Have You Seen Me?(25)

“I hope you didn’t mind,” Roger says once we’re both seated. “She thought it would be rude not to stop by.”

“You didn’t tell her what was going on, did you?”

“No, no, of course not. Though she’s aware something’s up because I’ve been preoccupied ever since you called. I’m so worried about you, Button.”

“I’m actually feeling a little better today—and seeing you is already helping.”

It’s true. Being in Roger’s steady, dependable presence anchors me, as it has since I was young—whether he was teaching me how to make scrambled eggs, explaining the stories behind the constellations, or sticking his head beneath my bed to prove there weren’t any monsters lurking there.

At the same time, I’m a little surprised. The last time I saw Roger, two months ago when our father left for San Diego, his light brown hair along the side of his head was tipped with pewter, but he’s almost entirely gray now. There was a time when, despite our age gap, we looked unmistakably like siblings—we both have full lips and hazel-colored eyes set slightly far apart. But it’s hard to imagine anyone thinking that today.

“So give me an update,” he says after the waitress has taken my order for a sparkling water. “Have you pieced together any more details?”

“Unfortunately, not. Those two days are a total dead zone.”

“And they don’t know what caused it?”

“Not so far. Though as I mentioned on the phone, there’s a small possibility it was related to the whole Jaycee Long business.”

“I know that was a terrible experience for you. But why would it play havoc with you now, after so many years?”

“Maybe I never fully processed things. And it’s actually been on my mind quite a lot lately. Because—gosh, Rog, I haven’t wanted to burden you with this, but Hugh and I have been having issues lately over whether or not to start a family. He definitely wants kids, and I originally thought I did, too, but I’m now balking.”

“Ally, I’m so sorry.” He reaches across the table and briefly clasps my hand. “Trust me, it’s never a burden to have you share whatever is going on with you.”

“Thanks—and I’m sure Hugh and I will work it out,” I say. Though as the words spill from my mouth, I wonder how confident I really am that they’re true.

“Anyway, I was hoping that speaking to you would help me fill in a few blanks about Jaycee Long.”

“Blanks?” His face darkens with even more concern. “Are you saying there are parts you don’t remember about that period either?”

“No, it’s not that. Blanks is the wrong word. It’s more that certain things still seem shrouded in mystery. Mom and Dad whispering. The police whispering. People in town staring at me once the word was out.”

“Do you remember much about that day? Finding her?”

I smile grimly. “Pretty much. I’d hung around too long after school that afternoon instead of going straight home like I was supposed to, so I took a shortcut through the woods. Another no-no. While I was walking, I stumbled over this pile of leaves—and she was there. Practically underfoot.”

My voice cracks. I take another deep breath and slowly exhale. “At first I didn’t even realize what I was looking at.”

“That must have been so awful, Ally.”

“Tell me what you remember, will you?”

“I remember how shaken you seemed. And how sad I felt for you. . . . Dad must have called and I decided to come home.”

The waitress interrupts before I can say anything, setting my water on the table.

“But weren’t you already there for some reason?” I ask. “I remember sitting with you in the family room that Friday night when the police talked to Dad and Mom in the kitchen.”

He pulls back in his chair. “God, you’re right. I was going to travel that summer before grad school, and I came home for a few weeks in the spring.”

“I take it Dad filled you in on everything then?”

“He did, though some of it’s fuzzy now. I remember the girl was only two and that she’d died from a blow to her head. I also know Dad and your mom were pretty distraught.”

“I was worried they were mad at me. For taking the shortcut, for hanging at school.”

“I don’t think they had any room left over to be mad. For starters, they were incredibly concerned about the impact the experience would have on you, and I remember your mom working so hard to find you a good therapist. You know, I wonder if it would be of any use for you to talk to the psychologist you saw back then. See if she has any insight.”

“Louise Hadley was her name. But she was at least in her late forties. She might not even be alive.”

“Let me ask around and see what I can find out.”

“I’d appreciate that. What did you mean by ‘for starters,’ though?”

“What?”

“You said that for starters they were worried how finding the body would affect me. What else?”

“Oh, they weren’t happy about all the time you had to spend with the cops. They were afraid that being questioned was as tough for you as finding the body.”

“It was tough. The first time was bad enough—when they came to the house and I had to go to the woods with them and point out where she was. But then a day or two later I had to talk to them all over again.”