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Russel was still in his boxers and an undershirt. He looked tremendously handsome, like an advertisement model for an underwear campaign, and he ruffled his dyed hair and sighed. “You know how important this is to me, Claire.”
Not so very long ago, Russel had worked for the city council at Oak Bluffs. However, after a significant amount of funds had been stolen from the city council, the city decided to blame Russel. This had been hugely traumatic for Russel, a man who loved Oak Bluffs with his heart and soul and had been willing to do anything for his community. Although Susan had been instrumental in proving Russel wasn’t the one to blame (it had actually been Kelli’s ex-husband, Mike), Russel had felt blindsided and let down by his community. He’d quit not long afterward and gotten a job in property development, which frequently took him into New York. “I always dreamed of something bigger than working for the city council,” he’d told Claire. “Now, I realize that all the work I did for Oak Bluffs feeds directly into my work for the city.”
And if Claire was honest with herself, she often liked it when Russel went away. He was a domineering force in her life, the sort of man who wanted things to be just so. More often than not, he suggested she change something about her appearance, her cooking, or the house; he rarely complimented all the work she did. And he often ridiculed the flower shop, asking why people cared about buying flowers in this day and age, anyway. When she got upset, Russel said he was just teasing her. “Why can’t I joke with you anymore?” he’d said.
It wasn’t clear to Claire when this tension had begun. In her memory, Russel was the tender city councilman she’d fallen in love with years and years ago. He was sturdy and funny and a loving father. Only when he returned from his trips to the city did she realize this version of Russel wasn’t the version she’d fallen in love with.
But then again, people changed. People grew. And being married didn’t mean you weren’t allowed too anymore. In fact, changing and growing alongside one another was a part of being married. Maybe Claire just hadn’t gotten the memo on how to change yet.
The morning after Russel left, Abby padded downstairs in a pair of sweatpants and a big sweatshirt and poured herself a cup of coffee. Her cheeks were hollow, and her eyes were red. “Rachel is doing online classes, too,” she said. “She couldn’t stand being on campus, trying to pretend everything was all right.”
“Oh, honey.” Claire touched her heart. “Is she going to Orcas Island to be with Aunt Charlotte?”
Just then, Claire’s phone buzzed on the countertop. It was Charlotte.
“We were just talking about you.”
Charlotte’s voice sounded strained, as though she, too, had been crying. “Rachel and I are on the ferry.”
Claire leaned against the countertop as her stomach thudded with dread. Charlotte coming like this meant that Gail’s disappearance was real. It was actually happening and affecting people outside their immediate family.
Although it had felt like an eternity, it had only been four days since Gail left. Claire had parroted to Charlotte what Russel had said, that Gail was probably just off somewhere, biding her time, trying to get attention. Charlotte hadn’t believed Claire for a second.
Charlotte and Rachel drove directly to Claire’s house. Charlotte swallowed Claire in a hug as Rachel and Abby scampered toward the staircase, wanting to talk upstairs.
“Girls?” Claire stepped away from Charlotte and glared at them. “Can you do your talking down here, please?”
She couldn’t stand that they had secrets from her. Was it possible they knew exactly what had happened? Was it possible they were just watching Claire’s misery and not solving it?
“We brought food and wine,” Charlotte said, gesturing toward the bags at her feet, filled with groceries.
“You didn’t have to come back,” Claire stuttered. “I know you have things to do out West. You have a life.”
Charlotte squeezed Claire’s elbow. “You’re my life.”
Claire, Abby, Rachel, and Charlotte carried the groceries to the kitchen. Charlotte sliced tomatoes, onions, and garlic; she wanted to make shakshuka. The clock on the stove said it was only ten thirty, but Claire cranked open a bottle of red and poured them two glasses. Abby and Rachel drank coffee and sat quietly on the couch with their laptops in front of them. They were officially “attending classes,” but they’d put the video on mute.
Abstractly, Claire wondered if Abby would ever return to college. Maybe this would prove to be too distressing for her. Maybe all her hopes for the future would fade.
Charlotte served them shakshuka with fresh bread, and they ate it in the breakfast nook as January sunlight flitted between clouds like froth outside. It had been a long time since Claire had enjoyed breakfast—or any meal for that matter—and she allowed herself, briefly, to engage with the spices and tomato flavors. The fresh bread was invigorating; she tore it and scraped it through the sauce, closing her eyes against the nutty flavor.
After breakfast, Abby and Rachel washed the dishes. Charlotte poured herself a second glass of wine, and Claire nodded toward her own glass, ready to drift into another state of consciousness. It had been a long time since she’d drunk during the day with her sister. But she just wanted to fall away from herself for a little while.
“You told the counselor you still haven’t heard from her?” Charlotte asked, swirling her wine through her glass.
“I talked to him this morning,” Claire said. “He’s just like Russel. He still thinks she’ll turn up at a boyfriend’s or a friend’s. He thinks she’s partying the days away.”
“It just doesn’t sound like Gail.”
Claire shook her head. “Girls do change a lot at the age of eighteen,” she stuttered. “They experiment. They look for boundaries.”
“But they don’t break their mothers’ hearts without reason,” Charlotte said. “If Gail really did run away like this, on purpose, something pushed her there. Something happened.”
Abby and Rachel returned to the living room couch, where they set themselves up with their next online classes. Charlotte and Claire remained at the breakfast nook, talking intermittently and watching snow spit from the heavens. New Year’s Eve now felt like months ago. Claire now understood why trauma-aged people.
“I tried to look for clues,” Claire was saying. “But that’s how I figured out she’d emptied her bank account. That scared me. I can’t imagine how Rina does this work all the time. It’s terrifying to stare into the abyss, wondering where she fell.”
“Have you reached out to Rina?”
