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Dr. Banerjee frowned. “Ms. Mercer, this is not your fault. Your mother is a sick woman. Her behavior is not normal. To be honest, I’m the one who failed. I shouldn’t have allowed her to see visitors who I thought might distress her.”
“He’s right, Sutton,” Mr. Mercer said. “I should never have encouraged you to come see her. She was here because she attacked someone—she’s obviously unstable.”
Emma appreciated their comforting words, but she knew they weren’t the truth. They didn’t know the whole story. They hadn’t seen the expression on Becky’s face when she mentioned the canyon.
More of Becky’s words haunted me: I’ve been watching you. And now she was watching Emma. Watching her be me.
Mr. Mercer took Emma’s arm and helped her stand. “Thank you, Sanjay. I think I need to get my daughter home now. She’s had a rough day.”
“Of course.” Dr. Banerjee looked from Emma to her grandfather. “I don’t wish to scare you, but I feel I should warn you. Becky is in a very precarious position right now. If we don’t locate her soon, she may find her way to you, and I can’t promise what condition she’ll be in.”
“You have to find her,” Emma said. The thought of Becky loose, wandering the streets alone, coming for her, made her tremble.
“Don’t worry, we will,” Dr. Banerjee assured her. “But Sutton, please don’t blame yourself. Often, for those with such severe isolation and mental disturbance, the ones they lash out at are the ones they love the most.”
Emma didn’t know what to say. Love? Love couldn’t be a part of this. Becky hadn’t looked at her lovingly. She’d looked as though she’d seen a ghost.
And maybe she had, I thought.
21
CALM IN THE STORM
Mr. Mercer walked Emma to her car in silence. Dusk had fallen while she was in the hospital, the last of the day’s sunlight playing across the distant mountains. The parking lot was half empty under the yellow light of the streetlamps, but police cars surrounded the perimeter. A news van rolled up and reporters jumped out. Emma could just imagine the headline: Crazy Woman Escapes from Hospital, Threatens Pedestrians with Syringe. What sort of hospital allowed a madwoman to just walk out?
“Should I drive you home?” Mr. Mercer asked as Sutton’s Volvo came into view. “You could leave the car here overnight.”
Emma shook her head. “It’s okay. I’ll follow you.”
Mr. Mercer nodded, pressing the keyfob to his SUV. Two short bleeps rang out through the darkness. “I never thought she’d try to hurt you,” he said in a low voice.
“I know.” She didn’t blame Mr. Mercer for what Becky had done. He had just wanted what was best for Becky, and for Sutton, too. He’d probably had fantasies of his own about his daughter and granddaughter reuniting; of Becky finally coming home, healthy and happy and ready to be part of the family again. He’d been blinded to just how dangerous Becky really was. But he wasn’t the only one who’d been misled.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen now,” Mr. Mercer said, frowning. “Becky’s unpredictable. She might skip town again. But Sutton, if you see her, if you even think you see her, tell me right away. All right?”
“Of course.” She clutched her car keys so tightly they dug into her palm.
Emma drove slowly on the way home, following his taillights. Her head pounded and her muscles still twitched anxiously as the adrenaline of the past hour dissipated. She passed under a pedestrian bridge designed to look like a giant rattlesnake arched high over traffic, its fangs bared. Usually the installation amused her, but today it felt ominous, as if any minute it would lean over and swallow her whole.
Becky could be anywhere by now. And even though the cops were on the lookout for her, she had always been good at not getting caught. Emma had seen it dozens of times as a little girl—the way Becky could disappear in a crowd, the way she slipped past prying eyes. She could become a ghost as easily as snapping her fingers.
Somehow I didn’t think she’d skip town. I had a feeling she would stay close. Too close.
Porch lights throughout the subdivision cut through the darkness that filled the streets. Emma had never noticed how many shadows there were, how many places for someone to hide. As they pulled up to the Mercers’ two-story adobe house, she made out a tall, broad-shouldered form moving in the yard.
Thayer, wearing hiking boots and cargo shorts, was raking smooth river stones into one of the new beds Mr. Mercer had built before his accident. A deep white scar spread across his knee from his surgery. As the cars pulled into the driveway, he straightened up and waved.
Mr. Mercer waved weakly back at him before heading inside. Thayer leaned on the rake, watching Emma as she slowly got out of her car.
“You’re really dedicated,” Emma said, trying to hide the strain from her voice. “Almost done, huh?”
Thayer frowned in concern and put his hands on her shoulders. “What happened?” he asked.
Emma looked away. “Nothing.”
“Come on, Sutton. I know you. Something’s going on. What?”
Emma’s lip started to tremble. Before she could stop herself, she leaned into his arms. The tears that she’d been holding back broke free and rolled down her cheeks. “It’s my birth mother,” she began.
And then the whole story came pouring out—Becky’s attack at the hospital, her escape, her tendency toward violence. Thayer turned her arm to look at the marks from Becky’s ragged nails and winced, then met her eyes.
