The number to the Mapleton Police Department flashes below before the coverage segues into the weather report.
My head swims and I feel like I’m going to be sick.
Graham slides the remote from my hand and punches the mute button.
“That’s terrible,” he says, his voice almost a whisper. He’s staring at me as if I’m something fragile that may break.
He places his hand on top of mine, rubs it softly. “How do you know this girl?”
I let out a long, ragged breath and keep staring down at the table.
How am I supposed to answer?
I take a moment, then explain that I had met Abby just last week at Jill’s swim party. That Brad, the boyfriend in the news clip, is Jill’s son.
“How awful,” Graham says, his face scrunched up with concern. “Well, hopefully she’ll show up soon. You know how teens are.”
I don’t tell him that Margot is sleeping with Brad.
And I don’t tell him about Margot’s text to Brad, which comes flashing back into my brain like neon:
Get rid ofher.
38
Monday, April 16, 2018
IT’S MIDMORNING, NEARLYten o’clock. I’m parked behind my laptop, where I’ve been since Graham left this morning with Jack. I’m unable to move, unable to pry myself from the screen, from searches of Abby. Unable even to go to the kitchen to warm my latte, which has grown cold and sits untouched on the corner of my desk.
Yesterday was pure torture.
Over breakfast, Graham spread the Sunday paper out in front of him—as is his habit—feeding me only bits and pieces about Abby’s story. No new details, no new leads, only glimpses into her life, some of which I knew already through Jill: Abby is a junior, a cheerleader, on the honor roll. An only child, beloved by all, with a large circle of friends, steady boyfriend. Wholesome Abby, now missing Abby, and I wanted to snatch the paper from him, read every word myself, but I couldn’t act too overly interested.
I kept hoping all day that Tina would call with more info—out of everyone in the group, she’d be the one most likely to loop me in, but she never did. I had to fight the urge to call her, the minutes ticking by with slow-moving agony, my thoughts running rampant like a pack of wild dogs. Had Brad donesomething to Abby? Had he gotten “rid of her” as Margot had asked him to? Had Margot and Brad done something to her in the window of time when I was blacked out? Surely not. Surely I was being paranoid. Surely Abby would turn up safe and sound soon. But nothing about Abby suggested to me that she was the runaway type. Where the hell was she?
Inwardly, my stomach churned, but outwardly, I plastered on a calm veneer for Jack and Graham until bedtime. Until Graham finally clicked off his bedside lamp and roped a heavy arm around me, pinning me in place.
I stared up at the ceiling, Graham’s hot, purring snores on my neck. That usually comforts me, but last night his ragged breathing only set my nerves further on edge.
An hour later I was still wide-awake when my cell sprang to life, sending shards of blue light dancing along the wall.
Gently peeling Graham’s arm off me, I rolled over and grasped my phone.
A group text, from the Hunting Wives, from Tina, who was clearly unable to contain herself one second longer.
Tina:Praying for sweet Abby! Have you guys heard anything at all? Jill, honey, please let us know if you need anything. Anything at all.
My face reddened on Tina’s behalf and I hoped Jill wouldn’t pick up on her outright thirst for gossip. I mean, Tina’s a good person and all, but she can’t help herself when it comes to juicy news. A few seconds later, though, a reply from Jill lit up my screen.
Jill:Obviously we’re all sick over here.
Margot:Obviously! We’re here for you, Jilly.
Callie:SO terrible!
My hand clutched the phone, and my thumb hovered over the screen as Ithought of how to reply. I settled on:Sending love!And as I was hitting send, I saw that Callie was typing a fresh message.
Callie:Why don’t we meet at my place tomorrow? At noon. I’ll have Rosa make lunch.
