Don't Look for Me(29)

“Don’t think so. But I also closed up pretty early.”

She asked another question, her eyes fixed on his face now so she could assess his reaction.

“But you’ve never heard of her? Edith Moore?”

Kurt took her glass and put it in the sink. He wiped the water ring from the counter.

“Nah,” he said. His voice was steady. His expression giving nothing away.

Still, something was off.

“I should go.” Nic climbed down from the stool, pushed it back in.

But Kurt stopped her. “Hey,” he said. “Did you ever follow up on that girl?”

“What girl?”

“The girl who disappeared ten years ago.”

She tried to find a trace of a memory but there was nothing. “No. Did you tell me the last time I was here?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you tell me again?”

Kurt waved his hand dismissively, now that he had her full attention. Now that Edith Moore and the story of the truck had been pushed aside.

“It’s probably not related. She was young, like nineteen. Local girl. Grew up in Hastings. People thought she disappeared but then it turned out she left on her own. Didn’t want her boyfriend to follow her. She wrote to him after a while, but I remember people thinking something bad happened.”

“Did she ever come back?”

“Would you?”

“Fair enough.”

“I guess she was trying to get away—from Hastings. Maybe from her boyfriend. Or both. I didn’t know her that well.”

Nic was more than curious now. “Which do you think it was?” she asked. “Running from the town or from a man?”

Kurt shrugged. “I’ve got no idea.”

She looked at him until he met her eyes.

“Who would know?”

“Just one person I can think of,” he answered. “Her sister.”

“Where can I find her?” There was something about this that had her full attention. Another woman who’d disappeared, assumed to have walked away.

Kurt glanced out the window, across the street at the inn, then back at her.

“I’ll take you,” he said. “After my shift.”





11


Day two





We sit at a small table in the kitchen. It is round and has four chairs. We eat sandwiches. Alice drinks milk. Milk sits before me as well, but I do not drink it. I should have asked for water, but I did not want to upset Alice. She poured me the milk. I hate milk.

The man drinks a beer. His mood has been the same since we walked back from the edge of the property. Helpful. Kind.

Alice makes us hold hands because she wants to say grace. I feel my right hand taken by the man who reaches across the table. I feel my left hand taken by Alice. As she says her prayer, I say my own. I pray that neither of them can feel the blisters on my skin.

“Thank you, Lord, for these blessings. For the food, and the milk,” she says. Her eyes are closed as she speaks. But then she opens them and looks at me.

“And forgive us for our sins. Amen.”

She was angry when the man brought me back to the house. I had been gone for well over an hour. I had no idea, and I didn’t care. I wasn’t planning to return. Now I don’t know what to think or feel. I cling to hope.

When we returned, the man brought me more clothes from his dead wife. I have not seen my clothes since last night, but he told me he put them on an outside line to dry since the sun was strong today. After dinner, I will offer to retrieve them.

Angry as she was, Alice still offered to give me the mask for my allergies, but I told her I didn’t need it. I told her I felt pretty good after such a long walk. This brought a smile to her face. She had been worried about me.

The man brought home lunch. Cold sandwiches and a bag of potato chips. He said that after we ate he would take me back to town.

The power is still out. The phone still dead. The portable generator is running the boiler in the basement so we have heat and hot water. It also runs the stove. It has lasted all night and into this afternoon. Even without the gas. But maybe that’s not true. Maybe those cans were full.

Alice swings her legs as she eats. It makes her body bounce and her long hair swoosh from side to side. She wears a pink sweater with purple leggings that are too small. Bunny slippers hang from her swinging feet.

I try to eat. I feel the effects of the exhaustion and hunger and it is not productive. I hold the sandwich in my sore hand and bring it to my mouth. Chew. Swallow. But I am anxious to be done. I want to go to town and see for myself the things I’ve been told.

First, my car was not on the side of the road. He thinks it probably got towed somewhere. Everything is shut down and the police are too busy to check on it.

Second, he couldn’t find my purse. He said I must have left it on the side of the road. Or maybe in my car. But I know this is not right. I can still feel it clutched in my hand as I waved down his truck with both arms, over my head. The way I always do when I’m not thinking about it. It registers in my thoughts because Evan and Nicole find it embarrassing. I reason with myself that some people are not good at finding things, that maybe it is in the truck, under a seat, and that he just didn’t look hard enough.

Because, third, he called all the numbers I gave him but no one picked up. He left messages for them. John. Nicole. A few friends. He showed me his phone log—the numbers in black with the little arrow next to them. Then he showed me the voicemail box, which was empty.