The Lion's Den(84)

The day was still, the sea like glass. She stood at the railing, staring out at the waves lapping at the shore, oddly calm. “I really like it here,” she said.

“It’s beautiful,” I agreed.

She turned to me, and I saw she was as hollowed out as I was, her emotions exhausted. “I’ve cried so much I don’t have any tears left.”

Me too, I wanted to say. “It’s okay.” I squeezed her hand. “I understand.”

“No you don’t,” she muttered. And then quickly, “I’m sorry. I’m just emotional. Thank you for being so supportive.”

“I’m here for you.”

“My mom’s gonna come out today,” she continued. “I’d like to spend some time with her before John gets here Friday. I ordered a car to take you back to the city.”

“Okay.” I didn’t mind the dismissal, relieved to be able to go home without making up an excuse. “When will it be here?”

“It’s here,” she said. “Waiting in front. I didn’t want to wake you.”



In the car, I gazed out the window at the sea, unsettled. I was upset about Eric, yes, horribly. But underneath it all was the sense that something still didn’t feel right about all of this. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it all seemed a little too easy. Too…anticlimactic or something.

Probably just a symptom of my anguish. Disbelief. Wasn’t that one of the stages of grief?

I tried to reach Dylan again, to no avail.

When I got home, I took a hot shower to clear my head, letting the almost scalding water run down my body, breathing in the steam. I made myself another cup of coffee and settled at the table in my cheery yellow kitchen, looking out at the palm trees and the mountains, then opened my laptop and typed “missing persons California.”

A website popped up that listed all of the missing persons in California, with their photographs and information, organized by date. Two yesterday, one three days ago, one four days ago, two six days ago, all from different counties. I was astounded by the number of missing people, but none of them was Eric.

So I looked up the coroner’s office, did a search with his name and age. Nothing. But then, maybe he wasn’t in the system yet. We had only reported it yesterday.

I dialed Dylan’s number again. This time he answered, his voice hoarse.

“Belle, I’m sorry, I’ll have to make it quick. I’m getting on a plane.”

“Okay,” I said.

He took a deep breath. “They found his rental car at a park in Ventura. They’re searching the park now.”

My heart sank. “Oh.” Then, “Was there anything in it? His personal stuff? A note?”

“No note,” Dylan said. “No wallet or phone.”

“Do you really think he killed himself?” I asked.

He paused. “Maybe.”

“What makes you unsure?” I asked, hopeful.

He sighed. “That email. It wasn’t the way he writes.” So I wasn’t crazy. He’d picked up on it, too. “And no offense to your friend. I’m sure she’s a lovely girl—”

“Summer,” I said.

“Yeah, Summer—but he wasn’t in love with her. Sure, he and I hadn’t talked much recently, but still—I’ve seen him in love before. This is not what it looks like.” I stifled the impulse to ask what it did look like. “So it’s really fucking hard to imagine he would kill himself over her,” he concluded.

“I know,” I agreed. “I didn’t know him nearly as well as you obviously, but their relationship always seemed—casual. On his end, anyway.”

“But I don’t like any of the alternatives, either.”

“What alternatives?” I asked.

“There were things—he may have gotten mixed up in.…” He paused, catching himself. “I don’t know. I’m trying to find out as much as I can.”

Mixed up in? Again I was reminded of how little I actually knew of Eric. “Like what?” I asked.

“I can’t…I’m sorry. It’s probably nothing. Forget I said anything.”

“I thought the email was strange, too,” I said. “If you need help—”

“No,” he cut in. “I don’t want you anywhere near this. And like I said, it’s probably nothing. I just wish I knew better what was going on with him. If he hadn’t been so damn stubborn about our dad…”

“But that’s just him, right? Full of ideals, principles—”

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “And I’ve always been the one in the real world.”

I floundered for words, taken aback by his cynicism. But of course he was feeling bad; he’d just lost his brother. His brother, who was nothing if not defined by his ideals and principles. My instinct was to defend Eric, but I knew that would do no good. And so I simply said, “I’m sorry you’re going through this, Dylan.”

I heard voices in the background. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too. I have to go. I’ll let you know when I hear anything.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

I hung up the phone, suddenly feeling very alone. The kitchen darkened; I looked out the window to see thunderheads converging above the mountains, blocking the sun. I knew the fact that Dylan was suspicious, too, should make me feel better about my own doubts, but it only aggravated my sense of helplessness. What could he have meant by Eric getting mixed up in something? Drugs? But Eric wasn’t a druggie, and he didn’t seem to be in need of the money he might make dealing them. I wondered if Summer had knowledge of whatever it was.…Perhaps this thing he was mixed up in was what she’d been hiding at the beach house when she was fighting with him. A part of me wanted to call her and tell her what Dylan said, perhaps give her a reason to hope, too. But I still didn’t trust her. Whatever was going on, she already knew more than she was letting on, and she’d chosen not to share it with me.