WEST McCRAY:
The truck stop is called Whittler’s and I arrive there on a Tuesday evening, after taking a plane out from New York. I’m staying in a motel in the nearest town, Wagner, about a thousand miles from Cold Creek.
If I accept Detective Sheila Gutierrez’s words at face value, this can only prove to be a waste of my time. On the other hand, May Beth’s general distrust of the Farfield Police Department’s efficacy is never far from my mind. Basically: I have to find out for myself.
How Sadie ended up at this particular spot—if she ended up here at all—is as much a mystery as everything else surrounding her disappearance. Was there something in particular she was looking for or was this just some random stop along the way?
[SOUNDS OF A DINER, MURMURED CONVERSATION, FOOD COOKING, THE CLATTER OF PLATES]
RUBY LOCKWOOD:
What can I get ya?
WEST McCRAY:
Ruby Lockwood is a formidable woman with pitch-black curls piled high on top of her head. The lines on her face suggest she’s a little older than she actually is—she’s in her mid-sixties. She’s worked at Ray’s Diner for thirty years and spent twenty of them married to its owner, Ray.
RUBY LOCKWOOD:
Ray was fifteen years my senior. When I started here, it was a dive, but I was just a waitress, so I kept my mouth shut. Then he falls in love with me, I get around to falling in love with him, we tied the knot and I worked on turning this place into something special. Just ask anyone—here, ask Lenny! Lenny Henderson. Lenny, this guy’s with the radio.
LENNY HENDERSON:
Is that right? People still listen to that?
RUBY LOCKWOOD:
Tell him how special it is here.
LENNY HENDERSON:
I always like coming to Ray’s, it’s real homey. Ruby treats her regulars like the family she never wanted. [RUBY LAUGHS] And the meatloaf’s better than my mama makes, but don’t go telling her I said that.
WEST McCRAY:
Well, I’ve got it on the record here but no one listens to the radio.
[THEY LAUGH]
WEST McCRAY:
I don’t know what Ray’s was like before Ruby fixed the place up, but I can tell you what she turned it into. There’s something immehtely nostalgic about it when you step through its doors, or rather—it’s the idea of nostalgia. Ray’s Diner plays to that fifties Americana feel, with its Formica countertops, red vinyl seats and turquoise accents. It smells like how a Thanksgiving meal looks in the movies. I’m hungry, so I order the meatloaf and Lenny’s right; it’s better than my mama makes.
Ray died a few years ago of throat cancer.
RUBY LOCKWOOD:
We were gonna rename this place Ruby & Ray’s. We were gonna have a grand reopening for it and everything. Then he got sick and after he died, it didn’t feel right calling it anything else. I miss him every day of my life. He was my soul mate and now this diner is the closest I’ll ever be to him, ’til it’s my turn to come home.
I got no plans to retire.
WEST McCRAY:
Ruby says she never talked to the Farfield PD about Sadie.
RUBY LOCKWOOD:
You had me convinced my memory was shot—I wouldn’t forget talking to the police, if they came around here. And then I thought: Saul.
WEST McCRAY:
Saul is Ruby’s brother-in-law, the late Ray Lockwood’s youngest brother. He’s a bald man, who just entered his forties, with two colorful tattoo sleeves on both arms. He’s in charge when Ruby’s not around. And Ruby wasn’t around the day the Farfield PD came to visit to ask about our missing girl.
SAUL LOCKWOOD:
It was a young guy, I think, the cop who came. He asked me if I saw her and he showed me a picture. Didn’t look familiar— RUBY LOCKWOOD:
But you’re horrible with faces.
SAUL LOCKWOOD:
Then he questioned some of the waitstaff, and showed them the picture, and they didn’t remember seeing her. He left the picture with me, if I remember right, and told me to follow up with anyone that was on shift at the time …
RUBY LOCKWOOD:
You didn’t follow up with me. I don’t remember ever seeing a picture of this girl. I bet you threw it out, didn’t you, Saul?
SAUL LOCKWOOD:
Maybe? I wasn’t keeping track of it, at least. I mean, come on. A missing girl? Around here? Take a look at the girls working the parking lot! They’re all missing. We got a business to run. Lots of people come through here. I can’t keep track of every single one.
RUBY LOCKWOOD:
He’s not wrong. It’s true we got less regulars than passersby, but unlike some people, I never forget a face.
WEST McCRAY:
Well, I have a picture right here, so let’s find out if you saw this one.
RUBY LOCKWOOD:
All right, give it here and—oh.
WEST McCRAY: Ruby was telling the truth. She never forgets a face.
sadie
Even in the dark, Montgomery is beautiful.
I have no choice but to hate it. It’s the set of a movie brought to life. The houses here are gorgeous, lined neatly along each street, all of them tastefully decorated and immaculately landscaped. American flags hung with quiet pride. Cars in driveways that probably cost as much as much less impressive houses. On the main street, it’s shop after shop boasting an earthy, artisanal aesthetic that screams we’re local! Local or organic or both. Craft beer. A yoga studio. A weed dispensary. A little café hawking wheatgrass shots. There’s a poster for an outdoor concert in the park come weekend; some band I’ve never heard of. One of the streets is closed off, filled with stalls for a farmer’s market in the morning. I pass the empty high school awaiting fall term and imagine a bunch of white-teethed teenagers—Kendall, Noah, Carrie and Javi among them—pouring out of its doors and they’re all in school colors because what else would they be wearing? At one side of town, there’s a playground with a climbing wall and a splash pad and the slides and swings look so … new.
I know better than to let myself want, but whenever I got weak and gave in to the urge, the trailer I grew up in turned into a house, the lot turned into a backyard with more than enough room to lay in the sun without witness of creepy neighbors. An empty fridge turned itself full. In the summer, every sweltering room was suddenly cool and in the winter you didn’t need to bury yourself under a hundred blankets for warmth. Cold Creek’s main street would transform into a street lined with store after store after store where everything was in the miraculous price range of You Can Afford All This and More. Montgomery is almost more than I can understand because it’s so much more than it ever occurred to me to want. I hate it. I hate the people who live here. May Beth always told me I can’t do that; I can’t hate people for having more than me, but she’s wrong. I can. I do. It’s the perfect wall between myself and the kind of longing that poisons your guts and turns your insides right out.