It's One of Us(61)

Of course Scarlett wants to see who this mystery sibling might be. Darby wants to know, too. Still.

“What friend? I’m serious, Scarlett. This is a dangerous situation, and I refuse to let you play coy with me.”

“It’s one of the Halves. Her name is Jezebelle. Well, that’s her handle. Remember, we don’t use real names, to protect ourselves. But there’s no way it’s the killer—she’s a girl. I think her mom must work with the police or something. She finds things out.”

“And you believe her?”

“She hasn’t been wrong yet. We’ve been talking for a while.”

“How do you know it’s a girl? Anyone can pose as someone else, Scar. I’ve told you this time and time again. You are being reckless talking to strangers online.”

Scarlett’s eyes fill with tears. “I’m being careful. I’m not an idiot, Mom. It’s not like we’re making plans to meet up for coffee. And I know it’s a woman because of the way she talks about things. Like, personal things. I mean, we talk about all the stuff happening in the world now. People are more open about themselves. She’s cisgendered, pronouns are she/her. Why would she lie?”

Darby relaxes a fraction. She still has a bad feeling about all of this. “My darling, something you need to realize is people can misrepresent themselves, especially if they’re trying to fit in.”

“You don’t understand. Why can’t you trust me, for once?”

Because you’re sixteen and too damn precocious and I want to keep you swaddled next to me forever.

Darby closes her eyes and counts to three. “I do trust you, baby. The news isn’t on for a while. We have plenty of time. Let’s make dinner. What do you want? Anything goes.”

“Anything?”

“Within reason.” Darby smiles. Concessions are rare in their world. She hopes Scarlett recognizes this isn’t the new normal.

Scarlett’s eyes twinkle. “Pizza. That cauliflower crust one from Costco. With mushrooms.”

Pizza is reserved for Friday nights, so this is special. Darby is just glad she didn’t ask for some sort of complicated dish that would take an hour to put together. She is so tired.

“Done. Why don’t you do your homework and I’ll call you when it’s ready. And Scarlett? No Discord. No Halves. Not until we know what’s happening. Got me?”

Her lovely daughter casts her eyes to the floor and nods. She starts toward the stairs, but Darby calls, “Have you checked online to see if the sketch has been released yet?”

Scarlett whips out her phone and her thumbs fly. “No. Nothing yet. Though...they identified the other woman who’s gone missing. Her name is Jillian Kemp. God, this is so scary.”

Oh my God.

Scarlett is looking at her. “Mom? Are you okay?”

“Hold on, Scarlett.” Darby slaps open her laptop and goes to the news website. The headline screams:

Another Nashville Woman Missing


Darby reads the article in disbelief, then opens her private group for the first time in days to see a hundred new entries and multiple private messages. While she wrestled with her conscience, the decisions were being made for her.

Moderator: It has been decided by a nearly unanimous vote to make the police aware of Beverly Cooke’s involvement in the group. We can’t have Jillian end up like Beverly. I have alerted Metro Nashville police to the possible connection. Please cooperate with the investigation if detectives contact you. If you have any information that could lead to finding Jillian Kemp, please get in touch with Metro Nashville detectives immediately. No tip is too small.
A string of phone numbers and emails follows the entry.

Darby shuts the laptop.

Is someone preying on their private Facebook group?

Oh, come on. That’s ridiculous. It has to be a fluke.

“Mom?”

“Yes, honey.”

“Did you hear me? I’m freaking out here.”

“I heard you. This is very scary, I agree. Come here.” She gives Scarlett a long hug. “We’re going to be okay, you understand? I won’t let anything happen to you. Not now, not ever. But I do need to talk to you about something important.”

“If this is about the argument we had... I said I was sorry.”

“You did? I must have missed that.”

Scarlett blushes.

“I appreciate the apology. It’s not about our disagreement. Well, it is, but in a tangential way.”

“Twenty-five-cent word, Mom.”

Finally, a little normalcy. The color is coming back to Scarlett’s face, the fear receding from her eyes. The thought of her daughter scared just about kills her.

Darby smiles, gets up, and drops a quarter in the jar on the counter. When the kids were little, instead of a swear jar, she instituted a vocabulary jar. She figured it was a better game to reward than punish, because at what point does it become okay for them to swear? What less profane words were all right? What filthier words were out of bounds? No, this worked better for her little brood. Neither of whom swore in front of her, thank you very much.

She returned to the table. “You have your own group, and while I’m not happy about it, I understand why you’ve done this. I don’t blame you, and I’m not angry with you. I have a group, too. It’s bigger than yours, made up of families all over the country who’ve used sperm donors. It’s a support group of sorts. A lot of good friendships have been born there. But it’s a secret place, because some people who use sperm donors are ashamed, or embarrassed, or trying to save face.” She fends off the incipient question: “There are many, many reasons someone might need—or want—a sperm donor, and a thousand more why they might want to keep it private. It is not up to us to judge how anyone chooses to have a family or what they want people to know about them.”