A lump in her throat, she eased through town, past the elementary and middle schools she’d attended, then the high school. She stopped in front of the latter, a hulking brick building where her memories turned darker. A teen spiraling out of control, hanging onto angry rebellion as one did a life vest—that anger, that rebellion had given her a place to belong, friends, and an identity.
The life vest had proved to be an anchor. After she returned from juvie, being a rebel wasn’t so cool anymore. Besides, her former friends—like everyone else—wanted nothing to do with her. She was damaged goods; the girl who’d done time. The liar who would say or do anything to save her own butt.
She hadn’t belonged anywhere.
She still didn’t.
Miranda turned away from the thought and the school and headed back the way she’d come, pulling into the Sonic Drive-In she and her friends used to hang at and where she’d been a carhop for a week before being fired for mouthing off to her manager.
For old times’ sake, she ordered onion rings and a Blue Raspberry Slush. The rings were greasier than she remembered, and the Slush sweeter, but she finished them anyway.
Miranda tipped the carhop big because she knew just how god-awful the job could be, and exited the drive-in. As if on autopilot, she headed toward home. Not her cozy cottage in Harmony, but to the trailer park where she’d grown up.
She stopped short, the quick jerk of the safety belt knocking the wind out of her. Or was it surprise that took her breath?
The trailer park was gone. Replaced by a community of small, neat garden homes.
When had it happened? She should have known this. Homes didn’t spring up overnight—how long since she’d driven by? It couldn’t have been that …
She never drove by, she realized. Not here.
But still, why hadn’t anyone told her?
Who would that have been, Miranda? You left everyone from those days behind. Even your family.
She pulled away from the development’s entrance, spitting up gravel as she did. Just like back then, wanting nothing more than to leave this place—and all its memories—far behind.
But where could she go from here?
The place she had refused to confront for fourteen years, not since the night in June when she stood shaking beside the Harmony chief of police, her tenuously constructed world splintering into razor sharp, bloodied fragments.
Just like it was now.
Miranda found the spot—how could she not have? It was burned into her memory. The two trees. The picnic table. The trash barrel next to where Stark—he had a name now—parked the car.
The same spot she parked hers tonight. Miranda climbed out, moved her gaze over the area. In fourteen years, it seemed not to have changed. Impossible. Everything in nature changed. Things grew and blossomed, they withered and died.
But this place appeared to be frozen in time.
Or was it her mind playing tricks on her?
With leaden legs, propelled by sheer force of will, she started for the trees.
Her tree.
And the other girl’s.
“Are you certain this is the place?” Chief Cadwell asked, voice heavy with doubt.
“Yes!” she cried. “It was here!” She turned to him, pleading. “You have to believe me!”
But he didn’t. Why should he have? There proved nothing but her word to back her up—not even a shiny scrap of tape. To his credit he searched with her—he with a flashlight, she on her hands and knees.
Finally, in tears, she gave up.
“He must have taken her somewhere,” she said, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “He cleaned the area up and—”
“It’s time to go, Randi.”
“But what about the other girl? She—”
“I’m sorry. There’s nothing here.”
He looked at her strangely. Not with contempt, the way Wheeler had. With pity, she realized. He didn’t believe her, but he felt sorry for her.
Same as he said to her today.
“I feel real bad about what happened back then, Randi. But I’ve got a job to do. And I’m going to do it.”
Nothing had changed. Not in fourteen years.
With a strangled cry, Miranda sank to her knees. She’d left everyone from those days behind—everyone except that girl she had been. All these years, carrying her around like an invisible anchor.
The girl she had been.
And the one she still was.
She brought her hands to her mouth to hold back a sob. She’d promised herself she would never be that girl again. But the truth was, she’d never stopped.
Fourteen lost years. How did that happen? She swiped the tears from her cheeks. How had she gotten here? Back to where it all began?
Her brother’s accusation popped into her head. “Sounds like running away to me, Randi.”
He was right. Running away didn’t equal change—it was cowardice.
Is that what she was? A coward?
Miranda dropped her hands and, curling them into fists, pounded the ground. She howled in rage and frustration; she wept at the futility of it. She’d spent her entire adult life trying to prove she wasn’t a liar, giving up her family, the dreams she’d had. Pushing them all aside, intent on becoming the person in the position of authority, the one others trusted and turned to for support. Intent on proving she was worthy.
And here she was, right back where she started.
She sobbed until she was spent, with neither the tears nor energy to continue.
Let it go, Miranda. Let the past go.
She couldn’t. She’d tried. All these years, but here she was. How did she leave the past behind when it was all around her? When it constituted the very fabric of her being?
Let. It. Go.
The fight drained out of her and she stilled, listening to her own heartbeat, breathing hard. In and out. The seconds ran together, becoming minutes. Her breath slowed to a deep, rhythmic pace, her tears dried, and the knot in her chest unfurled.
She was almost thirty years old … for God’s sake, wasn’t it time to move on?
Not run away. That’s what she had been doing. Robby was right about that. The time had come to put it all to rest and find peace. With the past and all the people who populated it—including her family. The ones who had hurt her most.
Anger stirred in the pit of her gut, the cut of betrayal. The bitterness that came with both. The taste of it filled her senses, nearly choking her. Why should she make peace with them? They abandoned her. When she needed them they had been nowhere to be found.
Let. It. Go.
And suddenly, she understood. The truth rolled over her in a wave. The change she needed, the peace she longed for, didn’t have a damn thing to do with anyone else’s actions or attitudes. Healing change could only come from inside her, from deep down in her marrow.
The time had come to truly move on with her life.
And she knew just where she had to start. Miranda stood and brushed dirt and debris from her pants. Her hands hurt; she noticed she’d cut her right pinky. She must look a fright. The way she’d looked that night in June, sitting across the desk from Buddy.
Miranda made her way to her car. There, she stopped and took one long, last glance back, then climbed in and fired up the engine. She dug her phone out of her purse, noting that she’d missed two calls and voice mails from Jake. She ignored them, accessed her call log, and scrolled through. She found the number she was looking for.