by Tish Cohen
With a shovel from the shed, she dug furiously until, arms and white jeans covered in dirt, the sun having disappeared over the roof of the house, the hole was big enough to fully bury the stag. No way was Elise going to snap the antlers off to make her job easier.
After lowering the head into the earth, she gazed into the huge eyes—the black glass orbs shining in the fading daylight. The poor animal seemed even more vulnerable now.
She widened the hole, then returned to the house in search of Gunner, eventually finding him behind a chair in the living room. She carried the stuffed dog outside and set him on the dirt to watch as she widened the hole some more, then laid him next to the stag. A companion for eternity.
Satisfied, Elise dropped to her knees and bulldozed the dirt back into the hole with her hands, pushing faster and faster, until her father’s face appeared in her mind’s eye. As he walked out the door with his suitcase. His bullshit line about loving her mother forever. She saw him standing there at the funeral. Briony at his side, head bowed like it wasn’t his fault. Elise packed the dirt down hard, slapping it open-handed until her palms numbed.
Did Matt really believe she was able to cope with even a second of not knowing where her daughter was or whether she was suffering? Did he realize that every time Elise fell asleep she heard Gracie’s croaking voice calling for her mother—only there was no way to know if the child was across the road or across the world? Elise stood and stomped on the earth, kicked it down.
She’d give her life to turn back the clock for every parent who’s ever had a child go missing.
By the time she finished, the sun had long set. Exhausted, sweaty, filthy, she let her legs carry her down to the dock, where she sat and stared into the deep purple shadows. The lake was inky and flat. No movement at all and total silence.
There was just enough brightness left to make her feel small, lost among the trees, the mountains, the sky. The first stars had begun to flicker. Tiny pinpricks of gold from camps and cabins spread up and into the hills beyond. Gracie could be bathed in one of those lights right now. Then again, Elise thought as she watched the red lights of a faraway plane cross the sky, Gracie could be anywhere.
On the dock beside her, her phone lit up and rang. Elise grabbed it, pressed it to her ear. “You found it?”
Dorsey’s voice was too flat for the news to be good. “We did locate the Civic. License plate was GLR 271. We caught up with the driver filling up at Eagle Gas.”
She fought to stay calm. “And . . . ?”
“Elise, his name is Warren Bleeker. He says he’s your father.”
– CHAPTER 27 –
Matt had checked himself into the Swiss Miss Motel at the southernmost tip of town for two reasons: he’d always loved the nostalgic brown sign and the rooms were relatively cheap. He’d called his bank. Had the credit limit increased on his Visa. It bought him a few more weeks. Elise too. The card was shared.
What he hadn’t considered was how utterly devoid of creature comforts the place would be. Shampoo came in individual tear-open packets that were impossible to tear open, and forget a stocked minibar—there wasn’t even a mini fridge. So, with heavy rain on Main Street creating a nearly impenetrable mist, Matt drove north again to pick up the necessities. Very few people were out and about in this weather, especially at this end of town, where the shops and restaurants gave way to board-and-batten or stone-and-beam plazas that housed veterinarians’ offices, a walk-in clinic, and independent pharmacies. The miniature golf course where Elise had taken Gracie when she was younger was closed. Only the McDonald’s drive-through and Grocery Mart had any sort of traffic.
As he pulled into the parking lot, a shiny black pickup truck pulled out. Matt did a double take: on the side it said KOSTICK & SONS FISHING LODGE. He shook his head. Look at Andy, keeping his marketing going.
At the grocery store’s entry, beneath the dripping overhang, was a long table displaying American flags, Fourth of July T-shirts, and beach towels—limp and tragic in the rain. The banner that hung above them read: 4TH OF JULY SAVINGS STOREWIDE!
Matt checked his watch. The Fourth was next Saturday. The thought of even more tourists descending upon the village made him nauseated.
He pushed a wet shopping cart up and down the aisles to what sounded like music from The Price Is Right. Tossed in a bottle of Dove for Men shampoo. He paused in front of the baby body wash he always bought for Gracie. It was lavender scented and calming. He often dumped it into the water to use as bubble bath because she said it made her sleep better.
He dropped the body wash into the cart. Then, fuck it. He walked over to the candy aisle and picked out everything Gracie adored. Raisinets, Reese’s Pieces, the arrowroot cookies she called “baby cookies.” He grabbed some chicken noodle soup—two pop-top cans he could eat cold. A bottle of cheap red wine.
The girl at the register was somewhere in her twenties with soft mocha-toned skin, light brown eyes, and fuzzy blond hair pulled back in a messy chignon, like a ballet dancer who’d just spent a week on a beach somewhere exotic. Long, lanky limbs, exposed collarbones in her wide-necked top. She grinned when he set all the candy on the counter and started ringing it through.
“You don’t look like a guy with such a sweet tooth.”
“Well. Appearances.”
She held up the arrowroot cookies. “I love these dunked into tea. My grandmother taught me that. You wait for them to get real soft, then let them fall apart on your tongue.” She held his gaze while she rang through the shampoo and body wash. “I’d forgotten about them. So . . .” Her smile was coy now. “Thank you for the reminder.”
A couple of college-age boys fell into line behind Matt. One pulled a copy of People from the display and started spouting off facts about the Kardashians.
“What can I say?” Matt shrugged. “I bring back memories of a kinder, gentler time.” He hated himself for what he was doing. Attempting to sound normal. Nothing about his life was normal anymore. He hated himself even more when he realized the boys behind him were listening.
The girl laughed and set the last of his purchases into a brown paper bag. “That will be nineteen seventy-eight, Captain Cookie.”
Muffled snorts behind him. Matt reached into an empty pocket. Where was his wallet?
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
“New Jersey, actually.” He patted the rest of his pockets.
“I wish I was not from around here.” Her laugh was weary for someone her age.
He’d left it on the desk at the motel when he’d called the bank. For a moment, he considered grabbing the grocery bag and dashing. As if possessing these treats would ensure that Gracie would come back to him. Feeling his face flush hot, Matt said, “I forgot my wallet. Can you do me a huge favor and keep all this aside for me? I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
“I guess. Just put it back in the cart. . . .”
Someone from the lineup behind him handed forward a twenty. Matt looked past the sniggering college boys to see Lyman Williams holding a shopping basket in front of his thighs. Lyman nodded his insistence that Matt accept the money.
The girl put it in the till and pretended Matt wasn’t the most pathetic excuse for a man ever.
He carried his purchases out into the rain and, in his struggle to get into his car before being soaked to the skin, he dropped the keys, accidentally kicking them beneath the vehicle. By the time he’d gotten down on his knees and managed to grab them and get the door open, Lyman emerged from the store, holding a grocery bag on one hip. He sprung open his umbrella and marched to his own car.
Matt called out, “Hey, man, thanks. A bit embarrassing back there. If you can tell me where to send it, I’ll mail you a check.”
Lyman pointed his keys at his car. The lights flashed twice as the doors unlocked. Lyman shook his head and climbed in. He started the car, then opened the window to say, “No need.”
Matt flipped his collar up against the rain and wander
ed closer. “Seriously. I’d feel much better. I pay my debts. Eventually.”
Lyman squinted out at Matt. “Is that some kind of joke?”
A joke? “What do you mean?”
Lyman took his hands off the wheel and stared straight ahead, as if debating how much to say. “Our families, is what I mean,” he said at last.
Matt searched his memory for anything that connected him to Lyman’s family. He drew a blank. “Our families? Do we have a connection?”
Lyman looked up at Matt. “My father went to your grandfather for a loan after we had a few lean years. The farm that we lost, as well as a property on the lake, had been in our family for generations.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Why would you? It was nothing to your family. Nate Sorenson lent him thirteen thousand dollars to get him through the winter.”
“He did that for all sorts of people. It’s why the town revered him.”
Lyman’s laughter was angry. He sighed and tipped his head back. “He may’ve been revered by some, but he was despised by the rest.”
“Despised? Look, I’ve heard that Nate could be tough about repayment, but he was fair. He—”
“When Nate Sorenson lent out money, it was secured by the debtors’ properties. If someone couldn’t repay him on time, Nate didn’t extend their terms. He helped himself to the property. Didn’t matter to him if the land value was higher than the loan. He took it.”
“That is not true.”
“My parents and my baby sister and I lived in a van for an entire winter after we lost our farm. Athena lost part of her leg to frostbite. Nate Sorenson knew who couldn’t afford to fight him. And he grabbed their land, then hired them to work their own farms. He humiliated them.”
“No,” Matt said. “My grandfather bought those farms fair and square. He bought them from people who’d had enough of the risk. And rather than leave them unemployed, he paid them to do what they’d always done. They thanked him for it. I was there!”
“You weren’t there when the deals went down. And you most certainly weren’t there when the deals went south. He was a greedy, grasping—”
“This is bullshit.”
“Do a little research. That land you’re selling? Not one acre of it beyond your original tree line was legitimately bought.”
“That’s all lakefront and forest. There’s no farmland there—”
“My great-grandfather bought his piece of lakeside figuring his kids and grandkids and great-grandkids beyond that could enjoy a bit of leisure time up in this northern country. Your ‘revered’ grandfather took everything. The farmland and the waterfront. Then he turned my father and mother out on the street. With two young children.” Lyman grabbed a scrap of paper and scribbled down an address. “If you want to square things up for your purchases today, mail the check here.”
Matt was speechless.
“I’m sorry for your troubles, Sorenson. But it doesn’t change the past. Best I can say about your grandfather is he was an equal-opportunity thief. Stole from anyone he figured he could swindle.” Lyman put the car in drive and lifted his foot off the brake. “I sincerely hope they find your little girl. Wouldn’t wish that on anyone, no matter what’s gone on in the past.”
Matt stood in the rain, shoulders hunched to his ears, and watched Lyman’s car disappear. Then he walked the few blocks down to the village, to the bench he had commissioned when Nate died.
In Memory of Nate Sorenson
1918–2013
Who Gave So Much
He squinted and leaned down for a closer look. Wiped the rain from it. Had someone gone at it with a nail? He sat down, his jeans soaked through in a second. From the mullioned windows of the Black Dog Grill, people had turned to stare at him. He got up. Stomped back to his car. What the hell was happening?
— CHAPTER 28 —
It wasn’t enough to run, to jog. She needed to sprint, to flee nothing and chase everything. She ran so hard through the rain, every muddy footfall jammed thigh into hip. The trees blurred, swam, like a fever, a hallucination. She’d taken off along the lake’s edge, up and over wet docks and stone patios, and through prickled hedges and tidy gardens. Then into the woods, ducking and bobbing to avoid branches, tripping and slipping over fallen logs and rocks. Her jeans had torn at the knee—blood now stained the already filthy white denim. Wet hair stuck to her cheeks. Rainwater streamed into her eyes. Then, out onto the road again. Past massive homes until a sidewalk appeared, then squat brown buildings, and the lights of town.
By the time Elise got to Main Street, every breath was a sharp gasp. Passing the bookstore, she slowed, catching her hunched and sodden reflection in the window, sliding across Cass’s poster like an apparition. It was late. The shops were closed. She pushed open the first door that wasn’t locked and stepped into a glaringly overlit ice cream shop, with its yellow walls and checkerboard floor.
An employee in a yellow-striped shirt and silly paper hat was cleaning up behind the counter, clearly preparing to shut down for the night. He turned to stare at Elise. Her cheeks were hot and wet—her hands went up to wipe away the sweat and rain.
“Yeah, we’re closed.”
It wasn’t until her body started heaving with gulps and sobs that she realized she was crying. For the first time in her memory. She stood in front of this adolescent, who looked terrified and embarrassed for her, and sobbed uncontrollably. She dropped and squatted on the floor. The teenager leaned over, bless his perplexed soul. Likely all he wanted was to get the hell out of there and go meet his friends to drink in a farmer’s field. He asked if she was okay, if he could help.
Elise stood up again and sobbed. “She’s gone. No one can find her.” She paused to gulp in air. “She’s out there somewhere and no one knows where.”
He looked like he wanted to be swallowed up by the mop in his hand. She was pathetic in his eyes. ZACHARY, said his plastic name tag.
Poor Zachary.
“I don’t know what to do. How do I find her?” Her face felt red and ugly and swollen with pain. “What do I do? . . . No one can help me. No one knows any better than I do.” She wiped at hot mucus running down her upper lip.
Zachary vanished into the back. Maybe to climb out a window, maybe to call his manager or the police. Elise bent over, crying to the glass display now. How was this possible? What was wrong with her? Shouldn’t the first time she sobbed be somewhere more dignified?
Looking equal parts horrified and brave, Zachary was back with a paper cup filled with water. He came around to her side of the counter and gave it to her, spilling on himself in the handoff. Water was the last thing she wanted, but she didn’t have the strength to disappoint him. It dawned on her that he was some other mother’s child, and she cried harder. Poor Zachary. Anything could happen to him.
She drank what was left of the water. Thanked him. Still crying—why did anyone say you need a good cry? It was terrible. She grabbed a handful of napkins to blow her nose, surprised at how gratifying it felt. She headed for the door. Only then did she notice a rumpled old man at the corner table, his untied dress shoes and dirty tie unsettling evidence of a mentally ill vagrant or an unkempt genius. Either or. He dropped his pink plastic spoon into his empty ice cream cup and wiped his lips.
Elise passed him, hunched over her sobs, slowing only because she had to navigate a couple of cement steps in the rain. The old man stepped outside behind her, his pockets jangling with keys or change. He pulled on a baseball cap and started across the street. Halfway across, he turned. His eyes narrowed, neither kindly nor unkindly. “Welcome the grief, no matter how ugly. Doesn’t matter if it takes you to the rooftop screaming or has you balled up under the bed in silence,” he said. “It’s yours to feel however you damned well see fit.”
– CHAPTER 29 –
Heavy pine boughs overhung the long driveway, scratching and thunking against the roof of Matt’s car. He wasn’t really expecting Jeannie to be at Camp Imagine at
10:00 p.m., but there she was. She’d seen the headlights slide across the face of the main lodge and come out to the covered porch to wave him in, throw a towel over his wet shoulders, brew him some coffee.
“Between the bears and the rain, we’ve got all our sleepover campers in the dining hall for yet another movie night.” Jeannie sat down behind her desk, hair falling out of a haphazard ponytail, her face bare of any sort of makeup. The honey pine walls behind her boasted a series of whiteboards with names of cabins and checklists for leaders and leaders-in-training. There was a CPR poster and an eye wash station. A defibrillator on the wall. A Rubbermaid garbage can labeled LOST & FOUND. “Noise level can get pretty intense on a day like this. We actually created a mud race before the heavens opened up just so they could burn off a little energy.” She straightened a pile of flyers on her desk. “The extra laundry for us tomorrow will be more than worth it.”
Matt gulped from his coffee. “I didn’t mean to barge in unannounced. I know you must be ready to pack it in.”
“Nonsense. I’m thrilled to see you. I’ve been worried sick.”
“I’m sure this was the last thing you needed.” He noticed a chalkboard on the far wall. CANCELLATIONS was written neatly at the top, with dozens of names below. “I’m sorry.”
“Please don’t be.” She pulled her polar fleece over her shoulders. “You don’t owe me—or this camp—an apology, Matt. If your daughter’s name had been on our list like it should have been, we would have known she was missing a whole hell of a lot earlier. Garbage happens in this world. No matter how hard we try to prevent it.”
He leaned back in the wooden chair and exhaled.
“Now. What can I help you with?”
He wanted to hear the truth about his grandfather. Because if what Lyman said was true, there could be many families out there who wouldn’t mind seeing the Sorenson family taken down.
“You knew my grandfather pretty well?”
If she was surprised it was Nate he wanted to discuss, she didn’t let on. “We worked together on more community projects than I care to count. He was a real doer, Nate was. Don’t think I ever saw him idle.”
