Open House(37)

Rappaport was wearing plain clothes, just like yesterday in his office. He put his hands in the pockets of his corduroys. He nodded and looked around the room. “I’d like to talk to Josie now, alone,” he said.

“I understand. I’ll wait,” Haley said.

“I’m asking you to leave, Haley,” Rappaport said. “I’m prepared to wait here with Mrs. Carmichael for a few hours, if she’ll let me stay.” He exchanged a glance with Josie, his brown eyes gentle. “I think it’s the safest option for her as of now, to have a police presence inside the room or just outside, as we’ve done since she’s gotten here. And I’d like to be here in a professional capacity if—when—she remembers something about what happened today.”

Josie looked away, and Haley watched her profile as she stared out the hospital window into the waning storm. “I think that’s probably for the best, Haley,” Josie murmured, her chin trembling.

Haley was quiet. She didn’t want to leave, but she wasn’t in charge of what happened inside this room. She was never in charge in the hospital, it seemed; there was always someone more senior.

“Your fiancé’s been released,” Rappaport said, offering that small kernel as he moved closer to Josie. Haley could feel the power shifting; Josie was his now.

Haley squeezed Josie’s hand, but Josie didn’t squeeze back. “Will you call me and tell me when I can come see you again?” Haley asked.

“We have Mrs. Carmichael’s phone,” Rappaport said before Josie could answer. “But I can arrange a call to you when she’d like a visitor.”

Josie sniffed. She was still staring out the window, watching the snow.

Rappaport shot Haley a tepid smile. “And just as a reminder,” he said. “You and Dean shouldn’t leave town.”

Josie let out a strangled laugh, and then she turned to Haley and said the oddest thing. “Whatever you do, Haley, please don’t disappear.”





TWENTY-NINE

Emma

Ten years ago

The night is getting colder. I’ve crept farther into the woods, already regretting that I didn’t just meet Brad in the parking lot with the streetlight and the other cars. I’ve never been in the woods by myself—it was always my dad, Haley, and me when we hiked here—and now I feel foolish for always making fun of Josie for being scared.

I push through the brush, my mind flashing to Noah. I can see his deep hazel eyes and the sweep of golden stubble along his jaw. I can see his strong shoulders and the way his body looks without anything covering it. I start to calm down a little, but then, uninvited, I see Josie in my mind, too. I stop moving and squeeze my eyes shut. Get out, I try to say to the image of her in our room wearing only her bra, staring at Noah and me. My hands go to my cold cheeks and press hard against the skin, as if I can shake the memory free, and then I start to wonder if I’ve really lost it. I open my eyes and keep moving, picking up my pace. The evergreens along the trail seem to snake closer to my skin like a too-tight sweater. Pointy, jagged branches claw at my jacket, and I imagine painting this place when I finally get out of here. I can practically feel my fingers gripping a brush, and the way it will feel to drag it across the canvas with pine-green paint in its wake. I think about the first time Chris saw my paintings, and how, even with a real artist for a sister, he was rendered speechless. Maybe I just need to get out of my head and paint more and forget trying to make every canvas perfect. Or swim more. I used to do that in high school, but I wasn’t good enough to make the team at Yarrow.

I blink. My eyes don’t seem to be adjusting properly—there’s a full moon, but every time the clouds get in the way it’s too dark. I stumble over a rock and catch myself. Is this even the right way toward marker two? The clouds clear, and I press onward, hugging my arms over my chest, thinking about my dad and the weird text he just sent me. He wants to talk to me alone. We always talk as a family when we fight, but this whole thing started over me accusing him of having an affair. So the fact that he wants us to be alone probably means he’s guilty.

A bird’s cry cuts the night air. The twisting and turning of the path still feels so unfamiliar. I slow for a second to catch my breath, and that’s when I hear the footsteps.

“Hello?” I call out. The sound of twigs and branches crunching is unmistakable. “Hello?” I say once more, but no one answers. Surely they’re close enough to hear me—they should be saying something. I whip out my phone for the flashlight and see a missed call from my dad. With shaking fingers I tap his name on my phone and call him, thinking how much better I’ll feel just to hear his voice, and plus then he can call the police if I get truly lost.

He doesn’t answer. Call me, Dad, I whisper into the phone. I don’t want to worry you, but I’m in the woods, and I think maybe I’m lost . . . or . . . well, just call me, okay?

Crack goes a branch, way too close. I freeze and contemplate hiding. But then fear overtakes me, and I start to run.





THIRTY

Haley

Haley sat on a pile of pillows inside her sister’s old bedroom. She checked her phone again for a call or text from Dean, but there wasn’t one.

The pillows were still stacked next to the bookshelf where Emma had arranged them after their parents said no to a beanbag chair that cost too much. Emma had liked lying on her stomach to read and draw, her body against the pillows and her sketchpad on the hard floor. Haley could still picture her that way, her dark wavy hair falling over her face, and the way she’d look up at Haley with big blue eyes filled with equal parts love and exasperation when Haley interrupted her work.