“Have you eaten?”
“Yes, thanks,” she lied. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten anything. A protein bar this morning? Or was that last night? She really did need to manage her blood sugar better. HALT, was it? Never let yourself get too hungry, too angry, too lonely, too tired? She’d gleaned that much from her brush with addiction therapy. It seemed like a good rule of thumb, in general, that one should manage the conditions of hunger, loneliness, anger, fatigue. If you could manage those things, you were in good shape. But she was way too far gone on all counts. She hardly even recognized her own reflection anymore. Who was that middle-aged, gray, drawn-looking woman in the mirror?
“What kind of help?” he asked, coming to sit across from her. Wolf kept his distance lately; he knew that she didn’t want him to touch her. Even though she really did. She wanted him to wrap her up. She wanted to disappear into his arms the way she used to when she was younger. Then, back when she’d first loved him, he was the safest place she’d ever found in her life. Now, he was quicksand.
“What kind of help?” he repeated.
Still, she didn’t answer him right away. She didn’t want him to shit all over it, which he was almost guaranteed to do.
“A private detective—” she started carefully, only to be interrupted.
“Merri—” Exasperated, hand to forehead.
“This one’s different.”
“Different how?”
How much money had they spent in the year that Abbey went missing? When the Amber Alert yielded nothing. When the news conferences and manhunts had ceased. When the volunteers had gone back to their families, and the fliers weathered away on the trees to which they’d been tacked. When calls stopped coming into the tip line—even the crackpots and voyeurs and sadists got bored eventually. When the police stopped looking them in the eyes. How much money had they spent trying to find someone, anyone who wouldn’t give up on their child?
“He—uh—works with a psychic.”
Stunned silence, jaw dropping—actually this was worse than raging, which she had expected. Wolf had a hell of a temper; he could really throw down. And she was ready to go to the mat with him. But his silence deflated her. She braced herself for the barrage of questions: What are you thinking? Are you high? How long before you accept that our daughter is gone? These stories you see on the newsmagazine shows, about the people held captive for months and years are statistical anomalies. She’s gone. She was gone probably within hours of losing her.
Instead: “A psychic.” The word was flat with fatigue, disbelief.
“That’s kind of a weird word,” Merri acknowledged, not liking the sound of it from his mouth. “They’re partners—sort of. She’s solved cases, a lot of them. You can search her: Eloise Montgomery. And the detective is Jones Cooper. He used to work for The Hollows PD, retired now.”
Wolf was slowly shaking his head, mouth open, at a rare loss for words.
“I’m doing this,” she said finally. “It’s our last chance.”
He put his face into his palms.
The thing was, she didn’t blame Wolf for any of this. She blamed herself. She blamed herself for taking a nap (or trying to) while he took the kids hiking. She had just wanted a couple of hours of silence; that was it. He’d promised her that on this trip, she’d get a little bit of time to herself—to read, to watch television, to nap. She wasn’t one of those women who took trips with “the girls,” leaving husband and kids behind. She didn’t take spa days. She didn’t go out with her pals for drinks, unless it was work related. Merri was a mother and wife first. She worked. She worked out (obsessively, religiously)—or used to before her knee injury. That was it. She wasn’t sure that it was the right way to be, or healthy at all. That’s just how she was hardwired—for better or worse. Sometimes it took its toll; she got frayed, impatient with everyone. Her mother always said, You have to find some time for yourself, sweetheart. Just for you. But Merri didn’t even know what that meant anymore.
The irony was that she hadn’t even slept that afternoon, though the air was cool and sunlight danced hypnotically on the floor of the cabin. The windows were open, and everything smelled fresh—the flowers outside the window, wood still burning in the outdoor fireplace where they’d made s’mores after lunch.
But a niggle of guilt kept her from relaxing: she should have gone with them.
“Take the time,” Wolf had insisted. “Just chill for a bit. We won’t be long.”
She wanted to hike; lunch feeling heavy in her belly. They should be together as a family. Did he bring enough water? Abbey got dehydrated so easily.