Don't Look for Me(56)

Nic remembered what Daisy’s sister had said about the locked cupboards and how Daisy found a way to get to the crackers—and how she did it in spite of the punishment that followed.

She leaned against the door. She did not move closer to Booth, but she felt safe somehow. And she wanted answers.

“Do you think Chief Watkins helped her leave?”

Booth seemed surprised that she knew to ask this question.

“They were very close. He got her that scholarship to summer camp. When she came back, things were different between us. She had met kids from all over the country. Gifted kids. Kids on their way to college. Kids who didn’t get bent over a chair in the kitchen and whipped for stealing food.”

“Kids who drank fancy tea?” she asked.

Booth smiled, sadly. “Yes. She thought it made her more like them, if she took on their likes, mimicked their behavior. There was a desperation about it, the way she wanted what they had. It still reminds me of her—the tea.”

Yes, Nic thought. The tea—it was here, but also at Veronica’s house.

“Where would he have taken her?” Nic asked. “A pregnant teenager with no money…”

Booth got up then and walked to a small dresser in the corner of the room. He opened a drawer and took something out. When he turned around, Nic stepped farther into the hallway, but then she saw it was a letter in his hand.

He held it out for her.

“I got this about a year after she left. I’d been a maniac—people are right about that. I went to Boston, tortured her poor sister there. I went to Woodstock, posted flyers with her picture. I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t believe that she just left with our baby without saying a word.”

Nic took the letter. It was folded into a small pink envelope that had yellowed around the edges. She pulled it out carefully. The paper was old, fragile.

It was a woman’s handwriting.

Nic read it to herself as Booth continued to tell the story.

Dear Roger,

I am sorry for what I’ve put you through. It has taken me all this time to find the courage to write. I feel ashamed for not facing you before I left, but I wanted a different life. I couldn’t be a mother. Please don’t look for me. I hope you can forgive me.

Daisy



“She doesn’t say where she went or who helped her get rid of the baby. I’ll never understand it. We were in love. And I could have given her things—my family had resources. We could have moved from here. I told her I would work and take care of the baby so she could go to college. I promised to take care of her and our child. And she believed me. I know she did.”

Nic finished the letter. It was short, and lacked any trace of the sentiments Booth claimed existed between them.

“There’s no postage or return address,” Nic said.

“It was left in my mailbox. Whoever helped her leave must have helped her get it to me. She didn’t want me to see where it was mailed from.”

“Her sister said she went to New York. Did you know that?” Nic asked then.

Booth waved her off. “She told me. But she didn’t know about the baby and I never told anyone. Until now.”

“But you don’t think she went to New York?”

He shook his head then. “She hated the city. She wanted to go north—to a place like Woodstock, a quiet place. People think I didn’t know her. But I did. You can’t hide love. Not the love we had.”

Nic felt it again—pity, sadness for this man. She had never been in love, but people could hide anything if they wanted to. Her father included.

“I should go,” Nic said.

“I’m sorry about before.” Booth spoke softly now. “I thought you knew something about Daisy. I thought maybe you weren’t telling me. It caught me off guard, how desperate I still am to know what happened to her.”

“I understand,” Nic said. And then, “Why don’t you just ask Chief Watkins? You’re not the only one who thinks he helped her leave.”

“I did. He swore he didn’t drive her, but he did say she’d asked him for a ride to Boston. What am I supposed to do? Put a gun to his head? I have to live in this town. Run a business here.”

He stopped her one last time as she began to leave.

“Has anyone told you?” he asked.

Nic shrugged. “Told me what?”

Now his eyes, dancing across her face, then over her breasts and hips. All the way down to her feet, then back up to meet her eyes.

“You look like her,” he said. His face was flushed with longing that had nowhere to go. “Something about you—your hair and the way you walk. I can’t put my finger on it,” he said. “But you remind me of Daisy.”





25


Day fifteen





Mick wakes soon after Alice tells me about the end that is coming. I fear that my quick, shallow breaths have shaken the bed. Some things must find their way out of the body. Some things cannot be contained. This fear that stirred from Alice’s warning was like that. Too big to hold inside.

I feel the hand that weighs heavily on my hip squeeze my flesh. It does not feel intentional, and it pulls away quickly as if consciousness has suddenly taken over. I wonder if he was dreaming about his wife. Alice’s first mommy. I wonder if they used to lie in bed like this and if he used to wake with his hands on her body and then fall into the physical pleasures of touch. Maybe more. Maybe they made love while Alice lay beside them, still asleep. Pretending to sleep. Maybe they went to another room to be alone.