He nodded. “Okay. You won’t move?”
“I’ll be right here,” I said. But the second he was out of sight, all I could picture was Daniel sitting in the dirt, his bloody nose, and the way he said my name. The way he looked at me. I had to talk to him. We had to talk. About this. Right now. Even back then, I could sense how pivotal this moment was. How our entire futures somehow hung in the balance of this conversation.
I’d gone out to the dirt circle to find Daniel, but nobody was there. I thought maybe they’d all been escorted out, or someone had called security on us. I walked past the stables and didn’t see him anywhere in the parking lot, either.
I turned to go back in, back to Tyler, when I heard Corinne’s soft words somewhere out of sight. I passed the stables to my right—her voice, her laughter, drawing me in.
I saw Corinne first. Behind the building just outside the fair, holding a wet paper towel to my brother’s face. Her head on his shoulder. Her other hand under his shirt, at his waistband, trailing over his skin. I watched her gently press her lips to his jaw and whisper something in his ear. And from her posture, from the way my brother was relaxed against the wall, I knew this wasn’t the first time. I knew he saw me because he moved his hands quickly and ineffectively, pushing her off, before I spun away. And I heard her words cut into him in displeasure as he pushed her back. But it was too late.
He lied, and he knows I know it. He knows I lied for him, too. Never, I said. Never.
I wondered if Annaleise saw that. If she was in the trees somewhere. Or crouched between the cars in the parking lot. She was too young to get home on her own. She would have needed an adult. She must’ve been nearby.
I wondered what it looked like to her at the age of thirteen—what did she think was happening from the distance, from her hiding spot? And if she revisited it as an adult, did the memory shift on her? Grow into a different understanding? I had thought I was the only one who knew about Corinne and Daniel, but maybe I wasn’t.
I never knew exactly what happened between the two of them, or with Bailey, after that. I ran back inside, was beside the shed before Tyler came out. We left in his truck, and he let me drive because of his hand, and we passed a bunch of kids from school who teased Tyler. “Damn, letting your girl drive your truck?” A girl added, “Now, that’s true love.”
I didn’t know how Daniel and Corinne got separated, when or how Corinne met up with Jackson, or why Daniel was driving Bailey home. I didn’t dare ask. None of us asked.
* * *
I PEOPLE-WATCHED FROM THE entrance for a long time, trying to imagine how these moments might look through the lens of a camera. What would I see if this moment were frozen? What would I think? Of the mother grabbing the child’s arm, one step from disappearing into the crowd; of the teenagers in line for the Tilt-A-Whirl, kissing while the others looked away; of the woman with long black hair, holding the hand of a little girl, frozen in the middle of the crowd, watching me back.
Her face sharpened in my mind, gaining context, and I was jarred into action, walking toward her. “Bailey?” I called. Bailey. Her face turning away, black hair cascading in an arc as she spun around . . .
It wasn’t in church but in moments like this when I maybe believed in God or something like that. Some order to the chaos, some meaning. That we collide with the people we need, that we meet the ones who will love us, that there’s some underlying reason to everything. Bailey standing in the middle of the fair on the one night I was there. Bailey, whom I hadn’t seen since I graduated from college. Bailey, who had been here with us the night we all fell apart.
My whole body tingled with the feeling that I was meant to be here, that the universe was laying out the pieces for me, that time was showing something to me.
I knew she’d seen me, had frozen just as I had, but she was moving away through the crowd. I was halfway to her now, pushing through the kids running for the next ride.
“Bailey!” I called again.
She stopped when I’d nearly reached her, looked over her shoulder, made herself look surprised to see me. “Nic? Wow. Long time,” she said.
We stared at each other, neither speaking, the little girl still holding her hand. “You have a daughter?” I asked, smiling at the girl. She clung to Bailey’s leg, half her face hidden, one hazel eye staring up at me.
“Where’s Daddy?” she asked, her face tilted up to her mother.
“I don’t know,” Bailey said, scanning the crowd. “He should be here.”
“I didn’t know you got married,” I said.
“Well, you missed it. Divorced now. Getting one, anyway.” She scanned the crowd again, I assumed for her ex. “What about you?” she asked, still searching. “Married? Kids?”
“No and no,” I said, though I didn’t think she was listening.
“There,” she mumbled as she raised her hand over her head. “Peter!”
Peter was clean-cut, clean-shaven, square-jawed, and taller than average, and I disliked him on sight. Maybe from the way he walked, like he knew he was something worth looking at. Maybe from the way he grinned at Bailey as their daughter ran to him, like he was keeping score of something and she was losing.
“You’re late,” she said. She thrust an overnight bag at him. “She has swimming lessons at ten.”
“I know,” he said. Then he looked at me and smiled. “Hi, I’m Peter.” I raised an eyebrow at him until his smile faltered. “Okay, well, come on, sunshine. Let’s leave Mommy to her fun.”
Bailey squatted close to the ground, grabbed the girl, held her tight. “See you tomorrow, love,” she said. She stood slowly and watched them move deeper into the fair. “Well, it was good seeing you, Nic. I’ve got to get going.”
“I need to ask you something. About Corinne.”
Her eyes widened. Then she turned and walked toward the exit.
“Bailey.” I caught up with her at the side of the Tilt-A-Whirl, the cars coming dangerously close to the edge of the track before being yanked back.
“No, Nic. I’m done with that. We’re all done with that.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Bailey, just answer the fucking question and I’ll be gone.” I was talking to her like Corinne would’ve talked to her, the words out before I could stop them.
And she was waiting, like she always did. I almost didn’t want to press her, but I had to know. “Annaleise Carter. Do you remember her?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I hear she’s missing.”
“Did she ever try to talk to you? About Corinne? About that night?”
She started to shake her head, then stopped. Her eyes shone.
“What?” I asked.
“It was weird,” she said. “I mean, I barely knew her then. And I don’t live there anymore. But a few months ago I ran into her at the farmers’ market in Glenshire?” Bailey always ended sentences like that, like she was excusing us for something we might not know. I nodded, waiting for her to go on. “Or I guess she ran into me. I didn’t really recognize her. But she said, ‘Bailey? Bailey Stewart?’ like we’d been friends. Really, I think it was the first time she ever spoke to me.”
“What did she want?” I asked. “Did she ask about Corinne?”
“No, not at all,” she said. She scrunched up her face. “She asked me to lunch. Asked if I ever needed a babysitter for Lena. It was like she wanted . . . to be my friend.”
“Did you do it? Go out to lunch? Ask her to babysit?”
“No. I’m too old for friends like that . . . for people from home.” She stared into my eyes. “I grew up, Nic. I’m not the same girl.”
“Do you remember—”
She put up her hand. “You said one question. You said you’d be gone . . .” Her voice trailed off and she lost her confidence, her mouth slightly ajar, her eyes following something just past my shoulder.