The Leaving(29)

She went and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Dad. You’ll see. It’s the right thing to do. The right message to send.”

He went to finish getting ready for work, and she just sat at the kitchen island and waited for the segment to air again, which it did. She watched as Lucas and Scarlett and Kristen stood together in a playground—looked like the one over by the Publix—and stated their memories one by one.

Sam would have more theories, for sure, but Avery could now think of nothing other than Scarlett. She remembered looking up to her as a kid, remembered chasing her around the playground, playing games about fairies, and hunting for treasure.

Now she was back, alive, gorgeous, and she was standing next to Lucas. She was standing so very close to Lucas that it annoyed Avery, and then she was annoyed that it annoyed her. She needed to find Max—or his body, Sam!—and move on. She did not need to be daydreaming about Lucas or any of them. She did not need to be replaying her conversation with him at Opus 6, rewriting it so that it ended with her in his arms. So that it ended with an embrace, a kiss.

This was why she’d distanced herself from Ryan in the first place. So that she could go forward, pass Go. Lucas would be a backward move.

She could not stop thinking about him.

Finally, she heard the sound of the garage door opening, and the car pulling out, and the door closing, and the car going away down the street. The coast clear, she went into the garage and rooted around for the bolt cutters. Her dad had bought them during a brief period a few years back when her mom had taken up biking around the neighborhood. Mom kept forgetting the combination for her lock, so she kept calling, needing to be picked up at random places. Or she’d end up walking home, then sending Dad out to retrieve the bike.

Thank god that was all over with.

The bike was collecting dust and spiderwebs over by the subzero freezer.

Cutters in hand, Avery headed out on foot, taking a back way through the Youngs’ yard—so as to avoid walking past the strip-mall security cameras with the clippers in hand—and down the bike path that ran along the bay.

She slowed and watched a guy who was paddleboarding by. His dog was on the board with him—a tiny burst of gray-and-white fluff, just sitting by the guy’s feet as he paddled past.

People could really be ridiculous.

She didn’t feel like talking to Ryan.

She didn’t feel like asking for permission.

If she had, she wouldn’t have bothered bringing the cutters.

She needed to get into the RV, didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it yesterday. So when she finally got to the back end of Opus 6, she bypassed the house and approached it. Would the old video-game console she and Ryan had hooked up out there when they were like ten (her) and thirteen (him) still be there? Would their secret candy-bar stash in the oven have been eaten by mice? Would she hear the echoes of their younger selves talking, all those years ago, about their messed-up parents and how it was okay because in a few years, they’d be able to leave town?

The lock was open, just dangling there as her foot crunched a branch.

“Who’s there?” came a voice. “Ryan?”

The door creaked open and Lucas popped his head out. “No.”

No.

No.

No.

“I came to apologize,” she said. Would he see it in her eyes? That she’d had . . . thoughts . . . about him?

He scratched his neck.

“I shouldn’t have mentioned the carousel.” Saying it made it feel true.

“Come in.” He swatted the air. “It’s too buggy out here.”

Climbing up the entry steps, she followed him in, ducking around cobwebs lit white by sun rays peeking from behind curtains. The walls were just as she remembered them—covered with corkboards layered thick with newspaper clippings and police reports, and whiteboards covered in wild writing.

“You’ve been here before?” he asked.

“Not in a long time.” She looked around to see what, if anything, might have changed. “But yeah, me and Ryan used to hang out here sometimes.”

“I haven’t found anything that makes sense to me.”

He saw the tool in her hand.

“So you didn’t come to apologize.” He seemed confused about it, like he was a new person and hadn’t read his instruction manual yet.

“But I do want to apologize”—she gently put the cutters down—“now that I’m here.”

He waved an arm. “What are you hoping to find?”

She had been hoping that something would just stand out. “I thought I’d know when I found it?”

He nodded and she felt something weird between them, some kind of bond forming out of unpredictable atoms. And yet, when she thought about mentioning the note from Max—the most recent break in the case, if it was one—or the reward, she couldn’t bring herself to.

What if they’re all lying?

“Well, have a look around, I guess,” he said, and Avery turned toward a whiteboard:

AUGUST 9TH. IS DATE SIGNIFICANT?

WHY THEM?

WHY THAT DAY?

All of which were good questions, but they’d all been asking those questions for a long time and still had no answers. What she was looking for was something new or at least something that felt new, now that they were all back except for Max.