“I understood,” Caroline interrupted, the threat of tears causing her voice to wobble.
“My point is,” Michelle continued, “that there’s no way you could recognize Samantha’s voice if you heard it today. You’re fooling yourself if you think otherwise. The odds against her being Samantha are astronomical. This girl, whoever she is, be it con artist, psychopath, or just poor deluded soul, is definitely not my sister. And you’re not going anywhere near her.”
“Sweetheart, I understand your concern and I love you for it, but…”
“But nothing.” Michelle pushed her long brown hair away from her forehead and stared at her mother. “You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”
“It just makes sense to me, the more I think about it.”
Michelle moved toward the phone. “That’s it. I’m calling Dad.”
“What? No! I don’t want you to call him.”
“Why not? You don’t think he has the right to know?”
“We don’t know anything yet.”
“We know you’re going to Calgary. Maybe he’ll want to go with you.”
“He won’t.”
“Of course he won’t. And do you want to know why? Because he’s not a crazy person, that’s why.” She lifted the phone into her shaking hand.
“Please don’t call your father.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m asking you not to. Please, Michelle…Micki…”
Michelle lowered the phone. “What did you just say?”
“I…”
“You called me Micki. You never call me Micki.”
“I know.”
“You hate that name.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What—you think that if you call me Micki, I’m suddenly going to come around, that I’m that easy to manipulate?”
“No, of course I don’t think that.”
“You don’t think, period. Shit.” Michelle tossed the phone onto the bed. She shook her head, opened her mouth to speak, then shook her head again. “All right. Fine. I won’t call him.”
“Thank you.”
“When are you thinking of going?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Michelle repeated.
“Apparently there’s a flight in the morning that gets into Calgary around noon.”
“I see. Have you already booked your ticket?”
“No.”
“But you’re going to.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a passport?”
“A passport?”
“It’s Canada, Mother. You need a passport.”
“I have one.”
“And winter boots?”
“Boots?”
“It’s Canada in November. You need boots.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“How long are you planning to stay?”
“Probably a couple of days. I don’t know for sure.”
“You do know this Thursday is Thanksgiving.”
“I’ll try to be home by then.”
“Grandma Mary is expecting us for dinner.”
“Oh, God.”
“I’m not going to be the one who has to explain to her why you aren’t there.”
“I’ll be there. I’ll go, meet this girl, take the test, come home.”
“You really think it’s going to be that easy?”
Caroline shrugged. “Please try to understand, sweetheart. I’ve spent the last fifteen years regretting one decision. I don’t want to spend the next fifteen regretting another.”
Michelle sank down on the bed. A noise halfway between a sigh and a scoff escaped her throat.
“What?”
“I was just wondering if you’d be going to all this trouble if it had been me, and not Samantha, who’d disappeared that night.”
Caroline felt the words form a sword and pierce her heart. Instinctively, she reached for Michelle. “Oh, God. You can’t really think…”
Michelle jumped to her feet, resumed her pacing. “It doesn’t matter what I think, does it? You’ve proved that over and over. You proved it again tonight. My opinion doesn’t matter. It never has. I don’t know why I’m surprised. I should be used to it.” She turned and bolted from the room.
“Michelle!” Caroline raced after her daughter, following her down the hall and into her bedroom. She watched her pull an overnight bag out of her closet and toss it onto the green-and-white comforter on her bed. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Michelle walked to her dresser, opened the top drawer, and threw a handful of undergarments into the bag. “A couple of days, you said?”
“What are you talking about?”
“One sweater should be enough.” She threw a navy wool turtleneck into the bag. “The jeans I’m wearing will be fine. And I have that ski jacket Dad bought me in Aspen last year. It should be in the closet downstairs. Hopefully Calgary won’t be absolutely buried in snow.”
“Stop,” Caroline said, stilling her daughter’s hands before she could add more items to the bag. “You can’t come with me.”
“I can’t? Why not?”
“Because…”
“You don’t want me to come?”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
“You said it yourself. It’s a crazy idea. I’m crazy.”
“All the more reason for me to go with you.”
“No.”
“Don’t give me a hard time, Mother. ‘Whither thou goest,’ and all that crap.”