Forgive Me(27)

Angie had her own personal history to keep carving out. She thought again about giving Tinder a try. Do it for her mother, who wanted Angie to settle down.

She settled down, all right—right on the couch with a glass of white wine and the Thai food set out on the coffee table before her. She sank into the well-defined divot on her sofa where she ate most of her meals in front of the TV. She took a bite of food, but her thoughts went to the picture she’d found in the attic, and her appetite went with it.

The small girl’s sad sweet smile came to her in stunning clarity, cauterized into her memory, same as her mother’s cryptic note on the back. What will Bao find?

Angie would eat later. She decided to call her father, who answered on the first ring. They chatted for a while, while her food went cold. It comforted her to hear him sound so strong.

“You sure you don’t need company tonight?” she asked. “I can pack up my dinner and drive it over. Plenty to share.”

“I’m fine, sweetheart. Honest. Walt and Louise are over and we’re watching the game together. They’re keeping me company.”

“He’s doing okay, Angie.”

Angie heard Walter’s powerful baritone clearly in the background. Her father had good friends to lean on, to her relief. Worrying wasn’t just her father’s prerogative. She turned on the Nationals game, but kept the volume down.

“Maybe tomorrow we can get together. I have some estate business to go over with you.”

“Whatever you want, Dad. I’m here for you.”

“I know. I’m so lucky”—his words got cut short as he became overwhelmed with emotion—“to have a daughter like you.”

Angie had tears in her eyes as she looked at the photographs hanging on the wall. Some were pictures of her and Madeline, a few with Sarah Winter, as well. But the one that drew Angie’s attention was a black and white photograph of her parents, arms draped around each other, big smiles on their faces. It was taken at Lake Anna, where her family rented a cabin at least once each summer.

Angie felt her mother’s absence profoundly. Angie’s life had always had holes, left by the family she never knew, but her mother’s absence was a new, bigger hole. A hole shaped like the most important woman in Angie’s life, a woman she could see only in pictures, thoughts, and dreams.

“I love you, Dad,” Angie said and hung up. She turned up the volume on the Nats game.

Her father loved baseball, and his passion had rubbed off on her. In high school, she’d been a serviceable soccer player, but on the softball field she’d been something of a star. She was good at fielding, had quick reflexes, a fast release, and could hit for average and power. Her dad had coached her through middle school, and on Sundays the pair were often found at the batting cages over at Upton Hill.

Her dad was a stickler for technique. Keep the shoulders back. Start the swing with the legs and the hips. Drive the front shoulder to the ball. Those lessons got so ingrained they became reflex. When it came time for college, she could see the next level was not for her, but she played on an intramural team where she’d met Madeline and Sarah.

What stayed from her playing days was a love for the game and a commitment to fitness. Angie tried to hit the gym at least three times a week, and she’d recently taken up yoga in an effort to win the battle between her ideal weight and the five or so pounds that crept up on her with the stealth of a panther.

No yoga now, though. Angie was too tired. And there was cold Thai food to eat.

It was the bottom of the fourth in a three-three tie when Angie’s phone buzzed with a text from Madeline.




Are you watching this?

Yeah. Good game.

Not the Nats, goofball! The Bachelor.

Oh, no. Forgot it was on. Any good?

Good? It’s a train wreck. I love it. The fangs are out.

Werewolves in bikinis, eh?

OMG! Rick just tossed Krissy into the pool.

Sticking with the Nats. Did you hear back from Sarah’s mom?

Yes, confirmed. She can’t wait to see us. Can’t believe Sarah’s been gone thirteen years.

Wow. Thirteen? Can’t believe it either.

Let’s text later. Abigail just pulled Rick into the bushes. Must. Watch.

Xoxo talk later.

Luv ya. You doing all right?

I’m ok. Thanks.

Ok bye xx




Every year Madeline and Angie made the drive to New Jersey to visit with Jean Winter, Sarah’s mom, and share remembrances. It was supposed to be just that one year, the first year, the hardest year. It turned into an every year thing, not something that was planned. It just sort of happened, sort of evolved, and now Jean was like an aunt to the girls, like a Walt and Louise but with fewer visits.

Since Angie had no extended family of her own, her relationship with Jean Winter was something she wanted to keep and foster. The best gift Angie could give her grieving pseudo-aunt was closure. It would come only when Angie—or someone, but Angie wanted it to be her—found out what had really happened to Sarah.

People who vanished without a trace haunted the lives of those left behind. Crowds became a breeding ground for hope. Angie would see people who looked like Sarah—it could just be a way of walking, a mannerism, something very Sarah. That was because Sarah wasn’t really dead. That was how Angie felt, and she could only imagine how magnified those feelings were for Sarah’s mother.