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Tom laughs once, bitter and short. “You sure? Maggie runs when things get hard. You know that better than anyone.”

“She runs to places. People. Noise. Not silence. What aren’t you telling me?”

Mick steps in. “Everyone’s tired, Laurel.”

Tom points toward the hallway. “You want to help? Help Lucy. Keep her comfortable. Keep her normal. That’s what we need from you right now.”

“What about searching?” I ask.

“I’ve got that.”

“I can help.”

He throws his hands in the air in frustration. “You don’t even know where to look.”

“Then tell me.”

“I have a meeting with the police,” he says. “Like I said.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, Laurel. You just got here. You’re overwhelmed. Lucy needs one stable adult right now, and that’s you.” He scoffs. “Plus, they said it’s better if I go alone.”

I almost laugh. Stable. If only he knew how close I am to disassembling into component parts.

“Lucy barely knows me.”

“That’s what you chose.”

Vicious, but accurate.

Swallowing hard, I close my notebook. “Send me the police contact information after your meeting.”

“I will.”

I pick up my bag. At the door, I turn back. “Has Lucy ever gone completely silent before?”

Tom’s face tightens. “She’s left before.”

“For how long?”

“A night. Two.”

“With no contact?”

His jaw shifts. He’s worried. “No. Not usually.”

Fuck.

Outside feels colder.

I sit in the car with my hands in my lap and stare at Maggie’s house.

There are curtains in the front window. Yellow ones. Maggie hated yellow when we were kids. Said it was a color that tried too hard.