Nic winced. Everything felt worse now, lying down. She got up and walked to the window, opening it a crack to let in the cool air. The grounds behind the inn were nothing but bare, scattered trees with stubborn patches of dead leaves clinging to the branches.
“Nicole!” Her father was in a panic.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m at the inn. I got a room.”
He let out a moan.
“It’s not like last time.”
“I don’t like any of this. I should come back.”
It occurred to her then—how he would have insisted on coming if he thought there was any real danger. From Edith Moore or someone in this town. Or the town itself. He still believed that his wife had walked away on her own, even after seeing the handwriting analysis.
“No, Dad,” Nic said. “One of the cops is coming with metomorrow to meet Edith Moore. I won’t leave the inn until then. Maybe to the diner next door, but that’s all.”
Now a sigh and another moan.
“She just wants a chance at the money, Nicole. She waited almost two weeks to come forward and that doesn’t make any sense. How did she even get your number? You can’t hold on to false hope that this is more than what it is.”
Words flew from her mouth before she could stop them.
“Is that why you lied to me—about the note?”
“Oh, Nic…”
She hung her head, the phone still pressed to her ear. “I remember, you know. That last day of the search, when they found it.”
“So do I.”
“We went to the diner to talk about it and you ordered a sandwich, Dad. And fries and a soda and you… you ate it… all of it!”
He knew what she was implying. She could tell from the silence. For the first three days, neither of them had been able to get down any real food. They’d gotten by on coffee and a few bites of toast, crackers. Walking through cornfields with strangers, hoping to find her mother, then hoping not to as the hours turned to days, making it more likely that if she was found, she would be found dead.
The credit card charge had come through on day four—taking two days to post. The note and clothing were found next. And her father’s appetite suddenly returned, like magic. Fear had transformed into resignation. And then acceptance.
“I have to find her, Dad. Even if she wrote that note and doesn’t want to be found. Even if that note was forged and…”
“Stop! I know what you’re thinking. That’s why I didn’t tell you about the report. I knew you’d go down that road and it’s wrong, Nic. Think about what the note said. How would anyone knowthose things about her? She wasn’t herself, Nicole. She was upset and nervous, but the words—that was how she felt. Only she could know that.”
“Then I’ll find her safe and sound and make her come home. Maybe the truck…”
He wouldn’t let her finish.
“I just can’t stop thinking about how you used to be. When you were a little girl, full of spitfire, and then a big girl and then a young woman with everything in front of her…”
Nic felt tears coming.Not now.
“Dad—stop!”
But he didn’t stop. “And you loved your life. You loved school and running and your friends…” He was crying and laughing now, at the same time. “I used to get so worried about all you girls, meeting up with boys at the mall, and now… Oh God, Nic… now I would give anything to be worried about you having fun with your friends. I would give anything to see you go to college, or just to see you smile again, not back in Hastings chasing after dead ends.”
He was full-on now, crying into the phone, making her cry.
“Dad…” She didn’t know what to say to him. How to make this better for him. It was hard enough to get through each day herself. She couldn’t carry her father’s anguish as well.
“I know I’m not supposed to say these things to you,” he said, catching his breath. “They told me not to, that it would make you feel worse. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just need you to know that even if you don’t remember what it felt like when you were happy, that I do. I do! And I will hold those memories until you’re ready to take them back. Until you’re done running away—and that’s all this is, looking for your mother when she doesn’t want to be found.”
The therapy speak was unbearable. She recognized everytheme—the holding of memories, the holding of feelings, the running away. Each of them was another layer of mental sedation, wrapped around her and Evan and their father, keeping them from crashing into one another. Keeping them cocooned and preserved, until—what, exactly?
