As for me, not only had I lost my family but I’d also lost my friends, for whom I’d become the object of pity and fascination. The story of Romy’s disappearance made the local news. There was no place I went where someone didn’t point and stare or outright ask me about the day Romy went missing.
As much as I came to hate my life, it didn’t occur to me that there was anything to be done about it until I was in my junior year in high school. And then one day, for no particular reason, it hit me: why not move? In a new city, my mother could get away from a town that held nothing but agonizing memories, and I could become someone else-someone who wasn’t the local freak. I’d never again have to see those hellish woods.
It took some time and effort to convince my mother, but I was relentless. I’d chosen Los Angeles. Big, anonymous, and not so far away as to be daunting. Slowly we learned together how to navigate an entirely new life. My mother found her smile again, and I found a fresh identity as a normal person. Those were sweet years, when my mother and I discovered a closeness we’d never known before. Then, three years ago, she was diagnosed with melanoma. Six months later, she was gone. I know, because she told me, that she’d never expected to have any happiness in her life after losing Romy and my father; the joy we’d found in these years was an unexpected gift.
My mother’s death was a crushing blow. I was truly alone. What got me through that terrible time was the support I had from Toni and Bailey. But even they never knew about Romy.
When I moved here, I’d very deliberately decided never to tell anyone. Carla the Crone, my lifelong shrink, says it’s an unhealthy sign that I still suffer guilt for my sister’s abduction. She also says that a true friend will neither judge nor pity me, nor treat me like a freak. I say, why take the chance? And besides, what’s the relevance? Romy’s been gone for more than twenty years. I don’t see why a relationship should require all parties to divulge their entire life histories.
I think adults get to decide what to share and when…and what to keep to themselves.
37
That philosophy fits well in Los Angeles. What I hadn’t known when I’d chosen to move here is that Los Angeles discourages intimacy. Unlike other cities, Los Angeles, with its vast sprawl, forces you to get into a car to go anywhere. That means you won’t be making any new friends on your daily route from here to there. In fact, it’s damn unlikely you’ll ever run into anyone you know without an appointment. Natives are a rarity-most are transplants from other parts of the country, if not the world. And though you’d think that kind of diversity might make personal histories a common point of interest, I’d found the opposite was true: people seldom asked questions about my past, and when they did, my minimalist answers were accepted without follow-up.
I’d happily crawled into that cocoon of anonymity. At first, I’d been consumed with guarding its walls. But after years without challenge, I’d come to believe there was no cause for fear. I’d found security in the knowledge that I’d never have to worry about a breach because no one cared. And so I was caught off guard. Hearing that Graden had dug into my past without ever asking my permission left me stunned. But within seconds the surprise gave way to fury.
“How dare you?” I asked, breathing hard.
“What…what do you mean?” Graden asked, his expression shocked and perplexed.
“What the hell were you doing snooping around in my life without asking me? I’m not some jerkoff perp you ‘run’ at will.”
My voice was low and steady, but I was shaking with rage. Graden’s eyes widened.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me about Romy?” he asked. “We’re supposed to be a couple-”
“And a couple shows respect for each other’s boundaries! They don’t go stomping around, digging up dirt just because they can!”
I roughly pushed my hair back from my face, getting angrier by the second.
“Digging up dirt?” he retorted. “Your sister’s abduction isn’t dirt! It’s a life-altering event. I care about you. Don’t you think I deserve to know about it?”
“Deserve!” I shouted. “I most certainly don’t! You deserve to know what I want you to know and not one thing more! It’s my life,” I said, pointing to myself, “and it’s my choice what to tell.” I stopped a moment to catch my breath, then added, “And since we’re on the subject, what exactly have you chosen to share with me about your childhood?”
Graden was silent, his face now stony with resentment. “I would’ve been glad to tell you anything you wanted to know. All you ever had to do was ask me,” he replied.
“But I didn’t ask. I gave you time and space to tell me whatever you wanted-whenever you wanted. And I sure as hell didn’t go scurrying around behind your back.”
“I wasn’t scurrying around, I just…” His voice trailed off, and he fell silent.
Graden took a deep breath and looked at the floor. I waited till he raised his eyes and held my gaze.
“I meant well, Rachel,” he said, his voice now calm, apologetic. “I can see it was a mistake, but I just wanted to know more about you. And I didn’t run your rap sheet.” He said it with a little smile that died when he saw I wasn’t softening. “All I did was google you.” He paused again. “But when I saw the story about Romy, I got upset. I couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t tell me about something like this. At the very least, you’d have to know I’d understand. I might even be able to help-”
“Understand? Why? Because you’ve handled millions of victims?” I was so angry my breath was coming in sharp, rasping gulps. The old childhood wounds had been torn open and were bleeding out.
Graden shook his head.
“And help?” I continued. “It’s been over twenty years! Do you think in all that time I’ve just been sitting on my hands, waiting for Sir Galahad to ride up and slay the dragon?”
Graden gave me a hard look. “I’m not a plumber, Rachel. I’ve got fifteen years on the force, I’ve worked thousands of cases, and I’ve got friends and connections all over the country. So while it might be optimistic to think I could come up with a new idea, it’s not inconceivable that I might be able to help.”
I returned his gaze, feeling ice-cold inside.
“But that’s not really what this is about, is it, Rachel?”
I looked at him. “What are you talking about?”
“We were getting too close, weren’t we?” he asked, his voice heavy.
“Don’t use that fear-of-intimacy crap on me,” I said. “This is about the fact that you can’t respect my privacy. This is about your issue, Graden. Your need to know everything about everyone, regardless of how they might feel about it-”
Graden, who was almost as computer savvy as his propeller-head brother, had confided to me in one of those private, vulnerable moments of closeness that he had “researched” not only all his partners on the force but also his competitors for every single promotion, including the lieutenant’s position. And yet I never once suspected that he’d do the same to me.
My using this knowledge against him now was below the belt; in a more sane state, I wouldn’t have done it. Graden’s eyes widened.
“Haven’t you ever thought about the fact that your need to know everything about everyone is a serious control issue?” I asked. “And stupid me for ever thinking I might be exempt,” I said bitterly. “Clearly, I’m not. So maybe you need to consider the possibility that it’s not my problem with ‘intimacy.’” I paused to do air quotes, to give my words an extra sting. “It’s about your need for control.”