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Rina cackled. She could imagine her mother in a fur coat somewhere, her lips bright red, her cheekbones sharper than ever. She could imagine her father buying an expensive luxury car, which he so often complained he couldn’t afford because of “family responsibilities.”
“What will we do when they go away?” Rina asked.
“We’ll pretend they’re not,” Penny went on. “We can’t have the authorities separating us. They hardly come to our school stuff, anyway. It’s not like anyone would notice.”
Now, as Rina leaned against the mural of her sister so many years after that day, she placed her hand over her sister’s cheek. It was hard concrete and so unlike the real thing. Rina’s eyes filled with tears. She’d forgotten, she realized now, that her parents had never wanted to be their parents. She’d forgotten that their dismissal of Rina had begun long before Penny had gone.
“I’m sorry I never found you,” Rina whispered up to Penny’s mural.
It was true that she’d looked. She’d gotten a substantial scholarship to the University of California, Berkeley, which was a sizable distance from her parents’ place in Santa Monica. From there, she hadn’t needed to contact her parents at all—not for money or emotional support. With Cody away in Europe, she’d felt completely alone for the first time in her life and thrown herself into her search for her sister.
But back then, she didn’t have the proper tools and didn’t know the right people to guide her. She’d gone over the police report, interviewed the officers who’d studied Penny’s case, and spoke with Penny’s boyfriend at the time, hunting for clues, but she got nowhere.
A few times over the years, Rina had dug into it again, searching, wondering. But by now, Penny’s case was ice cold. With each person she found, each case she figured out, she still felt haunted by this first one and all she’d lost.
Rina returned to the hospital to fetch her car, then drove back home. It was midafternoon, but she was exhausted and dreaming of tucking herself in bed and sleeping the day away.
When she turned down her street, she spotted a dark blue vehicle in her driveway. Being a private investigator had cursed her because her first thought was something sinister. In truth, it was probably just someone lost, someone who’d pulled over to look at their phone.
Rina couldn’t get into the driveway because whoever it was had parked in the very center. Muttering angrily to herself, she parked on the street (which would cost her) and hurried up toward the vehicle. It had a rental sticker on it. It was someone far from home.
“Hey,” Rina began as she headed toward the driver’s side. “Can I help you?”
Rina stopped short and gaped at the man in the front seat. It was Steve. He’d brought his seat back and pulled his hat over his eyes, and he was fast asleep, his lips partially opened. Even now, peering at him through the tinted windows of the rental, Rina’s heart thudded with a mix of intrigue and adoration. He’d come all the way out West to see her. He wasn’t willing to let whatever this was between them die.
All those phone calls had meant he was on his way. He needed her.
And he’d come right when she needed him the most.
ChapterNine
The day after Charlotte and Rachel returned to Martha’s Vineyard, the four of them had set off for the library to print photographs of Gail. On the pamphlets, they decided to list simple information:
MISSING: eighteen years old, red hair and green eyes, born islander, last seen on the campus of the University of Massachusetts. Contact the Montgomery’s for details and any info you might have.
They printed five hundred copies and split into teams: Abby with Claire and Rachel with Charlotte.
The girls had wanted to go alone, but Claire was jumpy. She worried they’d go off somewhere and never be heard from again.
Claire and Abby roamed downtown, putting pamphlets up at coffee shops, restaurants, bars, telephone polls, and at the office near the ferry docks, where guests waited for their boats. For over two hours, they walked without speaking, taping and stapling. Claire wondered if they’d ever find something to say to one another again or have a casual conversation. Passersby said hello with sorrowful eyes, knowing the other twin was missing. Many of them said, “I’ll keep an eye out for her,” or “We’re praying for you.” But they felt like hollow words.
Claire beckoned for Abby to follow her inside when they neared the flower shop. She hadn’t been there since the day before she’d driven the girls back to college, and the CLOSED sign on the door was ominous. It looked as though it had been abandoned a long time ago. When they entered, the smell of dying flowers was rank and powerful, like a funeral home times ten, and Abby coughed several times. Claire kept the front door open and hurried around to yank open windows to let the smell out. She probably lost upward of a thousand dollars in inventory, maybe more. But she couldn’t dwell on that right now.
Claire fetched trash bags from a low drawer and passed a few to Abby. “Can you start shoving flowers in here?” She wanted to scrub the floors and the windows. She wanted something to be under control, for once.
Abby did as she was told, quietly dropping bouquets into trash bags and roaming through the shop. Claire got on her business computer, where she read emails from unhappy customers who’d come to the shop to pick up their bouquets only to find it closed. The emails filtered off after a few days, presumably because word had gotten around that Gail was gone. They knew not to bother Claire anymore.
Claire watched Abby roam wordlessly through the flower shop. Abby’s hair was perpetually unwashed these days and tangled, wrapping into itself like a knotted sailing rope. Claire didn’t look much better, she knew. Still, this version of Abby was such a contrast to the Abby she’d once known. Not so long ago, she and Gail had run around the flower shop, pretending to be fairies or princesses, tending to the bouquets or watering the plants. They’d adored Claire’s “magical kingdom of flowers.” And Claire had been happy to show them that you could make a living with such a beautiful, traditional trade.
Now, Russel was chasing cash in the city, and Gail was gone.
Abby’s sniffling brought Claire from her reverie.
“Honey?” Claire jumped around the front desk and hurried toward her daughter, who was curled over the trash bag and heaving with tears. Claire wrapped her arms around her, and Abby shook, unable to speak.
“I know,” Claire breathed. “It’s so hard. It’s terrible.”
Abby rubbed her eyes and straightened her posture. She looked as though she’d just woken up.
