real blond hair and long, skinny legs.

plastic doll hug.

I stare at the picture, trying to hide the surge of adrenaline as it pulses

“Thank you, Hannah. You always make me feel better.” Suzannah pauses

through my veins, turning my face crimson.

long enough for the sweet moment to pass. Then—

I am looking at a woman who resembles my daughter.

“Do yours ever fight?” Suzannah asks.

Alice picks up Hannah.

I swear I can see Coy Face run all the way down from Alice’s face, through

“That’s my mommy,” she says. “Daisy Alice Hollander.”

her arm and fingers and onto the stupid plastic doll.

I look at Alice, then to the picture. Then to Alice again. Her face is

“What do you mean?” Hannah asks.

transformed from that of a child to a grown, wise woman.

“Do they ever get mad at each other? Do they yell sometimes?”

A woman who understands and wants me to understand what’s happening

I am desperate to get back to my apples. I need to take out the seeds and

here.

grind them. I need to do this before we can bake the muffins.

Alice’s mother is dead. The mother that Mick loved so much it made him

Time passes. Mick is with my daughter. A bead of sweat rolls down the side cry.

of my face.

And now he’s found a way to bring her back to life. He’s found a woman

Hannah finally answers.

who has long blond hair and a sleek body and is young.

“He loves my mommy,” Hannah says finally. “He loves her so much it

He’s found my daughter.

makes him cry.”

I nod slowly to Alice. She reaches through the bars and takes the book from

The image of Mick with my daughter leaves for a brief moment as I try to

my hands.

think about what this means. I can’t picture Mick crying.

Yes, Alice. I try to say with my eyes . I understand.

But then suddenly I can. Suddenly, my perspective shifts. Love can make

I am now certain of his plan.

people crazy. It can make them do crazy, evil things.

And certain of mine.

“Because she’s so beautiful?” Suzannah asks.

Hannah nods.

“With her real blond hair and her thin body?”

Hannah nods again.

Hannah nods again.

Alice reaches through the bars and takes Suzannah from me. She lays her on

the ground, and then lays Hannah down beside her. Alice leans in close and so I lean in close. She doesn’t want Dolly to hear.

“I have to show you something. It has to be a secret.”

Yes. Please. Tell me your secrets.

“I promise,” I say to her. Then she gets up and leaves. I hear her walk softly to her room. A moment passes and she returns.

She sits down casually. Too casually, like she’s acting. And I can feel that her heart is exploding.

She carries a small book of nursery rhymes. She hands it to me through the

bars.

“The story on page twenty-three is my favorite,” she says.

I open the book and carefully turn the pages until I find what she wants me to see. On page twenty-three, tucked into the crease, is a picture of a young woman.

A young woman with real blond hair and long, skinny legs.

I stare at the picture, trying to hide the surge of adrenaline as it pulses

through my veins, turning my face crimson.

I am looking at a woman who resembles my daughter.

Alice picks up Hannah.

“That’s my mommy,” she says. “Daisy Alice Hollander.”

I look at Alice, then to the picture. Then to Alice again. Her face is

transformed from that of a child to a grown, wise woman.

A woman who understands and wants me to understand what’s happening

here.

Alice’s mother is dead. The mother that Mick loved so much it made him

cry.

And now he’s found a way to bring her back to life. He’s found a woman

who has long blond hair and a sleek body and is young.

He’s found my daughter.

I nod slowly to Alice. She reaches through the bars and takes the book from

my hands.

Yes, Alice. I try to say with my eyes . I understand.

I am now certain of his plan.

And certain of mine.

Chapter Forty-two

Day seventeen

Nic stopped just beyond the clearing where she could see Veronica

Hollander’s house. The trees were thicker here, evergreens mixing in with the pines and oaks, filling up the sky. The house seemed dark inside but smoke

billowed from a chimney. She could smell the wood burning even with the

windows closed.

A text broke through the silence. It was Reyes.

At the station with Watkins. Will sort everything

out. Heading back to see you.

Nic stared at it, remembering she had just seen Watkins leaving town—back

to the casino. And she had just driven past the police station. Reyes’s car had not been there.

Something about this was all wrong.

She got out of the car and walked to the same door she’d been to the day

before, with Kurt Kent.

She knocked, waited. She could hear the creaking of floorboards inside,

someone walking. Maybe deciding whether to let her in. She was alone this time.

And she’d been asking questions about the past that had made Veronica

uncomfortable.

“Hello?” Nic called out. She knocked again.

“It’s Nicole Clarke. From the other day—with Kurt? I just have a few more

questions.”

Finally, the turn of a lock, and the door opened.

Veronica was just as she’d been the last time. Long, tangled hair. Loose

clothing hanging from her body. She was barefoot this time, and her skin

glistened from the heat that was coming from the fireplace.

“It’s hot in here,” she said. But she stepped aside and let Nic enter.

“Damn fire either won’t stay burning and I freeze my ass off, or gets hot as hell.”

Nic smiled. “Thanks for letting me in.”

“At your peril.” V laughed then. “Want some tea?”

“At your peril.” V laughed then. “Want some tea?”

Nic wasn’t sure if she was serious. The place had to be eighty degrees. The

windows were closed, and Nic wondered why she didn’t just open one, even a

sliver, to let in the cool air.

“No thanks,” Nic said after V went to a kettle and poured hot water into a

cup with a tea strainer. When she returned, she moved a leather jacket from the back of a chair, then pulled out the chair for Nic to sit. The table was just as cluttered as last time.

Day seventeen

“Did you make that?” Nic asked. She motioned to the jacket which now lay

Nic stopped just beyond the clearing where she could see Veronica

on top of a pile of fabric.

Hollander’s house. The trees were thicker here, evergreens mixing in with the V shook her head. “Just doing a repair. Ripped pocket. I’d be rolling in

pines and oaks, filling up the sky. The house seemed dark inside but smoke

dough if I could make clothes like that.”

billowed from a chimney. She could smell the wood burning even with the

“So,” V said quickly after. “Is this about Daisy again?”

windows closed.

“I hope that’s all right.”

A text broke through the silence. It was Reyes.

V titled her head, studying Nic closer now. “I guess we’ll find out. What

At the station with Watkins. Will sort everything

more do you want to know?”

out. Heading back to see you.

“I was hoping you had some pictures of her. I couldn’t find anything on the

Nic stared at it, remembering she had just seen Watkins leaving town—back Internet. She doesn’t use social media, at least not under her real name. Images to the casino. And she had just driven past the police station. Reyes’s car had not come up, but I have no idea which one is her.”

been there.

V nodded. “You want to know how much you look like her.”

Something about this was all wrong.

Nic hadn’t expected that. Booth had told her she reminded him of his lost

She got out of the car and walked to the same door she’d been to the day

love, but Kurt had not seen it.

before, with Kurt Kent.

“Do I?” Nic asked. If anyone would know, it would be her sister.

She knocked, waited. She could hear the creaking of floorboards inside,

V shrugged. “Some,” she said. “But you can judge for yourself.”

someone walking. Maybe deciding whether to let her in. She was alone this time.

She got up and walked to the small hallway which was lined with three

And she’d been asking questions about the past that had made Veronica

doors. She opened one and disappeared, then returned with a cardboard box. She uncomfortable.

needed both arms to carry it.

“Hello?” Nic called out. She knocked again.

She placed it on the small piece of table that was clear just in front of Nic.

“It’s Nicole Clarke. From the other day—with Kurt? I just have a few more

“We didn’t exactly do family portraits. We didn’t even have phones until we

questions.”

could pay for them ourselves, and believe me, they were the shittiest little Finally, the turn of a lock, and the door opened.

phones you could buy. We weren’t snapping selfies and posting them on those

Veronica was just as she’d been the last time. Long, tangled hair. Loose

sites they have. Facebook, right? I listen to the news.”

clothing hanging from her body. She was barefoot this time, and her skin

“So what’s in the box?” Nic asked.

glistened from the heat that was coming from the fireplace.

“Daisy’s things. Junk, mostly. But it’s not my place to throw it out.”

“It’s hot in here,” she said. But she stepped aside and let Nic enter.

Nic stood up so she could see over the top of the box. “Can I look?” she

“Damn fire either won’t stay burning and I freeze my ass off, or gets hot as asked.

hell.”

“I didn’t haul it out here for my health.”

Nic smiled. “Thanks for letting me in.”

V watched, sipping her tea, as Nic opened the folded cardboard flaps. A

“At your peril.” V laughed then. “Want some tea?”

musty smell escaped in a quick burst, then dissipated. This box hadn’t been

“At your peril.” V laughed then. “Want some tea?”

musty smell escaped in a quick burst, then dissipated. This box hadn’t been

Nic wasn’t sure if she was serious. The place had to be eighty degrees. The

opened in many years.

windows were closed, and Nic wondered why she didn’t just open one, even a

V was right—there was some clothing, which Nic carefully removed and

sliver, to let in the cool air.

placed on the chair where she’d been sitting. A concert T-shirt, a pair of

“No thanks,” Nic said after V went to a kettle and poured hot water into a

sequined jean shorts. Beat-up wedge sandals, one with a broken strap.

cup with a tea strainer. When she returned, she moved a leather jacket from the

“See what I mean?” V asked. “Look at that stuff—crap, right?”

back of a chair, then pulled out the chair for Nic to sit. The table was just as Nic pulled out more things from the box, costume jewelry, a makeup bag, a

cluttered as last time.

stuffed bear. And then something more promising.

“Did you make that?” Nic asked. She motioned to the jacket which now lay

“What’s this?” Nic asked.

on top of a pile of fabric.

V looked at the small book Nic was holding. On the cover was a photo of

V shook her head. “Just doing a repair. Ripped pocket. I’d be rolling in

about fifty girls, posing in rows by a lake.

dough if I could make clothes like that.”

“That’s from the fancy camp she went to one summer. The chief helped her

“So,” V said quickly after. “Is this about Daisy again?”

get a scholarship for it. She was happy as a pig in shit, that girl. And don’t think

“I hope that’s all right.”

for one second she didn’t rub all our faces in it.” V shook her head from side to V titled her head, studying Nic closer now. “I guess we’ll find out. What

side. “She thought she was something else, getting out of Hastings, hobnobbing more do you want to know?”

with rich girls from fancy schools.”

“I was hoping you had some pictures of her. I couldn’t find anything on the

Nic read the small print at the bottom of the photo. Woodstock Summer for Internet. She doesn’t use social media, at least not under her real name. Images the Gifted. The date was from twelve years ago.

come up, but I have no idea which one is her.”

The girls were crowded together, all of them smiling ear to ear. Long hair.

V nodded. “You want to know how much you look like her.”

Straight teeth. Shorts, tank tops, flip-flops. Nic could have been one of those Nic hadn’t expected that. Booth had told her she reminded him of his lost

girls at that age. It was only a few years back for her. The memory of it grabbed love, but Kurt had not seen it.

hold of her for a fleeting, but brutal, moment.

“Do I?” Nic asked. If anyone would know, it would be her sister.

“You all right?” V asked.

V shrugged. “Some,” she said. “But you can judge for yourself.”

“Yeah.” Nic looked up, smiled sadly.

She got up and walked to the small hallway which was lined with three

“They’re young, aren’t they? But don’t let them fool you. Those girls would

doors. She opened one and disappeared, then returned with a cardboard box. She eat you for breakfast.”

needed both arms to carry it.

No kidding, Nic thought. Her school had been full of girls like that. Not one She placed it on the small piece of table that was clear just in front of Nic.

of these “friends” had stuck around after she’d fallen off the social ladder. And it

“We didn’t exactly do family portraits. We didn’t even have phones until we had not been gradual. The day she was expelled was the day her phone stopped could pay for them ourselves, and believe me, they were the shittiest little ringing or buzzing or pinging. It was as though she’d caught a deadly virus. A phones you could buy. We weren’t snapping selfies and posting them on those

social virus that no one wanted to catch. And the strange thing was, she had sites they have. Facebook, right? I listen to the news.”

welcomed it. Still, it made her wonder how Daisy had survived them. Maybe she

“So what’s in the box?” Nic asked.

was good at pretending to be like them—maybe she’d just taken it, knowing she

“Daisy’s things. Junk, mostly. But it’s not my place to throw it out.”

was going to get out of Hastings and be just like them one day. Maybe it ignited Nic stood up so she could see over the top of the box. “Can I look?” she

a fire.

asked.

Nic scanned the faces in the picture but she couldn’t pick out anyone who

“I didn’t haul it out here for my health.”

looked particularly like her. She moved closer to V and placed the book in front V watched, sipping her tea, as Nic opened the folded cardboard flaps. A

of her, next to the tea.

musty smell escaped in a quick burst, then dissipated. This box hadn’t been

of her, next to the tea.

musty smell escaped in a quick burst, then dissipated. This box hadn’t been

“Which one is Daisy?”

opened in many years.

V opened the book past the first page. “They each have a page I think. Like a V was right—there was some clothing, which Nic carefully removed and

yearbook. I remember when she came back late that summer and made us all

placed on the chair where she’d been sitting. A concert T-shirt, a pair of

look at it.”

sequined jean shorts. Beat-up wedge sandals, one with a broken strap.

She turned a page to a dark-haired girl from Boston. “Look at this one—

“See what I mean?” V asked. “Look at that stuff—crap, right?”

Cindy Coughlin. She attends The Milton Academy and rides horses.” V said the Nic pulled out more things from the box, costume jewelry, a makeup bag, a last part in a mocking tone. She turned more pages, stopping at others, reading stuffed bear. And then something more promising.

their profiles with that same tone, only with increasing anger.

“What’s this?” Nic asked.

Finally, she stopped—at the page for Daisy Alice Hollander.

V looked at the small book Nic was holding. On the cover was a photo of

“There she is!” V said. “Look what she wrote— attends Hastings High

about fifty girls, posing in rows by a lake.

School and studies ballet. What a joke! She never took a ballet class her whole

“That’s from the fancy camp she went to one summer. The chief helped her life.”

get a scholarship for it. She was happy as a pig in shit, that girl. And don’t think Nic leaned in closer, taking in the face of the girl who’d disappeared ten

for one second she didn’t rub all our faces in it.” V shook her head from side to years ago. Long blond hair. Big white smile. Skinny arms sticking out of her side. “She thought she was something else, getting out of Hastings, hobnobbing shirt.

with rich girls from fancy schools.”

“Well? What do you think? Are you looking in a mirror or not?” V asked.

“I don’t know,” Nic said. “Am I?”

“It’s all in the eye of the beholder,” V answered. Then she handed the book

The girls were crowded together, all of them smiling ear to ear. Long hair.

to Nic and got up from her chair. “Here—sit down, look through the rest of it.

Straight teeth. Shorts, tank tops, flip-flops. Nic could have been one of those There’s other pictures in there—small groups of them out on the lake, by the girls at that age. It was only a few years back for her. The memory of it grabbed fire. Camp shit. I think Daisy is in some of them.”

hold of her for a fleeting, but brutal, moment.

V took her teacup to the sink and started washing dishes. Nic turned the

“You all right?” V asked.

pages, one after the other, scanning faces of girls. Daisy was in several of them,

“Yeah.” Nic looked up, smiled sadly.

front and center, posing, smiling. She was beautiful and that was the last word

“They’re young, aren’t they? But don’t let them fool you. Those girls would Nic would use to describe herself. Though there was a time when she might have eat you for breakfast.”

felt that way. When she might have felt the way Daisy seemed to in these

pictures—talented and beautiful, with the world at her feet.

of these “friends” had stuck around after she’d fallen off the social ladder. And it At the very front of the book were headshots of the teachers and counselors.

At the very back, pictures of staff. Nic started to skim them quickly, but then found herself slowing down. The photos were small and faded. The features of the people were hard to distinguish. In the kitchen. By the boathouse. In the rec welcomed it. Still, it made her wonder how Daisy had survived them. Maybe she room. They caught her attention at first because they had faces of men and women. The campers were all girls. But the staff—especially in the kitchen—

included men, and of all ages.

She was about to turn a page when she stopped. Cold.

Nic scanned the faces in the picture but she couldn’t pick out anyone who

She leaned in closer, not believing her eyes. But then she could not deny

looked particularly like her. She moved closer to V and placed the book in front them. The cheekbones. The chin. The hairline. Even the smile on his face.

of her, next to the tea.

She looked up at V, still at the sink, keeping busy with her dishes.

of her, next to the tea.

She looked up at V, still at the sink, keeping busy with her dishes.

“Which one is Daisy?”

“Veronica?” she said. The woman turned. Nic started to ask the question that V opened the book past the first page. “They each have a page I think. Like a was dying to come out. But then she pulled it back, acutely aware now of where yearbook. I remember when she came back late that summer and made us all

she was. Alone with this stranger in the middle of a forest. One way in and one look at it.”

way out. And no one knew she was here.

V turned around. “What? You find something?” she asked.

Nic got up and managed a warm smile.

“No. I just realized I’m late to meet someone.”

V stepped away from the sink, a look of doubt on her face.

Finally, she stopped—at the page for Daisy Alice Hollander.

“What did you find in there?” She took a step closer. Nic put the book back

in the box.

“Nothing. I should go.”

Nic walked quickly to the door. V didn’t follow.

Nic leaned in closer, taking in the face of the girl who’d disappeared ten

“Thanks,” Nic said, pulling it open, stepping outside.

years ago. Long blond hair. Big white smile. Skinny arms sticking out of her She didn’t look back as she closed the door behind her. Then she walked to

shirt.

the car, quickly, sucking in the cool air, turning around, then driving through the

“Well? What do you think? Are you looking in a mirror or not?” V asked.

woods, back to the main roads.

“I don’t know,” Nic said. “Am I?”

And thinking about the face she’d just seen in that book.

“It’s all in the eye of the beholder,” V answered. Then she handed the book

The face of Jared Reyes.

to Nic and got up from her chair. “Here—sit down, look through the rest of it.

There’s other pictures in there—small groups of them out on the lake, by the fire. Camp shit. I think Daisy is in some of them.”

V took her teacup to the sink and started washing dishes. Nic turned the

pages, one after the other, scanning faces of girls. Daisy was in several of them, front and center, posing, smiling. She was beautiful and that was the last word Nic would use to describe herself. Though there was a time when she might have felt that way. When she might have felt the way Daisy seemed to in these

pictures—talented and beautiful, with the world at her feet.

At the very front of the book were headshots of the teachers and counselors.

At the very back, pictures of staff. Nic started to skim them quickly, but then found herself slowing down. The photos were small and faded. The features of the people were hard to distinguish. In the kitchen. By the boathouse. In the rec room. They caught her attention at first because they had faces of men and

women. The campers were all girls. But the staff—especially in the kitchen—

included men, and of all ages.

She was about to turn a page when she stopped. Cold.

She leaned in closer, not believing her eyes. But then she could not deny

them. The cheekbones. The chin. The hairline. Even the smile on his face.

She looked up at V, still at the sink, keeping busy with her dishes.

She looked up at V, still at the sink, keeping busy with her dishes.

“Veronica?” she said. The woman turned. Nic started to ask the question that was dying to come out. But then she pulled it back, acutely aware now of where she was. Alone with this stranger in the middle of a forest. One way in and one way out. And no one knew she was here.

V turned around. “What? You find something?” she asked.

Nic got up and managed a warm smile.

“No. I just realized I’m late to meet someone.”

V stepped away from the sink, a look of doubt on her face.

“What did you find in there?” She took a step closer. Nic put the book back

in the box.

“Nothing. I should go.”

Nic walked quickly to the door. V didn’t follow.

“Thanks,” Nic said, pulling it open, stepping outside.

She didn’t look back as she closed the door behind her. Then she walked to

the car, quickly, sucking in the cool air, turning around, then driving through the woods, back to the main roads.

And thinking about the face she’d just seen in that book.

The face of Jared Reyes.

Chapter Forty-three

Day eighteen

It took most of the night to grind the seeds. The amygdalin is beneath the

hard shell. Alice made soup for dinner. I slid the spoon under my leg when she went to the kitchen to get more crackers. When she returned, I drank the soup from the bowl, slurping it loudly. That’s bad manners! she scolded me, but it made her forget about the spoon when she cleared our dishes.

I still had the knife from when we made the sandwiches. Now I had one

spoon, which I bent at the top. One spoon and over two hundred seeds. I lay

them in the sink, ten or so at a time. I pressed both thumbs into the head of the spoon, twisting and pressing at once, into the seeds. Grinding them between the metal and the porcelain. I collected the mash in a cup, sifting out as many of the hard shells which broke into larger pieces but would not grind.

Thumbs aching, cramping. Arms begging for rest. I did not stop grinding

those seeds, making the mash, until I had a small cupful.

I pray now, in the morning light, that it will be enough to make him sick. The amount of amygdalin, and then cyanide, depends on the type of apple and how

much evaporates before it can be ingested. It depends on his weight and how

quickly he consumes it. There are so many factors. It is not likely he will die.

Not at all. But I don’t need him to die.

I hear the car on the gravel outside. I look at Alice and she looks at me.

Maybe I am misreading her. We are soldiers about to enter a field of combat.

Alice and I have been very busy this morning. First, we cleaned up the

pillow beds where we slept on the floor together, the bars between us.

Then, Alice brought the flour and sugar, the baking soda, butter, milk, and

eggs. She brought, too, a metal bowl, measuring cup, and mixing spoon. She

brought all of it, and with Dolly watching us, I was the best mommy—showing

her how to make muffins.

The apples were tricky. There was not much of them that wasn’t rotten. I

salvaged what I could and left it in the bath tub. I flushed the rest down the toilet

—a little at a time.

I knew the recipe by heart. Muffins are muffins when it comes down to it.

I knew the recipe by heart. Muffins are muffins when it comes down to it.

Alice measured and mixed. We laughed and pretended to be having fun. She

spilled the flour. I went to the bathroom to get a towel. And in the towel were the bits of apple I was able to save. I slid them into the bowl with my back to the camera, to Dolly and her watching eyes. Then I wiped the flour from the floor.

I sent her to the kitchen to get a wet sponge. And when she was gone, I filled the muffin tins.

* * *

Day eighteen

When they were baked, we put frosting we made from powdered sugar just

on one special muffin—the one in the middle on the edge of the tin with a brown stain. I told her it would make Mick feel special. Like we cared about him.

And then we sat and did Alice’s homework. We sat and played with the

dolls. We sat and waited.

When the front door finally opened, it closed again with a loud bang. His

I still had the knife from when we made the sandwiches. Now I had one

footsteps were heavy, pounding the floor. He walked past us without saying a spoon, which I bent at the top. One spoon and over two hundred seeds. I lay

word. Not to Alice. Not to me. He went to his room in the back of the house and them in the sink, ten or so at a time. I pressed both thumbs into the head of the slammed that door as well.

spoon, twisting and pressing at once, into the seeds. Grinding them between the We said nothing, Alice and I. We pretended not to notice him, though my

metal and the porcelain. I collected the mash in a cup, sifting out as many of the heart was heavy and light all at once.

hard shells which broke into larger pieces but would not grind.

Heavy because he needed to be happy and calm and eat his muffin like a

Thumbs aching, cramping. Arms begging for rest. I did not stop grinding

good boy.

those seeds, making the mash, until I had a small cupful.

Light because he was angry. And that meant something had gone wrong with

I pray now, in the morning light, that it will be enough to make him sick. TheNicole.

amount of amygdalin, and then cyanide, depends on the type of apple and how

Good Lord, is it terrible? Is it twisted that I feel a laugh rise inside my chest much evaporates before it can be ingested. It depends on his weight and how

as I picture my strong-willed, tortured daughter sending him away after an

quickly he consumes it. There are so many factors. It is not likely he will die.

unfortunate night? I am filled with joy where there had once been despair that Not at all. But I don’t need him to die.

my daughter uses men to fill the hollow spaces she spoke of in therapy.

I thought it would kill her, this behavior. But now I think it might just have saved her.

Alice and I have been very busy this morning. First, we cleaned up the

The door opens again and Mick emerges. How different he seems to me,

pillow beds where we slept on the floor together, the bars between us.

now that I see his pathetic, broken heart.

Then, Alice brought the flour and sugar, the baking soda, butter, milk, and

Alice rises slowly and walks beside him to the kitchen. I told her not to

eggs. She brought, too, a metal bowl, measuring cup, and mixing spoon. She

mention the apples. He could grow angry that she went outside to get them. I brought all of it, and with Dolly watching us, I was the best mommy—showing told her to say that we made special muffins, with special ingredients.

her how to make muffins.

I hear him getting a mug—the cupboard opening, the ceramic clanking as he

The apples were tricky. There was not much of them that wasn’t rotten. I

pulls one out. I close my eyes and picture him pouring his coffee. The coffee in salvaged what I could and left it in the bath tub. I flushed the rest down the toilet the coffee maker. The one with the white filter, which we filled with coffee and

—a little at a time.

turned on for him so he would not have to wait.

I knew the recipe by heart. Muffins are muffins when it comes down to it.

I showed Alice how to do this as well. I have been a very, very good mommy

I knew the recipe by heart. Muffins are muffins when it comes down to it.

I showed Alice how to do this as well. I have been a very, very good mommy

Alice measured and mixed. We laughed and pretended to be having fun. She

today.

spilled the flour. I went to the bathroom to get a towel. And in the towel were the Moments later, Alice walks quickly back to my room. Sad Face is here and

bits of apple I was able to save. I slid them into the bowl with my back to the she holds back tears.

camera, to Dolly and her watching eyes. Then I wiped the flour from the floor.

“What?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”

I sent her to the kitchen to get a wet sponge. And when she was gone, I filled

“He won’t eat the muffin. He said he’s not hungry. He said he had a very bad the muffin tins.

night and he just wants to drink his coffee and be left alone to make his phone

* * *

calls.”

When they were baked, we put frosting we made from powdered sugar just

I sit on the floor and Alice sits as well. She is curious now that my face does on one special muffin—the one in the middle on the edge of the tin with a brown not grow sad. Or disappointed.

stain. I told her it would make Mick feel special. Like we cared about him.

We worked hard on those muffins.

And then we sat and did Alice’s homework. We sat and played with the

“It’s okay,” I tell her.

dolls. We sat and waited.

Now she is confused. “It is?” she asks.

When the front door finally opened, it closed again with a loud bang. His

Then I ask her a question. “Is he drinking the coffee? The coffee that we

footsteps were heavy, pounding the floor. He walked past us without saying a made?”

word. Not to Alice. Not to me. He went to his room in the back of the house and She nods. “Yes. In the big cup.”

slammed that door as well.

And I can’t hold back my smile.

We said nothing, Alice and I. We pretended not to notice him, though my

heart was heavy and light all at once.

Heavy because he needed to be happy and calm and eat his muffin like a

good boy.

Light because he was angry. And that meant something had gone wrong with

Nicole.

Good Lord, is it terrible? Is it twisted that I feel a laugh rise inside my chest as I picture my strong-willed, tortured daughter sending him away after an

unfortunate night? I am filled with joy where there had once been despair that my daughter uses men to fill the hollow spaces she spoke of in therapy.

I thought it would kill her, this behavior. But now I think it might just have saved her.

The door opens again and Mick emerges. How different he seems to me,

now that I see his pathetic, broken heart.

I hear him getting a mug—the cupboard opening, the ceramic clanking as he

pulls one out. I close my eyes and picture him pouring his coffee. The coffee in the coffee maker. The one with the white filter, which we filled with coffee and turned on for him so he would not have to wait.

I showed Alice how to do this as well. I have been a very, very good mommy

I showed Alice how to do this as well. I have been a very, very good mommy today.

Moments later, Alice walks quickly back to my room. Sad Face is here and

she holds back tears.

“What?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”

“He won’t eat the muffin. He said he’s not hungry. He said he had a very bad night and he just wants to drink his coffee and be left alone to make his phone calls.”

I sit on the floor and Alice sits as well. She is curious now that my face does not grow sad. Or disappointed.

We worked hard on those muffins.

“It’s okay,” I tell her.

Now she is confused. “It is?” she asks.

Then I ask her a question. “Is he drinking the coffee? The coffee that we

made?”

She nods. “Yes. In the big cup.”

And I can’t hold back my smile.

Chapter Forty-four

Day eighteen

Reyes had been at the casino, parked in the back.

Jared Reyes. The boy from the kitchen. The boy who knew Daisy Hollander

before he’d even stepped foot in Hastings.

Jared Reyes. The man who’d lied to her—about everything, it seemed.

The house on Abel Hill Lane—he’d known where the lock was, and then

chained the gate closed. Edith Moore—he’d given her the answer to the question about Nic’s phone number, then failed to ask her about the small black letters on her mother’s purse and how she’d been able to see them. And he’d claimed not to know Daisy Hollander well, said he didn’t see a resemblance between her and Nic.

It all made sense now, why he’d lured Nic into bed. It was just as he’d said—

how people try to replace the ones they loved with replicas.

* * *

His messages had not stopped all day and all night and she’d had a bad

feeling—one she was now glad she’d heeded. It had made her stop before she’d pulled into the casino. It had made her look for his car.

She’d backed up, turned the car around, and started to drive. It had been late, but she’d needed to call her father.

“Daddy,” she’d said, her voice trembling. She hadn’t called him that for

years. Not since she was a little girl.

“Nicole? My God! What’s wrong?”

“Are you having an affair? Just tell me. I have to know the truth. Why did

you lie to me about Mom’s note?”

There’d been a long pause, and then, “Pull over, Nic—I can hear the car. Pull over before you get in an accident.”

Nic had pulled to the curb. Put the car in park. Then she’d let go, sobbing

into the phone. Screaming. “Tell me the truth!”

“I will, I promise. Just calm down. Take a breath. Where are you?”

Nic had looked up. She’d been on Route 7, heading north, back toward

Hastings.

Hastings.

“I’m still here,” she’d said.

“You said you were coming home! Jesus, Nic—you promised. I’m coming

to get you. I can get the next flight out . . .”

“I don’t need you to come get me. I need you to tell me the truth!”

“No, okay. The answer is no. I’m not having an affair.”

“But the late nights, the way you stopped looking at her . . . I was so sure. I told her! I told her the morning she left!”

Day eighteen

“Oh, Nicole—no, no—this is not about you. It doesn’t matter what you told

Reyes had been at the casino, parked in the back.

your mother that morning. She already knew the truth.”

Jared Reyes. The boy from the kitchen. The boy who knew Daisy Hollander

“What truth, Daddy? What did she know?”

before he’d even stepped foot in Hastings.

Another pause. A breath.

Jared Reyes. The man who’d lied to her—about everything, it seemed.

“That I couldn’t find my love for her.”

The house on Abel Hill Lane—he’d known where the lock was, and then

“But there were charges—at hotels . . .”

chained the gate closed. Edith Moore—he’d given her the answer to the question

“Please, Nicole. This is so hard for me to say. Sometimes I just couldn’t

about Nic’s phone number, then failed to ask her about the small black letters on come home. But there were no hotels. I never made any charges.”

her mother’s purse and how she’d been able to see them. And he’d claimed not It had sounded crazy, but yet Nic understood completely. She had stayed out

to know Daisy Hollander well, said he didn’t see a resemblance between her and all night when she could.

Nic.

But then—

It all made sense now, why he’d lured Nic into bed. It was just as he’d said—

“Why were you in West Cornwall the day she disappeared. I know about the

how people try to replace the ones they loved with replicas.

charge.”

* * *

His voice had changed suddenly. “What are you talking about? I was at work

His messages had not stopped all day and all night and she’d had a bad

that night and then I went home. Went right to bed. You can ask anyone at the feeling—one she was now glad she’d heeded. It had made her stop before she’d office . . . what is this about? What charge did you find?”

pulled into the casino. It had made her look for his car.

Reyes. Another lie? But why? How could she not have seen it? Or felt it?

She’d backed up, turned the car around, and started to drive. It had been late, The thought had disgusted her.

but she’d needed to call her father.

“Promise me, Daddy. Promise me you don’t know where she is. On my life.

“Daddy,” she’d said, her voice trembling. She hadn’t called him that for

On Evan’s life. Promise me right now.”

years. Not since she was a little girl.

* * *

“Nicole? My God! What’s wrong?”

Thirty miles north of Hastings, Nic had found a shopping strip. It had

“Are you having an affair? Just tell me. I have to know the truth. Why did

employee parking in the back, hidden from the road.

you lie to me about Mom’s note?”

Nic had climbed in the back seat and laid down on her side, curled in a tight There’d been a long pause, and then, “Pull over, Nic—I can hear the car. Pullball like a child. She’d closed her eyes, and heard her father’s voice in her head.

over before you get in an accident.”

Over and over.

Nic had pulled to the curb. Put the car in park. Then she’d let go, sobbing

I promise.

into the phone. Screaming. “Tell me the truth!”

* * *

“I will, I promise. Just calm down. Take a breath. Where are you?”

It was morning now, and she called Chief Watkins. He came within the hour.

Nic had looked up. She’d been on Route 7, heading north, back toward

He parked his truck two spaces over, the gray Silverado, then got out and walked Hastings.

to the blue Audi.

Hastings.

to the blue Audi.

“I’m still here,” she’d said.

Nic turned on the ignition and opened the window.

“You said you were coming home! Jesus, Nic—you promised. I’m coming

“Are you okay?” Watkins asked.

to get you. I can get the next flight out . . .”

Nic unlocked the door. “Can you get in?”

“I don’t need you to come get me. I need you to tell me the truth!”

Chief Watkins went back to his truck, then returned with two Styrofoam

“No, okay. The answer is no. I’m not having an affair.”

cups. He opened the door to the Audi and climbed into the passenger seat. He

“But the late nights, the way you stopped looking at her . . . I was so sure. I wore the same uniform as the day Nic had returned to Hastings—just three days told her! I told her the morning she left!”

ago. Three days. So much had happened.

“Oh, Nicole—no, no—this is not about you. It doesn’t matter what you told

“Here,” he said, handing Nic a cup of coffee.

your mother that morning. She already knew the truth.”

“What’s going on?”

“What truth, Daddy? What did she know?”

Nic wiped her eyes which were sticky with exhaustion. She breathed in the

Another pause. A breath.

smell of the coffee. Then took a long sip.

“That I couldn’t find my love for her.”

“Thanks for coming. I’m sorry if I was cryptic.”

“But there were charges—at hotels . . .”

Watkins shrugged. Drank his coffee. “That’s one way to describe it.”

“Please, Nicole. This is so hard for me to say. Sometimes I just couldn’t

Nic had told him where she was and that she needed to see him. She’d asked

come home. But there were no hotels. I never made any charges.”

him to tell no one.

It had sounded crazy, but yet Nic understood completely. She had stayed out

She looked straight at him now. “I’m going to ask you some questions and

all night when she could.

they’re going to sound really strange but can you try to just answer them without But then—

asking me why or what for . . .”

“Why were you in West Cornwall the day she disappeared. I know about the

Watkins held out his hand gently as though he could magically slow down

charge.”

her racing mind and the words that were pouring from her mouth.

His voice had changed suddenly. “What are you talking about? I was at work

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll answer. Just take it easy. You seem a little wired.”

that night and then I went home. Went right to bed. You can ask anyone at the Nic started with the little ones.

office . . . what is this about? What charge did you find?”

“Did you know Daisy Hollander?”

Watkins’s face changed abruptly. She could see the questions begging to

come out, but he held them back just as he’d promised.

“Promise me, Daddy. Promise me you don’t know where she is. On my life.

“Yes,” he answered.

On Evan’s life. Promise me right now.”

“Did you get her a scholarship to a camp in Woodstock?”

* * *

“Yes.”

Thirty miles north of Hastings, Nic had found a shopping strip. It had

“Did you drive her out of town the day she left and never came back?”

employee parking in the back, hidden from the road.

Now a long pause. But then an answer. “No.”

Nic had climbed in the back seat and laid down on her side, curled in a tight Nic was surprised. “You didn’t drive her to Boston?”

ball like a child. She’d closed her eyes, and heard her father’s voice in her head.

Watkins exhaled loudly. Hung his head.

Over and over.

“You’ve been talking to crazy Roger Booth.”

“Yes,” Nic answered.

* * *

“Okay—truth is, I was going to drive her to a train station, Hartford, most

It was morning now, and she called Chief Watkins. He came within the hour. likely. But then she said she had a ride.”

He parked his truck two spaces over, the gray Silverado, then got out and walked

“Did she say who it was?”

to the blue Audi.

“Did she say who it was?”

to the blue Audi.

Another pause.

Nic turned on the ignition and opened the window.

“Do you know? Tell me if you know.”

“Are you okay?” Watkins asked.

Watkins answered. Reluctantly.

Nic unlocked the door. “Can you get in?”

“Officer Reyes. Look, I know he lies about that. But I would have lied too.

Chief Watkins went back to his truck, then returned with two Styrofoam

Daisy was desperate to get away from Booth. The only reason Reyes took her

cups. He opened the door to the Audi and climbed into the passenger seat. He and not me was because he had the time to take her all the way to Boston that wore the same uniform as the day Nic had returned to Hastings—just three days day.”

ago. Three days. So much had happened.

“I don’t get it. Booth doesn’t seem like a bad guy.”

“Here,” he said, handing Nic a cup of coffee.

“He’s not—it’s just that she wanted a different life. And after the childhood

“What’s going on?”

she endured, and the gifts she had—she was brilliant, you know. And pretty. She Nic wiped her eyes which were sticky with exhaustion. She breathed in the

was the only one of that lot, those crazy Hollanders, who had a chance. Booth smell of the coffee. Then took a long sip.

would have pestered her for the rest of her life. You think he’d ever get a girl

“Thanks for coming. I’m sorry if I was cryptic.”

like that again?”

Watkins shrugged. Drank his coffee. “That’s one way to describe it.”

Nic let this sink in. Reyes knew Daisy from that camp. But had Daisy known

Nic had told him where she was and that she needed to see him. She’d asked Reyes then? Was it a coincidence that he moved here the following year?

him to tell no one.

Watkins was the one who’d hired Reyes. Saved him from his guilt after he

She looked straight at him now. “I’m going to ask you some questions and

shot that unarmed man. The suicide by cop.

they’re going to sound really strange but can you try to just answer them without Or did he?

asking me why or what for . . .”

“Tell me what you know about Reyes,” Nic asked.

Watkins held out his hand gently as though he could magically slow down

Watkins rattled off the same set of facts Reyes had given Nic the night she

her racing mind and the words that were pouring from her mouth.

drank with him and let him into her room. Into her bed. The thought made her

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll answer. Just take it easy. You seem a little wired.”

shudder.

Nic started with the little ones.

It was the exact same story—the shooting in Worcester, how Reyes had quit

“Did you know Daisy Hollander?”

his job, fallen apart. How he’d applied for an opening in Hastings and Watkins Watkins’s face changed abruptly. She could see the questions begging to

had hired him, pieced him back together.

come out, but he held them back just as he’d promised.

Only now, a new fact—he’d arrived three months after Daisy Hollander went

“Yes,” he answered.

to that camp.

“Did you get her a scholarship to a camp in Woodstock?”

Nic didn’t tell him what she’d seen in that yearbook. But she pressed on with

“Yes.”

her questions about Daisy and Reyes.

“Did you drive her out of town the day she left and never came back?”

“Was there anything between them? Maybe something Roger Booth didn’t

Now a long pause. But then an answer. “No.”

know about?”

Nic was surprised. “You didn’t drive her to Boston?”

“Reyes? No way. Never saw them together. Daisy didn’t give any man the

Watkins exhaled loudly. Hung his head.

time of day unless he could do something for her. She had gifts but she was also

“You’ve been talking to crazy Roger Booth.”

wily as hell. A survivor, you know?”

“Yes,” Nic answered.

“And what about you?”

“Okay—truth is, I was going to drive her to a train station, Hartford, most

“Me? Me and Daisy?” Watkins laughed then. “Look, I have my vices,

likely. But then she said she had a ride.”

especially since my wife died. But she could have been my daughter. I’m not

“Did she say who it was?”

one of those creeps.”

“Did she say who it was?”

one of those creeps.”

Another pause.

Nic thought about what she’d seen in the parking lot of the casino. The way

“Do you know? Tell me if you know.”

he’d treated that prostitute. He may not be one of those creeps, but he was

Watkins answered. Reluctantly.

something.

“Officer Reyes. Look, I know he lies about that. But I would have lied too.

She moved on.

Daisy was desperate to get away from Booth. The only reason Reyes took her

“The taillight on your truck.”

and not me was because he had the time to take her all the way to Boston that

“What about it?”

day.”

“You fixed it six days ago.”

“I don’t get it. Booth doesn’t seem like a bad guy.”

“I did.”

“He’s not—it’s just that she wanted a different life. And after the childhood

“How long was it out?”

she endured, and the gifts she had—she was brilliant, you know. And pretty. She

“Not a day before I fixed it. I’m the chief of police—can’t exactly go around was the only one of that lot, those crazy Hollanders, who had a chance. Booth with a broken taillight.”

would have pestered her for the rest of her life. You think he’d ever get a girl

“Broken cover and light bulb?”

like that again?”

“How would you know that?”

Nic let this sink in. Reyes knew Daisy from that camp. But had Daisy known

“Just tell me.”

Reyes then? Was it a coincidence that he moved here the following year?

“Okay. I walked out of the casino on a Thursday night, the way I always do,

Watkins was the one who’d hired Reyes. Saved him from his guilt after he

and someone had smashed the glass cover and the bulb. I figured it was some

shot that unarmed man. The suicide by cop.

drunkard who backed into me. The thing is, there was no other damage to the

Or did he?

car. You’d think maybe there’d be some scratches to the paint around the casing.

“Tell me what you know about Reyes,” Nic asked.

Anyway, I went to the auto body and they fixed it.”

Watkins rattled off the same set of facts Reyes had given Nic the night she

“The one in town?”

drank with him and let him into her room. Into her bed. The thought made her

“No. I use one up the road. Got a friend there. Why?”

shudder.

“So you didn’t order parts through the town? Charged to the department?”

It was the exact same story—the shooting in Worcester, how Reyes had quit

“Hell, no. That’s a sure way to get my ass fired. What is all this about—wait his job, fallen apart. How he’d applied for an opening in Hastings and Watkins a second, is this about that woman? The one who saw a pickup truck the night had hired him, pieced him back together.

your mother disappeared?”

Only now, a new fact—he’d arrived three months after Daisy Hollander went

Nic didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

to that camp.

“Just ask it, then. Ask the question you really want to ask.”

Nic didn’t tell him what she’d seen in that yearbook. But she pressed on with

“Okay,” Nic said. The words choked her at first, then exploded. “Did you see her questions about Daisy and Reyes.

my mother the night of the storm? Did you take her somewhere? Did you help

“Was there anything between them? Maybe something Roger Booth didn’t

her leave us? Did you do something else? Did you hurt her?”

know about?”

“Jesus Christ,” Watkins said. “I mean—Christ! No. No, no, no. A thousand,

“Reyes? No way. Never saw them together. Daisy didn’t give any man the

million times. No. How could you even think that?”

time of day unless he could do something for her. She had gifts but she was also Nic told him then about Edith Moore and the truck and the taillight and the

wily as hell. A survivor, you know?”

invoice Reyes had shown her. She told him about the house on Abel Hill Lane

“And what about you?”

and how Reyes had known about the lock and the chains. And she told him

“Me? Me and Daisy?” Watkins laughed then. “Look, I have my vices,

about the fence that backed up to the inn and how there was a hole someone had especially since my wife died. But she could have been my daughter. I’m not

tried to cut open. Finally, she told him about Edith Moore, or Bickman, and how one of those creeps.”

tried to cut open. Finally, she told him about Edith Moore, or Bickman, and how one of those creeps.”

she knew Kurt Kent and how he met with her the day after she came back to

Nic thought about what she’d seen in the parking lot of the casino. The way Hastings and told the story about the pickup truck.

he’d treated that prostitute. He may not be one of those creeps, but he was

When she was finished, Watkins stared at her for a long moment. Thinking.

something.

But then—

She moved on.

“You should go home,” he said. “This is not for you to sort out anymore. No

“The taillight on your truck.”

wonder you asked me those questions. Everyone you turned to for help has been

“What about it?”

lying to you, or hiding things . . .”

“You fixed it six days ago.”

A wave of relief pushed out the adrenaline. She saw their faces; Reyes, Kurt

“I did.”

Kent. Even her father who had lied to her about the handwriting analysis. Then

“How long was it out?”

she saw Roger Booth.

“Not a day before I fixed it. I’m the chief of police—can’t exactly go around

“He’s the only one—Roger. The only one who hasn’t lied to me.”

with a broken taillight.”

Watkins drained what was left of his coffee in one giant swallow.

“Broken cover and light bulb?”

“Go home, Nicole. The hotel can send your things. I’ll check up on that

“How would you know that?”

house. Find out who takes care of the property. See if utilities are running. I’ll go

“Just tell me.”

there myself if I have to. And our friendly bartender—don’t you worry. I’m

“Okay. I walked out of the casino on a Thursday night, the way I always do, gonna find out what he has cooking with that waitress.”

and someone had smashed the glass cover and the bulb. I figured it was some

“And Reyes?” Nic asked.

drunkard who backed into me. The thing is, there was no other damage to the

Watkins shook his head from side to side. “That’s a tougher one. Can’t see

car. You’d think maybe there’d be some scratches to the paint around the casing. that he’s done anything wrong here. Don’t know about that invoice. Or Daisy.

Anyway, I went to the auto body and they fixed it.”

Let me think on it. He’s been a good cop. Kind of took him under my wing, you

“The one in town?”

know? I don’t want to accuse him if he’s done nothing wrong.”

“No. I use one up the road. Got a friend there. Why?”

Nic thought about the messages on her phone and his car parked outside the

“So you didn’t order parts through the town? Charged to the department?”

casino. She hadn’t told Watkins about any of that, and she didn’t want to. What

“Hell, no. That’s a sure way to get my ass fired. What is all this about—wait did it matter? She’d brought that on herself. It was humiliating.

a second, is this about that woman? The one who saw a pickup truck the night Watkins said goodbye. He got in his truck and drove away.

your mother disappeared?”

Nic checked her phone. Her father had called three more times.

Nic didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

She couldn’t sit here, do nothing. They all wanted her to leave, to go home.

“Just ask it, then. Ask the question you really want to ask.”

Then what? All she had were Watkins’s promises.

“Okay,” Nic said. The words choked her at first, then exploded. “Did you see No, she thought. No way.

my mother the night of the storm? Did you take her somewhere? Did you help

She sent one last text before heading back to Hastings. Another lie to her

her leave us? Did you do something else? Did you hurt her?”

father. I’ll be home tonight.

“Jesus Christ,” Watkins said. “I mean—Christ! No. No, no, no. A thousand,

million times. No. How could you even think that?”

Nic told him then about Edith Moore and the truck and the taillight and the

invoice Reyes had shown her. She told him about the house on Abel Hill Lane

and how Reyes had known about the lock and the chains. And she told him

about the fence that backed up to the inn and how there was a hole someone had tried to cut open. Finally, she told him about Edith Moore, or Bickman, and how

tried to cut open. Finally, she told him about Edith Moore, or Bickman, and how she knew Kurt Kent and how he met with her the day after she came back to

Hastings and told the story about the pickup truck.

When she was finished, Watkins stared at her for a long moment. Thinking.

But then—

“You should go home,” he said. “This is not for you to sort out anymore. No

wonder you asked me those questions. Everyone you turned to for help has been lying to you, or hiding things . . .”

A wave of relief pushed out the adrenaline. She saw their faces; Reyes, Kurt Kent. Even her father who had lied to her about the handwriting analysis. Then she saw Roger Booth.

“He’s the only one—Roger. The only one who hasn’t lied to me.”

Watkins drained what was left of his coffee in one giant swallow.

“Go home, Nicole. The hotel can send your things. I’ll check up on that

house. Find out who takes care of the property. See if utilities are running. I’ll go there myself if I have to. And our friendly bartender—don’t you worry. I’m

gonna find out what he has cooking with that waitress.”

“And Reyes?” Nic asked.

Watkins shook his head from side to side. “That’s a tougher one. Can’t see

that he’s done anything wrong here. Don’t know about that invoice. Or Daisy.

Let me think on it. He’s been a good cop. Kind of took him under my wing, you know? I don’t want to accuse him if he’s done nothing wrong.”

Nic thought about the messages on her phone and his car parked outside the

casino. She hadn’t told Watkins about any of that, and she didn’t want to. What did it matter? She’d brought that on herself. It was humiliating.

Watkins said goodbye. He got in his truck and drove away.

Nic checked her phone. Her father had called three more times.

She couldn’t sit here, do nothing. They all wanted her to leave, to go home.

Then what? All she had were Watkins’s promises.

No, she thought. No way.

She sent one last text before heading back to Hastings. Another lie to her

father. I’ll be home tonight.

Chapter Forty-five

Day eighteen

Coffee is bitter. On this morning it was bittersweet.

I hear him call out from the kitchen.

“Alice!”

She looks at me with a new face. I don’t give it a name. It is a face of terror.

She knew what I was doing. She helped me do it. Now it is real.

“Alice!”

I nod at her. I motion for her to go to him and she obeys me.

Yes, that’s right, I think. She obeys me.

He cries out now, in pain. In agony. And even as I try to feel joy that his

cells are suffocating, the sound of human suffering is difficult to take. My heart pounds against the walls of my chest. My vision blurs for just a second as my body adjusts to the fear that his cries provoke. As a member of the same herd, the instinct cannot be suppressed.

She comes back to me now, feet pounding the floor, voice calling out.

“He’s sick! He’s lying on the floor! He’s throwing up!”

I picture the vomit, his body trying to rid itself of the poison.

I try to calm her down. I lie. “He’s going to be all right. It will be a few hours, but he will be fine. You can bring him some towels and some water. Turn him on his back.”

The water will make more vomit. If he’s on his back, maybe he’ll choke on

the vomit. Maybe that will be what kills him.

“But he didn’t have the muffin! He didn’t eat it!” she cries out, and I can see that part of her was relieved when he didn’t eat it. She is ambivalent about my plan. She is ambivalent about him.

Which is why I didn’t waste the seeds on the muffin. I couldn’t trust Alice to give it to him.

“I know, sweetheart,” I say. “But he drank his coffee, didn’t he? All of it.”

Her eyes get big now as she remembers how I had her bring me the coffee

tin, and then the white filters, and then made her go back to the kitchen for a measuring spoon, the little yellow one that scoops out the coffee.

measuring spoon, the little yellow one that scoops out the coffee.

When she was gone, I put the apple seed mash beneath the filter, coating the plastic basin, then sprinkled some coffee into the filter and placed it on top.

When she returned, we measured more coffee from the little yellow scoop.

She cries harder. Terror Face. I give it a name now because I am no longer

reacting to it. To him, and his suffering.

“Alice,” I tell her. “Do as I say now. It’s very important. But then go and get that key.”

Day eighteen

She moves her head back and forth, no.

Coffee is bitter. On this morning it was bittersweet.

I reach through the bars and grab both of her arms.

I hear him call out from the kitchen.

“You will get the key and bring it to me. Do you know why?”

“Alice!”

She shakes her head with Terror Face. No, no, no.

She looks at me with a new face. I don’t give it a name. It is a face of terror.

“Because,” I tell her. “He knows you helped me make the coffee.”

She knew what I was doing. She helped me do it. Now it is real.

“Alice!”

I nod at her. I motion for her to go to him and she obeys me.

He cries out now, in pain. In agony. And even as I try to feel joy that his

cells are suffocating, the sound of human suffering is difficult to take. My heart pounds against the walls of my chest. My vision blurs for just a second as my body adjusts to the fear that his cries provoke. As a member of the same herd, the instinct cannot be suppressed.

She comes back to me now, feet pounding the floor, voice calling out.

“He’s sick! He’s lying on the floor! He’s throwing up!”

I picture the vomit, his body trying to rid itself of the poison.

I try to calm her down. I lie. “He’s going to be all right. It will be a few hours, but he will be fine. You can bring him some towels and some water. Turn him on his back.”

The water will make more vomit. If he’s on his back, maybe he’ll choke on

the vomit. Maybe that will be what kills him.

“But he didn’t have the muffin! He didn’t eat it!” she cries out, and I can see that part of her was relieved when he didn’t eat it. She is ambivalent about my plan. She is ambivalent about him.

Which is why I didn’t waste the seeds on the muffin. I couldn’t trust Alice to give it to him.

“I know, sweetheart,” I say. “But he drank his coffee, didn’t he? All of it.”

Her eyes get big now as she remembers how I had her bring me the coffee

tin, and then the white filters, and then made her go back to the kitchen for a measuring spoon, the little yellow one that scoops out the coffee.

measuring spoon, the little yellow one that scoops out the coffee.

When she was gone, I put the apple seed mash beneath the filter, coating the plastic basin, then sprinkled some coffee into the filter and placed it on top.

When she returned, we measured more coffee from the little yellow scoop.

She cries harder. Terror Face. I give it a name now because I am no longer

reacting to it. To him, and his suffering.

“Alice,” I tell her. “Do as I say now. It’s very important. But then go and get that key.”

She moves her head back and forth, no.

I reach through the bars and grab both of her arms.

“You will get the key and bring it to me. Do you know why?”

She shakes her head with Terror Face. No, no, no.

“Because,” I tell her. “He knows you helped me make the coffee.”

Chapter Forty-six

Day eighteen

Nic did not go home. She drove right into the heart of the storm, this new

storm that was brewing in Hastings.

She got to the intersection of Route 7 and Hastings Pass, to the Gas n’ Go.

Kurt’s car was in the parking lot. She drove across it and parked. He’d been working the night shift here, then was probably heading to the bar to open for lunch. That was what he’d told her before, about his schedule.

Now was better. Here was better. Customers would be coming in and out.

They wouldn’t be alone for long.

Kurt was behind the counter, sitting on a stool, reading a magazine. He was

surprised to see her, but he smiled warmly. Covering up his guilt.

Nic did not waste time with small talk. She took out her phone and pulled up the photo of him with Edith Moore.

“So what was your end game with Edith Bickman?”

“Shit . . .” Kurt mumbled, hanging his head. “Not here—they have cameras.”

Nic followed him to the back of the store, behind a row of shelves.

“This is the only spot they don’t cover,” he told her.

“Who is they?” Nic asked.

“The people who own this place. Some corporation. I don’t know. I just

know where the cameras are because they have monitors up front.”

“So tell me now, away from the cameras.”

Nic waited as he thought about what to say. She could see him struggling for words.

“Okay. Look—it’s not what you think.”

“What do I think?” Nic asked.

“I didn’t know what she was doing, okay? When you came in here and told

me about this witness and then told me her name—I mean, how many Ediths are

there who could be connected to Hastings?”

“But she worked with you. At the bar.”

Kurt nodded. “She did. I knew her. I knew where she’d gone. So I went to

find her, to ask her what the hell was going on. I didn’t want to get her in

find her, to ask her what the hell was going on. I didn’t want to get her in trouble. It’s not like she’s a criminal. And you were convinced she’d seen your mother. I wanted to find out why she was lying about her name and why she was here that night.”

Nic was frustrated now, all of the threads tangled together, and her mind too exhausted to sort them out.

“Just tell me everything. Please. You can start with your arrest for dealing drugs if you want.”

Day eighteen

He looked back to the front of the store, then out the window to the gas

Nic did not go home. She drove right into the heart of the storm, this new

pumps.

storm that was brewing in Hastings.

“I’m scared, okay? I didn’t want to go up against Reyes. I can’t go back to

prison, and I can’t leave this town. I have two jobs and about fifty bucks in the bank. I’m an ex-con. Are you starting to get it?”

“Why would you have to leave town?”

“You don’t see it? You still don’t see what he is?”

Now was better. Here was better. Customers would be coming in and out.

“Who?”

They wouldn’t be alone for long.

“Reyes. Officer Jared Reyes.”

Kurt was behind the counter, sitting on a stool, reading a magazine. He was

Now a rush to her head. A wave of nausea.

surprised to see her, but he smiled warmly. Covering up his guilt.

“He’s the criminal, Nic. A con man.” Kurt let this sink in for a moment, but Nic did not waste time with small talk. She took out her phone and pulled up not a long one. Not long enough.

the photo of him with Edith Moore.

“Three years ago, he pulled me over for supposedly running a light. It was

bullshit. Next thing I know, I’m out of the car and he’s holding a bag of cocaine,

“Shit . . .” Kurt mumbled, hanging his head. “Not here—they have cameras.” saying he saw it in plain sight in the back seat of my car. He didn’t even pretend Nic followed him to the back of the store, behind a row of shelves.

to look back there. He didn’t even bother to go through the motions of the

“This is the only spot they don’t cover,” he told her.

setup.”

Nic stared at him now, her perception of Reyes taking a new turn.

“The people who own this place. Some corporation. I don’t know. I just

Kurt continued. “Then he said it could all go away for ten grand—like I

know where the cameras are because they have monitors up front.”

would have ten thousand dollars. He said I could borrow it from my family. He

“So tell me now, away from the cameras.”

gave me until the end of the day. I thought, fuck him, you know? I was young. I Nic waited as he thought about what to say. She could see him struggling for believed in justice and the people in this town who’d known me my whole life. I words.

believed in the chief and his bullshit about helping kids . . .”

“Okay. Look—it’s not what you think.”

“But you were convicted,” Nic said, finishing the story for him.

“What do I think?” Nic asked.

Kurt nodded. “The chief backed Reyes. His pet project. His prodigy. The son

“I didn’t know what she was doing, okay? When you came in here and told he never had. Who the hell knows. Doesn’t matter. Reyes is a con man, Nic.”

me about this witness and then told me her name—I mean, how many Ediths are

“I’m sorry. I really am. But what does this have to do with Edith Bickman?

there who could be connected to Hastings?”

Reyes was the one who made me suspect that she was lying. He found a hole in

“But she worked with you. At the bar.”

her story about being in New York.”

Kurt nodded. “She did. I knew her. I knew where she’d gone. So I went to

Kurt looked up and crossed his arms, like he was preparing to tell her

find her, to ask her what the hell was going on. I didn’t want to get her in something she wasn’t going to like.

find her, to ask her what the hell was going on. I didn’t want to get her in something she wasn’t going to like.

trouble. It’s not like she’s a criminal. And you were convinced she’d seen your

“I went to see her to find out what the hell she was doing. She was a decent mother. I wanted to find out why she was lying about her name and why she was girl, but she had an infatuation with Reyes, and he knew she needed money.

here that night.”

Always. Had a mountain of debt from college and now nursing school. She said Nic was frustrated now, all of the threads tangled together, and her mind too he called her a few days after the search ended. Said he knew where your mother exhausted to sort them out.

was hiding but that he couldn’t collect the reward money because he was a cop,

“Just tell me everything. Please. You can start with your arrest for dealing and it was his job to find her. He said it would be easy—she would call you with drugs if you want.”

the story about the truck. He said you were the only one who would come back He looked back to the front of the store, then out the window to the gas

and try to find her—it had to be you. Then he would help you find your mother, pumps.

your father would pay her the million bucks, and they would split it.”

“I’m scared, okay? I didn’t want to go up against Reyes. I can’t go back to

“So Reyes did give her my number,” Nic said, remembering what Mrs.

prison, and I can’t leave this town. I have two jobs and about fifty bucks in the Urbansky had told her father, and how Reyes had put that lie in Edith’s mouth bank. I’m an ex-con. Are you starting to get it?”

the morning they’d met.

“Why would you have to leave town?”

Nic couldn’t help it, but this almost made her giddy. “Then she is hiding

“You don’t see it? You still don’t see what he is?”

somewhere? Reyes knows? I don’t care about him or the money—this means my

“Who?”

mother is safe!”

“Reyes. Officer Jared Reyes.”

But Kurt’s face did not lighten. “Wait—there’s more. Whatever Reyes said

Now a rush to her head. A wave of nausea.

to her in front of you, the holes he pointed out in her story, they were all meant

“He’s the criminal, Nic. A con man.” Kurt let this sink in for a moment, but to keep you here, to keep you frantically looking for your mother.”

not a long one. Not long enough.

Nic suddenly knew exactly what he was saying. “No, you’re right—if he

“Three years ago, he pulled me over for supposedly running a light. It was

knew where she was, why take the chance that she would leave? Why not let me bullshit. Next thing I know, I’m out of the car and he’s holding a bag of cocaine, find her the first day?”

saying he saw it in plain sight in the back seat of my car. He didn’t even pretend

“I don’t know. But he wanted you here. He wanted you to stay.”

to look back there. He didn’t even bother to go through the motions of the

“And he wanted to set up Watkins,” Nic said now, fitting two of the pieces

setup.”

together. “I think he broke Watkins’s taillight. Forged an invoice for the

Nic stared at him now, her perception of Reyes taking a new turn.

replacement parts because Watkins didn’t get it repaired in town like Reyes

thought he would. Maybe he wants his job.”

“I don’t know, Nic. That’s strange that he would betray the chief. And why

you? Why did it have to be you?”

believed in justice and the people in this town who’d known me my whole life. I Nic drew a quick breath, her hands crossing at her chest. “Oh, shit. I know

why.”

“But you were convicted,” Nic said, finishing the story for him.

She thought about those photos from the summer camp yearbook. Her

Kurt nodded. “The chief backed Reyes. His pet project. His prodigy. The son resemblance to Daisy Hollander. Reyes being the one to drive her out of town.

he never had. Who the hell knows. Doesn’t matter. Reyes is a con man, Nic.”

And his growing obsession with her after she let him into her life.

“I’m sorry. I really am. But what does this have to do with Edith Bickman?

“Nic? What is it?” Kurt asked.

Reyes was the one who made me suspect that she was lying. He found a hole in She turned suddenly. “I have to go,” she said. Kurt followed her to the door.

her story about being in New York.”

“Wait,” he said. “Where are you going?”

Kurt looked up and crossed his arms, like he was preparing to tell her

“I have to check something out.”

something she wasn’t going to like.

“I have to check something out.”

something she wasn’t going to like.

He grabbed her arm. “I am sorry,” he said. “I should have come right to you

“I went to see her to find out what the hell she was doing. She was a decent after I spoke to Edith.”

girl, but she had an infatuation with Reyes, and he knew she needed money.

Nic stopped, turned. “It’s okay. But I have to go,” she said again.

Always. Had a mountain of debt from college and now nursing school. She said

“Wait—there’s one last thing,” Kurt said. “Edith never saw your mother. But

he called her a few days after the search ended. Said he knew where your mother the thing she knew about your mother’s purse—Reyes told her to say that. How was hiding but that he couldn’t collect the reward money because he was a cop, did he know?”

and it was his job to find her. He said it would be easy—she would call you with Nic realized then what must have happened. The only explanation. “Reyes

the story about the truck. He said you were the only one who would come back knew because he saw my mother that night.”

and try to find her—it had to be you. Then he would help you find your mother, She pulled away from Kurt Kent, and raced back to her mother’s car, down

your father would pay her the million bucks, and they would split it.”

Hastings Pass to the inn. And the fence. And the hole that someone had started

“So Reyes did give her my number,” Nic said, remembering what Mrs.

to make.

Urbansky had told her father, and how Reyes had put that lie in Edith’s mouth the morning they’d met.

Nic couldn’t help it, but this almost made her giddy. “Then she is hiding

somewhere? Reyes knows? I don’t care about him or the money—this means my

mother is safe!”

But Kurt’s face did not lighten. “Wait—there’s more. Whatever Reyes said

to her in front of you, the holes he pointed out in her story, they were all meant to keep you here, to keep you frantically looking for your mother.”

Nic suddenly knew exactly what he was saying. “No, you’re right—if he

knew where she was, why take the chance that she would leave? Why not let me find her the first day?”

“I don’t know. But he wanted you here. He wanted you to stay.”

“And he wanted to set up Watkins,” Nic said now, fitting two of the pieces

together. “I think he broke Watkins’s taillight. Forged an invoice for the

replacement parts because Watkins didn’t get it repaired in town like Reyes

thought he would. Maybe he wants his job.”

“I don’t know, Nic. That’s strange that he would betray the chief. And why

you? Why did it have to be you?”

Nic drew a quick breath, her hands crossing at her chest. “Oh, shit. I know

why.”

She thought about those photos from the summer camp yearbook. Her

resemblance to Daisy Hollander. Reyes being the one to drive her out of town.

And his growing obsession with her after she let him into her life.

“Nic? What is it?” Kurt asked.

She turned suddenly. “I have to go,” she said. Kurt followed her to the door.

“Wait,” he said. “Where are you going?”

“I have to check something out.”

“I have to check something out.”

He grabbed her arm. “I am sorry,” he said. “I should have come right to you

after I spoke to Edith.”

Nic stopped, turned. “It’s okay. But I have to go,” she said again.

“Wait—there’s one last thing,” Kurt said. “Edith never saw your mother. But

the thing she knew about your mother’s purse—Reyes told her to say that. How did he know?”

Nic realized then what must have happened. The only explanation. “Reyes

knew because he saw my mother that night.”

She pulled away from Kurt Kent, and raced back to her mother’s car, down

Hastings Pass to the inn. And the fence. And the hole that someone had started to make.

Chapter Forty-seven

Day eighteen

Alice does not get the key. Instead, she sits in the kitchen with Mick for

hours, it seems. I hear him moan and choke. I hear her sob. I think I have

miscalculated. I think that now I am surely going to die.

But then another sound. A car.

I race from where I stand by the grate and look out the small hole in the

wood. I see another police car. Another police officer. This one wears short sleeves and patches. He walks to the front porch and I think, call out! Call for help! But then I wonder—Mick is a cop. What if they’re in this together?

I return to the grate when I hear the shuffling. Mick is on his feet, and he drags Alice toward me. He is pale, his shirt covered in sweat and vomit. But he has survived the poison. This will not end well.

He says nothing because the doorbell has rung and now the new cop is

knocking. He calls out a name.

“Reyes? You in there?”

Mick has a name. Reyes.

He is worried. I can see it on his face. Worried and weakened by the cyanide.

The cop again—

“Reyes—come on. I see your car out here. . . .” A pause as he listens outside the door. And then—

“I spoke to the owners. I know you take care of this place. Listen—it doesn’t matter, okay? You’ve been working on the side for them. Right? Moonlighting?

Doing security here and at the gas station? I’ve seen the utility bills—buddy?

Are you in there? You been living in there when you’re not supposed to be? It’s okay, we can work it out. We can work everything out.”

When the cop falls silent again, Mick, Reyes, the man—he opens the grate

with the key that he wears on his belt. He shoves Alice inside the room with me, and locks it shut.

I pull Alice close. We are one now, in our fate. And we move as one back to

the grate where we can see what’s about to happen.

Chapter Forty-seven

Day eighteen

Alice does not get the key. Instead, she sits in the kitchen with Mick for

hours, it seems. I hear him moan and choke. I hear her sob. I think I have

miscalculated. I think that now I am surely going to die.

But then another sound. A car.

I race from where I stand by the grate and look out the small hole in the

wood. I see another police car. Another police officer. This one wears short sleeves and patches. He walks to the front porch and I think, call out! Call for help! But then I wonder—Mick is a cop. What if they’re in this together?

I return to the grate when I hear the shuffling. Mick is on his feet, and he drags Alice toward me. He is pale, his shirt covered in sweat and vomit. But he has survived the poison. This will not end well.

He says nothing because the doorbell has rung and now the new cop is

knocking. He calls out a name.

“Reyes? You in there?”

Mick has a name. Reyes.

He is worried. I can see it on his face. Worried and weakened by the cyanide.

The cop again—

“Reyes—come on. I see your car out here. . . .” A pause as he listens outside the door. And then—

“I spoke to the owners. I know you take care of this place. Listen—it doesn’t matter, okay? You’ve been working on the side for them. Right? Moonlighting?

Doing security here and at the gas station? I’ve seen the utility bills—buddy?

Are you in there? You been living in there when you’re not supposed to be? It’s okay, we can work it out. We can work everything out.”

When the cop falls silent again, Mick, Reyes, the man—he opens the grate

with the key that he wears on his belt. He shoves Alice inside the room with me, and locks it shut.

I pull Alice close. We are one now, in our fate. And we move as one back to

the grate where we can see what’s about to happen.

Chapter Forty-eight

Day eighteen

Nic ran through the lobby of the inn to the back door. Then across the patio to the shed where she took a rock to the padlock, beating it until it opened.

Inside the shed, she found a pair of wire cutters. Then she ran to the fence, straight back like before, though it was harder to navigate with the sun so high in the sky.

Nic was out of breath when she reached the place where the hole had been

cut. Nerves, exhaustion—all of it was crashing down.

She’d forgotten about the barbed wire and she didn’t have gloves. She took

off one sneaker and put her hand inside it. She pushed the fence to see where it needed to be cut. The wire cutters were strong and they cut through it in seconds.

When she was on the other side, she put her sneaker back on, caught her

breath.

She had just one thought now—Reyes knew where her mother was. He’d

known the entire time. And he knew she was in a place that she wouldn’t leave.

That was why he risked waiting to get the reward money. He knew he had the

time.

And the reason he wanted the time? It was absurd, this thought, but his

behavior, his obsession with her had to go back to Daisy Hollander. Nic and

Daisy—that had to be why he waited. He wanted Nic to come back to Hastings.

And come back alone.

Be smart now, she told herself. She took out her phone and pulled up the photo she’d taken of the satellite image. The one showing the house and the

fence, and the inn. She took her best guess at the direction and she started to walk, through the woods, along a path that was most likely to get her to the house.

Be smart.

Reyes was a con man. He used his position as a cop to extort people. No

chance it was just Kurt Kent who’d been on the receiving end.

Through the trees, over the wet brush of dead leaves and soil, the extent of his lies, his planning ran through her mind. Edith Bickman. The truck story.

his lies, his planning ran through her mind. Edith Bickman. The truck story.

How he pretended not to know her, not to trust her, giving her a string of facts that he could then punch holes through—giving Nic a reason to stay. He knew

she would find out about Watkins with his gray truck. And when he couldn’t

figure out where Watkins had gone to get the broken light repaired, he created a fake invoice. Framing Watkins—but why? When he finally led Nic to her

mother, she would tell them the truth—that Watkins wasn’t involved. And that would prove Edith Bickman was a liar, keep her from getting the money—and

Day eighteen

Reyes his share. Did he do all of this in the hope that Nic would fall for him?

Nic ran through the lobby of the inn to the back door. Then across the patio That he could have her as a replacement for Daisy Hollander?

to the shed where she took a rock to the padlock, beating it until it opened.

The house wasn’t as far as she thought. Maybe an eighth of a mile from the

Inside the shed, she found a pair of wire cutters. Then she ran to the fence, fence to a clearing where she could see it, and the scene at the front door.

straight back like before, though it was harder to navigate with the sun so high in Watkins knocking. His car was parked in the driveway.

the sky.

She stopped dead in her tracks as she heard him call out—to Reyes.

Nic was out of breath when she reached the place where the hole had been

Reyes was the caretaker of this place. Reyes managed the security cameras cut. Nerves, exhaustion—all of it was crashing down.

at the Gas n’ Go. Reyes was using the gas and electric, living here.

She’d forgotten about the barbed wire and she didn’t have gloves. She took

The boarded window with the metal bars holding it in place.

off one sneaker and put her hand inside it. She pushed the fence to see where it Her mother would know the truth and would tell them Watkins wasn’t

needed to be cut. The wire cutters were strong and they cut through it in seconds.involved. Edith never saw her. Maybe there wasn’t even a black truck.

When she was on the other side, she put her sneaker back on, caught her

Unless— no—the reward money.

breath.

It was one million if they found her alive. But five hundred thousand if they She had just one thought now—Reyes knew where her mother was. He’d

just found her.

known the entire time. And he knew she was in a place that she wouldn’t leave.

That was it. She was already dead. Or about to be.

That was why he risked waiting to get the reward money. He knew he had the

And now Watkins—not knowing what might be behind that door.

time.

She started to run, calling out to him—“Chief!”

And the reason he wanted the time? It was absurd, this thought, but his

The door opened just as his name left her mouth. There were no more words.

behavior, his obsession with her had to go back to Daisy Hollander. Nic and

Just one shot. And Watkins, hand to his chest, stumbling backward until he

Daisy—that had to be why he waited. He wanted Nic to come back to Hastings. reached the steps. Falling, crumbling down to the gravel, where he lay still.

And come back alone.

Reyes was a con man. He used his position as a cop to extort people. No

chance it was just Kurt Kent who’d been on the receiving end.

Through the trees, over the wet brush of dead leaves and soil, the extent of his lies, his planning ran through her mind. Edith Bickman. The truck story.

his lies, his planning ran through her mind. Edith Bickman. The truck story.

How he pretended not to know her, not to trust her, giving her a string of facts that he could then punch holes through—giving Nic a reason to stay. He knew

she would find out about Watkins with his gray truck. And when he couldn’t

figure out where Watkins had gone to get the broken light repaired, he created a fake invoice. Framing Watkins—but why? When he finally led Nic to her

mother, she would tell them the truth—that Watkins wasn’t involved. And that would prove Edith Bickman was a liar, keep her from getting the money—and

Reyes his share. Did he do all of this in the hope that Nic would fall for him?

That he could have her as a replacement for Daisy Hollander?

The house wasn’t as far as she thought. Maybe an eighth of a mile from the

fence to a clearing where she could see it, and the scene at the front door.

Watkins knocking. His car was parked in the driveway.

She stopped dead in her tracks as she heard him call out—to Reyes.

Reyes was the caretaker of this place. Reyes managed the security cameras at the Gas n’ Go. Reyes was using the gas and electric, living here.

The boarded window with the metal bars holding it in place.

Her mother would know the truth and would tell them Watkins wasn’t

involved. Edith never saw her. Maybe there wasn’t even a black truck.

Unless— no—the reward money.

It was one million if they found her alive. But five hundred thousand if they just found her.

That was it. She was already dead. Or about to be.

And now Watkins—not knowing what might be behind that door.

She started to run, calling out to him—“Chief!”

The door opened just as his name left her mouth. There were no more words.

Just one shot. And Watkins, hand to his chest, stumbling backward until he

reached the steps. Falling, crumbling down to the gravel, where he lay still.

Chapter Forty-nine

Day eighteen

Alice and I watch as Mick stands on the other side of the door. We watch as

he draws his gun and steadies himself. He is still weak.

I turn Alice to face me, pull her from the grate. Fear blankets my face. I

know what is about to happen.

And I think—I have done it. I have killed another child. The hatred I thought I felt for her was not real. It was anger and frustration. But she is a child. She is a victim of this house and whatever has happened here these past nine years.

“Alice,” I say. “This was my fault and I will tell him that. I will save you,” I promise. I lie. He will surely kill us both.

Her face doesn’t change as I say these words. It is another new face. It is

determined.

Alice holds my eyes as she reaches in her pocket. And slowly, very slowly—

she pulls out the key. I fold my hand around hers and I gently take the key and turn the lock.

As we push the grate open and walk out into the hallway, to our freedom, we

hear the shot.

Chapter Forty-nine

Day eighteen

Alice and I watch as Mick stands on the other side of the door. We watch as

he draws his gun and steadies himself. He is still weak.

I turn Alice to face me, pull her from the grate. Fear blankets my face. I

know what is about to happen.

And I think—I have done it. I have killed another child. The hatred I thought I felt for her was not real. It was anger and frustration. But she is a child. She is a victim of this house and whatever has happened here these past nine years.

“Alice,” I say. “This was my fault and I will tell him that. I will save you,” I promise. I lie. He will surely kill us both.

Her face doesn’t change as I say these words. It is another new face. It is

determined.

Alice holds my eyes as she reaches in her pocket. And slowly, very slowly—

she pulls out the key. I fold my hand around hers and I gently take the key and turn the lock.

As we push the grate open and walk out into the hallway, to our freedom, we

hear the shot.

Chapter Fifty

Day eighteen

Reyes saw Nic, heard her call out to Watkins.

Now he called after her as she ran away, back into the woods, back toward

the inn.

She ran the way she’d come, watching the ground, her feet taking small,

quick steps on patches that were steady. She weaved through the trees, dodging the branches.

Then another shot and a pop against a trunk not five feet from her.

He called out again.

“Stop!”

And then—

“I have your mother!”

I have your mother.

Her feet kept moving. But not her will.

I have your mother.

Nic could smell the wood burning from the fireplace at the inn. She was

almost there. But then what?

Reyes wanted her.

She wanted her mother.

She wanted her mother to be alive. She wanted her to be freed, finally, of the pain she’d suffered. She wanted Annie back. She wanted to feel her hands

grabbing hold of those little arms before she reached the end of the driveway.

She wanted the past five years to be over.

Her feet stopped moving then. She was too tired. It was time to stop running.

Chapter Fifty

Day eighteen

Reyes saw Nic, heard her call out to Watkins.

Now he called after her as she ran away, back into the woods, back toward

the inn.

She ran the way she’d come, watching the ground, her feet taking small,

quick steps on patches that were steady. She weaved through the trees, dodging the branches.

Then another shot and a pop against a trunk not five feet from her.

He called out again.

“Stop!”

And then—

“I have your mother!”

I have your mother.

Her feet kept moving. But not her will.

I have your mother.

Nic could smell the wood burning from the fireplace at the inn. She was

almost there. But then what?

Reyes wanted her.

She wanted her mother.

She wanted her mother to be alive. She wanted her to be freed, finally, of the pain she’d suffered. She wanted Annie back. She wanted to feel her hands

grabbing hold of those little arms before she reached the end of the driveway.

She wanted the past five years to be over.

Her feet stopped moving then. She was too tired. It was time to stop running.

Chapter Fifty-one

Day eighteen

I pull Alice back into the room where she can’t see. I go to the window and

look out the hole. I see the other cop on the ground. Lying still. Blood pooling around his torso. And Mick running into the woods. Running with his gun

drawn, calling out to someone. Was there another cop? A partner?

“Come with me!” I say to Alice. I grab her arm and pull her out of the room

and down the hall and through the open front door. She stops at the threshold.

“My mask!” she says. “I need my mask!”

I take hold of her arms and look her in the eye.

“Do you trust me?” I ask her.

She doesn’t know. I can see the doubt and the debilitating apprehension it

brings.

“You don’t need the mask.”

I do not give her time to think. I pick her up in my arms and bury her face in my chest as I run down the stairs and over the body of the man. I set her down, facing away from the house. Away from the violence.

“You need to run now, Alice. You need to run down that driveway until you

reach the road. The gate must be open because that policeman came through it.

You need to turn to the right and follow the fence on the other side—do you

understand? Stay in the woods. Do not go onto the street. The fence will lead to another house. You need to look for it carefully. If you smell a fire, or food or gasoline—go toward it. Okay?”

Alice cries. “What about the bears? What about the wolves?”

I shake my head. “No—the bears are sleeping during the day. You will be

fine.”

She won’t leave and my heart is going to burst. I must get to the dying man. I must use his radio to call for help. But Alice must leave. Mick could come back at any moment.

“My first mommy died in the woods,” she says now. “I don’t want to die!”

I pull her close to me again and squeeze her so hard as if I can squeeze the doubt right out of her.

doubt right out of her.

“Alice—that was a lie. Your first mommy didn’t die in the woods. I don’t

know what happened to her. But it wasn’t the woods that took her from you.”

I look at her now and I can see that she believes me. She believes me

because it is the truth.

“Now go! Run!”

She nods, turns, and her feet begin to move, to fly, kicking up dust from the driveway.

Day eighteen

I can’t remember feeling as happy as I do right now, watching this child go

I pull Alice back into the room where she can’t see. I go to the window and free.

look out the hole. I see the other cop on the ground. Lying still. Blood pooling I turn back to the man on the ground. I feel for a pulse. He is still alive. I go around his torso. And Mick running into the woods. Running with his gun

to his car and find the radio. I push a button.

drawn, calling out to someone. Was there another cop? A partner?

“Help! I need help! There’s an officer shot!”

“Come with me!” I say to Alice. I grab her arm and pull her out of the room

A woman’s voice answers. “Who is this?”

and down the hall and through the open front door. She stops at the threshold.

“It’s Molly Clarke.”

“My mask!” she says. “I need my mask!”

Silence now as the woman recognizes my name.

I take hold of her arms and look her in the eye.

“This is the chief’s radio. Has the chief been shot?”

“Do you trust me?” I ask her.

“Yes!” I say, frantic now for help. “I don’t know where we are. I’ve been

She doesn’t know. I can see the doubt and the debilitating apprehension it

held here for two weeks!”

brings.

“I have your location,” the woman says. I hear her voice tremble.

“You don’t need the mask.”

“I see keys in the car. I might be able to get him inside . . .”

I do not give her time to think. I pick her up in my arms and bury her face in

“No—stay where you are. He could bleed out. Seconds matter now—are you

my chest as I run down the stairs and over the body of the man. I set her down, able to provide assistance to the officer?”

facing away from the house. Away from the violence.

No! I think. I see keys in this car. I need to leave this place! I look back at the

“You need to run now, Alice. You need to run down that driveway until you man, bleeding on the ground. All I want to do is run like Alice, away from this reach the road. The gate must be open because that policeman came through it.

house. But I can’t let him die.

You need to turn to the right and follow the fence on the other side—do you

She tells me what to do and I do what she says. I leave the radio and the keys understand? Stay in the woods. Do not go onto the street. The fence will lead to and another house. You need to look for it carefully. If you smell a fire, or food or look for a first aid box in the trunk. I leave the car, my means of escape, and gasoline—go toward it. Okay?”

I go to the dying man. I do what I can to stop the bleeding.

Alice cries. “What about the bears? What about the wolves?”

It’s now that I hear the shot in the woods.

I shake my head. “No—the bears are sleeping during the day. You will be

And the scream. The unmistakable scream of my daughter.

fine.”

She won’t leave and my heart is going to burst. I must get to the dying man. I must use his radio to call for help. But Alice must leave. Mick could come back at any moment.

“My first mommy died in the woods,” she says now. “I don’t want to die!”

I pull her close to me again and squeeze her so hard as if I can squeeze the doubt right out of her.

doubt right out of her.

“Alice—that was a lie. Your first mommy didn’t die in the woods. I don’t

know what happened to her. But it wasn’t the woods that took her from you.”

I look at her now and I can see that she believes me. She believes me

because it is the truth.

“Now go! Run!”

She nods, turns, and her feet begin to move, to fly, kicking up dust from the driveway.

I can’t remember feeling as happy as I do right now, watching this child go

free.

I turn back to the man on the ground. I feel for a pulse. He is still alive. I go to his car and find the radio. I push a button.

“Help! I need help! There’s an officer shot!”

A woman’s voice answers. “Who is this?”

“It’s Molly Clarke.”

Silence now as the woman recognizes my name.

“This is the chief’s radio. Has the chief been shot?”

“Yes!” I say, frantic now for help. “I don’t know where we are. I’ve been

held here for two weeks!”

“I have your location,” the woman says. I hear her voice tremble.

“I see keys in the car. I might be able to get him inside . . .”

“No—stay where you are. He could bleed out. Seconds matter now—are you

able to provide assistance to the officer?”

No! I think. I see keys in this car. I need to leave this place! I look back at the man, bleeding on the ground. All I want to do is run like Alice, away from this house. But I can’t let him die.

She tells me what to do and I do what she says. I leave the radio and the keys and

look for a first aid box in the trunk. I leave the car, my means of escape, and I go to the dying man. I do what I can to stop the bleeding.

It’s now that I hear the shot in the woods.

And the scream. The unmistakable scream of my daughter.

Chapter Fifty-two

Day eighteen

Reyes walked closer. Close enough not to miss again if he pulled the trigger.

Still his face was soft with a warm smile.

“Mom!” Nic screamed, her voice filled with rage, rising up through the trees.

Then to Reyes, “Where is my mother!”

Reyes spoke calmly as he took a few more steps.

“Right inside that house. She’s been waiting for you all this time. Waiting

for you to find her. She’s perfectly safe.”

Nic knew that was a lie. Her mother would never have willingly stayed with

this man.

“I know about Edith Moore.”

“I just wanted to see you again,” he said.

“What happened that night? The night of the storm?” Nic didn’t want to hear

about anything else. She wanted to know what happened to her mother.

Reyes kept walking, the rustling beneath his feet breaking the silence.

“I love you. That’s all that matters. From the first time I saw you. That very first day. All of this has been about you, can’t you see that? It could have been so easy!”

He stopped then, but the sound of footsteps remained. Only it wasn’t coming

from his feet. It was coming from behind them, from the fence.

Nic saw Reyes’s eyes move from her to the source of this new sound. And

then a new voice.

“Yes, Officer. Why don’t you tell us what happened that night.”

It was Roger Booth. And he held a shotgun that was pointed squarely at

Reyes.

“Roger—that’s not the right question,” Reyes said. His words were

confident, but his voice shaky. He was panting. Sweating in the cold air.

“What is the right question, then?” Booth asked, moving closer.

“You know, don’t you, Nicole?” Reyes’s eyes remained fixed on Booth.

Nic took one step to the side. Then another, slowly moving out of the line of fire.

fire.

“I do,” she said.

“Well tell him, then,” Reyes demanded. “Tell him!”

One more foot. Then another.

“The right question,” Nic said, “is what happened the day Daisy Hollander

disappeared.”

Booth flinched, but then caught himself. “What does any of this have to do

with Daisy?”

Day eighteen

Nic was three steps away from a tree. From cover. She took one of them and

Reyes walked closer. Close enough not to miss again if he pulled the trigger. stopped.

Still his face was soft with a warm smile.

“He drove Daisy out of town that day,” Nic said. “He knew her from summer

“Mom!” Nic screamed, her voice filled with rage, rising up through the trees. camp. He worked there, in the kitchen. That’s why he came to Hastings. He was Then to Reyes, “Where is my mother!”

obsessed with her. And then with me because I remind him of her.”

Reyes spoke calmly as he took a few more steps.

Reyes blinked hard as though his vision was starting to blur.

“Right inside that house. She’s been waiting for you all this time. Waiting

Nic kept talking, buying time.

for you to find her. She’s perfectly safe.”

“He went there after that shooting in his hometown. The suicide by cop that

Nic knew that was a lie. Her mother would never have willingly stayed with messed with his head. He worked odd jobs like the one at the camp until he met this man.

Daisy. And then he played on Chief Watkins’s sympathy to get a job here, so he

“I know about Edith Moore.”

could be close to her.”

“I just wanted to see you again,” he said.

Another step. She could touch the tree.

“What happened that night? The night of the storm?” Nic didn’t want to hear

Now Booth was panting as well. “What are you saying? Daisy barely knew

about anything else. She wanted to know what happened to her mother.

him. She used to make fun of him, how he thought he was such a ladies’ man.”

Reyes kept walking, the rustling beneath his feet breaking the silence.

Now Reyes—

“I love you. That’s all that matters. From the first time I saw you. That very

“That’s what you thought. But I was the one she loved. Not you. She was

first day. All of this has been about you, can’t you see that? It could have been using you for money. All those free dinners and trips to the city. You made her so easy!”

skin crawl, Booth. She couldn’t stand the sight of you, or your hands on her He stopped then, but the sound of footsteps remained. Only it wasn’t coming body. She was strong and she did what she had to do. But she was not about to from his feet. It was coming from behind them, from the fence.

give you a baby. So she left you. She left you for me.”

Nic saw Reyes’s eyes move from her to the source of this new sound. And

Booth’s face was twisted with anger. “You’re a liar!” he screamed.

then a new voice.

“And you’re pathetic,” Reyes yelled back.

“Yes, Officer. Why don’t you tell us what happened that night.”

Nic took one more step. She was almost behind the tree.

It was Roger Booth. And he held a shotgun that was pointed squarely at

But then more footsteps. And a new voice still.

Reyes.

The voice of a woman.

“Roger—that’s not the right question,” Reyes said. His words were

“You’re both pathetic,” the woman said.

confident, but his voice shaky. He was panting. Sweating in the cold air.

Nic froze, her eyes now glued to the image that was so like her own.

“What is the right question, then?” Booth asked, moving closer.

Only now that image was flesh and bone. And she was wearing the same

“You know, don’t you, Nicole?” Reyes’s eyes remained fixed on Booth.

leather jacket Nic had seen at Veronica’s house.

Nic took one step to the side. Then another, slowly moving out of the line of Daisy Hollander walked toward them through the woods.

fire.

Holding the hand of a little girl.

fire.

Holding the hand of a little girl.

“I do,” she said.

“Well tell him, then,” Reyes demanded. “Tell him!”

One more foot. Then another.

“The right question,” Nic said, “is what happened the day Daisy Hollander

disappeared.”

Booth flinched, but then caught himself. “What does any of this have to do

with Daisy?”

Nic was three steps away from a tree. From cover. She took one of them and

stopped.

“He drove Daisy out of town that day,” Nic said. “He knew her from summer

camp. He worked there, in the kitchen. That’s why he came to Hastings. He was obsessed with her. And then with me because I remind him of her.”

Reyes blinked hard as though his vision was starting to blur.

Nic kept talking, buying time.

“He went there after that shooting in his hometown. The suicide by cop that

messed with his head. He worked odd jobs like the one at the camp until he met Daisy. And then he played on Chief Watkins’s sympathy to get a job here, so he could be close to her.”

Another step. She could touch the tree.

Now Booth was panting as well. “What are you saying? Daisy barely knew

him. She used to make fun of him, how he thought he was such a ladies’ man.”

Now Reyes—

“That’s what you thought. But I was the one she loved. Not you. She was

using you for money. All those free dinners and trips to the city. You made her skin crawl, Booth. She couldn’t stand the sight of you, or your hands on her body. She was strong and she did what she had to do. But she was not about to give you a baby. So she left you. She left you for me.”

Booth’s face was twisted with anger. “You’re a liar!” he screamed.

“And you’re pathetic,” Reyes yelled back.

Nic took one more step. She was almost behind the tree.

But then more footsteps. And a new voice still.

The voice of a woman.

“You’re both pathetic,” the woman said.

Nic froze, her eyes now glued to the image that was so like her own.

Only now that image was flesh and bone. And she was wearing the same

leather jacket Nic had seen at Veronica’s house.

Daisy Hollander walked toward them through the woods.

Holding the hand of a little girl.

Holding the hand of a little girl.

Chapter Fifty-three

Day eighteen

I run like I’m on fire.

I run through the woods to find my daughter.

Now I hide behind a cluster of small trees. I do not know what I am seeing,

but it has led me into a deep pool of confusion.

A well-groomed man, neatly dressed, holding a shotgun on Mick.

Mick, staggering from the poison, trying to steady a gun on the man.

And Nicole! How the sight of her makes me want to cry, makes me want to

run to her and throw my body between hers and those men.

I force myself to stop. To think. I can’t afford another mistake.

I watch her move until she is almost safe, just beside a tree.

Go! I want to scream. Why doesn’t she take that last step?

And now I hear the voice I have come to know so well. To hate at times. To

love at times. To fear at times.

“Mommy!” she says. Alice tries to pull her hand away from the woman who

holds her. The woman who was her first mommy until she left last spring.

Whose clothes I wear even now.

Daisy Alice Hollander.

“What?” she scolds Alice. “They are pathetic. Both of them.”

“Daisy? Is that you?” The man with the shotgun looks as though he’s seen a

ghost.

But Daisy doesn’t answer him. She walks to Mick, dragging Alice with her.

He, too, is mesmerized by the sight of her, and suddenly another piece falls into place.

“What the hell have you done?” Daisy asks. “We need to clean this up. I

never should have left. I can see that now. I’ve been watching for two weeks, hoping you’d stop this nonsense. Seriously—how did you think this was going

to end?”

She was never a captive in this house. And she’s been watching us. All of us, through those cameras. Through Dolly’s eyes.

Daisy strokes his face, runs her hand down his arm to his fingers which

Daisy strokes his face, runs her hand down his arm to his fingers which release the gun without the slightest resistance. He is in a trance. And he is weak and sick from the poison.

She steps away, five or six yards. Alice is dragged along with her like a pet on a leash.

She points the gun at the man with the shotgun, who trembles. Her face is

stone cold. It shocks me more than anything else in these woods.

She sees Nicole, she sees her, but now really sees her. And she laughs, loud Day eighteen

and hard. She laughs at Mick.

I run like I’m on fire.

“I get it now. You thought this girl was going to replace me? That she would I run through the woods to find my daughter.

want to live with you? My God, it is beyond pathetic.”

Now I hide behind a cluster of small trees. I do not know what I am seeing,

Mick stumbles, drops to his knees. I can’t tell if it’s the poison or his grief.

but it has led me into a deep pool of confusion.

But he lets his head fall into his hands and he begins to weep.

A well-groomed man, neatly dressed, holding a shotgun on Mick.

“You didn’t come back this time,” he cries.

Mick, staggering from the poison, trying to steady a gun on the man.

Alice tries to pull away. She wants to go to him. She loves him. I can see that And Nicole! How the sight of her makes me want to cry, makes me want to now. Even though she helped try to kill him to set me free.

run to her and throw my body between hers and those men.

Daisy sighs like she’s annoyed. “I told you if you kept getting into my bed I I force myself to stop. To think. I can’t afford another mistake.

would leave for good. And that’s what I did.”

I watch her move until she is almost safe, just beside a tree.

“I kept waiting. We kept waiting . . .”

Alice cries. I see that she is confused, and confusion is her worst enemy.

And now I hear the voice I have come to know so well. To hate at times. To Mick told her Daisy died in the woods. Now she knows that Daisy is alive, that love at times. To fear at times.

she left on her own, and that Mick knew the whole time.

“Mommy!” she says. Alice tries to pull her hand away from the woman who

I think about what Alice told me—how the beginning of the end was when

holds her. The woman who was her first mommy until she left last spring.

Mick got into bed with them. Now I understand. Daisy had simply had enough.

Whose clothes I wear even now.

She continues her rant as though she and Mick are the only ones in these

Daisy Alice Hollander.

woods. “But then you gave up, didn’t you? You found that old woman, and then

“What?” she scolds Alice. “They are pathetic. Both of them.”

her daughter. Why didn’t you just go fuck a waitress at the diner? Why did it

“Daisy? Is that you?” The man with the shotgun looks as though he’s seen a have to be like this?”

ghost.

Mick has a second wind, rises to his feet. “You know why—because of her!”

But Daisy doesn’t answer him. She walks to Mick, dragging Alice with her. He points to Alice. “How was I going to explain that? I had no way out. You left He, too, is mesmerized by the sight of her, and suddenly another piece falls into me with no choice.”

place.

Daisy takes a step closer. “Did you even consider moving away? Making up

“What the hell have you done?” Daisy asks. “We need to clean this up. I

a story about the girl? You could have gone anywhere. Started over. It just pisses never should have left. I can see that now. I’ve been watching for two weeks, me off! I used to think you were so smart. That we were going to build a little hoping you’d stop this nonsense. Seriously—how did you think this was going

fortune and get the hell out of here together. But you had no imagination. Just to end?”

your little cons and scams. I told you I wanted more. You promised to give it to She was never a captive in this house. And she’s been watching us. All of us, me if I stayed with you and had the kid. But no—that was all just a con you through those cameras. Through Dolly’s eyes.

pulled on me, making me need you. Making me have to stay!”

Daisy strokes his face, runs her hand down his arm to his fingers which

She pauses, looks to the sky, and back at Mick. She is cold with rage. I think

Daisy strokes his face, runs her hand down his arm to his fingers which She pauses, looks to the sky, and back at Mick. She is cold with rage. I think release the gun without the slightest resistance. He is in a trance. And he is weak about the photo in that book, and the way Alice loves her. She wanted something and sick from the poison.

that Mick had promised her—something she believed in once. Something that

She steps away, five or six yards. Alice is dragged along with her like a pet made her stay and give things to this little girl.

on a leash.

“It’s all so clear now. How weak you are.” She speaks with an eerie calm. “I She points the gun at the man with the shotgun, who trembles. Her face is

should have gone to the train station with the chief. Gone to Boston and gotten stone cold. It shocks me more than anything else in these woods.

rid of it. I could have been anything. I could have gone to college. But I believed She sees Nicole, she sees her, but now really sees her. And she laughs, loud you—and you promised me. You said we would make it out. That’s all I ever and hard. She laughs at Mick.

wanted. To get the fuck out of Hastings! But you’re a coward and a liar.”

“I get it now. You thought this girl was going to replace me? That she would The woods are dead quiet. The man with the shotgun, and my daughter—

want to live with you? My God, it is beyond pathetic.”

they are statues listening to this story. And Alice, how she weeps and buries her Mick stumbles, drops to his knees. I can’t tell if it’s the poison or his grief.

face into the side of her mother.

But he lets his head fall into his hands and he begins to weep.

Daisy gets ahold of herself. Her face changes the way Alice’s does. In an

“You didn’t come back this time,” he cries.

instant.

Alice tries to pull away. She wants to go to him. She loves him. I can see that Now come seconds that blur. Seconds that leave me stunned.

now. Even though she helped try to kill him to set me free.

First, the words.

Daisy sighs like she’s annoyed. “I told you if you kept getting into my bed I

“Well, it’s done—so now we have to clean this up.”

would leave for good. And that’s what I did.”

And the shot. One shot, fired at Mick. Hitting him dead-on.

“I kept waiting. We kept waiting . . .”

Alice cries. I see that she is confused, and confusion is her worst enemy.

Mick told her Daisy died in the woods. Now she knows that Daisy is alive, that she left on her own, and that Mick knew the whole time.

I think about what Alice told me—how the beginning of the end was when

Mick got into bed with them. Now I understand. Daisy had simply had enough.

She continues her rant as though she and Mick are the only ones in these

woods. “But then you gave up, didn’t you? You found that old woman, and then her daughter. Why didn’t you just go fuck a waitress at the diner? Why did it have to be like this?”

Mick has a second wind, rises to his feet. “You know why—because of her!”

He points to Alice. “How was I going to explain that? I had no way out. You left me with no choice.”

Daisy takes a step closer. “Did you even consider moving away? Making up

a story about the girl? You could have gone anywhere. Started over. It just pisses me off! I used to think you were so smart. That we were going to build a little fortune and get the hell out of here together. But you had no imagination. Just your little cons and scams. I told you I wanted more. You promised to give it to me if I stayed with you and had the kid. But no—that was all just a con you

pulled on me, making me need you. Making me have to stay!”

She pauses, looks to the sky, and back at Mick. She is cold with rage. I think

She pauses, looks to the sky, and back at Mick. She is cold with rage. I think about the photo in that book, and the way Alice loves her. She wanted something that Mick had promised her—something she believed in once. Something that

made her stay and give things to this little girl.

“It’s all so clear now. How weak you are.” She speaks with an eerie calm. “I should have gone to the train station with the chief. Gone to Boston and gotten rid of it. I could have been anything. I could have gone to college. But I believed you—and you promised me. You said we would make it out. That’s all I ever

wanted. To get the fuck out of Hastings! But you’re a coward and a liar.”

The woods are dead quiet. The man with the shotgun, and my daughter—

they are statues listening to this story. And Alice, how she weeps and buries her face into the side of her mother.

Daisy gets ahold of herself. Her face changes the way Alice’s does. In an

instant.

Now come seconds that blur. Seconds that leave me stunned.

First, the words.

“Well, it’s done—so now we have to clean this up.”

And the shot. One shot, fired at Mick. Hitting him dead-on.

Chapter Fifty-four

Day eighteen

“Daisy!” Booth yelled out to her. Nic felt her head spin. She reached for the tree.

Reyes was on the ground. His eyes were open. His body still. He was dead.

The little girl was screaming now. “No!”

Daisy slapped her clear across the face.

“Stop it! Do you hear me? Mommy has to take care of things now.”

She turned the gun on Booth. He held the shotgun on her, though his arms

were trembling.

“Put it down,” she said to him.

But even as his whole body began to shake, he did not let go of the shotgun.

“Roger—think about it. Do you know what’s been going on? We’ve been

here this whole time. For ten years. Right under your nose. Living in that house right through the woods. Running the cons—on the roads, at the casino, it’s been so easy—and raising this girl. Your girl. Don’t tell me you’re not happy he’s dead.”

Booth was breathing hard, but said nothing.

“You wanted him dead when he said those things to you, right? Just now,

when he told you how I never loved you? How I would never have your baby?

He wasn’t lying. I was going to get rid of it. I kept it for him. I kept it because I thought he was a big man. I gave him your baby.”

Daisy laughed. It was sickening, like she was mocking the very core of his

humanity.

“You wanted to pull that trigger just now, but you couldn’t. That’s why I

could never love you.”

Nic moved farther behind the tree. The little girl pulled hard against her

mother’s hold, even as her face began to swell.

Then, suddenly, Booth cocked the gun and held it higher. Aimed right at

Daisy’s head.

“Why did he do all of this—kidnap Molly Clarke, then lure her daughter

here?” Booth asked.

here?” Booth asked.

“Well, I’d tell you to ask him yourself but that ship just sailed,” and then,

“it’s like I said—because I left him for good. I’ve left him before, plenty of times, when I needed a break from him, from this.” She looked quickly at her daughter. “But this time I didn’t come back. I couldn’t stand the sight of him anymore. He made my skin crawl. Every night, breaking into my room, getting

into my bed. I even tried sleeping with Alice, right? Alice—you remember that, don’t you? How he came into bed with us?”

Day eighteen

The little girl nodded, her entire face now red, trembling.

“Daisy!” Booth yelled out to her. Nic felt her head spin. She reached for the

“That was the last straw. It was like living with a puppy dog who follows

tree.

you everywhere you go. It had been ten years. I did my part, and still—no

Reyes was on the ground. His eyes were open. His body still. He was dead. fortune. No better life, still in this fucking town where my father beat me and my The little girl was screaming now. “No!”

mother starved me! I wasn’t going to stay for one more second.”

Daisy slapped her clear across the face.

Booth took a step closer.

“Stop it! Do you hear me? Mommy has to take care of things now.”

“So why did you come back now?”

She turned the gun on Booth. He held the shotgun on her, though his arms

Daisy took a step closer as well, Reyes’s gun pointed at Booth.

were trembling.

“Because he got himself into all this.” She waved the gun quickly at Nic,

“Put it down,” she said to him.

then back again, aimed at Booth. “We have cameras in the house to keep an eye But even as his whole body began to shake, he did not let go of the shotgun. on the girl. I still see everything going on—do you know what’s been happening? That woman got into your daughter’s head. I’ve been watching it for days. They tried to kill him today. And then what? I’ve started a nice life, now right through the woods. Running the cons—on the roads, at the casino, it’s been that I’m free of him and everyone thinks I’m somewhere else. I don’t need this

—I don’t need people looking for me again.”

Nic listened carefully to every word, thinking through what they meant. Her

Booth was breathing hard, but said nothing.

mother tried to kill Reyes—today! She was alive.

“You wanted him dead when he said those things to you, right? Just now,

“So what now, Daisy?” Booth asked. He seemed to be calming, the clarity

when he told you how I never loved you? How I would never have your baby?

settling his nerves. He wanted to keep her talking. She had his daughter. And she He wasn’t lying. I was going to get rid of it. I kept it for him. I kept it because I held a gun.

thought he was a big man. I gave him your baby.”

Daisy studied the situation. Reyes, dead on the ground. Nic behind the tree.

Daisy laughed. It was sickening, like she was mocking the very core of his

Booth with his gun aimed at her head.

humanity.

“Well, let’s see. How does this sound to you? Reyes held me captive for ten

“You wanted to pull that trigger just now, but you couldn’t. That’s why I

years until I could escape. Then he kidnapped Molly Clarke. Then he lured her could never love you.”

daughter here so he could kidnap her as well. Chief Watkins came to investigate Nic moved farther behind the tree. The little girl pulled hard against her

and he shot him dead. They poisoned him with apple seeds just as I came back to mother’s hold, even as her face began to swell.

save my daughter, and I chased him through the woods, got his gun away and

Then, suddenly, Booth cocked the gun and held it higher. Aimed right at

shot him. Unfortunately, not before he killed the other captives.”

Daisy’s head.

Booth looked scared but determined. Nic realized it was now all about the

“Why did he do all of this—kidnap Molly Clarke, then lure her daughter

little girl. Booth’s little girl. He had something to fight for.

here?” Booth asked.

He called to Nic. “Run!”

here?” Booth asked.

He called to Nic. “Run!”

“Well, I’d tell you to ask him yourself but that ship just sailed,” and then, Nic hesitated, but then bolted into the woods. Daisy took a shot, but there

“it’s like I said—because I left him for good. I’ve left him before, plenty of were too many trees to get off a clean one.

times, when I needed a break from him, from this.” She looked quickly at her Nic heard Daisy scream as she ran through the trees.

daughter. “But this time I didn’t come back. I couldn’t stand the sight of him

“I will kill you!”

anymore. He made my skin crawl. Every night, breaking into my room, getting

into my bed. I even tried sleeping with Alice, right? Alice—you remember that, don’t you? How he came into bed with us?”

The little girl nodded, her entire face now red, trembling.

“That was the last straw. It was like living with a puppy dog who follows

you everywhere you go. It had been ten years. I did my part, and still—no

fortune. No better life, still in this fucking town where my father beat me and my mother starved me! I wasn’t going to stay for one more second.”

Booth took a step closer.

“So why did you come back now?”

Daisy took a step closer as well, Reyes’s gun pointed at Booth.

“Because he got himself into all this.” She waved the gun quickly at Nic,

then back again, aimed at Booth. “We have cameras in the house to keep an eye on the girl. I still see everything going on—do you know what’s been

happening? That woman got into your daughter’s head. I’ve been watching it for days. They tried to kill him today. And then what? I’ve started a nice life, now that I’m free of him and everyone thinks I’m somewhere else. I don’t need this

—I don’t need people looking for me again.”

Nic listened carefully to every word, thinking through what they meant. Her

mother tried to kill Reyes—today! She was alive.

“So what now, Daisy?” Booth asked. He seemed to be calming, the clarity

settling his nerves. He wanted to keep her talking. She had his daughter. And she held a gun.

Daisy studied the situation. Reyes, dead on the ground. Nic behind the tree.

Booth with his gun aimed at her head.

“Well, let’s see. How does this sound to you? Reyes held me captive for ten

years until I could escape. Then he kidnapped Molly Clarke. Then he lured her daughter here so he could kidnap her as well. Chief Watkins came to investigate and he shot him dead. They poisoned him with apple seeds just as I came back to save my daughter, and I chased him through the woods, got his gun away and

shot him. Unfortunately, not before he killed the other captives.”

Booth looked scared but determined. Nic realized it was now all about the

little girl. Booth’s little girl. He had something to fight for.

He called to Nic. “Run!”

He called to Nic. “Run!”

Nic hesitated, but then bolted into the woods. Daisy took a shot, but there

were too many trees to get off a clean one.

Nic heard Daisy scream as she ran through the trees.

“I will kill you!”

Chapter Fifty-five

Day eighteen

“I will kill you!” Daisy screams. The man with the shotgun is not more than

five yards away now.

I watch my child escape. I watch her until she disappears and I want to laugh out loud with relief and joy.

I hear the sirens. They’ve found us.

Daisy’s face changes. “Okay, see—now I have to leave. Do this shit all over

again. Do you know how hard it is to disappear?”

The man shakes his head. “Like hell you are. Don’t move,” he says.

Daisy looks surprised.

But there’s little time now.

She pulls Alice in front of her. A human shield. Her own daughter.

She turns the gun to point at her daughter’s head. She presses it hard into the soft flesh of her temple.

Alice whimpers. “Mommy?”

The man is in awe as he watches the mother of this child, his child, move

toward him.

“Drop the gun and take us through the woods the way you came. Back to the

inn. Then give us a car. Or I swear to you, I will put a bullet in her head.”

The man is wide-eyed as he lets these words reach into his soul, the way they do mine. They do not have anyplace else to go.

His hands tremble but he holds the gun steady. I watch Daisy’s finger pull

back the safety lever. I hear the click. She knows—I can feel it—she knows he won’t fire that shotgun. He will stand there in a perpetual state of human

conflict, wanting her dead, but afraid of hitting his daughter. Afraid she will pull the trigger first. He will do exactly what she tells him now. And then she will be free.

I am there again, five years ago, turning the corner on my street. The corner just before our driveway. I am worried that something is wrong. I can feel the anger that will come when I find out nothing is—that it was just Nicole being a teenager. Both hands on the wheel, both eyes on the road. Thoughts on what I

teenager. Both hands on the wheel, both eyes on the road. Thoughts on what I might find inside my house.

I feel my feet move. I feel a heavy rock in my hands. I feel eyes turn.

But I am there five years ago. Turning the corner, seeing the flash of

something. What is it? What could have suddenly come into the road, into the path of my car?

I hear a crack. And a scream. My hands ache.

I am back there. My foot on the brakes, my hands turning the wheel. Hard

Day eighteen

enough. All of it is hard enough. I turn to see Annie safe on the other side.

“I will kill you!” Daisy screams. The man with the shotgun is not more than

I feel arms grabbing my legs. Little arms squeezing tight.

five yards away now.

I look down and see Alice crying with relief. Not Annie. Alice.

I watch my child escape. I watch her until she disappears and I want to laugh I look down and see Daisy unconscious at my feet. The rock still in my

out loud with relief and joy.

hands.

I hear the sirens. They’ve found us.

The man runs toward us now.

Daisy’s face changes. “Okay, see—now I have to leave. Do this shit all over

We hear the sirens stop and voices call from the driveway.

again. Do you know how hard it is to disappear?”

“Here!” the man yells back. “We’re down here!”

The man shakes his head. “Like hell you are. Don’t move,” he says.

Alice cries harder. I let the rock fall and I lean down to pick her up in my Daisy looks surprised.

arms. She wraps her entire being around my body and I hold her tight.

But there’s little time now.

“It’s all right,” I say.

She pulls Alice in front of her. A human shield. Her own daughter.

Nicole comes now, out from the woods. She sees me and I see her. And I am

She turns the gun to point at her daughter’s head. She presses it hard into the floating in an ocean of love.

soft flesh of her temple.

Just devastating, blissful love.

Alice whimpers. “Mommy?”

“It’s all right,” I say again.

The man is in awe as he watches the mother of this child, his child, move

And I think to myself, that maybe it is.

toward him.

“Drop the gun and take us through the woods the way you came. Back to the

inn. Then give us a car. Or I swear to you, I will put a bullet in her head.”

The man is wide-eyed as he lets these words reach into his soul, the way they do mine. They do not have anyplace else to go.

His hands tremble but he holds the gun steady. I watch Daisy’s finger pull

back the safety lever. I hear the click. She knows—I can feel it—she knows he won’t fire that shotgun. He will stand there in a perpetual state of human

conflict, wanting her dead, but afraid of hitting his daughter. Afraid she will pull the trigger first. He will do exactly what she tells him now. And then she will be free.

I am there again, five years ago, turning the corner on my street. The corner just before our driveway. I am worried that something is wrong. I can feel the anger that will come when I find out nothing is—that it was just Nicole being a teenager. Both hands on the wheel, both eyes on the road. Thoughts on what I

teenager. Both hands on the wheel, both eyes on the road. Thoughts on what I might find inside my house.

I feel my feet move. I feel a heavy rock in my hands. I feel eyes turn.

But I am there five years ago. Turning the corner, seeing the flash of

something. What is it? What could have suddenly come into the road, into the path of my car?

I hear a crack. And a scream. My hands ache.

I am back there. My foot on the brakes, my hands turning the wheel. Hard

enough. All of it is hard enough. I turn to see Annie safe on the other side.

I feel arms grabbing my legs. Little arms squeezing tight.

I look down and see Alice crying with relief. Not Annie. Alice.

I look down and see Daisy unconscious at my feet. The rock still in my

hands.

The man runs toward us now.

We hear the sirens stop and voices call from the driveway.

“Here!” the man yells back. “We’re down here!”

Alice cries harder. I let the rock fall and I lean down to pick her up in my arms. She wraps her entire being around my body and I hold her tight.

“It’s all right,” I say.

Nicole comes now, out from the woods. She sees me and I see her. And I am

floating in an ocean of love.

Just devastating, blissful love.

“It’s all right,” I say again.

And I think to myself, that maybe it is.

Chapter Fifty-six

Seven months later

It was not easy to make the turn down Hastings Pass.

Nic had insisted on driving. She knew the way, she said. But that wasn’t the reason. That turn, this road, everything about this town had become a monster under her bed. The flashes came in nightmares. They came in daydreams as she ran, stopping her in her tracks. Stealing her breath. A flash of the inn, or the fence, or the woods.

She needed to face it. To look under the bed and see that there was nothing

there. That it was just a town, and the people who had terrorized them were now dead or in prison.

Her mother held on to her shoulder as they drove past the Gas n’ Go.

“Are you okay?” she asked, though her eyes were on the gas station—the

place where all of this started.

Jared Reyes had followed Daisy Hollander to Hastings after that summer in

Woodstock. He’d been working in the kitchen—one of a string of odd jobs he’d taken after leaving the force in Worcester.

Then he’d found work in Hastings providing security for the company that

owned the property behind the inn—the investors who had wanted to build a

mental facility but were shut down by town protests. They owned the Gas n’ Go as well. Reyes monitored the security cameras at the station and looked after the property and buildings that had once been part of Ross Pharma. He used these positions to find his marks and run his cons, even after Watkins took him under his wing.

Nic smiled, nodded. “I’m okay,” she said to her mother. Though she had a

knot in her stomach as they drove over the wave of hills, past the neglected cornfields on both sides. But it was different this time. The air was warm. The sun was shining. Green leaves covered the trees as they entered the town.

Mrs. Urbansky met them at the door of the station. She pulled Nic into her

arms, then did the same with her mother.

“Oh!” she said. “What a sight for sore eyes!”

Chief Watkins appeared from the back office. He looked at them, her mother

Chief Watkins appeared from the back office. He looked at them, her mother mostly, with gratitude. Molly Clarke had saved his life that day.

“Don’t they look wonderful!” Mrs. Urbansky commented.

Nic managed a new smile. She hadn’t thought about how they looked. Not

one way or another. Her mother had let her hair go back to its natural chestnut brown She’d cut it short as well, and changed her wardrobe. She wore skirts and loose tops and pretty much whatever she felt comfortable in. It was the way

she’d dressed before Annie died. It was as though she was reclaiming herself, Seven months later

one small piece at a time.

It was not easy to make the turn down Hastings Pass.

And Nic, she thought she looked just the same. She was still running. Hadn’t Nic had insisted on driving. She knew the way, she said. But that wasn’t the changed her hair or her clothing. Those things hadn’t felt important to her. Her reason. That turn, this road, everything about this town had become a monster father had told her that her face had light. He stopped from saying the word that under her bed. The flashes came in nightmares. They came in daydreams as she should have followed— again, your face has light again. But Nic knew what he ran, stopping her in her tracks. Stealing her breath. A flash of the inn, or the meant.

fence, or the woods.

Watkins led them to his office where they sat down across from his desk. Nic She needed to face it. To look under the bed and see that there was nothing

had a new flash now—back to that first day she’d returned to Hastings. His

there. That it was just a town, and the people who had terrorized them were now uniform with the short sleeves. The patches on his chest. The blue tie.

dead or in prison.

But today was not about finding her mother. Today was about resolution.

“You were very kind to come,” he said.

“Are you okay?” she asked, though her eyes were on the gas station—the

This was the not their only stop. Her mother had a second meeting less than

place where all of this started.

hour from now.

Jared Reyes had followed Daisy Hollander to Hastings after that summer in

“It’s good,” her mother said. “Necessary, I think.”

Woodstock. He’d been working in the kitchen—one of a string of odd jobs he’d Watkins tilted his head as though he wasn’t quite sure of any of that. But

taken after leaving the force in Worcester.

now that they were here, he seemed willing to do what he could to fill them in on the progress with the case.

“Have you read her statement?” Watkins asked.

Daisy Hollander had pleaded guilty to manslaughter for the murder of Jared

Reyes. But that was all. She had a hearing later that month and had submitted a statement to the court as part of her campaign for a lighter sentence.

“Does anyone believe her lies?” Nic asked. “What she said about it being

self-defense?”

Nic smiled, nodded. “I’m okay,” she said to her mother. Though she had a

Daisy’s story had been carefully crafted. Reyes had followed her to Hastings knot in her stomach as they drove over the wave of hills, past the neglected after that summer camp. He’d been obsessed with her, even though she didn’t

cornfields on both sides. But it was different this time. The air was warm. The even remember him.

sun was shining. Green leaves covered the trees as they entered the town.

That’s what she said in her statement—though other girls from the camp,

Mrs. Urbansky met them at the door of the station. She pulled Nic into her

women now, had started to come forward with statements of their own,

arms, then did the same with her mother.

statements about Daisy and Reyes being together the entire summer. About

“Oh!” she said. “What a sight for sore eyes!”

Daisy sneaking out of their cabin at night to meet him.

Chief Watkins appeared from the back office. He looked at them, her mother

Daisy denied all of this.

Chief Watkins appeared from the back office. He looked at them, her mother Daisy denied all of this.

mostly, with gratitude. Molly Clarke had saved his life that day.

According to her, Reyes followed her to Hastings and stalked her. She said

“Don’t they look wonderful!” Mrs. Urbansky commented.

she told no one because she was scared. She swore she was in love with Roger Nic managed a new smile. She hadn’t thought about how they looked. Not

Booth and that she planned to stay with him and marry him, but Reyes wouldn’t one way or another. Her mother had let her hair go back to its natural chestnut have it. He kidnapped her and kept her a prisoner in that house for ten years. She brown She’d cut it short as well, and changed her wardrobe. She wore skirts and was finally able to escape and had been in hiding, terrified because Reyes was a loose tops and pretty much whatever she felt comfortable in. It was the way

cop. She came back that day to try to save Alice.

she’d dressed before Annie died. It was as though she was reclaiming herself, She killed Reyes in a moment of terror—rage and terror that was produced

one small piece at a time.

from years of abuse and captivity. They were comparing it to battered spouse And Nic, she thought she looked just the same. She was still running. Hadn’t syndrome. It may not have been self-defense in that moment, but justified by the culmination of years of terror.

Watkins thought carefully before giving an answer to the question. Did

anyone believe her story?

“It’s complicated,” he said. “Of all the people who have been coming

Watkins led them to his office where they sat down across from his desk. Nicforward now, saying what Reyes did to them with his cons—not one of them had a new flash now—back to that first day she’d returned to Hastings. His

identified Daisy. She was very careful to stay behind the scenes. They found his uniform with the short sleeves. The patches on his chest. The blue tie.

beat-up truck behind the house—no prints belonging to Daisy. And the things all But today was not about finding her mother. Today was about resolution.

of you saw in the woods that day—the things you heard her confess about being

“You were very kind to come,” he said.

Reyes’s partner in crime, not his prisoner—she has experts willing to testify that This was the not their only stop. Her mother had a second meeting less than she was saying those things to take back control, or manipulate him. Years of hour from now.

captivity had messed with her mind.”

“It’s good,” her mother said. “Necessary, I think.”

Nic knew all about the experts and their case studies—women who had been

Watkins tilted his head as though he wasn’t quite sure of any of that. But

abused and battered and held captive who didn’t do or say the things that would now that they were here, he seemed willing to do what he could to fill them in onbe expected under the circumstances. Daisy had suffered abuse in her home as a the progress with the case.

child. And then Reyes had imprisoned her. They had come close to pleading

“Have you read her statement?” Watkins asked.

diminished capacity—insanity—as a result.

Daisy Hollander had pleaded guilty to manslaughter for the murder of Jared

Still, it was more than just the words Daisy had spoken in those woods.

Reyes. But that was all. She had a hearing later that month and had submitted a

“What about the note?” Nic asked now. “To Booth—and the texts to her

statement to the court as part of her campaign for a lighter sentence.

sister?”

“Does anyone believe her lies?” Nic asked. “What she said about it being

“She claims Reyes made her write them. Look—it fits. He forged that note

self-defense?”

he left at the casino, in the room he charged to your mother’s credit card. He Daisy’s story had been carefully crafted. Reyes had followed her to Hastings proved himself to be pretty adept at planning a kidnapping and covering his after that summer camp. He’d been obsessed with her, even though she didn’t

tracks.”

even remember him.

Nic was far from satisfied. It was just now that she was feeling the extent of That’s what she said in her statement—though other girls from the camp,

her anger at how things had unfolded in the aftermath of finding her mother.

women now, had started to come forward with statements of their own,

She started rattling off the loose ends.

statements about Daisy and Reyes being together the entire summer. About

“And what about her sister—Veronica? Forensics found Daisy’s prints and

Daisy sneaking out of their cabin at night to meet him.

hair all over the house . . . and I saw that jacket at her house the very same day.”

Daisy denied all of this.

hair all over the house . . . and I saw that jacket at her house the very same day.”

Daisy denied all of this.

Watkins had more excuses.

According to her, Reyes followed her to Hastings and stalked her. She said

“But they don’t know how old they are, and Daisy explained the jacket—

she told no one because she was scared. She swore she was in love with Roger said she stopped to see her sister for the first time that morning . . . on her way to Booth and that she planned to stay with him and marry him, but Reyes wouldn’t rescue her daughter.”

have it. He kidnapped her and kept her a prisoner in that house for ten years. She Nic continued.

was finally able to escape and had been in hiding, terrified because Reyes was a

“But the witnesses who saw her over the years—free as a bird! In three

cop. She came back that day to try to save Alice.

different states! She was coming and going as she pleased this whole time! And She killed Reyes in a moment of terror—rage and terror that was produced

she had the app for those cameras on her phone. Why would Reyes give her

from years of abuse and captivity. They were comparing it to battered spouse access unless she was his full accomplice? There are so many pieces that paint a syndrome. It may not have been self-defense in that moment, but justified by the different picture!”

culmination of years of terror.

Then, a new voice—

Watkins thought carefully before giving an answer to the question. Did

“Nicole,” her mother said. The voice was calm, resolved. “You’re forgetting

anyone believe her story?

about Alice.”

“It’s complicated,” he said. “Of all the people who have been coming

Nic hung her head. Alice.

forward now, saying what Reyes did to them with his cons—not one of them

The reason Reyes had targeted her mother—the girl who needed a mother.

identified Daisy. She was very careful to stay behind the scenes. They found his Alice had been granted visits with Daisy Hollander. The social workers

beat-up truck behind the house—no prints belonging to Daisy. And the things all thought it would be good for her, to help put what had happened in those woods of you saw in the woods that day—the things you heard her confess about being into some sort of context. After those visits, Alice had told the prosecutor a Reyes’s partner in crime, not his prisoner—she has experts willing to testify that string of facts that backed up everything Daisy Hollander said. They were all she was saying those things to take back control, or manipulate him. Years of lies. She spoke about the grate with the bars and the back room and the boarded captivity had messed with her mind.”

up window—all the things that had happened to Molly Clarke, Alice said had

Nic knew all about the experts and their case studies—women who had been happened to her real mother—to Daisy Hollander.

abused and battered and held captive who didn’t do or say the things that would

“I still don’t understand why they believe her,” Nic said.

be expected under the circumstances. Daisy had suffered abuse in her home as a Watkins answered. “Again—this comes down to the discretion of the

child. And then Reyes had imprisoned her. They had come close to pleading

prosecutor. How can anyone ever prove that he didn’t do the same things to

diminished capacity—insanity—as a result.

Daisy that he did to your mother?”

Still, it was more than just the words Daisy had spoken in those woods.

The truth was, they couldn’t. Those witnesses who saw her in different towns

“What about the note?” Nic asked now. “To Booth—and the texts to her

may have been mistaken about the woman they saw. The girls from the camp

sister?”

may have been jealous, or remembering things wrong. And Veronica would

“She claims Reyes made her write them. Look—it fits. He forged that note

never turn on her sister. Daisy had likely been supporting her for years with he left at the casino, in the room he charged to your mother’s credit card. He money from the cons.

proved himself to be pretty adept at planning a kidnapping and covering his

All Nic had was what she’d seen and heard in those woods. Not just the

tracks.”

words, but the way Daisy had said them. And her laughter. Daisy Hollander had Nic was far from satisfied. It was just now that she was feeling the extent of been willing to kill her own daughter that day. There was no chance she had her anger at how things had unfolded in the aftermath of finding her mother.

been Reyes’s victim.

She started rattling off the loose ends.

“Well—that’s where we are,” Watkins said. “She will get time. She will pay

“And what about her sister—Veronica? Forensics found Daisy’s prints and

for the murder. Maybe not what she deserves, but not nothing.”

hair all over the house . . . and I saw that jacket at her house the very same day.”

Then a pause, a sigh. And—

hair all over the house . . . and I saw that jacket at her house the very same day.”

Then a pause, a sigh. And—

Watkins had more excuses.

“There is something else, and I was waiting until today so I could tell you in

“But they don’t know how old they are, and Daisy explained the jacket—

person.”

said she stopped to see her sister for the first time that morning . . . on her way to

“What?” Nic asked. “What else could there be?”

rescue her daughter.”

Watkins slid a folder in front of them. Nic opened it. There were three photos Nic continued.

—one was from a security camera at the casino. The second was of a hole, dug

“But the witnesses who saw her over the years—free as a bird! In three

in the ground, on some kind of construction site. The third, a copy of a partial, different states! She was coming and going as she pleased this whole time! And handwritten note.

she had the app for those cameras on her phone. Why would Reyes give her

Watkins explained. “Daisy’s lawyers hired an investigator. They went back

access unless she was his full accomplice? There are so many pieces that paint a through the footage at the casino and found that—the picture of that man at the different picture!”

registration counter. See the man with the baseball cap? The flannel shirt? That’s Then, a new voice—

Reyes. Those items of clothing were found in the house.”

“Nicole,” her mother said. The voice was calm, resolved. “You’re forgetting

“So they can prove it was Reyes who charged the room to my mother’s

about Alice.”

card?” Nic asked.

“And not Daisy—that’s the point. Reyes acting alone.”

The reason Reyes had targeted her mother—the girl who needed a mother.

“And this second photo—the hole in the ground?” her mother asked.

Alice had been granted visits with Daisy Hollander. The social workers

Now a long pause as Watkins steadied himself. “Some workers found it and

thought it would be good for her, to help put what had happened in those woods contacted the state troopers. It’s a hole near an abandoned building on Laguna into some sort of context. After those visits, Alice had told the prosecutor a Road. A hole big enough for a body. Daisy’s lawyers claim that Reyes dug it so string of facts that backed up everything Daisy Hollander said. They were all he could kill her and bury her body. They found a shovel at Reyes’s house. The lies. She spoke about the grate with the bars and the back room and the boarded soil matched.”

up window—all the things that had happened to Molly Clarke, Alice said had

No, Nic thought. That’s not what it was for, and the three of them in that happened to her real mother—to Daisy Hollander.

room knew it. Daisy had been long gone. Reyes had dug that hole to bury her

“I still don’t understand why they believe her,” Nic said.

mother after he got his hands on Nic.

Watkins answered. “Again—this comes down to the discretion of the

She heard her mother draw a long breath, but it stopped short and left her

prosecutor. How can anyone ever prove that he didn’t do the same things to

chest. She had just seen her own grave.

Daisy that he did to your mother?”

“And this one,” Watkins said, “this note was found in the house. In the

The truth was, they couldn’t. Those witnesses who saw her in different townsbasement where they found his research—papers and recordings and pictures. It may have been mistaken about the woman they saw. The girls from the camp

looks like he was starting to forge a note—does this mean anything to you?”

may have been jealous, or remembering things wrong. And Veronica would

Nic looked at the first two lines. “That’s my handwriting,” she said. She read never turn on her sister. Daisy had likely been supporting her for years with the words out loud. “I’m so sorry, Daddy and Evan. I just can’t live knowing money from the cons.

what I’ve done to Annie and now Mom. I have thought about the bridge for a

All Nic had was what she’d seen and heard in those woods. Not just the

long time.”

words, but the way Daisy had said them. And her laughter. Daisy Hollander had

“Nic?” her mother stared at her now. “Did you write that?”

been willing to kill her own daughter that day. There was no chance she had

“No, but I said those things to him. I told him how I felt guilty about the day been Reyes’s victim.

Annie died, and about the things I said to you that morning.”

“Well—that’s where we are,” Watkins said. “She will get time. She will pay

“What about this bridge?” Watkins asked.

for the murder. Maybe not what she deserves, but not nothing.”

Nic hesitated. She didn’t want to say these things in front of her mother. She Then a pause, a sigh. And—

Nic hesitated. She didn’t want to say these things in front of her mother. She Then a pause, a sigh. And—

said them anyway. “I told him how I sometimes thought about jumping from the

“There is something else, and I was waiting until today so I could tell you in bridge downtown—he asked me if I had ever told anyone else, and I told him person.”

that I had. That I’d told the counselor!”

“What?” Nic asked. “What else could there be?”

Watkins nodded, leaned forward. “He was planning to stage your suicide.

Watkins slid a folder in front of them. Nic opened it. There were three photosPlant this note somewhere. Maybe leave your purse on the bridge.”

—one was from a security camera at the casino. The second was of a hole, dug

“And no one would wonder why my body wasn’t found because of the

in the ground, on some kind of construction site. The third, a copy of a partial, currents.”

handwritten note.

“He was going to keep you there. In that house.”

Watkins explained. “Daisy’s lawyers hired an investigator. They went back

Her mother took her hand and held it tight.

through the footage at the casino and found that—the picture of that man at the

“I think we know enough. I think that’s enough. Thank you, Charles,” her

registration counter. See the man with the baseball cap? The flannel shirt? That’s mother said. She was smiling politely, even as a shiver ran through her body.

Reyes. Those items of clothing were found in the house.”

Nic shoved the pictures back into the folder and slid it toward Watkins.

“So they can prove it was Reyes who charged the room to my mother’s

“Is that everything?” Nic asked him.

card?” Nic asked.

Watkins nodded. “For now.” He took a breath, let it out. Placed his palms on

“And not Daisy—that’s the point. Reyes acting alone.”

the desk.

“And this second photo—the hole in the ground?” her mother asked.

“Do you still want to go, Molly? To see her?”

Now a long pause as Watkins steadied himself. “Some workers found it and

* * *

contacted the state troopers. It’s a hole near an abandoned building on Laguna

They drove the short distance to the Hastings Inn.

Road. A hole big enough for a body. Daisy’s lawyers claim that Reyes dug it so Nic parked. Turned off the ignition. Chief Watkins’s truck was right behind

he could kill her and bury her body. They found a shovel at Reyes’s house. The them.

soil matched.”

“Are you coming in with me?” her mother asked.

“I can’t, Mom. I can’t look at that girl.”

Her mother nodded.

“I don’t get it,” Nic said. She couldn’t hold back. “Why don’t you hate her?

She heard her mother draw a long breath, but it stopped short and left her

After what she did to you in that house, and how she’s lying now to help her chest. She had just seen her own grave.

mother?”

“And this one,” Watkins said, “this note was found in the house. In the

There was a long pause, and then, suddenly, a relenting that washed over her basement where they found his research—papers and recordings and pictures. It mother’s entire body. Her eyes were looking out at the diner, and the little girl looks like he was starting to forge a note—does this mean anything to you?”

whose face was now pressed up against the large glass window.

Nic looked at the first two lines. “That’s my handwriting,” she said. She read

“She’s just a child, Nicole.”

the words out loud. “I’m so sorry, Daddy and Evan. I just can’t live knowing Nic leaned over and rested her head on her mother’s shoulder.

what I’ve done to Annie and now Mom. I have thought about the bridge for a

“You don’t know, do you?” Nic asked her.

long time.”

Her mother kissed Nic’s forehead. “What don’t I know?”

“Nic?” her mother stared at her now. “Did you write that?”

“What a great mother you are.”

“No, but I said those things to him. I told him how I felt guilty about the day Annie died, and about the things I said to you that morning.”

“What about this bridge?” Watkins asked.

Nic hesitated. She didn’t want to say these things in front of her mother. She

Nic hesitated. She didn’t want to say these things in front of her mother. She said them anyway. “I told him how I sometimes thought about jumping from the bridge downtown—he asked me if I had ever told anyone else, and I told him

that I had. That I’d told the counselor!”

Watkins nodded, leaned forward. “He was planning to stage your suicide.

Plant this note somewhere. Maybe leave your purse on the bridge.”

“And no one would wonder why my body wasn’t found because of the

currents.”

“He was going to keep you there. In that house.”

Her mother took her hand and held it tight.

“I think we know enough. I think that’s enough. Thank you, Charles,” her

mother said. She was smiling politely, even as a shiver ran through her body.

Nic shoved the pictures back into the folder and slid it toward Watkins.

“Is that everything?” Nic asked him.

Watkins nodded. “For now.” He took a breath, let it out. Placed his palms on the desk.

“Do you still want to go, Molly? To see her?”

* * *

They drove the short distance to the Hastings Inn.

Nic parked. Turned off the ignition. Chief Watkins’s truck was right behind

them.

“Are you coming in with me?” her mother asked.

“I can’t, Mom. I can’t look at that girl.”

Her mother nodded.

“I don’t get it,” Nic said. She couldn’t hold back. “Why don’t you hate her?

After what she did to you in that house, and how she’s lying now to help her mother?”

There was a long pause, and then, suddenly, a relenting that washed over her mother’s entire body. Her eyes were looking out at the diner, and the little girl whose face was now pressed up against the large glass window.

“She’s just a child, Nicole.”

Nic leaned over and rested her head on her mother’s shoulder.

“You don’t know, do you?” Nic asked her.

Her mother kissed Nic’s forehead. “What don’t I know?”

“What a great mother you are.”

Chapter Fifty-seven

Seven months later

I kiss my daughter on the forehead. I smile and watch her leave me. She

walks across the street to a bar—not for a drink, but to meet a man. A nice man for a change. And I don’t just hope there will be more nice men. I know there will be.

I leave the car and walk into the diner. Chief Watkins walks right behind me.

I have never been here before. My only memory is driving past it that night.

The night of the storm.

Inside, they are waiting for us. Roger Booth. The social worker who’s been

looking in on the family.

And Alice.

Oh, how I have dreamed of this day. How I have dreaded this day. I have had

nightmares about Alice, her hands petting my skin. Her fake tears. Her faces.

And I have longed for her. For the child in her.

She has no ambivalence for me. I see that now, as she jumps down from the

bench of the booth and runs into my arms. I hold her tight. I kiss her forehead, the way I kissed Nicole moments before.

I don’t know what I feel. I don’t think I will know for a long time.

I walk to the booth. Everyone stands to greet me warmly. Roger is grateful

because I found his daughter and saved her life. Chief Watkins is grateful

because I didn’t leave him to die like a dog in the street. I could have taken his car and driven us away from there. But I stayed, and now they say that he lived because I stopped the bleeding.

I stopped the bleeding. That is something, I suppose.

Somehow I do not feel worthy of their gratitude.

We sit down, tears in all of our eyes, as we talk of the resolutions that have occurred. Alice has started school with other children and she is doing nicely.

She is ahead in every level and that is something that those twisted people gave her.

Still, I wonder what remains.

“How have you been?” I ask.

“How have you been?” I ask.

Alice has Happy Face. “Great!” she says. “I love my new school and my new

friends. And it turns out I don’t have any allergies, except to cats, but I can have dogs. And I can go outside anytime I want.”

I smile. “That’s wonderful news.”

We are all so happy for this little girl who is doing so well.

This little girl who made me drink milk but then set me free.

This little girl who watched her mother shoot the man who raised her, then

Seven months later

felt her press that same gun into her head.

I kiss my daughter on the forehead. I smile and watch her leave me. She

This little girl who has now lied for her.

walks across the street to a bar—not for a drink, but to meet a man. A nice man That little girl.

for a change. And I don’t just hope there will be more nice men. I know there We eat French fries and drink soda. The social worker leads us in a

will be.

productive discussion about life and moving forward. She told me when I agreed I leave the car and walk into the diner. Chief Watkins walks right behind me. to come that it was important for Alice to see that I was all right. That I was I have never been here before. My only memory is driving past it that night. living a normal life now. That I needed to be a role model since we shared a The night of the storm.

similar experience in that house, even if I was only there for two weeks.

Inside, they are waiting for us. Roger Booth. The social worker who’s been

“I started working again,” I say. This is true. I have started tutoring students looking in on the family.

in science and I hope I can eventually go back to teaching.

And Alice.

“And my son is almost done with his junior year. I can’t believe how fast

Oh, how I have dreamed of this day. How I have dreaded this day. I have hadtime flies!”

nightmares about Alice, her hands petting my skin. Her fake tears. Her faces.

It has killed us to keep him at that school. It is that school that links us to this And I have longed for her. For the child in her.

town. It was Evan’s choice to stay.

She has no ambivalence for me. I see that now, as she jumps down from the

But when we go, we take the long way. And each time I see him, I remind

bench of the booth and runs into my arms. I hold her tight. I kiss her forehead, him that nothing he could ever do would make me leave him. Not ever. Because the way I kissed Nicole moments before.

he is enough. He is more than enough. He is everything. He and Nicole.

I don’t know what I feel. I don’t think I will know for a long time.

I will never speak of that moment in the storm, when my legs carried me

I walk to the booth. Everyone stands to greet me warmly. Roger is grateful

away from them. When I walked away.

because I found his daughter and saved her life. Chief Watkins is grateful

I am here now. We are here now.

because I didn’t leave him to die like a dog in the street. I could have taken his We. That is a word I have been using more lately. John and I drive together car and driven us away from there. But I stayed, and now they say that he lived when we take Evan to school. He’s been taking days off from work to come with because I stopped the bleeding.

me. He doesn’t want to lose me again. How strange that it took this horrific I stopped the bleeding. That is something, I suppose.

experience for him to know this, and for me to believe it.

Somehow I do not feel worthy of their gratitude.

I feel it more every day since I was saved—my love for John tiptoeing across We sit down, tears in all of our eyes, as we talk of the resolutions that have that invisible line. It has not been a watershed. But it is no longer impossible. I occurred. Alice has started school with other children and she is doing nicely.

feel it. He feels it.

She is ahead in every level and that is something that those twisted people gave He doesn’t close his eyes until I am lying next to him in our bed. And,

her.

sometimes, I will curl up close beside him.

Still, I wonder what remains.

And Nicole—the changes in her have been more pronounced. She will start

“How have you been?” I ask.

“How have you been?” I ask.

Alice has Happy Face. “Great!” she says. “I love my new school and my newcollege next fall. She has been coming with me to my grief support sessions.

friends. And it turns out I don’t have any allergies, except to cats, but I can have Yes, she mocks everyone the second we leave, the things they say and even the dogs. And I can go outside anytime I want.”

way they say them, always in a neutral tone. She calls them emotional robots.

I smile. “That’s wonderful news.”

She says it makes her want to scream out into the room that they are all full of We are all so happy for this little girl who is doing so well.

shit. They have boxes of shit, she says. Maybe she’s right. But she still comes.

This little girl who made me drink milk but then set me free.

And sometimes we have dinner after.

This little girl who watched her mother shoot the man who raised her, then

Sometimes we talk about the woods in Hastings. Sometimes we talk about

felt her press that same gun into her head.

what she should study next year, or what classes I might teach. Sometimes we This little girl who has now lied for her.

even laugh, though tears often follow.

That little girl.

I don’t mind her tears. I don’t mind my own.

We eat French fries and drink soda. The social worker leads us in a

Do I owe this to Jared Reyes? To the horrible things he did to our family? He productive discussion about life and moving forward. She told me when I agreed took me, yes. But he took me to care for a child who was not even his own. He to come that it was important for Alice to see that I was all right. That I was took me to care for her when her own mother left without a second thought. A living a normal life now. That I needed to be a role model since we shared a mother who put a gun to her head. I see them sometimes before I can catch them similar experience in that house, even if I was only there for two weeks.

—images of Reyes and Alice. The way he carried her through the rain. The way

“I started working again,” I say. This is true. I have started tutoring students he made her laugh. The way she looked at him like any child looks at a parent in science and I hope I can eventually go back to teaching.

who loves her.

“And my son is almost done with his junior year. I can’t believe how fast

And then I feel his body pinning me to the kitchen floor. His strong hands

time flies!”

dragging me to the dark room. His hot breath in my face when he tells me about It has killed us to keep him at that school. It is that school that links us to this Nicole. He was going to kill me and take her.

town. It was Evan’s choice to stay.

And now, here is my family, healing. And here is Alice, surviving.

But when we go, we take the long way. And each time I see him, I remind

There are so many shades of gray that sometimes I feel life is one long,

him that nothing he could ever do would make me leave him. Not ever. Because beautiful, cloudy day.

he is enough. He is more than enough. He is everything. He and Nicole.

The conversation lingers and now begins to die. The social worker turns to

I will never speak of that moment in the storm, when my legs carried me

Alice and says, “Do you want to give her the present now?” she asks.

away from them. When I walked away.

Alice nods. Coy Face is here and it sends a shiver down my spine.

I am here now. We are here now.

Shades of gray.

She is just a child.

when we take Evan to school. He’s been taking days off from work to come with She reaches down into her lap and sets on the table two plastic dolls.

I feel my stomach turn. I feel a violent urge to vomit.

She takes the doll that she calls Suzannah, and she hands it to me.

I feel it more every day since I was saved—my love for John tiptoeing across

“I want you to have this so you will never forget me.”

that invisible line. It has not been a watershed. But it is no longer impossible. I Now come her tears. Real tears. And I feel my own start to well.

feel it. He feels it.

I force my hand across the table and take the doll. I swear to God it burns my He doesn’t close his eyes until I am lying next to him in our bed. And,

skin, but I take it anyway.

sometimes, I will curl up close beside him.

I take it and I straighten its hair.

college next fall. She has been coming with me to my grief support sessions.

Yes, she mocks everyone the second we leave, the things they say and even the way they say them, always in a neutral tone. She calls them emotional robots.

She says it makes her want to scream out into the room that they are all full of shit. They have boxes of shit, she says. Maybe she’s right. But she still comes.

And sometimes we have dinner after.

Sometimes we talk about the woods in Hastings. Sometimes we talk about

what she should study next year, or what classes I might teach. Sometimes we even laugh, though tears often follow.

I don’t mind her tears. I don’t mind my own.

Do I owe this to Jared Reyes? To the horrible things he did to our family? He took me, yes. But he took me to care for a child who was not even his own. He took me to care for her when her own mother left without a second thought. A mother who put a gun to her head. I see them sometimes before I can catch them

—images of Reyes and Alice. The way he carried her through the rain. The way he made her laugh. The way she looked at him like any child looks at a parent who loves her.

And then I feel his body pinning me to the kitchen floor. His strong hands

dragging me to the dark room. His hot breath in my face when he tells me about Nicole. He was going to kill me and take her.

And now, here is my family, healing. And here is Alice, surviving.

There are so many shades of gray that sometimes I feel life is one long,

beautiful, cloudy day.

The conversation lingers and now begins to die. The social worker turns to

Alice and says, “Do you want to give her the present now?” she asks.

Alice nods. Coy Face is here and it sends a shiver down my spine.

Shades of gray.

She is just a child.

She reaches down into her lap and sets on the table two plastic dolls.

I feel my stomach turn. I feel a violent urge to vomit.

She takes the doll that she calls Suzannah, and she hands it to me.

“I want you to have this so you will never forget me.”

Now come her tears. Real tears. And I feel my own start to well.

I force my hand across the table and take the doll. I swear to God it burns my skin, but I take it anyway.

I take it and I straighten its hair.

Acknowledgments [TK]

[tk]

Acknowledgments [TK]

[tk]

Also by Wendy Walker

The Night Before

Emma in the Night

All is Not Forgotten

Also by Wendy Walker

The Night Before

Emma in the Night

All is Not Forgotten

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Notice

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Table of Contents

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four

Chapter Forty-five

Chapter Forty-six

Chapter Forty-seven

Chapter Forty-eight

Chapter Forty-nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-one

Chapter Fifty-two

Chapter Fifty-three

Chapter Fifty-four

Chapter Fifty-five

Chapter Fifty-six

Chapter Fifty-seven

Acknowledgments [TK]

Also by Wendy Walker

Copyright Page

Chapter Forty-eight

Chapter Forty-nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-one

Chapter Fifty-two

Chapter Fifty-three

Chapter Fifty-four

Chapter Fifty-five

Chapter Fifty-six

Chapter Fifty-seven

Acknowledgments [TK]

Also by Wendy Walker

Copyright Page

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

First published in the United States by St. Martin’s Press, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group DON’T LOOK FOR ME Copyright © 2020 by Wendy Walker. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, N.Y. 10271.

www.stmartins.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data (TK)

ISBN 978-1-250-19870-9 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-250-19872-3 (ebook)

First Edition: September 2020

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, ext. 5442, or by e-mail at

MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

First published in the United States by St. Martin’s Press, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group DON’T LOOK FOR ME Copyright © 2020 by Wendy Walker. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, N.Y. 10271.

www.stmartins.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data (TK)

ISBN 978-1-250-19870-9 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-250-19872-3 (ebook)

First Edition: September 2020

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, ext. 5442, or by e-mail at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.

Cover

Document Outline

Title Page

Copyright Notice

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four

Chapter Forty-five

Chapter Forty-six

Chapter Forty-seven

Chapter Forty-eight

Chapter Forty-nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-one

Chapter Fifty-two

Chapter Fifty-three

Chapter Fifty-four

Chapter Fifty-five

Chapter Fifty-six

Chapter Fifty-seven

Acknowledgments [TK]

Also by Wendy Walker

Contents

Copyright Page