All the Missing Girls(90)

Out in the courtyard, a few women sat around a café table with lunch in Styrofoam boxes. Two men were playing chess. A few people were pacing in what appeared to be slow, endless circles around the perimeter. I settled in beside my father on the bench. “Hi, Dad,” I said.

He pulled his face out of the book, glancing in my direction.

“What are you reading?” I asked.

“Nabokov,” he said, showing me the cover. “For next semester.”

He wasn’t here. But he wasn’t far.

I cleared my throat, watching him from the corner of my eye. “Yesterday,” I said, “you told me you saw my friend Corinne. A long time ago. On the back porch.”

“Did I tell you that? I don’t remember that.” He ran his thumb over the page edges, fanning them slowly.

“Yes,” I said. “I was just wondering . . . I was just wondering if you knew how she got there.”

He didn’t answer, his head still in the book. But his eyes weren’t moving across the lines; they were staring, his mind elsewhere. “I was drinking too much,” he said.

“I know you were. It’s okay.”

“I mean, I went to get you. I got a call. About you. My daughter and some stunt on the Ferris wheel. I said I couldn’t come. But I did. I got mad, and I got in the car, and I drove, because it was all escalating, and it had finally come to this.” He put the book down and squeezed his eyes. “You were pushing more and more because I never stopped you. I never did. So I got in the car. I was going to be a dad.”

I started shaking my head because I didn’t like where this was going. And it was too much. Too direct. Nowhere to hide for either of us.

“So I got to that bend before the caverns, and I thought: This isn’t how to be a dad. Driving drunk. This isn’t how. So I pulled over. I just . . . pulled over.”

“Where, Dad?” It came out as a choked whisper.

“Just before the caverns, there’s this access road, a dead end. I pulled in and I parked.” He looked over at me. “Don’t cry, doll. I wasn’t in a good state. I needed some air. I just needed some air.”

He needed to stop.

“I had the windows rolled down—I just needed to sleep it off.” He folded his hands in his lap, his fingers drumming against his knuckles. “I heard people yelling . . .”

I had to know. It was time. “Dad,” I said. “What did you do?”

I felt his body tense, parts of him twitch. “What do you mean?” He looked around, narrowing his eyes. “This place is a rabbit hole,” he said.

And Corinne was the rabbit. We followed her down, down, down, and she left us here.

Then, to me: “I don’t like it here. You need to go. I want you to go now. Nic, you need to leave.”

I stood, the air too heavy, his words like static. My memories, spinning and blurring like our pictures, like our ghosts. I couldn’t look him in the eye when I left.



* * *



TYLER’S TRUCK WAS IN my driveway, but he wasn’t in the house. I found him around back, sitting on the edge of the porch, his feet on the grass. “Anything?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “Did you see your dad?”

I sat beside him. Pulled my knees up, dipped my head down so I could see only the blades of grass under my shadow. “I don’t understand what happened. I don’t understand that picture. It doesn’t make sense. He said he was driving near the caverns. He said he was there. But that’s all he said. That’s all.” Tyler reached out, took my hand. “Did you lie to me?”

“I don’t lie to you, Nic,” he said.

“But . . . what do you think happened to Corinne?” The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I imagined her on this porch, inches away—her hair falling out of a blanket, the shadow hovering near the edge of the frame.

He cut his eyes to me, held tighter to my hand. “Don’t you see? I don’t care what happened to her.”

“Well. It’s time to start caring.” I took a deep breath. “There are pictures, and she’s dead. So tell me. Tell me what happened.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I promise. Let it go.”

I nodded, let him wrap an arm over my shoulder. And I let myself believe him.



* * *



I HAVE TO TELL it this way, in pieces. I have to work my way up to it. Work my way back to it. I have to show you the beautiful things before I get to the ugly.

You have to understand that she was messed up.

First, I have to promise you that I loved her.

Corinne stood on the side of the road, her thumb sticking out. I didn’t slow down.

“You’re not gonna stop?” Tyler said.

“No,” I said.

My eyes went to hers; her thumb was down, and she was staring right back. I pressed the gas harder—Screw you, Corinne—and I blinked. Just once. Once, and she was already stepping into the road, right in front of the truck.

Tyler’s hands went out in front of him just as I slammed on the brakes—I cut the wheel hard and squeezed my eyes shut as the tires screamed for traction. The seat belt felt like it was cutting me in half, and I couldn’t breathe as we spun, the window cracking, then the thud of metal as we came to rest.