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Me: I’m so sorry I missed your call and messages. It’s been another long day full of surprises. I hope you had a good day.
I toss my phone onto my bed because I doubt Liam will be responding at this hour. I think he said tomorrow is his last day of school, so I’m sure he’s in bed by now. But after slipping into a pair of shorts and a tank top, a response pops up on my screen. I scoop the phone up with a rush of excitement.
Liam: I’m so glad you messaged. It’s probably weird for me to tell you I was worried about you all day, but I was. I hope everything is okay… Are you able to meet for a late lunch tomorrow? I’m out of school at eleven.
A smile inches across my face as I reply.
Me: Yes, please. I’d love that. Let me know where.
I shouldn’t be smiling. A baby is still missing, and two other children’s lives were uprooted today. I feel awful for them, knowing what kind of trauma this will likely leave them with as they get older. It makes me wonder which poison is worse, being lied to for years or learning the truths that were buried beneath lies.
THIRTY-EIGHT
TUESDAY, JUNE 13TH 8:00 AM
The morning has come too quickly for my exhausted mind as a phone call jolts through me like an electric shock. It’s too early for the call to be about anything good. I feel around for my phone connected to the charger on my nightstand and lift the device above my face, squinting through one eye to see the number. Newport Bridge Law Firm is listed as the company name beneath the number.
“Hi, this is Haley,” I answer, trying to sound like I’m awake rather than climbing out of a grave.
“Haley Vaughn, hello, and good morning. I apologize for the early call, but I’m a public defender, Jared Keffner, for the town of Newport and we’re gathering evidence to support Madden Smith’s case. Timing is of the utmost importance, as I’m sure you can understand. Therefore, we’re wondering if you would be able to meet with us this morning?”
“Us?” I question. “I—what are you hoping I can help with?”
“My apologies. As Madden’s defender, it would be myself, Madden, a social worker, a psychologist, and you, if you are willing to lend us some of your time and knowledge pertaining to anything you might know about Madden, it could assist us with this case.”
I run my hand down the side of my face and then over my eyes, trying to make sure I’m taking this all in properly. “Um, I’m not sure I have tangible evidence to assist—I only spent a short amount of time with her.” As the words come out of my mouth, guilt coats my veins like tar. With how awful Lara was to me when I was thirteen, it makes me wonder how she’s treated her children. There’s cause and effect for everything. There could be an effect on Madden if I don’t help her and there could be an effect on both me and her if I do. The last thing I want is any further involvement in this case, but I also don’t want to ever feel like I’m the cause for another one of their children to go missing—or worse.
“Madden personally requested you as you have been very understanding of her. She thinks you might be able to help her. Those are her words,” the man says, clearing his throat.
That poor little girl is breaking my heart. The words come out of my mouth before I’ve had a chance to think them through completely. “Sure. I can meet with you. Again, I’m not sure how helpful I’ll be but if Madden has requested that I be there, I will.” Even if it’s just a familiar face, which is unfortunate considering how little I know her. She must be terrified, and I told her everything would be okay the other day. I sincerely hope I was telling her the truth.
“Perfect. We can meet you at the courthouse at nine if that time will work for you?”
I pull the phone away from my ear to squint at the time. It’s eight. I can make it there in time.
“I’ll be there.”
“Check in with the court clerk and tell her you’re meeting me, Jared Keffner,” he says, repeating his name. “We’ll see you soon, Haley. Bye now.”
When the call disconnects, Corbin’s words echo through my head.
“I’ve been telling you she needs psychiatric help for years, but you insisted that she will grow out of this nonsense. If we had tended to her troubles, our baby would still be alive right now…”
Whether Madden was involved with what happened to Fallon or not, Corbin’s statement isn’t false. If they thought Madden needed psychiatric help and they ignored this, they neglected her, ultimately putting her in this situation. Or…she’s just the easiest target to blame.
It doesn’t take long for me to wonder what Madden might have said about me or why she thinks I can be of much help. I might have been the only one to give her hope. I’m not sure if she’s been allowed to see Lara or Corbin, or even Blakely.
I hope I didn’t say anything I shouldn’t have said to her yesterday. The moments in her bedroom were so stressful and upsetting. I was trying my best to console her in such an unthinkable situation. But if there’s anything I can relate to and understand, it’s the feeling of loneliness when the only thing she must need is a hand to hold. The world can turn against someone quickly in the shadow of a tragedy, and stories will be formulated and branch off into dozens of different directions. All eyes are on Madden as people continue to speculate the truth of what happened to Fallon, and the word of a child can only bear so much weight in the face of evidence, or worse, the lack thereof.
THIRTY-NINE
TUESDAY, JUNE 13TH 9:00 AM
A cool, foggy morning without a hint of sun makes for less congestion downtown and a quick ride to the courthouse. The drive was just long enough to make my stomach twist into knots like a fresh piece of taffy. The nerves won’t be leaving anytime soon, not while I’m here.
I make my way up the two shallow sets of cement steps toward the dark double doors of the historical building. I’ve only been here once for jury duty, but it was a while ago and I don’t remember much about the layout inside. I do remember the officers standing guard at metal detectors upon entering the building. I place my purse down on the conveyor belt and walk toward an officer with a metal detecting wand in his gloved hand. The detectors remain silent, and my bag is handed back to me, sparing me an extra pat-down.
A sign for the court clerk pulls me off to the side of the open foyer and up to an attended window. A few people are moving about inside the adjacent room shuffling paperwork and making photocopies.
