True Places(94)

Monday, the day after she had left: Please come back. We can talk. And later: When are you coming home?

Tuesday: This is ridiculous, Suzanne. And, later: Dishwasher says it needs rinse aid. Does it really? We’re out. Ten minutes later: Rinse aid not mission critical. At midnight: I miss you, Suze.

Wednesday: Thought you should know Brynn went to your mother’s.

Her mother’s? Why on earth would Brynn do that? Suzanne had imagined Whit would use the time without her interference to talk honestly with both kids about the events leading up to prom night, and the night itself, including his own culpability. She had hoped he would mete out some discipline, shoulder some of the parental burden instead of making excuses. What had happened to make Brynn flee? Or had Whit insisted she go? Whit and Brynn were so close; Suzanne had been counting on that bond when she left. She had been more concerned about Reid.

She called Brynn.

“Mom! Where are you?”

Suzanne had expected an accusatory tone, or perhaps a pleading one. Instead, Brynn sounded desperate and vulnerable. “Not far. In Lexington. I’m—”

Brynn burst out sobbing. “Are you coming home? Please come home.”

“Oh, Brynn.” Her daughter’s pleas made her heart ache. “Yes, I’m coming home. This morning.” Lately, if Brynn had a tearful outburst, she would slide into anger with astonishing speed whether the problem she’d been upset about had been solved or not. It was as if she was furious she had let her guard down and needed to punish someone for it. Suzanne braced herself.

“Really? Today?” No anger whatsoever, more like a first grader getting news of a trip to Disneyland.

Relieved, Suzanne suppressed a laugh. “Yes. Where are you? I had a text from Daddy saying you were at Grammy’s.”

Her daughter began crying again. “I couldn’t stay with Daddy. He was just so wrong about everything. So wrong. I had to leave, so I went to Grammy’s.”

“Should I pick you up there?”

“Oh my God, please. Grammy says I can’t stay. And I can’t go to Lisa’s house because her mom thinks I’m a juvenile delinquent.” Her words poured out. She’d been waiting for someone to tell. “I was about to be homeless.”

Suzanne’s first instinct was to mark that statement as ludicrous. But she refrained. “I’ll be there before ten. We can talk about everything then.”

“Okay, Mom. That’s great. Ten is great.” She paused, sniffing back tears. “I’m really sorry, Mom. I’m really, really sorry.”

“I know, sweetheart. Me, too. We’ll talk about it soon.”

“I don’t want you to hang up. You’ll disappear again.”

“I won’t disappear. I promise.”

“Okay. Okay, good.”

“See you before ten.”

“You sure before ten?”

“Yes. If there’s a problem, I’ll call.”

“Okay. Is Iris coming?”

Suzanne hadn’t expected this. “Yes. We’re coming together.”

“Okay. That’s awesome.”

“Bye for now.”

“Bye.” She was crying again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Suzanne ended the call and wiped her eyes with a corner of the sheet. It was hard to hear Brynn so anguished, despite all the anger her daughter had directed her way. Suzanne worried, as she had so many times previously, that her own dissatisfaction had silently poisoned her relationship with her daughter, sowing doubt where there ought to have been confidence, fostering insecurity where there ought to have been strength. She had been a shitty role model.

Suzanne heard the shower turn off. Iris would be out soon. Suzanne gathered her resolve and called Whit. He picked up immediately.

“Hey!” Cheer or false cheer, she couldn’t tell.

“Hi. Are you all right?”

“I hope so. I mean, now that you’ve called. Wait. Why are you calling?” He babbled when he was nervous. This touched her more than if he had cried.

“To let you know we’re coming back this morning, right after we pick Brynn up from my mother’s.”

“That’s great. It really is. You talked to Brynn?”

“Yes.”

A pause on the line. “About that. I could’ve handled things better and—”

“Let’s talk about it later, okay?”

“Sure. Fine. I can’t be home until two or so. I could try to move things around if you want.”

“It’s okay.” Better, even. She had trouble envisaging being greeted by Whit at the door. “We found Iris’s cabin.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. And there was a note from her father the police should know about.”

“So he was there? Recently?”

“I’ll tell you everything, Whit. For now can you just call the detective?”

“Sure.” His tone was flat. He didn’t like being kept in the dark, but Suzanne didn’t want to relate the whole story over the phone.

“One more thing, and then I need to get ready so Brynn’s not waiting.”

“What is it?”

“Can you look up a house, a property for me? Ninety-Eight Turkey Hill Road. In Buchanan.”