“Do you still have it, then?”
“No.” The sliver of truth calmed her frenzied thoughts. “Of course not. I gave it to the investigators. There was a rumor going around at the time that someone in the area was taking pictures of teenage girls.” Because she couldn’t meet her daughter’s probing gaze, she pretended to eat. But the food had gone to ash in her mouth.
“Did they . . . were they ever able to—”
“Janie, enough!” The lash of her voice had her daughter’s expression closing, but Claire couldn’t think about that now. “They never told us anything. Ever. You were young. We kept you away from it as much as we could, but the agents . . . it was just questions, questions, questions but never any answers.” She was distantly aware that her voice had risen. Was helpless to steady it. “They told us almost nothing. Weeks and months went by, and they gave us so little. And now there’s this new girl. I can’t stop wondering if she was taken by the same person who took Kelsey. And what that means, if he took another one. It means your sister is almost certainly . . .” She choked on the final word, and for one horrible moment, she thought she was going to lose what little she’d managed to eat, right there on her plate.
“Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Janie got up to come around the table, pressing Claire’s water glass into her hand. Urging it to her lips. “It doesn’t matter. Drink. More,” she demanded when Claire could manage only a tiny sip. She stayed at her side until the glass was half-empty.
Scrambling for some semblance of calm, Claire waved Janie away. “I’m fine. Finish your meal.”
“Jax Martinson let a dog into the school this morning.” Her daughter reseated herself. “A big, goofy-looking thing. It was pretty funny. Templeton was trying to catch it and fell on his butt, and the dog jumped on top of him, licking him like crazy . . .”
Aware of what her daughter was doing, Claire was nonetheless thankful for the change of subject. The story segued into talk of their Thanksgiving plans. With a mental start, Claire realized the holiday was less than three weeks away. They planned to spend it in Colorado skiing, but for the life of her, she couldn’t recall if David had selected a specific location yet. She half listened to Janie chat about bringing Alyvia along—that much she remembered agreeing to—as she searched her memory. Could come up with nothing.
“I’ll probably have to rent stuff once we get to Breckenridge.” Janie pushed her plate away and looked expectantly at Claire. “I mean, I’m sure my skis are okay, but my boots and ski pants were too small when we went last year.”
Breckenridge. Of course, she remembered now. They’d tried Vale and Aspen. David and Janie had wanted to try somewhere different. “We may as well buy you new.” She managed a smile for her daughter. “You can start looking online, but you’ll have to hurry in order to get it delivered in time.” Shopping was something Claire had once adored, but Janie had never been a fan of going store to store, browsing. Overly pushy sales clerks could send her daughter’s social anxiety into overdrive.
“Okay.” Rising, Janie started to collect the dishes. “I’ll clean up, Mom.”
“No, you go ahead.” Claire shooed her away. “There isn’t much, and afterward I’m going to watch a little TV until your dad gets home.” The chore would give her something tangible to focus on.
As her daughter left the room, Claire quickly cleared the table and carried dishes to the kitchen. Her inability to remember where they were heading to ski had rattled her more than a little. That was happening more and more frequently these days. That, and the time slipping away from her. How much had she drunk today? Not much, she concluded as she loaded the dishes in the dishwasher. She was always careful about drinking when she took the pills, and she’d taken two of those today. Or was it three?
The mental question had her sagging against the counter. When had she become so weak? So dependent? The easy answer lay in Kelsey’s disappearance, but with a rare flash of self-honesty, Claire knew it had begun far sooner. She’d always been the strong one in her family. Capable. She’d needed to be after her father left, with her mother working all the time to support Claire and her two younger brothers. She’d been in charge of meals and babysitting the boys. Bath time, homework, laundry, packing lunches . . . it had all fallen to Claire. And she’d handled it along with high school and junior college with an ease she envied now.
David had seemed like a white knight when she met him. Strong and confident. So sure of his place in the world. And so attentive. After years of being the caretaker, maybe she’d enjoyed being pampered a bit. She’d worked right up until the time she’d had Kelsey, but David had suggested she not go back to her job afterward. They hadn’t needed the extra income by then, and Claire had been all too happy to immerse herself into making a home for them. The part-time nanny had been a present that Christmas, so she could have some time to herself and with her friends. The bigger house and Marta had come later. And with each new acquisition, there had been less and less for which Claire had to be responsible.
Maybe that had started the slow leak of her former independence. And at the time when she’d most needed strength, she’d found her reservoir nearly depleted. She pushed away from the counter, angered at the thought, slammed the dishwasher closed, and crossed to the oven. When Kelsey had vanished, she’d leaned on David. That had been natural, hadn’t it? But he’d been able to draw on the well of resolve he’d always possessed, while she’d been left clinging to the remnants of who she used to be.
The roast looked lovely; the glaze she’d added was browning the top nicely. Claire covered it again and busied herself tidying up the kitchen, trying—and failing—to silence the thoughts buzzing in her head like angry little bees.
She wasn’t proud of who she’d become since Kelsey had disappeared. Any more than she was proud of lying to her daughter this evening. For years, she’d been dodging the memory of that envelope. And when she couldn’t avoid it, she convinced herself she’d done the right thing at the time.
Finally, out of things to clean, Claire carefully folded the damp dishcloth she’d been using over the faucet. There were times, blessedly infrequent, when she couldn’t avoid second-guessing herself. Couldn’t evade the one nagging question that had never gone away.
What would have happened if she had been completely honest with the investigators?
David Willard
November 6
6:48 p.m.