The first year of Skylar’s life had been a blur of sleepless nights and nerve-wracking days when I never knew if I was doing the right thing, all the while knowing I could never tell my sisters how difficult it was, how sometimes I just wanted to run away from it all. Karen kept me sane, took over when it got to be too much. Often I’d take Skylar over to her house just so I could rest for a few hours, and we’d end up staying the night. I’d never told anyone how sometimes I’d wondered if I’d made the wrong decision, if Dallas had been right and Skylar would have been better off with a real mother, a woman who was older and knew what to do. But whenever I felt Skylar’s tiny body next to mine—we slept together for years—or I nursed her in those quiet hours, I couldn’t imagine my life without her.
As she got older, she started looking more like Brian. Sometimes she’d turn and gaze at me a certain way, her dark eyes sparkling, or laugh in a certain pitch and tone, and for a terrifying moment it was like he was there in the room with us, looking at me. I’d go into the bathroom, shut the door behind me, and run water to cover the sound of my crying. I’d wonder again whether I’d done the right thing, whether I’d made a mistake. But then she’d knock on the door, her little-kid voice saying, “Momma!” Or she’d push it open, look up at me, and say, “Why you crying?” and reach for me with her chubby arms for a hug. I’d pick her up and she’d rest her head in the crook of my neck, tickling my nose with the baby-fresh scent of her silky hair, and I’d be filled with such love, such sweet joy.
As the years passed, I didn’t see him in her face anymore, didn’t hear him in her voice or laugh. She was only my Skylar.
When she started asking about her father I told her the first name that sprang to mind—Billy, my childhood friend. I’d just wanted to give her some sort of happy story she could believe—a story I could also believe.
Once Dallas realized I was keeping the baby, she took over, bossing me around, telling me what diapers to buy, helping me give Skylar baths. But I’d seen the haunted expression on her face sometimes when she was looking at Skylar. I’d seen her turn away and gather herself, coming back with her face calm, like nothing was wrong. But then love had won out with her too. Her fridge was covered with every drawing Skylar had ever made her. She’d come to all her school plays, fretted along with me when Skylar was sick, shopped for days to find her the perfect Christmas or birthday present, then played with her for hours.
Crystal never helped with Skylar, had never really bothered with her much at all when she was a child. I hadn’t thought she’d ever really let herself love her like Dallas and I had. But then Skylar had become a teenager, had gotten more into her music and started challenging me on everything, getting in trouble at school. Crystal and her had been drawn together, had become friends.
And now she’d drawn Skylar into danger.
*
We debated about whether we should try to find Allen at the pub first or see if Crystal had checked into the motel. We didn’t know how many were in town now, but we remembered one on the main drag.
“She’s not going to want people to know she’s here,” Dallas said. “I don’t think she’d have talked to Allen. Least not right away, not unless she needed information.”
“She’d have to stay somewhere, unless she drove straight to the ranch.” I tried to imagine Crystal showing up, gun in hand, and couldn’t see it. “Skylar would need a place to sleep too, but she only took a few hundred out of the bank. Wouldn’t she have run out of money by now?” I refused to think about what that meant, was determined to only keep one thing in my mind: Skylar and my sister were okay and we were going to find them soon.
Nothing else was an option.
“Let’s ask at the motel before we talk to anyone else,” Dallas said.
We drove there but didn’t see either of their cars in the parking lot.
“I’ll ask at the front desk,” I said.
Dallas parked the car. “I’ll come in with you.”
A woman was watering plants behind the front desk while she watched a small TV in the corner, shaking her head at something a newscaster was saying. A plastic rack with postcards and homemade greeting cards spun around lazily, pushed by a fan on the floor.
She looked up with a smile. “Can I help you?”
“We’re looking for some people,” I said. “A woman in her early thirties, blond and very pretty, and the other is a teenage girl, tall, with black curly hair.”
She was already nodding. “The girl stayed here one night—stole a blanket and a pillow! The other woman’s not blond anymore.”
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think for a moment. I’d been hoping I was wrong, that she hadn’t seen either of them. That they were somewhere else.
“What do you mean?” Dallas said.
“She’s got brown hair.” The woman gave us a suspicious look. “The girl said she was her aunt. What’s this all about?”
“Is the woman still staying here?” I said.
“She rented the room for a week, didn’t want housekeeping, and I haven’t seen her since. She should’ve checked out a few hours ago. We’re going to have to clear her stuff out if she doesn’t come back by the end of the day.”
“When was the last time you saw the girl?”
“Friday morning, I guess. She was in here asking about her friend.”
“Her friend?”
“She had a blond girl in the car with her, but she split the next morning.”
I exchanged a look with Dallas. Who the hell had Skylar been traveling with? And why had she stolen a blanket? Was she sleeping in her car?