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I opened the door before she could knock, forcing a smile as I did. I recognized Officer Ellie James—she was the spitting image of her mother, Barbara. Barb and my late mother, Carol, used to hang around when they were younger. But I doubted that Officer James knew that fact or cared about it.
“How can I help you, officer?” I croaked, then grimaced at my own voice. After a decade of not smoking, I’d recently started up again. And it was obvious from the scratchy tone of my voice. I tried to swallow the lump that was forming in my throat, but it felt like a fishbone was lodged in my windpipe. Probably cancer from the cigarettes already, I lamented.
“You own the cabin next door, is that right, ma’am?”
Surprisingly, Officer James looked more nervous than I felt. She was young, and pretty, too, with a soft, freckled face. But she was wearing too much makeup, in my opinion, the lines of her eyeliner drawn out in a way that reminded me of an Egyptian princess.
“I do,” I said, clearing my throat. “Everything alright over there?”
“When did Nova and Lily move in?” she asked, dodging my question.
“They came in late last night. From Tennessee. Quite a drive, you know? I was asleep. But I heard the car door, and I saw the lights go on over there.”
“Did you see anything else? A child outside? Any other cars on the property?” Officer James held a small notebook in one hand, and with her other hand, she flicked her pen open and closed.
A sudden memory fluttered through my mind, then dissolved.
“Um, yeah, I did. Woke up around one in the morning, I guess it was. A second car was out there. Thought it might be her boyfriend, or someone helping her move. Not my business, you know? But I did think it was a little late for visitors…”
“What sort of make and model was this second car?” Officer James looked alert now, and she started writing something in that notebook of hers.
“I couldn’t say. Too dark. Aren’t any flood lights out there, you know? And the porch light wasn’t on either. I heard the car pull in and the door slamming shut. Never saw a child. I guess it might have been a truck I saw…”
“Did you see anyone get out of this truck? This is important, ma’am.”
I closed my eyes, thinking. “I only looked out there for a second. Didn’t want to look like a peeping tom. I think they were wearing a hood. Like a hoodie sweatshirt. And they were carrying something. Maybe she was carrying her daughter in her arms. Not sure though. Why? Something happened?”
“Your new tenant’s daughter is missing. Please, if you see anything, or think of anything else, call me.” She snapped her notebook shut then dug around for a business card. “Oh, and we may need to come back and search your property. All this land, if it comes down to it. Right now, we’re still waiting to hear from the husband.”
I tried to keep a straight face as I nodded obediently, but my throat felt like it was closing up completely. Despite feeling like I couldn’t breathe, I was itching for a cigarette.
Officer James added, “Most likely, the husband took her. They recently split up. Divorces are so messy…” The young officer bit her lip, as though she’d said too much, then handed me a stiff business card.
“I will call you if I do. Thanks.” I closed the door, letting out a long whoosh of breath.
I listened to the sound of the patrol car pulling out as I straightened up the kitchen. Cleaning was one thing I liked to do when I got nervous. Smoking was another.
Back in the kitchen, I gathered up the mug, discovering that a small chunk of ceramic had come loose. I threw it away, then went into my bedroom to search for some sort of carpet cleaner. Anything to take my mind off smoking, and the jarring police visit.
The stain would be hard to get out. Usually, I was careful, rarely needing cleaners to fix my mistakes.
I stopped for a moment to smooth out the edges of my bedspread, my fingers trembling. My pack of Camels was tucked away in my bedside drawer, within reach.
But instead, I picked up one of the stuffed bunnies my husband made for me, squeezing it tightly to my chest.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_f6fa05f7-564b-5cab-9a18-879468e6fed9)
The Mother
NOVA
I guess it all started on the day I was born. Choices.I tend to make the wrong ones. Specifically, I’ve always been drawn to the wrong people, and it started with my mom and dad. Mama didn’t want me. Even before she met me, she wanted to get rid of me. Somehow, my dad talked her into having me, but when she left the hospital after giving birth, she didn’t take me with her.
I guess I should have been grateful toward him. If not for him, I’d be a goopy mass of medical waste. But truth was, he didn’t really want me either. Sometimes, I wondered if I would have been better off if mama would have gone with her choice, instead of his.
A psychiatrist could psychoanalyze me pretty quickly—I was that cliched patient, the one who made it easy to set forth guidelines and criteria for dysfunction—mama left me, and daddy abused me, so I was destined to choose shitty partners as a result. Simple as that. My entire psychiatric profile wrapped up in a neat little bow.
But there weren’t any warning signs when it came to Martin, not really. He was sweet, tender even, for those first two years we dated…but looking back, he wasn’t the only bad choice I made. In high school, I chose the wrong friends. My dating life before Martin was a nightmare.
How could I have chosen so wrongly? How could I have been so blind?
Moonlight slithered through the open window above my bed. I had an upside-down view of the stars. There were so many of them, more stars than I’d ever seen from my window back home in Tennessee.
They made me feel insignificant. And that’s exactly how I wanted to feel when I brought Lily to the cabin—like particles of dust in the wind, floating around unseen and unkept. Forgotten.
Why couldn’t Martin just forget us? Why couldn’t he let us go?
Back in Granton, our home was like a battleground. But I guess, for Martin, it wasn’t so bad because he was the one waging war. I was just a casualty.
And now Lily is a casualty too.
I could still taste the bottle of wine I’d drank before bed. Turning on my side didn’t help. I curled my knees to my chest, fighting back the urge to throw up.
It wasn’t morning, but it wasn’t night, I could tell from the slant of the moon. It must be two, maybe three, in the morning now? Where is my daughter? Is she sleeping? Is she safe?
My mouth watered with nausea as I fumbled around with the covers, searching for my cell phone in the dark. Instead I found my pack of Listerine strips. I slid one out and tossed it on the back of my tongue. I’d gotten into the habit of using them. Martin preferred fresh breath at all times.
I’d called Martin’s phone nearly a hundred times today, asking him to call me back. Begging him to bring me my daughter. There was no point in keeping my location a secret anymore—he obviously already knew we were here. He’d taken my Lily. Oh, god…Lily…
I’d expected him to answer the phone, to demand that I come home if I ever wanted to see her again. But the calls went straight to voicemail.
He’s not going to give her back.
I was too drunk to cry and too drunk to panic. My limbs felt numb and I hated myself for enjoying the nothingness I felt inside.
My entire soul was numb.
I’m like a chunk of ice, pieces chippedaway.
How much of me is left? Is there anything worth saving if I don’t have Lily?
What if he took her and moved away, just like I tried to do? What if he decided that he didn’t need me anymore? Now he can focus on Lily—a younger victim, a younger me…
I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I leapt from the bed and ran for the bathroom, barely reaching the commode before vomit sprang from my mouth and nose.
What am I going to do? How will I get Lily back?
I’d tried to reach that cop on her phone, but she hadn’t been available.
Dammit.I’ve lost Lily, and no one can help me save her. Not even the police.
An Amber Alert wasn’t issued. The cops wouldn’t return my calls.
What else can I do?
Wiping the back of my mouth with my robe sleeve, I drifted down the hallway and back to my bedroom. Suddenly, I felt sober again. Dark shadows danced on the walls. I stared at one; it looked just like the dark silhouette of a man.
Panic slammed against my chest as I flipped on the bedroom light.
Nothing. No one is in my room.
I yanked the covers off the bed, my cell phone smacking the floor as it fell out of the crumpled blanket.
I stared at the screen, squinting sleep and drunkenness from my eyes, willing Martin to call me…to give her back…
I’d searched the woods and wandered around the property today, feeling helpless. But I couldn’t look for long because every time I tried to go outside, invisible walls came crushing in and I couldn’t breathe…
But hunger is a disgusting thing—after a while, it supersedes all rational thought. I’d barely eaten in two days, so I’d gone out to the supermarket at dusk. I’d ran up and down the aisles, like a madwoman, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, finally settling on some booze and peanut butter.
I thought that by the time the sun went down, Martin would call or show up.
But he never called. He never came.
I couldn’t protect Lily in Tennessee, and I can’t protect her now.
Martin wouldn’t give her back unless he wanted to, and they were probably long gone by now.
Maybe I’m like mama and I never should have had a kid in the first place. At least not until I had a partner better than Martin.
The tiny black phone in my hand was foreign. My white iPhone I’d left behind was larger, and much more capable. I squinted down at the tiny screen. No missed calls, but there was one text message. My heart leapt as I clicked on it, praying it was from Martin.
My eyes stung with tears as I saw who it was from. Al.
Al: You told me to wait at least 24 hours before texting you on this number. I hope you’re okay…I’ve been so worried about you.
I laid back down on the bed, clutching the phone like an old friend. A message from Al was like salve on an open wound. I typed out a message in response, then erased it.
What if it’s not really Al? What if it’s Martin trying to trick me?
Al and I had been talking for almost a year, but we hadn’t communicated over text until now. Usually we just chatted online. But I’d confessed I was leaving Martin and had texted my new number. I’d warned Al not to message me on it until I was far away from Granton.
Martin frequently looked through my cell phone and checked my internet history. He checked my emails daily, too, although no one ever emailed me anymore.
Knitting was my one hobby he seemed to support—probably because his own mother used to knit—and he never minded when I looked up ideas or asked for advice in my knitting chat room. That’s where I’d met Al. I didn’t really care much for knitting, but it was the one place I had a friend.
And now, seeing a message from my friend on my cell phone, I was overcome with relief.
I typed out another message, clicking send before I could change my mind.
Me: I don’t know what to do. I’m so scared. He found out where I am. When I woke up this morning, Lily was gone. He took my bunny away.
I stared at the phone, nibbling on a hangnail as I waited for a response. Al was the only person who knew my situation, who understood what this getaway meant for me and Lily.
Suddenly, the phone started ringing, the sound of it so shocking, so surreal. I saw Al’s name flash up on the screen. After a year of only talking online, I was about to hear Al’s voice.
I took a deep breath then answered. “I-Is that r-really you?”
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_3d7de8fe-27f4-5099-82d8-ca9b74cd426d)
The Cop
ELLIE
Barbara James was a worrier. Not only did she worry about me, but everything. I’d tried to stay quiet, sneaking around my bedroom like I was fifteen years old again, but it was only a matter of time before she realized I was still awake.
“Shit.” I clenched my teeth as she rapped on my bedroom door. The light was off, but the computer was emitting a low stream of light that could be seen from under the door.
“Are you awake in there?” The knob rattled and groaned. And then, “Why did you lock your door?” Her voice was muffled on the other side.
She sounded hurt. The pang in her voice triggered a distant memory: the first time I’d lied to her. My best friend Priscilla and I had snuck bottles of cheap alcohol into my room after our seventh grade Valentine’s dance. My mother suspected we were drinking, but I swore to her that we weren’t. Only a few days later she found a bottle of Boone’s Farm stuffed under my bed. Why did you lie to me? Who are you, Ellie? she’d asked. I’d never forgotten that look of disappointment on her face; it cut me to the core. But it wouldn’t be the last time I disappointed my mother…
I got up and opened the door, half-expecting a younger version of her—soft brown curls around her face and smile lines sprouting from her nervous eyes…
But this older version was wearing a frilly button-down nightgown. Her now-thinning, now-white hair was in rollers, her face scrubbed and cleaned to perfection. She didn’t look seventy, but the lines around her eyes had deepened and there were spidery crinkles around her mouth.
“I thought I heard typing in here,” she said, making it sound like an accusation.
“Yes, mother. I’m working. Remember my job? When I agreed to keep living with you, I didn’t agree to a curfew.”
She smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I know that, honey. I was just worried. Are you working on something important? I’m not very tired. Perhaps I could help…” She glanced over my shoulder, squinting at my desk screen even though I knew she couldn’t read it from here without her glasses.
“No…you should get your rest.”
“Oh, come on, Ellie. Your ol’ mom loves a good mystery. I was a big fan of Nancy Drew when I was a girl. Now I can tell something’s on your mind. You barely ate anything at dinner.”
Too tired to put up a fight, I said, “Okay.”
Talking through the case with someone else suddenly seemed like a good idea. I sat down in my computer chair and mom sat down on my bed. I scooted up closer to the screen, rubbing my sleep-filled eyes.
“Okay. There’s this new woman in town, renting out the cabin on the Appleton Farm. She called us in this morning because apparently, her husband kidnapped his own daughter.”
Mom’s perfectly plucked eyebrows shot up. “Really? How old is the daughter?”
“Four. And that’s what’s bothering me. The mom says he’s abusive and so she and the daughter ran away from him. But as soon as she got settled into her new place, he came and took her back.”
“Well, maybe he just took her back home. That doesn’t mean he hurt her. It sort of sounds like this woman is the one who ran off with her in the first place. Why not just divorce the man and do things properly?” Mom sniffed the air, looking around my room as though this case had become considerably less interesting.
But I knew that wasn’t the real reason. My dad never beat up my mom, but he’d been verbally abusive toward her for as long as I could remember, up until the day he died. Although she was too proud to admit it, she knew a thing or two about dysfunctional marriages.
