Late morning. I’m at the kitchen table, but nobody’s getting me cups of tea and aspirin today. I sit alone, head in my hand, picking at the place mat.
Nell’s gone. Mom and Libby got into the car and went after her last night, leaving me with Mags, whose middle-of-the-night fuzziness wasn’t helped by the champagne she’d slugged down before bed. “What is it?” she kept saying, holding the door frame like it was keeping her up, as I huddled on the couch, not answering. “Why can’t you tell me what it is?”
Mom came back alone. They couldn’t find Nell. Libby was still out looking. I expected a million questions, but all Mom said to me was, “Go to bed.” In those three words, I knew I’d undone everything we’d built at the kitchen table the other day, the way she treated me like a grown-up, an equal. I went, and lay there with my eyes open until dawn. I’m so scared I feel numb. I know Nell couldn’t have gone to him, not with Elise around, so she could be anywhere. Hurt. Alone.
Now a cop car pulls into our driveway, and the porch floorboards creak as Libby, Mom, and Mags all go down to meet him. It’s Edgecombe, of course. Dispatch must tap him for any call from 36 Old County Road, or else he’s got a nose for trouble like a bluetick hound.
He unfolds his big self from the driver’s seat and stands looking up at our house for a second, reminding me of the way Kenyon stood there the other day. What are they seeing in our half-dressed place that makes them think twice about coming in? Hunt isn’t painting today; Mom must’ve called him this morning, because he came at first light, then drove off again, searching. Now he’s out in the driveway, leaning against his pickup and doing what he does: keeping quiet.
I lay my head on the table and wait for the sound of the screen door opening, the scrape of the chair pulling out next to me. Edgecombe doesn’t speak. I lift my gaze and see him watching me, lips pressed in a line, fingers twined together on the table. A drop falls from the faucet like a shot.
Libby comes through the screen door, marching straight at me. Her face is dead white, her hair flying loose from the sloppy braid she slept in last night. “You talk to him. You hear me? You tell him where she is!” Edgecombe stands and takes her shoulders, moving her back. “She was hurting my baby last night,” she yells, straining against him until Mom comes in and holds her. Libby sobs. “Oh, Jesus, what if she got in a car with somebody—what if somebody picked her up—”
Mom looks at me for the first time all morning. I shrink away from the flint in her eyes. “Start talking.”
“I don’t know where she is.” God, déjà vu, but a different girl, a different day.
“Cut the crap!”
“It’s true!” I could do it, light Nell up right here in front of everybody. Tell them about Irish Lane in Hampden, where I drove that night last August to pick Nell up after she poured her heart out to him. Tell them to go ask him what happened, ask him how come I had good reason to hit and cuss her out last night, just let the whole messy thing spill everywhere.
Edgecombe’s gruff. “You all need to calm down so we can sort this out. Libby, I’m going to tell you the same thing I told you over the phone. Nell’s eighteen. House rules aside, she can come and go as she pleases. We can’t get involved in that.” He lowers himself back into the chair, watching her gasp and wipe her nose on her hand. “She hasn’t been gone long enough for me to make out a missing person’s report. But”—he puts up a hand before anybody can jump on him—“I’ll do what I can to help you find her.” His gaze settles on me. “Darcy, you two were outside fighting around two thirty this morning. What was it about? And don’t say nothing. That isn’t going to fly this time.”
I sit, gripping the edge of the table, looking back at them. The screen door opens, and Mags comes in. “I heard some of it.” She stands, arms folded. “Darcy was calling Nell a liar. I could hear it all the way up in my room. By the time I got out on the porch, Darcy had Nell down on the ground, telling her she didn’t love somebody, some ‘he,’ that she didn’t know what she was talking about.”
“Oh God.” Libby starts shaking her head like a horse with the wind in its ears. “I knew it. I knew it and I let it go and now look.” She points at me. “You little whore. How could you? You took my baby and dragged her into something dirty and—and cheap with you, and now look, look—”
This time when she goes for me, it takes both Edgecombe and Mom to haul her back and out the door onto the porch, where she stays, crying into her hands. I hunch in my chair, breathing low, staring at the tabletop.
When Edgecombe comes back, I say, “Check the quarry. Drive-in. Twice Is Nice. She likes the library, but it’s closed today.” And I’ll swallow my tongue before I say more. Libby made up my mind. Nobody’s going to do Nell the way she just did me.
Edgecombe gets Hunt to go to the drive-in while he checks the other places in town. I go upstairs to my room, ready to wait it out until Nell comes home. She’ll be back any minute. She has to be.
I’m doing a shoddy job of making my bed when I sense somebody behind me, and turn to find Mags standing in the doorway. She isn’t wearing any expression, just looks tired and burnt out like the rest of us. I sit, figuring we’ll talk now. She’ll say how crazy Libby is, and I’ll say, God, I know, but what she says instead is, “What is wrong with you?”
I’m too surprised to answer. She doesn’t wait for me to anyway.
“I’ve been beating my head against this all morning. Trying to figure out what would make you hurt Nell. I got nothing. You’d cut off your own arm first. You guys have always been like that.” She makes a sound in her throat. “When we were little, I used to get jealous sometimes. I thought you two made better sisters than you and me. Like maybe Nell and I were switched at birth or something.” Normally I’d make a joke here, but I can’t, not to this cold-faced Mags I hardly recognize. “You’ve been weird all summer. Pulling more dumb-ass stunts than usual, acting like you want to see how far you can push everybody. All I can think is you want somebody to stop you, to put the brakes on, because you can’t do it yourself.”
I don’t know what to say. Outside, the Subaru’s engine coughs to life. Mom, going out looking again.
“You’re like him, you know.” Mags shakes her head. “Dad. You worry everybody to death, then show up laughing with five or six beers in you and big stories about where you’ve been. He wore everybody out, too. Then he went and got himself killed and left us with nothing but a pair of old boots and some drinking stories.”