Come Find Me(78)

If he was trying to pin Liam’s death on me, the photo would have to be sent to someone else. He knew Abby from two years earlier—she had been a big part of the search the first time around.

    Mike had worked with my parents in order to keep an eye on any information about Liam that came through. He always knew exactly what was happening in the case.

But they can’t try a case against him on belief alone. They need something solid. Something real.

“Something happened at the shelter,” I told Agent Lowell, but I was sure I’d already said it. We’d been at this for two days, in one form or another, but it all blurred together.

“I know,” he said. “And we’re interviewing everyone we can, taking statements. But there’s been a lot of turnover, and people aren’t always willing to talk.”

Or able to.

I closed my eyes and pictured Kennedy, peering into the bedroom window that night. Or Elliot, jarred from his desk, walking out into the hallway. The way some details stick and others fade; how time slips.

My phone buzzed beside me on the couch. Kennedy, I was sure. Each morning for the last three days, there’s been a message waiting for me. Throughout the day, too. I never know what to reply, how to balance both things: the grief overwhelming everything, alongside the rest. Even though I never respond, the notes keep coming. Little things, just to let me know she’s there. And that one, the one I read with Agent Lowell sitting across from me, said she would be here today. At the service.



* * *



—

    Every time I think I catch a glimpse of her, the crowd shifts and I lose sight. Every few steps someone else stops me to see how I am, to offer their support, or a memory. It’s the memories, each time, that pull me back. Like they’re giving me something. Something new. Two years later, and a piece of Liam still catches me off guard.

I’m in the middle of a circle of his friends, home from college, when someone steps aside, making space for Abby. Her eyes lock with mine, then drift to the side.

My throat tightens. I remember the last words she spoke to me as well. You are so cruel. I wanted her to be lying. I wanted her to be wrong.

“Abby,” I say, stepping closer, even though it’s crowded. With the number of people around us, talking, it’s almost the same as being alone.

She waves a hand in front of her face. “It’s okay,” she says, like she can tell exactly what I’m trying to say.

I shake my head. “It’s not.”

She looks over her shoulder, to the pictures of Liam up at the front of the room. “No, you’re right,” she says. I can see her throat moving. “I just missed him so much,” she whispers, and it’s like she’s talking about something else. That day in the car, the one we’ve both tried desperately to forget.

“I know. Me too.”

A guy I’ve never seen before places a hand on her shoulder, and she looks up at him. “I’ll just be one moment,” she says, and then the pink rises up her neck.

I watch him go, but he doesn’t make it far. Just waits beside the wall, eyes scanning the crowd. Someone here not for me, or for Liam, but for her. “You have a boyfriend?” I ask. I can’t keep the surprise from my voice. But I don’t know what I expected—for life to just freeze for the rest of us?

    She fidgets with her hair. “Yeah, yes. Five months now.”

I nod slowly, and she presses her lips together. “Oh. I mean, that’s good. He looks…” But I don’t know what to say. I don’t know anything about him, other than the fact that he’s not Liam. “I’m glad he came with you.”

“I’m sorry,” she adds, her eyes turning glassy. I want to tell her she doesn’t need to be sorry, that it’s a stupid thing to say to me. But then I think that maybe it’s not meant for me.

“He’d want you to be happy,” I say.



* * *



—

After Abby leaves, the crowd thins, and I’ve missed Kennedy. I drive home with my parents, feeling too cramped in the backseat, none of us sure what to say to one another.

The silence, when we walk through the front door, feels permanent. This is the way it will be from now on. Until tomorrow, at least, when the volunteers return, at my mother’s request. I didn’t understand. They all deserve to be found, she told me. I thought finding Liam would mark the end of something. A line that divided before and after. But I was wrong. Tomorrow, they’ll keep going.

But today, there’s just the silence. Just the three of us, in this quiet, empty house.

Mom drops her bag on the couch and steps out of her shoes. Dad takes off his suit jacket and stands facing that wall—all those eyes, looking back.

The phone rings, shattering the silence, and my mom jumps. For a while, they had the ringer turned off, letting the calls from reporters and friends alike fill up the voice mail.

    It rings again, and my mom just stares at it, and it reminds me of when Liam first went missing, how they had been waiting for a call, any call, that would tell them their son would be coming home soon—and now that call will never come.

I answer the phone, just to get it to stop.

“Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?” The voice on the other end belongs to a woman who sounds about my mother’s age, maybe older.