"They have her. Whoever killed Chelsea, they have Willow." My voice shakes, and I can barely breathe. I point to the note, and Dad reads it, shouting for Mom.
“Lisa, call Willow, now.” My mother grabs her phone off the dining room table and stares wide-eyed at the two of us. She does as he asks.
“It’s on voicemail,” she tells us. “George, what on earth is going on?”
He stands and hands her the letter. Her hands fly to her mouth, and she slumps down into a chair.
Willow insisted on going to the movies with her friend. She was sick and tired of being cooped up in the house on summer break. I hate myself for letting my guard down. I dial the only person I think can help. “Creed, it’s Willow. I think they have her.”
My father calls Cohen to check if she went home. The chances of that are slim, but it’s worth a try. Cohen shouts down the phone so loudly, my father has to cut the call. "He's on his way," Dad tells me as he lifts me to my feet. My legs feel like jelly as he leads me to the living room. Mom sits beside me on the couch. Her hands wrap around my cold fingers. "We shouldn't panic," I say robotically. "She could be running late, maybe lost track of time. Teenagers do that."
Others may, but Willow doesn't. She hates tardiness, and if she is running late, she informs me. A knock sounds at the door, and when Creed walks into the living room, I throw caution to the wind and run into his arms. He wraps his arms around me tentatively, and then he holds me tightly, his heart pounding in his chest. I step away abruptly, realizing how this must look, and his arms fall to his sides.
"What's going on?" He looks at me, averting my parent's gaze.
My father steps forward with the letter. “We got this. Willow’s been out with friends since this morning. She said she’d be home by five.”
“We tried calling her, but her phone is on voicemail.”
“Okay, we need to get in contact with her friends.” Why on earth didn’t I think of that? We could have saved ourselves the stress. I move over to my handbag and get my phone. I dial the number Willow gave me for her friend Beatrice. She answers on the first ring.
"Hey," she says in an overly cheerful way teen girls do. I put the call on speaker so everyone can hear.
“Beatrice, it’s Willow’s Mom. Can I speak to her?” There’s silence on the end of the line.
“Mrs. Finley. Uhm, Willow left us at the mall. She said she had to go home, that a friend of the family was picking her up.”
“What time was that?”
“Around two, we’d just left the movies, and were heading to lunch.”
My hand covers my mouth, and I pass the phone to my father, resuming my seat next to my mother. She wraps an arm around me. This cannot be happening. Willow will never leave with a stranger. She is far too responsible and level-headed for that. Creed tells Beatrice that he’d like to speak to her in person, and ends the call.
"I'll go over and talk to Beatrice, see if she doesn't recall anything at all. I'll radio in for an officer to come to take your statement. It hasn't been twenty-four hours, but I can call in a few favors. Just don't do anything, not until you hear from me." He holds my gaze. I nod, knowing full well I will not be able to sit back and do nothing. This is my fault, and I'm going to make it right. If whoever this person is wants a confession, that is what I'll do to save Willow.
Cohen bursts through the door, and rushes over to me, pulling me into his arms. I let him smother me because I know he needs comfort more than I do. He's the outsider looking in. He's tried calling me every single day since he found out I knew. He bombards my mailbox in the hopes that I'll talk to him. I don't want or need an apology, not now, nor ever. If you love someone, you don't break their hearts. Your love won't let you do it. The thought of hurting someone that way has never crossed my mind, even in the hard times. It was the last thing I thought of, sharing something sacred to us. It's so easy to be a coward, take the easy way out. Not put in the work.
“I’m so sorry,” he tells me when he finally lets me go. “I should have been here, for you, for the girls.”
“Cohen, let’s just focus on finding Willow. Neither of us had anything to do with this. Whoever has her does.”
I cast a glance at Creed, who is standing talking to my father. He offers me a tight-lipped smile then retreats when he sees me about to walk over to them.
My mother sits calling Willows friends and teachers, unfazed by the late hour. I'm grateful that Gracie is in bed. We try to protect our children from the big evil world, but the bad stuff finds them. We can never be in all places at once. I walk over to my father's alcohol cabinet and pull out the scotch. I carry it into the kitchen, grab a glass, and pour myself two fingers. The liquid burns its way down my throat, and I feel the tears push their way out. My body trembles as I cling onto the glass and reality for dear life. There's a missing piece. Why on earth can't I see it?
Chapter 24
Sinclair
Before
The moment I saw her, I couldn’t believe she was mine. How could someone so perfect and ethereal be mine? Surely this was some kind of a dream. Her tiny hands wave in the air, as perfect blue eyes stare back at me. Then she smiles, a smile I know is reserved just for me. She is perfect, everything from the tuft of raven curls to the tiny toes that curve when I touch them.
Falling in love with a child is effortless. You don't need to think about it, worry over it, it just happens. The second the doctor placed her tiny body in my arms, I knew that I loved her and that I'd love her for the rest of my life. I knew what my mother must have felt and why she always put me first before her wants and needs, before her career, even before my father.
As I look down at the girl in my arms, I know there is nothing I wouldn't do for her.
She felt like home, and so I named her Willow, like the town I grew up in, like the willow trees that grew all around the area, in my backyard. She was grace, personified. I couldn't believe I wasn't there for her in her first weeks, and so I swore that I'd be there for her every single day from that moment on, and as if she understood me, she giggled and reached out for me.
