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“Okay.” Abby’s eyes were difficult to read.
“And make sure you tell her I love her,” Claire said. “I love you, too, Abby. So much.”
“I love you, too.”
When Claire got back to Martha’s Vineyard around five, Russel texted to say he’d be home late. Just as she’d promised herself she would, Claire put on her pajamas and curled up under the blankets, ready to fall away from the world. Before she did, she decided to text Abby.
CLAIRE: Did you give your sister the pizza?
ABBY: It’s in the mini-fridge. She isn’t here.
CLAIRE: Did she leave a note about where she was going?
ABBY: No.
Something stirred in Claire’s gut. It felt like intuition. Something was off.
But a moment later, Abby texted.
ABBY: It’s not weird or anything.
ABBY: Maybe she just went to the dining hall.
CLAIRE: Will you let me know when she gets back?
ABBY: Okay.
Claire turned onThe Crownand tried to fall into rhythm with members of the British royalty; she tried to appreciate the lush halls and beautiful clothing. But more often than not, her mind returned to thoughts of Gail. Three hours later, Abby still hadn’t texted to say Gail was back. Where could she be?
Claire texted Charlotte for help.
CHARLOTTE: Maybe this is more proof that whatever is going on has nothing to do with you?
CHARLOTTE: Maybe she’s fighting with a boyfriend somewhere.
CHARLOTTE: Or maybe she’s with a new group of friends she doesn’t share with Abby.
Russel returned home around eleven thirty with dark circles beneath his eyes. He undressed and clambered into bed beside Claire, gesturing vaguely toward the television. “Can you turn that off, please?”
Claire hadn’t realizedThe Crownwas still playing. “Gail never came back to her dorm room tonight.”
“It’s still early,” Russel said. “She’s eighteen years old. She probably goes to sleep around three or four.”
Claire propped herself up on three pillows. She hadn’t eaten since lunch, and she felt jittery and sick to her stomach. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
Russel rolled his eyes just a bit and placed his hand on her thigh. It was cold as bone. “We were never helicopter parents, Claire. We always prided ourselves on that. Remember? We always made fun of the other parents for worrying too much.”
“The girls never gave us reason to worry,” Claire barked.
Russel looked very tired. The light from the television gave his face a ghoulish tint. “Why don’t you try to sleep? Things will look brighter tomorrow. And I guarantee that by the next time you see Gail, she’ll be totally over whatever this is. I can’t guarantee she won’t be upset about something else by then. But like I said, she’s eighteen. She’s going through tons of stuff right now. We have to give her space.”
It didn’t take long for Russel to fall asleep that night. Claire remained upright, pressing against the pillows as her heart raced in overdrive. She closed her eyes and tried to visualize Gail—tried to imagine her in a friend’s dorm, maybe drinking a beer or laughing at a YouTube video. Maybe she was doing something completely normal.
But the problem was that Claire couldn’t imagine Gail anywhere. It was as though there was a black hole where her motherly instincts should have been. It terrified her. And it wasn’t until four or five in the morning, as winter birds twittered on the tree branches outside, that Claire grabbed any sleep. All the while, Russel slept like a log.
ChapterFour
The first case Rina had ever tried to solve, she’d failed. She still felt the sorrow of that failure in every part of her body—in the ache of her shoulders and the strain of her beating heart. Even now, as she traced the Los Angeles highways toward Santa Monica, she could remember what it had felt like on the day she’d officially “given up the search” for the missing girl. It had been like chopping up her soul into tiny pieces. It had been like acknowledging that the world could be a very dark and horrible place. As a teenager from sunny Santa Monica, this had never occurred to her. It shaped the way she’d encountered everyone for the rest of her life.
