“Come here, sweetheart.” Mama patted the bed.
It was the comforting voice her mother had used when Aubrey had been upset or frustrated as a child. And like a child, Aubrey went to sit beside her. She let her mother hug her, even though she felt as if she had compromised herself. She had acquiesced too easily by not pressing her mother further, but she had spent most of her life placating Mama—a pattern that was difficult to break.
“It’s almost ten,” Aubrey said, gently pulling away. “They’re probably replaying Kevin and Kim’s press conference from earlier. We should watch it.” She turned on the TV in the armoire opposite her bed. A commercial was on. Two women jogging around a lake, laughing.
“Remember when we used to watch The Gilmore Girls together?” Mama asked. “We would lie here on your bed. I miss those days.”
“Me, too.” Aubrey had been thinking about the show herself. The special bond between the mother and daughter. She and Mama. They were both under tremendous stress. For now, it was important to trust and support her mother, not confront her.
The female newscaster’s voice came on, explaining how six-year-old Ethan Lynd had disappeared from a neighborhood carnival on Sunday, at around three p.m.
Crawling across the bottom of the screen was a number to call with tips or sightings. One of the photos Mama had taken at the carnival appeared on the screen—Ethan with his big grin and dimples, golden curls flying around him.
Her mother’s breath snagged. “Oh, God. Just like Jimmy Ryce.”
“No. Not like Jimmy Ryce,” Aubrey said. “We’re going to get Ethan back safe and sound.”
The newscaster’s voice continued. “Ethan’s parents held a news conference earlier today, begging for help in finding their son.”
The camera cut to footage of Kevin and Kim.
Aubrey’s chest felt as though it would cave in as she watched her brother and his wife. Kevin seemed to be holding Kim up as she stared ahead blankly. A large poster of Ethan was on one side of them, Prudence and Ernest Simmer on the other.
And then, anger overtook sadness.
She and her mother should have been there for Kevin. How dare the Simmers try to widen the chasm between them at a time like this?
Kevin spoke, struggling with each word as though he were cutting teeth. His brown hair was uncombed and his cheeks unshaven, but what got Aubrey were his eyes—dark, solemn eyes that held so much pain.
And she hadn’t been there to support him.
Kevin and Kim stepped back from the microphones, and Prudence and Ernest came forward, first hugging their daughter and son-in-law, then turning toward the cameras. Everything about Prudence was colorless, even her lips. Her blonde bob touched the shoulders of her beige silk blouse. Prudence Baer Simmer looked nothing like a haughty heiress, but rather a desperate grandmother. Her pale eyes searched the cameras, a disoriented expression on her face. Ernest loomed over her, bald head shining in the glare of camera lights, shoulders hunched, one arm supporting his wife. These people weren’t faking it.
Aubrey had considered the possibility of the Simmers being behind Ethan’s kidnapping and the threatening note, but how could they be so grief stricken if they were responsible?
Prudence leaned into the microphone. “We are offering a reward of one million dollars for information leading to the safe return of our grandson, Ethan Lynd.”
“A million dollars,” her mother whispered.
“If you have seen Ethan or know any of the people who took our little boy, please call this number.” Prudence held up a poster with the number and recited it. It was also the number that crawled across the bottom of the screen.
Prudence and Ernest spoke for another minute about Ethan, and then, to Aubrey and apparently the Simmers’ surprise, Kim pushed in front of them. Her blonde hair was in disarray, her eyes red and puffy. “He’s my baby,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please, if you have my little boy . . .” She struggled to get the words out.
Kevin stepped up beside her and held her as he stared at the camera. “Ethan, are you watching? We love you, little guy. We’re going to get you home.” And then his face crumpled.
Mama shook her head. “He’ll never forgive me.”
Aubrey didn’t know how to comfort her. Her mother was probably right. There’d be no forgiveness from Kevin now, no matter the outcome.
The newscaster was speaking, and “Exclusive interview” flashed on the screen. “We have an exclusive interview with a family that can shed some light on this horrible tragedy. Are you there, Roberto?”
“Yes,” he said. “Thank you, Lourdes. I’m talking to Rhonda and Chris Cole, the parents of Ryan Cole, a little boy who died three years ago under the care of Dr. Diana Lynd, Ethan’s paternal grandmother.”
“For God’s sake,” Aubrey said. “I can’t believe this.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Cole,” the reporter continued, “can you tell us about your experience with Ethan’s grandmother, Dr. Diana Lynd?”
The Coles glanced at each other. They were dressed formally—the husband in a suit, the wife in a high-necked black dress.
Rhonda spoke. Her listless brown hair hung loose to her shoulders, and she looked at her hands, not at the camera. “When we heard what happened, we felt we had to come forth and tell the world what we knew.”
“What is that, Mrs. Cole?” the reporter prompted.
“That woman—the little boy’s grandmother—well, she’s a doctor. She was supposed to take care of our child, but she said there wasn’t nothing wrong with him. And then our Ryan, he died.”
“Do you think that has something to do with Ethan’s disappearance?” the reporter asked.
“What kind of doctor says a child is fine and sends him home to die?” Rhonda Cole wiped her eyes, but there was a telltale leak of contempt as one lip curled up.