She paused for a long moment. “I’m coming with you.”
“We can’t both leave,” I said. “What about Patrick?”
“Let me think. We have to tell him something. He’ll wonder why we need a couple of days off suddenly.”
“I wasn’t on the schedule. Can you tell him you’re sick?”
Dallas snorted. She’d probably called in sick once in her life.
“What if we told him Skylar’s sick at Emily’s cabin and we have to get her?”
“He’ll wonder why we are both going—and he knows Crystal took off again.” Dallas took a breath. “I’ll have to tell him part of the truth. Maybe just that Crystal’s taken off to Cash Creek and Skylar’s gone after her.”
“He’ll be worried,” I said.
“Yeah, but he’s smart. He knows some bad shit went down in our past, and the less he knows, the less trouble he’ll be in for helping us out.”
“Get here as soon as you can.”
*
We hadn’t driven east in eighteen years, but neither of us was admiring the scenery. Dallas was behind the wheel, and I was riding shotgun. While I was waiting for her at my apartment, I’d stuffed a few things into a bag, blindly grabbing clothes and snacks, and pulled out the cash I’d hidden in the freezer in case of emergencies. I also checked Skylar’s Facebook page. No status updates since the day she’d left Vancouver, no comments on anyone’s wall, no activity. Crystal hadn’t updated hers since the night they’d gone to the bar.
Dallas said she’d called Terry, her boyfriend, and told him we were going to pick up Skylar from the cabin because she wasn’t feeling well.
“He didn’t ask many questions,” she said.
“How was Patrick?”
“He’s worried, but I promised we’d be careful and we’d keep in touch.”
I took some deep breaths, told myself that everything was going to be okay, we’d find them.
“Do you really think Crystal’s in Cash Creek?” Dallas said.
“I never thought she’d go back, but Skylar was convinced.”
“Crystal was so depressed when I talked to her on Sunday,” Dallas said, “but I thought it was just her usual shit.”
I stared out at the road, the highway signs flashing by. I’d been annoyed at Crystal, tired of dealing with her crap, angry that she’d involved my kid. “I should’ve paid more attention. I can’t believe this is happening.”
“We still don’t know if either of them is there.”
“Then where are they?”
*
Dallas sped most of the way and we made the drive in a little over five hours, only making one stop at a gas station in the town before Cash Creek to grab some sandwiches and coffee and fill the car up—we didn’t want to have to go to the garage in Cash Creek. Dallas also bought a pack of cigarettes, lighting one as soon as she got to the car. I hadn’t seen her smoke in years.
As we got closer to town, Dallas lit another cigarette, her hands shaking as she held the lighter. I was still gripping my phone, my nails digging into the plastic. My body tensed as we passed the garage. A tall, gangly young man with dark hair under a red baseball cap was having an animated conversation with a blond boy. They were laughing about something, the dark-haired boy’s mouth open in a big smile. He reminded me of Brian, and I had to look away.
The pub was still beside the garage and I was hit with a new wave of memories: the boy standing outside, his father leading us up the back stairs a week later, the rifle gripped in my hands, the overwhelming fear that the men were coming for us. Those hours after we escaped were still a dark cloud, hazed over with shock and trauma. I hadn’t let myself think about it for years, had worked hard to forget everything that had happened. It hadn’t been easy.