All the Missing Girls(11)
PART 2
Going Back
It is quite true what philosophy says; that life must be understood backwards.
—S?REN KIERKEGAARD
Two Weeks Later
DAY 15
If I kept my eyes closed, I could almost imagine that we were driving back to Philadelphia. Everett in the driver’s seat and the backseat full of luggage and Cooley Ridge fading away in the rearview mirror—no missing girls; no unmarked cars circling town; nothing at all to fear.
“You okay?” he asked.
Just one more moment. I wanted more time. Another minute to pretend this wasn’t happening.
Not here in Cooley Ridge. Not again.
Not another girl fading away in these woods in the middle of the night, disappearing without a trace. Not another missing poster stapled to the trees, hung in the storefront windows—another innocent face, asking to be found. Please, not like this.
But the back of my neck prickled as the world shifted into focus, and there she was, inescapable, her huge blue eyes staring out from under the red MISSING letters of the poster on the telephone pole: Annaleise Carter. Gone.
“Nic?” Everett said. God, a few days in this place, and apparently, he’s calling me Nic, too. It got its claws in him already.
“Yeah,” I said, still looking out the window.
My eyes caught hers again at the next stoplight, her face under the white painted letters of Julie’s Boutique, right next to a display of handmade jewelry and a green silk scarf. Annaleise Carter, whose property backed to my own, who had been dating my ex-boyfriend the night she disappeared. Annaleise Carter, gone and missing for two weeks.
“Hey.” Everett’s hand hovered over my shoulder before he pressed down and squeezed. “You with me?”
“Sorry, I’m fine.” I turned toward Everett, but I felt her gaze on the back of my neck, like she was trying to tell me something. Look. Look closer. Do you see?
“I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay.” His hand rested on my shoulder, his silver watch—steel, he’d told me—peeking out from his long-sleeved button-down. How was he not sweltering?
“I thought that was the purpose of the appointment.” I raised the paper prescription bag at Everett. “I’ll take two and call you in the morning.” I mustered a smile, but his expression tightened as his eyes settled on my bare finger. I dropped my hand back to my lap. “I’ll find the ring,” I said.
“I’m not worried about the ring. I’m worried about you.”
Maybe he was talking about the way I looked: hair thrown back in a messy ponytail; shorts that had fit two weeks ago but were now hanging off my hip bones; an old T-shirt I’d found in my closet where it had been hanging for the last ten years. Meanwhile, his hair was cut and styled, and he was dressed for work like this was all part of the agenda: Take Nicolette to the doctor because she hasn’t been sleeping; follow up on paperwork re: future father-in-law; take cab to airport and prepare for trial.
“Everett, honestly, I’m fine.”
He reached over and brushed back the wisps of hair that had escaped my ponytail. “Really?” he said.
“Yes, really.” My eyes burned as they drifted back to Annaleise’s picture. Only a sane person would realize how close he or she was to the edge. Not like my dad, who didn’t know when he was teetering too close to that chasm, didn’t seem to notice the change in velocity as he went tumbling into the abyss.
But I knew. I knew how close we all were to that edge. And if I knew, then I was fine. Those were the basic rules of holding one’s shit together, according to Tyler.
“Nicolette, I don’t want to leave you here alone.” A car behind us laid on the horn, and Everett jumped, revving the motor of my car as he sped through the green light.
I stared at the side of his face, watched the road blur past behind him. “I’m not alone. My brother’s here.”
Everett sighed, and I could hear the argument in his silence.
Missing girls had a way of working their way into someone’s head. You couldn’t help but see them in everyone—how temporary and fragile we might be. One moment here, and the next, nothing more than a photo staring from a storefront window.
It was a feeling that settled in your ribs and slowly gnawed at you from the inside—the irrational fear that people were slipping away right before your eyes. I felt it, lingering just under the surface, in the haunting monotone of Tyler’s voicemail recording, and in Daniel’s increasingly unreadable expression. I felt it with greater urgency every time I walked into Grand Pines. Two weeks back in Cooley Ridge and everyone in danger of disappearing.
Everett pulled into the gravel driveway, parked, and got out of the car without speaking. He was staring at the front of the house, like I’d done when I first arrived home.
“I need to get my dad out of Grand Pines,” I said, walking toward him. Everett had stopped the cops from questioning Dad for the time being, but I knew it was only a matter of time before his ramblings about “that girl” earned him another visit from detectives desperate for a lead.
Everett put a hand around my waist as we walked inside. I felt him grasping the loose fabric of my shirt between his fingers. “You need to take care of yourself right now. The doctor said—”