After Sarah went missing, we had been in close contact with Max for a while. Mom and I had both repeatedly defended him to the cops, making sure they knew that we didn’t suspect him, that he couldn’t be responsible. He loved Sarah—probably more than we did. Still, they questioned him over and over, searched his house and his family cabin, and they found plenty. Her hair was everywhere. Her fingerprints. Yes, she had been there, but they didn’t find what they were looking for: Signs of struggle. Blood.
Just when it seemed like the looming suspicion of guilt had lifted, two years ago, a local paper had done an article about Sarah, looking into her disappearance again. There were photos of Max and Paula. And, of course, the talk started up again. Mom spent a lot of time on the phone with his parents after that article was published. It didn’t seem to matter how many times our family gave statements about his innocence or Paula’s, people still thought Max had something to do with Sarah’s disappearance, probably right up until she returned.
“When was the last time you saw him?” Sarah asked, running her finger over the photo, touching his face.
I had bumped into Max last winter, when he was home for Christmas, shopping downtown. It was startling to see him and we had an awkward hug. Neither of us even said Sarah’s name. And he looked just as handsome, if not more.
“Not that long ago, and, yeah, he still looks pretty good,” I admitted. “You know, he went through a really bad time—” I started to tell her, but then the doorbell rang downstairs.
Sarah turned to me, grabbing my hands. “Oh my God!” We went down the stairs. Dad had already opened the door to Max before we got there, so we saw him standing in the front hall. Tall, dark, and handsome summed it up—now with the broad shoulders of a man to go with it. He turned to look at Sarah. It felt like time stood still as I watched his face, waiting to see his reaction. What would he say? I waited for him to say the words that were running through my head: That’s not Sarah.
Max stood still, rigid, his jaw muscles tense. He didn’t seem to blink, looking at her. The air felt charged with something: electricity, fire, metal, static.
“Wow,” he said quietly. Finally, a slow smile. “I didn’t want to believe it until I saw you, but just, wow!” He moved to lift her into his arms in a bear hug.
I felt myself breathe—I hadn’t realized until that moment that I’d been holding myself rigid, waiting. What was he seeing? I looked at her, the blond hair, the smile, and the clothes. It was Sarah, of course it was Sarah. I thought back to how I had been feeling in the dressing room at the mall, watching her, detached, like she was a stranger. Holding myself apart from her. What was wrong with me?
“You weigh nothing!” he said before he could stop himself. And then, in the doorway, I saw someone else—short dark-blond hair, a black coat. Paula.
“Oh, Paula,” Mom said, taking her eyes off Max and Sarah for a moment. “We weren’t expecting you—what a nice surprise.” I wasn’t sure if anyone but me could tell that her tone was decidedly not happy. We all sat in the living room and awkwardly stared at Sarah between conversation and the crudités Mom had set out. My parents asked about college and Max and Paula gave the stock answers about what they were studying.
“We’re going to help Sarah take her GED, once she’s settled, so maybe she’ll be joining you both soon,” Mom offered. Sarah’s face was unreadable at the news.
Paula sat close to Max, their thighs touching, and put her arm around him as she asked, “Do we look much different to you?”
Sarah smiled a little, then admitted, “Well, Max has a beard now.”
Everyone laughed, except Paula, who corrected her. “Not a beard, he just hasn’t shaved for a couple of days.” She looked over at him and I could feel the affection between them. They had bonded over Sarah’s disappearance years ago, but now they seemed to be really in love—at least, Paula was. Max never took his eyes off Sarah.
Sarah’s face was somewhat ashen, seeing them together. We hadn’t thought to tell her that Max and Paula had been together for a few years. Mom thought it would be best for Max to tell Sarah himself, but now it was too late.
“Well, you sure look different,” Paula said, and when Mom shot her a look she added, “You look great, just older, I mean, we all do, right?” Max looked down at his shoes and rubbed his hands together. She went on talking, awkwardly, as if trying to cover what she had said, bury it under more small talk. “And I cut my hair. Remember? It used to be as long as yours, Nico.”
Her last few words hung in the air, as if no one knew what to say next, how to get into a conversation that meant anything. I felt that funny rushing sound in my ears as my heart started to beat fast. I closed my eyes just for a second and willed myself to be calm. None of this is going to be easy, the counselor had told us. She was right.