The apartment is one of those beautiful old lofts with huge original windows. Tasteful and lovely but not obscenely over-the-top. Her husband is a banker but “not the richest kind,” Lauren always jokes. As she ushers me into the living room, I can see a peakaboo view of the Empire State Building, the uptown sky turning a pinkish gray behind it.
“Has there been any word?”
When I shake my head, tears flood my eyes. I press my lips together to stifle the sob I can feel in my throat.
“Hey, hey, let’s sit,” Lauren says. She takes off her glasses and glances at my mom’s computer, which I’m still gripping tightly. She pries it gently from my hands and puts it on the table. “Do you want some water or something?”
“No, I’m okay.” I shake my head as I lower myself onto the couch. “I wanted to see—do you know anything about the guys my mom has been dating?”
This is what I’ve come to ask. I need to know if they could be involved. I need to understand why my mom was doing it in the first place.
“Dating?” Lauren asks with an exaggerated frown. She’s a terrible liar. Of course she is. She’s a prosecutor. Her whole life is about the truth.
“I know they’re separated, Lauren. My dad told me,” I say. “And I found the dating site.” I nod toward the computer for emphasis. “My mom was messaging with people, going out with them. I want to be sure none of them had anything to do with what’s happened to her.”
“Somebody she met online?” Lauren asks. “I don’t think she took any of that very seriously.”
“Maybe that’s the problem—she didn’t take it seriously enough. I mean, these guys, they’re pretty bad. I don’t know what she was thinking …”
“Whoa, Cleo,” Lauren says, sitting down on the couch next to me. “We’re not blaming your mom for what happened to her, are we? Because no matter what happened, it’s not her fault, right?”
“Um, have youseenthe guys?” I snap. “I’m sorry, but given that she felt free to have a whole lot of opinions about the guys in my life, it kind of seems—”Hypocritical.That’s what I would have said if my voice hadn’t cracked.
Lauren’s eyes flutter shut. When she opens them, she stretchesan arm across the back of the couch, fingertips resting gently on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I know how upsetting this must be. And I know that lately you and your mom didn’t always see eye to eye.”
“Lately?” I ask. “Try for the past ten years.”
Lauren is quiet for a moment. “Listen, I know better than anybody that your mom is wound tight. You should have seen her law school outlines and all their teeny-tiny type. It was like they were written by the Unabomber. And I know she’s gotten fixated on some pretty trivial stuff with you—I told her that. She tried her best to dial it back. But you need to know that everything your mother ever did—it’s just because she was trying to protect you. She loves yousomuch.”
“That’s love, huh?” I mutter.
“Come on, you know it’s true.” She nudges me. “Your mom worries about you. And byyourmom, I kind of meanallmoms.” She smiles. “Askmygirls. Your mom isn’t the only one who can be a little rigid. But with her, sometimes I think what she intends as love doesn’t always come across that way. I’m her best friend and I can see that. But I will tell you that your mom loves you more than anything. I think that because of how she grew up … she can’t help seeing the world as a place so dangerous, it needs to be controlled.”
“And how did she grow up,exactly?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“I found an old journal of hers about that Haven House place,” I say. “First of all, she was there for longer than I realized. And it sounded way worse than she ever talked about. I didn’t read that much—”
“Good, don’t—I mean, it isherjournal. I’m sure your mom wants that to stay private.”
“Right, because she excels at respecting other people’s privacy.”
Lauren shoots me a look. “Okay, well, number one: not thesame thing. You’re the kid; she’s the parent. Number two: We’ve established that your mom isn’t so great at boundaries because she worried. Number three, from what I hear, it sounds like she had good reason to be keeping tabs on you.”
Of course my mom would have told her about Kyle. I’m annoyed. But also ashamed. For a split second, my mind jumps to Will. My mom’s judgment is easier to dismiss than Lauren’s.
“Because I was dating somebody who was—fine—a drug dealer, that doesn’t mean I don’t have any human ri—” My voice cracks again. And then I’m sinking so fast, I can’t breathe.
Lauren wraps her arms around me, and I finally lose it. I tug her big sweatshirt into my clenched fists as I sob. It’s a big, messy explosion. When it’s over, I lean back and wipe at my eyes, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry.”
Lauren squeezes my hand. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I just want to—I need to do something to help find her,” I say.
