I stare out the window at my house. “I agree,” I say. “But I just don’t see it. There’s no reason why someone like Kenya or Yumi would protect Van. I know Miguel wouldn’t. There has to be something else going on.”
“Those officers should have told Detective Aziz about what happened to you. I think it’s connected. I’m going to mention it just in case he hasn’t heard.”
“That’s fine. But I probably need to give Kenya a heads-up. If you tell that detective about the stolen bracelet, that Noah and Van took it, Kenya’s going to need to get a lawyer.”
“You might need a lawyer too.”
“You’re right.” I sigh. I don’t want to drag Rachel into this, but this is too big to sweep under the rug.
“Are you having second thoughts?” Finn asks.
“What? No, not at all. Whatever happens, happens. We need to find out the truth. You need to find out what happened to Autumn. And if that somehow involves our kids…” I don’t finish the sentence. I don’t want to think about what it will mean for Rachel.
Finn cuts the engine and we get out. He hands me the keys.
“Whatever you do, be careful, Caren,” he says. “We don’t want to tip the Allards off that we know about Van and Tori Price. Who knows what they might do?”
As soon as I open the door to my house, I am confronted with two duffel bags, a tennis racket, and a rolled-upsleeping pad. Evidence that Rachel is departing later today and has not reconsidered my offer to stay in Bethesda and work at Ledo’s for the summer.
“Oh good, you’re back with the car.” Rachel bounds down the stairs and slips on the flip-flops lying near the front door. “I need to get some stuff for camp. Shampoo, body wash, you know.”
“You mean now? You need the car?”
“If that’s okay.” She gives me a kiss on the cheek, plucking the car keys from my hand. “Love ya!” she calls and heads out the door.
I watch her drive off, my heart swelling. She’s become a wonderful young person—responsible, smart, kind. In a few months she’ll be at Georgetown, launching her college life. What am I risking by digging all this stuff up from her junior year? Is it really worth it?
I check on Kugel and make sure he has fresh water. I don’t know what to do. Finn is calling the detective he knows, and whatever happens there is out of my hands. But what happens with my own circle of friends is up to me. I need to talk to Yumi. I call her and once again it goes straight to voicemail. I decide I’m just going to go over there. If she’s napping, I’ll wake her up.
A few minutes later I’m on her screened-in porch, sweaty and out of breath, but there’s no Yumi in sight. The door to the inside of the house is locked and when I ring the bell, I get no answer. Yumi doesn’t go places. She orders her groceries and she Zooms or Teams her work meetings.
Visions of Yumi on the bathroom floor fill my head. She lives alone; Ryan isn’t home for the summer yet. I’m her emergency contact. I’m about to head home to get the key to her house when my phone rings. Yumi.
“Hey,” she says sounding sleepy. “Did you just call me?”
“Yeah, I really need to talk to you. Are you home right now? Can I come over?”
“Sure. I mean, I just woke up and I want to shower. Can you come over in, like, thirty minutes?”
“Yeah, that works.”
“Great. See you then.”
I look up at her house, silent and still. Something gnaws at me. Why hadn’t I told Yumi that I was right here, outside her house? I open up the Find My app. I don’t track Yumi, not the way I tracked Rachel during high school. But we share each other’s locationsjust in case.
And when I click on the little dot that represents her, she’s not napping or showering or doing anything else at home for that matter.
She’s a few blocks away, at Kenya and Shawn’s house.
It takes me all of five minutes, speed-walking in the midday heat, as sweat drenches the backs of my legs, along my neck, and under my arms, to reach the block where the Williamses live. Their house is modest from the front, like so many in this neighborhood, but boasts a huge addition on the back that eats up most of their backyard. I’ve spent many afternoons on their deck, watching our kids over the years, planning school events, prepping for the yard sale with Kenya. In front of the house is Yumi’s Subaru, its back bumper covered in the suburban mom’s version of tattoos—stickers with letters and symbols that represent high school, college, favorite vacation spots, spelling out to those in the know what exact subtype of people own this car.
I am more than halfway down the path that runs alongside Kenya’s house when I stop short.
I can hear the two of them talking before I see them.
Hear their low voices murmuring, the unmistakable clink of metal against glass—an iced-tea spoon stirring in a squeeze of lemon, perhaps. My two friends, Kenya and Yumi. I inch a little farther along, where an overgrown oakleaf hydrangea droops over the flagstone path, its long stems weighed down by huge white panicles. Maybe I can decipher what they are saying, grab a familiar word out of the hum of conversation.
Closer, closer, closer, until I can finally make out a few words.
