All the Missing Girls(65)
I wondered what it looked like to her at the age of thirteen—what did she think was happening from the distance, from her hiding spot? And if she revisited it as an adult, did the memory shift on her? Grow into a different understanding? I had thought I was the only one who knew about Corinne and Daniel, but maybe I wasn’t.
I never knew exactly what happened between the two of them, or with Bailey, after that. I ran back inside, was beside the shed before Tyler came out. We left in his truck, and he let me drive because of his hand, and we passed a bunch of kids from school who teased Tyler. “Damn, letting your girl drive your truck?” A girl added, “Now, that’s true love.”
I didn’t know how Daniel and Corinne got separated, when or how Corinne met up with Jackson, or why Daniel was driving Bailey home. I didn’t dare ask. None of us asked.
* * *
I PEOPLE-WATCHED FROM THE entrance for a long time, trying to imagine how these moments might look through the lens of a camera. What would I see if this moment were frozen? What would I think? Of the mother grabbing the child’s arm, one step from disappearing into the crowd; of the teenagers in line for the Tilt-A-Whirl, kissing while the others looked away; of the woman with long black hair, holding the hand of a little girl, frozen in the middle of the crowd, watching me back.
Her face sharpened in my mind, gaining context, and I was jarred into action, walking toward her. “Bailey?” I called. Bailey. Her face turning away, black hair cascading in an arc as she spun around . . .
It wasn’t in church but in moments like this when I maybe believed in God or something like that. Some order to the chaos, some meaning. That we collide with the people we need, that we meet the ones who will love us, that there’s some underlying reason to everything. Bailey standing in the middle of the fair on the one night I was there. Bailey, whom I hadn’t seen since I graduated from college. Bailey, who had been here with us the night we all fell apart.
My whole body tingled with the feeling that I was meant to be here, that the universe was laying out the pieces for me, that time was showing something to me.
I knew she’d seen me, had frozen just as I had, but she was moving away through the crowd. I was halfway to her now, pushing through the kids running for the next ride.
“Bailey!” I called again.
She stopped when I’d nearly reached her, looked over her shoulder, made herself look surprised to see me. “Nic? Wow. Long time,” she said.
We stared at each other, neither speaking, the little girl still holding her hand. “You have a daughter?” I asked, smiling at the girl. She clung to Bailey’s leg, half her face hidden, one hazel eye staring up at me.
“Where’s Daddy?” she asked, her face tilted up to her mother.
“I don’t know,” Bailey said, scanning the crowd. “He should be here.”
“I didn’t know you got married,” I said.
“Well, you missed it. Divorced now. Getting one, anyway.” She scanned the crowd again, I assumed for her ex. “What about you?” she asked, still searching. “Married? Kids?”
“No and no,” I said, though I didn’t think she was listening.
“There,” she mumbled as she raised her hand over her head. “Peter!”
Peter was clean-cut, clean-shaven, square-jawed, and taller than average, and I disliked him on sight. Maybe from the way he walked, like he knew he was something worth looking at. Maybe from the way he grinned at Bailey as their daughter ran to him, like he was keeping score of something and she was losing.
“You’re late,” she said. She thrust an overnight bag at him. “She has swimming lessons at ten.”
“I know,” he said. Then he looked at me and smiled. “Hi, I’m Peter.” I raised an eyebrow at him until his smile faltered. “Okay, well, come on, sunshine. Let’s leave Mommy to her fun.”
Bailey squatted close to the ground, grabbed the girl, held her tight. “See you tomorrow, love,” she said. She stood slowly and watched them move deeper into the fair. “Well, it was good seeing you, Nic. I’ve got to get going.”
“I need to ask you something. About Corinne.”
Her eyes widened. Then she turned and walked toward the exit.
“Bailey.” I caught up with her at the side of the Tilt-A-Whirl, the cars coming dangerously close to the edge of the track before being yanked back.
“No, Nic. I’m done with that. We’re all done with that.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Bailey, just answer the f*cking question and I’ll be gone.” I was talking to her like Corinne would’ve talked to her, the words out before I could stop them.
And she was waiting, like she always did. I almost didn’t want to press her, but I had to know. “Annaleise Carter. Do you remember her?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I hear she’s missing.”
“Did she ever try to talk to you? About Corinne? About that night?”
She started to shake her head, then stopped. Her eyes shone.
“What?” I asked.
“It was weird,” she said. “I mean, I barely knew her then. And I don’t live there anymore. But a few months ago I ran into her at the farmers’ market in Glenshire?” Bailey always ended sentences like that, like she was excusing us for something we might not know. I nodded, waiting for her to go on. “Or I guess she ran into me. I didn’t really recognize her. But she said, ‘Bailey? Bailey Stewart?’ like we’d been friends. Really, I think it was the first time she ever spoke to me.”