It’s easier to say good--bye if you focus on what lies ahead instead of what lies behind you.
For once, Noreen isn’t so sure she agrees.
Being summoned to the high school by the principal can mean only one thing.
Rowan’s heart sinks as she stands in the falling snow, clutching the phone to her ear. She’s lost track of Mick and his grades in the past ten days. He must be failing something. Maybe everything.
“I’m on a field trip with my class,” she tells Joe Goodall, “but we’re right here in town and—-”
“When can you get here?”
“We’re on our way back to the school now.”
“Rowan, listen, you need to come as soon as possible. This is serious.”
“I know it is,” she says glumly. “I’ve been trying to make sure he studies, and I know there was a chem lab last week that he—-”
“It’s not about academics.”
“What? What is it?”
“Mick has gotten himself into some serious trouble. I tried Jake’s cell, but it went straight into voice mail.”
He must have turned off his phone after he spoke to her. He never does that, even when he’s in a meeting.
“Did Mick cut class or something? Did he get into a fight?” It must be serious if Joe tried to reach Jake before her. He knows Jake doesn’t work right here in town.
“It’s—-the police are involved.”
She closes her eyes. Dear God, no. Please, no. Please don’t let it be drugs, or theft, or . . .
What else could it be? What could he have done?
Come on, Rowan. Who knows better than you what kind of trouble a hotheaded, impetuous high school kid can get into?
“Okay,” she tells Joe resolutely. “Okay, I’ll get my class back over to the school and find someone to cover for me. I should be there in fifteen, twenty minutes.”
It isn’t until after she’s hung up that she remembers, with a flicker of apprehension, the missing girl.
As Noreen drives through the outskirts of Mundy’s Landing, she tries to recall the last time she was here. Two years ago? Three, maybe?
She didn’t make it here for her niece or nephew’s graduations, even though her sister was in Oyster Bay for Sean’s.
That’s different, Noreen remembers telling herself at the time. Rowan wasn’t nearly as busy as she was, and visiting Long Island didn’t mean confronting childhood memories at every turn.
Noreen passes the deserted roadside stand where her mom used to buy homegrown tomatoes and corn every August; the site of the drive--in movie theater that closed when she was in high school and was torn down shortly after; the barn where she took her first—-and only—-horseback riding lesson before her parents realized they couldn’t afford it.
When I have a daughter, Noreen decided then, reeling with disappointment, she’ll take riding lessons.
They did; all three of them. According to plan.
She drives past the turn that would lead her to Rowan’s house, choosing instead to drive into town. Not according to plan.
The business district has perked up quite a bit in the past -couple of years. Vacant parking spots along the Common are few and far between and the municipal lots are crowded. The ugly oversized vinyl candy canes that adorned the light poles every December have been replaced with simple green wreaths. Formerly deserted storefronts have transitioned into shops and restaurants. Just off the Common, the three--story Dapplebrook Inn on Prospect Street, once the Gilded Age mansion of Jake’s ancestor Horace J. Mundy, has been restored to its Victorian grandeur. The houses on neighboring streets are well--kept, with only one or two in need of a paint job.
There’s a noticeable police presence in town: plenty of cops patrolling the streets on foot and in cars.
Pulling up to a stop sign, Noreen flicks her turn signal to drive down State Street, past the house where she grew up. If you’re doing the memory lane thing, you might as well go big or stay home.