In the bedroom, I was surprised by how my chest tightened at the sight of their shared bed, but I forced any lingering feelings of betrayal from my mind and focused on the task at hand. Pushing aside the creamy sheets, I felt around underneath the mattress, disappointed when my searching hands found nothing. I turned to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer and rifling through its contents. I extracted romance novels, night creams, and a handful of pill bottles, but no journal.
I held an empty pill bottle up accusingly at Adam. “She’s taking Valium?”
Adam shrugged. “She has a prescription.”
“You remember she tried to kill herself with this once, right?” I asked, my voice shaking.
Adam blanched. “That was a long time ago, Josie,” he said unconvincingly.
“Goddammit, Adam, if she . . .” I trailed off, unwilling to complete the sentence. I rummaged through her closet and chest of drawers without finding anything of interest and then turned to Adam. “Where else can we look?”
Adam guided us into a downstairs room he referred to as “Lanie’s study.” It turned out to be the only space in that handsome house that looked like my sister. A large library table was being used as a desk, and it was heaped with magazines—all kinds, glossy fashion magazines, National Geographic, cooking magazines—and bits of paper and scraps of fabric, ribbons, and something fluffy that looked like the innards of a stuffed animal. An open MacBook rested in the middle of the floor, next to an empty coffee mug and a plate with a half-eaten cinnamon roll, stale with indeterminate age. A half-painted canvas rested against the far wall, a farm scene gradually taking shape, while a discarded palette dabbed with crusted paint lay before it. A finished painting, this one of a crumbling farmhouse that resembled Grammy and Pops’s old home, was propped up on a chair. I was surprised by the skill demonstrated on that finished piece, and a lump developed in my throat.
“Sorry about the mess,” Adam said. “She won’t let the cleaning lady in here. She barely lets me in here.”
I nudged aside a puddled sweater with my foot, revealing an open photo album, and found myself staring down at the same photo of our family that I kept in the bedside drawer. My heartstrings tugged. I picked up the album and flipped a couple of pages, stopping when my hands landed on a familiar picture that looked a bit off. I squinted at it until I realized what the problem was: it was a family picture from the farm, the four of us sitting on bales of hay . . . but, in Lanie’s copy, my father had been snipped off the end.
“Is that her phone?” Caleb said, interrupting my thoughts.
I followed his eyes to the ground. Panic fluttered in my throat. Why would she leave her phone behind? Unless . . . I thought of the pills upstairs, and shot a concerned look at Adam, whose complexion had turned gray.
Caleb picked up the phone and tapped its screen. “It’s passcode protected,” he said, holding it out to Adam.
Adam shook his head in defeat. “I don’t know her passcode.”
I reached for the phone, and punched in the date of our birthday—the same insecure passcode for my own phone. The phone unlocked, revealing a snapshot of Ann as the background on the home screen. Adam pressed his knuckles to his mouth and looked away. Quickly, I navigated to her contacts and scrolled through the short list: Adam, Ann’s babysitter, Ann’s doctor, Ann’s school, Aunt A, Ellen, a Pilates studio—and Ryder Strong.
“Bingo,” I said. “Ryder Strong.”
“Lanie isn’t friends with Ryder anymore,” Adam said. “That number must be years old.”
“She was at the funeral,” I reminded him, dialing the number. Either it wasn’t as old as Adam thought or Ryder hadn’t changed her number in years because after three rings, Ryder answered, her gravelly voice rushed and hopeful.
“Lanie? Jesus, you scared me.”
“No, Ryder, it’s her sister, Josie.”
“Oh,” Ryder said, her voice cold. “I’m on my way out the door.”
“Wait, please,” I begged. “I’m looking for Lanie.”
The only thing I heard was the soft click of Ryder disconnecting the call. I immediately redialed. This time there was no answer. I cursed loudly, tears springing into my eyes.
“What’s happening?” Ellen asked, reaching for my arm.
“She hung up on me,” I grumbled. Tapping out a text message that I hoped Ryder would not be able to ignore, I wrote: “Lanie disappeared and left a strange note. I think she might hurt herself. Please tell me if you know anything. Life or death.”
And then I waited, too tense to breathe.
Within seconds, Lanie’s phone vibrated.
“Josie?” Ryder said hesitantly.
“Thank you,” I breathed. “What do you know?”
“First tell me what the note said.”
“It reads like a suicide note, Ryder. And I just found an empty bottle of Valium in her bedroom, so stop wasting my time and tell me what you know.”
I saw Ellen’s eyes go wide at the mention of the Valium; she remembered that awful night.
“Shit,” Ryder said quietly. “Look, I didn’t know.”
“I don’t care. Have you seen her?”
“Yeah, I saw her.”
I exhaled in half-relief. “Where? When?”
“Here. She showed up this afternoon, saying she hadn’t slept in days and wanting to know if she could sleep here. I told her sure, and she fell asleep on the couch. I thought she might want some coffee when she got up, so I ran out to grab some milk. By the time I got back, she was gone.”
“Where did she go?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t say.”
“Think, Ryder,” I pressed, unwilling to believe we were so close and yet still knew nothing. “Please. This is really important. Think hard. Did she say anything else?”
“Nothing you want to hear. I asked her why she came to me, seeing as how she hadn’t seen fit to call me in months. She said she didn’t have anywhere else to go, that she couldn’t be with Adam anymore and that she couldn’t go over to your aunt’s place because you were there and you didn’t want to see her.”
I bit my lip, remembering how harsh I had been on the phone that morning. “Did she say anything else?”
“Not really. She said she was tired, and she said some nonsense about wanting to sleep so she could stop being herself.” Ryder sighed. “I don’t know, Josie. To be honest, it sounded like she was on something.”
My spine prickled as I recalled the faint slur to her words during her early phone call. “Do you know what she took?”
“I didn’t see her take anything,” Ryder clarified. “But I mean, I’ve been around Lanie enough times when she’s messed up to recognize it.”
“Yeah,” I acknowledged grimly. “Can you tell us anything else? Anything at all?”
“Not really. All she said was that she was tired and wanted to sleep. Oh, wait. She said something about wanting to turn back time to where she was brave. To end this, I think she said.”
“What?” I gasped in horror.
“Yeah, but like I said, I think she was stoned. I don’t think that actually means anything.”
“Jesus, Ryder,” I breathed. “I sure hope it doesn’t.”
I hung up and sank into Lanie’s desk chair, body trembling with unshed tears.
“Calm down, Josie,” Ellen said soothingly, putting a hand on my shaking shoulder. “What did Ryder say?”
“That Lanie was there this afternoon. She said she hadn’t slept in days. She also said that Lanie said something about going back to where she was brave. Does that mean anything to you?”