The Lies I Told(20)

“Finally,” Brit said. “Where is Clare?”

I’d yawned, reached for an aspirin bottle in the cabinet next to the kitchen stove. I tossed two in my mouth, turned on the faucet, and gulped water.

“Get a glass,” Brit said.

“Go away.”

“Seriously, where’s Clare?” Brit’s eyes were bloodshot and her hair tousled.

I didn’t know the answer but really wasn’t worried. “This isn’t the first time she slept somewhere else. Call Jo-Jo.” I grabbed a soda from the fridge. “What happened to you? You look rough.”

“I was sick last night,” Brit said.

“Whatever.” I’d left Brit in the kitchen, stewing like she did so well, and gone to bed. Dad, still dressed in his tux, had woken me up five hours later, roughly shaking me and shouting, “Your sister isn’t home!”

And from that moment on, the next few days and nights had unwound in an uneven, macabre way, first with my father grilling me for answers, then with the calls to Jo-Jo, Kurt, and finally the cops. Then came the uniformed officer who accepted my nonanswers with growing frustration. I’d still thought Clare would show, and I didn’t need Brit knowing I’d been with Jack.

Even after the first two days, I’d foolishly expected Clare to walk through the front door, hungover, exhausted, explaining she’d gone on a short trip, and slightly chagrined that so much fuss had been made. I didn’t know then that when someone went missing, the first hour was critical. Cops called it the Golden Hour. As time ticked, the chances of rescue diminished, and the operation turned from rescue to recovery.

On the fourth morning, Detective Richards had arrived. He’d never shouted, never raised his voice. And after he told us his grim news, I’d been more fearful than ever to tell anyone what I’d been doing. I’d stuck to my story and told him I’d been on a long drive. I repeated the tale so many times, it felt like the truth.

An opening door pulled my attention forward. A woman came out of the front door of Jo-Jo’s old house. She was dressed in jeans, a cable-knit sweater, and white athletic shoes. She must have been watching me through the window, because the more I lingered, the deeper her frown. I’d no idea how long I’d been sitting here, but I knew I’d outstayed my welcome.

When she raised her phone to her ear, I put the car in drive and drove to Forest Hill Avenue, the main artery in the area, took a left, and headed toward the city, winding past businesses and homes toward my apartment.

After I angled my car into the parking space that I’d still been paying for, I hoisted my gear and rose out of the car. My bones ached, and tight back muscles reminded me I was still recovering. After the car accident, I’d had to cancel several bookings. Brit had jumped in, as she did, and found other photographers to pick up the jobs. The lost revenue stung but wasn’t crippling. (Thank you again, trust fund.) I’d spent that first week after the accident on Brit’s couch, sleeping and often waking with dreams of Clare running through the woods as someone chased her.

Brit had hovered over me. Made sure I had what I needed, including clean clothes and a new phone. When it occurred to me that I was relying on her too much, I’d Ubered back to my apartment.

I punched in the security code on the front door and stepped into the lobby. I crossed to the stairwell and climbed. As I huffed and puffed, I vowed to quit the elevator and maybe start running again. Soon. Today, I could at least take the stairs.

As I pushed into my apartment, my phone rang. It was Jo-Jo.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” she asked.

“No. Just got back from the shoot.”

“That’s kind of late. I thought this was a quick morning job.”

“I bought a car.”

“Did you? That’s terrific.” A refrigerator door opened and closed, and I imagined Jo-Jo rooting for something sweet to eat. She never could resist a cookie or piece of cake. “What did you get?”

“Black SUV.”

“Ugh. Why didn’t you replace your yellow Jeep? That was such a fun car. God, how long did you have it?”

“Fifteen years.” I’d never buy a Jeep again. I’d shared the one and only with Clare, and when she was gone, I drove it, nursed it, and brought it back from the dead several times. To buy another without her felt like treason. “This one feels more practical.”

“Growing up sucks.”

I walked to the fridge, pulled out a cold canned seltzer, and pressed it to my temple. “It can.”

“After the car, what did you do? The wedding was seven hours ago.”

“I drove down to the James River. And then up to your old house.”

“Oh, Marisa, not that again.”

“What do you mean, not again?”

Silence settled. “The week before your accident, you went down to the river a lot. It was feeling like an obsession.”

“How do you know that?”

“You told me when we had lunch.”

I hesitated, trying to remember seeing Jo-Jo the week before the accident. I couldn’t find a memory of it. “I’ve taken lots of pictures down there.”

“It was never about the pictures.” She sighed. “Look, I don’t want to rehash that week. It was awful enough.”

“No, please serve it up. I still don’t remember the week or seeing you and I want to.” I walked to the collection of black-and-white photos on my wall.