by Sara Shepard
“Thirteen.” Lauren laughed bitterly. “Graham would have been, Jesus, twenty-seven. No wonder he didn’t want the responsibility.”
“You know, I remember asking the police if they’d spoken to the kid, how he was doing,” Ronnie said. “And he sort of deflected my question. He was like, ‘I’m sure he’s fine.’ But when I pressed—why didn’t they know he was fine—he brushed me off.”
Andrea’s head whipped up. “What are you thinking?”
“I got this weird sense they didn’t know where he was,” Ronnie said. “Or maybe that he wasn’t cooperating.”
“Maybe he saw something,” Lauren said quietly. “Or knows something.” Then her eyes widened. “Or did something?”
Everyone was silent. Thoughtful.
Andrea considered Piper’s impassioned speech about how she wished Silver Swans had been there when her child was in preschool; how it might have helped him. But helped him from what? Even what Ronnie said she’d been mumbling about—I’m not the perfect person you think I am—that seemed like something a mother who’d tried her best but hadn’t been able to make things right might say to a vengeful, irrationally aggressive teenager. The idea of North skulking around the house, stalking her—well, maybe that even made sense, too. Teenage boys were unpredictable. Andrea had known tons of them. She’d been one.
When she looked up, everyone else had haunted looks on their faces, too. Ronnie curled her fingers around the car door. “I have an idea.”
“Me too,” Andrea said. “Maybe we should talk to that kid.”
Twenty-Nine
Piper’s house was a two-story beauty of stucco and glass. Not as big as the modern masterpiece on the cliffs, but also not the kind of house a poverty-stricken woman could afford after fleeing from a bad breakup in Los Angeles, either. It was on about an acre, surrounded by trees, and then sloping downward to sharp cliffs that led straight to a gorgeous slice of Pacific Ocean. Ronnie could hear the breakers crashing from up here, and the air smelled like sea and sand. Esme would love it out here, so close to the water.
Esme. She was nuts to be here instead of staking out that motel, making sure Vanessa didn’t leave. She’d come in her own car, she’d only stay a few minutes. Ten at most. Then she’d drive back and resume her post at her window.
She looked at the house again. What was it like to live in a house like this? To walk through such a grand front door? It was the type of house that probably had a grand foyer. A backyard pool—and that stunning beach. What child could be miserable, living here?
Yet every day, Ronnie saw dysfunction, loneliness, unhappiness. So many of her clients, still practically boys themselves, watched her with wide, hungry eyes. That was what shook her the most: the difficulty men faced when it came to controlling giant swings in emotion. Men could explode with inappropriate ecstasy; they could burst with unconscionable anger. They could have an orgasm and beat the shit out of you in nearly the same breath—like Jerrod. Like others, too.
“What do we do now?” Andrea whispered, shaking Ronnie out of her thoughts. Andrea and Lauren were sitting in Andrea’s car, parked in front of Ronnie’s; they were speaking on the phone, too afraid to get out of their vehicles yet. The hope was that something obvious would reveal itself: Piper’s son shooting hoops in the front drive, some vital piece of evidence scattered across the front lawn. But the property was quiet. Almost impersonal.
“What about that light in the top window?” Lauren’s voice crackled through the speakerphone. “At the back there. See? On the left?”
Ronnie peered upward. A single light blazed. It looked like it could be a bedroom. North’s?
“Piper’s . . . son?” Miss Barnes from Silver Swans had repeated, when they’d called her a few minutes before. She was the only person they could think of who might know something and might be willing to talk. Andrea hadn’t wanted to call her, and neither had Ronnie—it felt sensitive, as their kids were still technically part of Miss Barnes’s class. So Lauren made the call, and both of them had listened in.
Lauren asked Miss Barnes what she knew about the boy and if he was okay after Piper’s attack. “I’m assuming he’s fine,” Miss Barnes said. “But . . . I haven’t heard much. Piper and I don’t really run in the same circles. I’m sorry, who is this again?” Miss Barnes didn’t sound so friendly anymore. When Lauren explained she was a concerned mother, Miss Barnes said, “Well, look, if Piper wanted everyone to know where her son could be found, that’s her information to share.”
“Please, if you could just—” Lauren started. But already Miss Barnes had said her goodbyes.
Now, Andrea bit her lip in frustration. “I think Piper mentioned the name of the school to me, in the meeting. But I can’t remember.”
Ronnie looked around the property to see if something would jog her memory. There was a car in Piper’s driveway. It was the same tricked-out white Range Rover she’d noticed in the Silver Swans parking lot—Vanessa had always had a thing for Range Rovers, so she always noticed them. Ronnie hadn’t realized it was Piper’s car. Who had driven it home after she was attacked?
She got out of the car on a hunch. Lauren poked her head out Andrea’s passenger window. “Where are you going?” she hissed.
“I want to check something,” she called over her shoulder. It wasn’t a big deal that she was walking up Piper’s driveway, she told herself. She could just be a concerned mother dropping off a baked good for Piper’s kid. Of course, if a nosy someone from the Facebook group caught her, that was one thing . . . but the street was empty, the only sound the ocean breeze.
The vehicle was unremarkable. There were no boastful bumper stickers—the 26.2 one was popular around here—and after a cursory peek inside, the seats were spotless. Piper was likely the kind of person who cleaned her car (or had someone clean her car) on a regular basis. Ronnie was about to turn back when she noticed a white folder lying on the passenger seat. She moved closer to get a look. St. Sebastian School, read a crest across the front. Welcome materials.
By the time she was back at Andrea’s car, she’d already pulled up St. Sebastian’s website. The school featured oceanfront views and a diverse mix of boys in blue jackets and red ties. A 9–12 school with three clear tenets: hard work, a solid foundation, and a stable family life for behavioral modification so boys can grow up to lead a productive, meaningful adulthood.
“So . . . reform school?” Lauren said aloud after Ronnie showed them the welcome slogan. “She wasn’t kidding when she said she wished North had had the Silver Swans opportunities.”
They tried to call St. Sebastian’s offices and inquire about North, but an automated voice said all the lines were busy and that they could leave a message. Lauren babbled something about being a friend of Piper Jovan’s and having some concerns for North Jovan, a student there. She left her phone number and hung up.
Ronnie checked her watch again. Ten minutes had passed. “I need to get back,” she said. Every second away felt dangerous. What if Vanessa was getting restless? What if she’d decided to start the cross-country journey early?
“No, wait,” Lauren said. “Someone’s home. I think we should ring the bell.”
“Hang on, then.” Ronnie lifted her phone and redialed the first number on her recent calls. On the second ring, a chipper voice announced that she’d reached the Golden Palm Motel. Heart pounding, she asked about Vanessa and Esme, praying they hadn’t unexpectedly checked out. The girl at the front desk clacked on her computer, then said, “Nope, the room’s still in use. You want me to ring them?”
“Oh, that’s okay, thank you,” Ronnie said, breathing out. Of course, there was a chance Vanessa had taken off without officially checking out, but she wanted to think Vanessa had stayed put. This bought her a few more minutes, anyway.
Once she was off the phone, everyone peered once again at the light in the upstairs window. “Let’s claim
we’re here for a book group,” Lauren decided. “And we’ve gotten lost, the wrong house.”
“A book club before dinner?” Ronnie gave her a strange look. “Even a teenage boy would call bullshit on that.”
But Lauren was already stepping out of the car and starting up the front walk. Ronnie exchanged an uneasy glance with Andrea, then scrambled after her. This felt like the hallway all over again, and perhaps Lauren sensed this, because she stopped and looked at them.
“We don’t have to,” she said.
The air had grown chilly, suddenly. The sun was starting to set, turning the clouds above them a candy pink. Ronnie took a breath. This might be their only chance.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.”
“Yeah, but if anything’s weird, we’re leaving,” Andrea said.
At the door, Andrea rang the bell. Lauren stood at the front, jiggling on her heels, her lips moving softly to themselves. She was nervous, Ronnie realized.
They waited, but there was no answer. Andrea rang again. Ronnie cocked her head, listening, but heard no footsteps. “False alarm?”
Lauren’s brow was knitted. She pointed through the glass sidelight, which offered a translucent view into the foyer. “I see another light back there.”
“Maybe Piper’s just the kind of person who doesn’t care about wasting electricity,” Ronnie guessed. “Or maybe the lights are on a timer.”
Lauren put her hand on the knob and twisted. The latch on the door released, and the door swung open. Lauren smiled.
“What are you doing?” Ronnie hissed, planting her feet.
“Someone’s home.” Lauren angled her body to step inside, then looked at them. “I just . . . I have to see him, okay? I just want to see him for a second.”
“Lauren,” Andrea warned, but it was too late—Lauren was already through the door. They couldn’t let her go in alone.
The foyer was grand, with a double-height ceiling. The wall colors were gray. To Ronnie’s right was a sitting room, but to her surprise, it was devoid of furniture. Not a chair, nothing—an empty shell.
“Huh,” Andrea murmured. “How long has Piper lived here again?”
Ronnie wanted to snoop around the first floor, but Lauren was already heading up the curving staircase. “Lauren!” she called. Did Lauren think it was a good idea to ambush a teenage boy they now worried was dangerous? Lauren seemed to rethink this and froze. The only sound, for a moment, was the ticking of a far-off clock.
“North?” Lauren whispered. “Hello?”
So much for the lost book clubbers excuse, Ronnie thought.
“We should go,” she whispered. “I don’t like this vibe.” The idea of being knocked out and not being able to check on Esme—rescue Esme—was unthinkable.
But Lauren started up the stairs again. Ronnie groaned and followed her, if only to drag her down by her hair.
The landing opened onto a long hallway. Doors lined either side; one opened into a pretty tiled bathroom—though, strangely, with no shower curtain, no bath mat, no towels on the rack. The other opened into a bare square. Did they have the wrong house? Lauren padded down the carpeted hallway toward a closed door with a strip of light shining underneath. “Hello?” she whispered, knocking. Ronnie couldn’t believe this.
Still no answer. Lauren glanced at Ronnie and Andrea, who both vehemently shook their heads—they needed to go. But there was determination in Lauren’s face. She turned back to the door and pushed it open wide. Ronnie held her breath, terrified.
“Oh,” Lauren said.
Ronnie peeked inside. There was furniture: a queen-size bed with a generic white bedspread and a small dresser. The overhead light blazed and a ceiling fan whirred, but there wasn’t anyone in the room.
“Okay,” Ronnie said shakily. “Okay, he’s not here. Now can we go?”
“I guess.” Lauren sounded disappointed. She turned on her heel and started down the hall back for the stairs. But when she got to the first door on the right, she stopped cold. Her eyes popped wide. Her mouth fell open. “Oh.”
Ronnie and Andrea rushed to her side. The walls of this room were painted a soft blue. A navy sleigh bed was pushed into one corner. There were bookshelves full of paperbacks—Harry Potter, a bunch of graphic novels—and an Apple laptop sitting on a bare desk. There were Dallas Cowboys pennants and a Cowboys helmet and a Cowboys jersey from a player Ronnie didn’t know, but then also a flag in the corner for the Philadelphia Eagles. There were vacuum swirls on the rug. Not a speck of dirty clothes on the floor. The bedspread was astonishingly free of wrinkles.
Ronnie shifted her weight. Something bothered her, something she couldn’t put her finger on. She looked again at the football stuff. Maybe it was different out here, but where she came from, Eagles country, no self-respecting person would be a fan of both the Eagles and the Cowboys.
Snap.
Everyone looked up, freezing in the darkness.
The sound came again: another snap, and then a shush. Of fabric, maybe. A hand rubbing against a cushion or the back of a couch. And then the squeak of door hinges, somewhere downstairs. Ronnie glanced at the others, her mouth an O. Someone was here.
Andrea bolted out of the room and started down the stairs. Ronnie followed, but when she heard another slam of what sounded like a drawer, she froze. The noise sounded petulant. They shouldn’t have come here.
She reached the foyer. All they had to do was get to the front door and let themselves out. But another slam came. A rustle of papers. And . . . footsteps. Someone was at the back of the house. If they were lucky, North wouldn’t notice them before they slipped out.
Then Lauren’s phone rang, a loud bleat echoing through all the emptiness.
Ronnie whipped around and glared at Lauren, who was fumbling in her bag to turn the thing off. “Sorry!” she mouthed. Everything went still again. The rustling and slamming had stopped, but Ronnie wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
Then Lauren sucked in a breath. Her gaze was on her phone screen. She looked up at them with the kind of expression one would make if they’d just gotten word that half of California had been wiped out in an earthquake.
“What?” Ronnie whispered. “What is it?”
Lauren looked at her screen again. “That school called me back. Left a message. I’m just looking at the transcription. They’re saying North Jovan isn’t a student at St. Sebastian. They’ve never heard of him.”
“Okay.” Ronnie felt a pinch of annoyance. This was what was slowing them down? She needed to get out of here. She needed to get to Esme. “They must have chosen another school, then. Somewhere else.”
“But I swear Piper mentioned that school,” Andrea said. “In the meeting. I swear she did.” She gave both of them an uneasy look. “Why would she lie about that?”
“Piper lies about a lot of things.”
Everyone whipped around. A man stood in the hallway, one hand carrying a sheaf of papers, the other holding a gun. Ronnie had no idea who he was, but he was smiling at the group like they were old friends. “She lies about a lot of things,” he repeated. “There is no North anymore. North is dead.”
Lauren drew in a breath, her whole body shrinking. “Graham,” she whispered, her voice small and doomed.
Thirty
Lauren’s husband stood five feet away. He wore a T-shirt she’d bought for him at a fancy boutique when they first got together. It cost over a hundred dollars, which Graham said seemed excessive, but she’d liked the way it hung on him. It still fit him nicely. The shirt was so achingly familiar that it made everything else about him right now—his frantic expression, his gnashed teeth, and that gun—even more incongruous.
“Graham,” Lauren whispered. “W-Where did you get that gun?”
“What are you doing here?” Graham shot back.
Lauren opene
d her mouth, but no words came. Ronnie stepped forward. “What do you mean, North is dead?”
Graham’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “He died when he was a baby.”
Fury rose in Lauren. Lies upon fucking lies. “What are you talking about? Why would Piper keep saying he is alive?”
“I don’t know!” Graham said. “But . . . she couldn’t bear it after he passed. She kept talking to him like he was still there; she would walk around the block with an empty stroller. It’s why we broke up. She couldn’t move on. It just got . . . too much. I was hurting, too. We had to part ways.”
This was all just too strange. “So you pretended not to know her to protect that lie?” she said, trying to work out his reasoning.
Graham shrugged. “I had no idea she was still doing it until a few weeks ago. I only started to put it together when I looked at the preschool website and after you came out of the breakfast. After all this time . . .” He shook his head. “I can’t believe she still thinks he’s alive.” Then he looked at Lauren. “I told you she’s crazy.”
Everyone’s heads bobbed. Lauren didn’t know what to believe. There were signs of North’s existence: The perfect bedroom upstairs. The welcome packet from the school. And who was that picture Andrea had seen in Piper’s office? Some other little boy? But it made Lauren feel light-headed, the wrongness of it, the sort of disturbance that had to be taking place in Piper’s mind to carry out such a thing.
“I’m really sorry, Graham,” she said quietly, because she couldn’t quite fathom the devastation of losing a child. But on the heels of it, she felt hideously betrayed. He should have told her that he’d gone through that. Also, it didn’t explain why Graham was here. Her gaze fell to the papers in his hands. “What are those?”
Graham shifted them behind his back. “Just old stuff Piper never gave back.”
“Now you’ve come for it?” Lauren scrambled to understand. “After all these years?”
