The Leaving(42)
“Bad people don’t deserve to have children.”
“But they gave me back to you,” Scarlett said, trying not to breathe in smoke. “And also, it’s not like I was the only one taken.”
“The others were no prizes, either,” Tammy said. “And yes, I’ve been given a second chance and I sure as hell won’t blow it. But you’re practically grown anyway. I could hardly mess you up now.”
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“No,” Scarlett said. “Somebody else already did that.”
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“That’s the thing,” her mother said. “You don’t actually seem that screwed up.”
She finally started to drive.
At home, the urgency was impossible to ignore.
Something glinting.
Chopsticks.
Tupperware.
Rubber gloves.
Soap.
Paper towels.
Hand sanitizer.
More soap.
More paper towels.
So gross.
Not a locket.
Not a religious medal.
A stretched penny.
“Manatee Viewing Center: Anchor Beach.”
“I Love You.”
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Just . . .
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She washed it again.
Could not wash it enough.
Then put it in a clear disposable glove she took from a box under the sink and tucked it into her skirt pocket.
“Anything?” her mom asked.
Scarlett walked toward her room. “Nope,” she called down the hall. “Good night!”
I love you.
I love who?
Who loves me?
She looked up “Anchor Beach” on her phone.
A power plant.
Where manatees go to stay warm in the runoff.
Smokestacks on the water.
White steam mimicking clouds.
A long stretch of beach.
Piers of wonky wooden planks.
She’d been there?
I’m going on a trip.
I love you.
I’m leaving.
Lucas
Lucas snapped a picture of Miranda when she came out of Ryan’s room. He’d been awake since too early, too eager for the day to start, and was on the couch teaching himself how to use his new camera.
“Not this again.” She shuffled toward the bathroom.
“Excuse me?” He studied the photo on the screen, liked the lighting but not the framing. He looked up—“Not what again?”—and found her blinking at him.
She tilted her head. “I had a boyfriend once. Took pictures of me all the time without asking me if he could. It was annoying.”
“Oh,” he said. “Sorry.”
“Why are you up so early?” she said.
“We’re going to try to find that author today.”
“Yeah?” She scratched her head. “Did you talk to the police about all that?”
“Not yet,” he said. “We want to see if there’s anything to it first.”
She turned to go into the bathroom. “Well, good luck with that.”
Scarlett would be there any minute, so Lucas started to pack up a bag. Just his camera. The book. Some cash. He considered going out to the RV and getting the gun and bringing that, too. He could hand it to Scarlett, as a test to see if Scarlett also knew—
CLICK HISS.
Maybe they all did.
And if they did, why?
Had they been trained?
She texted that she was there and he went out and it was already too hot and he was overdressed in jeans and a T-shirt.
“Hey,” he said, getting into the car.
She wore a gray tank-top dress and had black sandals on, and he had the feeling that each time he saw her she was somehow a little bit more herself. Her knees were knobby and pale by the steering wheel. She handed him a clear pouch of some kind.
“This is it,” she said. “This is what I swallowed. I mapped it and it’s not that far from Tarpon Springs. We have to go there. Today.”
Lucas took the penny out and studied it.
I love you.
Flipped it over; it glinted.
Manatee Viewing Center: Anchor Beach “Do you remember it?” he asked. “This place?”
“I don’t. But I must have been there, right?” She shook her head. “Because why would I swallow something like that? It seems, I don’t know . . .”
He completed the thought: “Desperate.”
“Yes.”
“Which is closer?” he asked. “Tarpon Springs or Anchor Beach?”