Margie, fit, lean, and pushing sixty, wore a deep scowl. Elizabeth had been an Evangeline girl. Some people said that she wasn’t over Elizabeth’s death, was in therapy in order to move on from the responsibility she felt. Of course, we all knew there was nothing Margie could have done. It was an accident, a terrible accident. Or so it had been ruled, nearly a year after Elizabeth’s death.
“What’s up?” I said.
Everyone turned to look at me, and then Ainsley looked away. I recognized the heavyset, balding man as one of the detectives who had worked Elizabeth’s case. He had a bearish quality, a warm smile, but bright, analytical eyes. Everyone thinks bears are so cute, but their claws can easily dismantle a human body. They were always watching, those eyes, drinking in details, making connections.
“Beck didn’t show up for class today,” Ainsley said into her tissues. I sank onto the couch beside her. “She hasn’t come back to the room.”
I offered a slow shrug. “Beck has skipped class before,” I said. I ignored a rise of worry, of guilt. I shouldn’t have left her. “This is not a new thing.”
“We found her bag in the trees by the path that leads from the library,” said the detective. He walked over to me and offered me his hand, which I took. His grip was hard and firm-I mean, of course it was. It wouldn’t be wet and limp, would it? Not this guy. Even though he was balding and had an impressive paunch, there was still a kind of power that radiated from him.
“Detective Chuck Ferrigno,” he said. “Lead detective for The Hollows PD. Maybe you remember me? You’re Lana Granger, right?”
“That’s right,” I said. “I do remember you, sir.”
He gave me a warm smile. “Are you okay?”
“You found her bag?” I asked.
He nodded. “What time did you leave the library?”
“Around nine or ten,” I said. I thought hard, trying to remember the exact time. “Nine-thirty, I guess.”
“And where did you go after that?” I felt the heat of everybody’s eyes on me. It was the thing I hated most, being the center of attention. I wanted to sink down into myself and I realized that I was slouching horribly. I forced myself to sit up straight.
“You went together and were supposed to leave together, though. That’s what Ainsley told us.”
“Right. But I wasn’t feeling well.” I really didn’t want to lie, but I had already lied to Ainsley.
“And where did you go after that?”
“I came right home and got into bed.” I felt Ainsley turn her head to look at me.
“What time was that?” he asked.
“About nine forty-five.”
“Is that about right, Ainsley?” asked the detective.
“I was in my room studying, and I had my headphones on,” said Ainsley. I saw her foot start to twitch. I saw the detective notice it, too. “I didn’t hear her come in.”
The detective was scribbling in a little notepad, which struck me as kind of old school and made me think of Beck. Some people just don’t want to give up the pen and paper thing, the analog experience.
There were a few more questions, which I heard through a kind of mental fog. Was Beck seeing anyone? Not that we knew of. Was she having a problem with anyone? No. Had she mentioned being afraid of anyone? Had she seemed depressed? No. Nothing more than the typical angst.
“Her parents are divorcing,” Ainsley chimed in. “She’s pretty upset about that.”
But that was news to me. It was kind of a big deal. That she hadn’t confided in me underscored the space that had opened between us lately. She’d told Ainsley but not me. A little flame of jealousy flickered inside.
I thought about Beck’s bag sitting out there all night, my mind searching for some logical, harmless reason that her bag with all her notebooks, her laptop, probably her cell phone, would have been cast to the side of the path. I couldn’t come up with one.
When he was done with his questions, the detective and the other officers in the room left. But not before he paused in the doorway and said, “So, Lana, how are you feeling now?”
“Better,” I said. “I think I was just overtired.”
“Good,” he said as he closed the door.
When they’d gone, I turned to look at Ainsley, who was watching me strangely.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said. And then she started to cry. I should have moved over to her and held on tight. I could have stroked her hair, telling her that it was all right, a big nothing. Beck would be home by dinner, I could have said. Ainsley was my friend, and it would have been right for me to comfort her. It was the expected thing. But I didn’t do that. I moved away from her instead, and she wrapped her arms around herself. I stood awkwardly for a moment.
“Don’t worry about it, okay,” I said as I moved toward my bedroom. “She’s fine.”
I saw her nod, but she didn’t say anything.
I saw a shrink in town, Dr. Maggie Cooper, and I had been seeing her my entire time at school. I had sessions once a week, sometimes every other week. It depended largely on the time of year, how heavy was the burden of my past in any given season, if I was especially stressed or sad.
I think it would be safe to say that Dr. Cooper knew me better than almost anyone alive who was not related to me, and even she didn’t know everything. But I liked her and trusted her, had never felt safer or less judged than I did on the couch in her office. Luckily, I had an appointment that afternoon.
I told her about the things Beck had said-about Luke, about Langdon. And how I had left Beck in the library, both of us angry. And how Beck hadn’t come home. Dr. Cooper listened in that careful way she had, nodding, issuing affirming noises. In her office, the real world always seemed so distant and far away, infinitely manageable. I could sink into the plush couch, hug one of the overstuffed throw pillows to my middle, and just be, while everything waited swirling and chaotic outside her door.
“I’m so sorry to hear this, Lana. It must be so frightening for you,” said Dr. Cooper. She reached over and handed me a box of tissues, even though I wasn’t crying.
“A missing girl is always cause for alarm,” she went on. “But it’s important for you not to get catastrophic in your thinking. It could yet be a false alarm. The police are reacting quickly, which is as it should be. But, for you personally, try not to imagine the worst-case scenario.”
“But her bag,” I said. That was really the thing that got to me. “She’d never leave that anywhere, not for any reason.”
Dr. Cooper made an affirming noise. “That is troubling, I admit.”
It wasn’t possible for me not to get catastrophic in my thinking, not to imagine the worst-case scenario. I told her as much.
“It’s a process,” she said. “To change the way we think. And you have unique challenges. But it is possible.”
The good doctor was so far out of her depth, she didn’t even know. Like a weak swimmer congratulating herself for treading water while a school of sharks circled her below the surface.
“I’ll work on it,” I said.
She gave me a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. I’d noticed a change in Dr. Cooper the last couple of sessions. Was it that some of her warmth had faded? Or was she holding something back, or sensing that I was? I tried to think back, wondered if I’d said anything I shouldn’t have. It was true that I was getting very comfortable here, had even started to look forward to the sessions that I had agreed to initially only to appease my aunt. You have to talk to someone regularly about the things you’re dealing with. You need someone to help you narrate the past in a healthy way. She was a big believer in talk therapy. She was also the joint manager with Sky of my trust. Not that she ever used it to manipulate me, but it always just seemed like a good idea to do what she wanted.