by Katie Sise
“Hello, Detective,” she said, releasing his hand first.
“Follow me,” he said, and she did. They traveled a long blue hallway to a door marked with Rappaport’s name. Haley was feeling a little numb as he opened it, wanting whatever this was to be over. Then she saw her mother seated in one of the two chairs in front of a desk. “Mom?” she blurted.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Liv said. When Emma and Haley were teenagers, they exclusively referred to their mom by her first name—not when speaking to her, but when they were in conversation together and referring to her. It had made them feel grown-up back then, and it had stuck; now it was just another way Emma had imprinted herself onto Haley’s way of thinking and existing.
“What’s going on?” Haley asked, glancing from her mom to Rappaport. She could feel blood swirling in her ears, her blood pressure ratcheting higher. All natural responses to adrenaline. You know what’s happening to you, Haley, she told herself, and tried to breathe.
Liv stood. She was usually graceful, way more so than Haley, but her hip knocked into a pencil holder on Rappaport’s desk, sending pens, pencils, and a mini stapler clanking across the wood. “I’m sorry,” Liv said, righting the container and loading Rappaport’s things while he assured her it wasn’t a problem. Haley didn’t try to help. Her throat felt so tight it was hard to breathe. Liv turned to watch her, her eyes on Haley just like always. No matter how terrible the hand Liv had been dealt, she was the one who took care of Haley, never the other way around.
“Please sit, ma’am,” the detective said. Haley wasn’t sure which one of them he was talking to, but they both sat.
Why are you here? What did he tell you?
The detective folded his long-limbed body into the chair and considered them with light brown eyes. Then he turned to Haley’s mother and said, “We believe we’ve found new evidence in your daughter’s disappearance.”
Haley could feel her mother freeze beside her, but Haley’s entire body woke up. They hadn’t found any evidence before, not ever, and Haley wondered if this was the moment she’d been waiting for, the one that would irrevocably change Emma’s story as they knew it. “Go on, tell us,” Haley said, her tone harder than she’d meant it to be, but what was he waiting for? Permission? Her heart pounded as the detective opened the top drawer of his desk. He retrieved a sealed plastic bag with a silver bracelet and placed it between Haley and her mother, and he didn’t need to tell them not to open it: they didn’t even touch the plastic. They just stared.
“Do either of you recognize this bracelet?”
The right word was bangle. There was a clasp on the side that was open now, lengthening the perimeter by an inch so the wearer could easily slide it over a small wrist like Emma’s. It was just thick enough to have tiny but readable script, but Haley didn’t need to read it because she’d read it ten years ago when Emma showed it to her.
“It’s Emma’s,” Haley said, and Liv’s hand went to her mouth. Haley couldn’t look directly at her. “It was a gift from someone. I don’t know who because Emma was cryptic about it. And she was involved with a few different guys, so there are several possibilities for who might have given it to her.” Liv shifted her weight, but Haley kept going, as though she were reading facts from a patient’s chart. “Typically she mentioned guys she was seeing like they weren’t a big deal, but she wasn’t like that about whoever gave her this bracelet. She showed it off to me, but she put her finger over her lips when I asked who gave it to her. I remember that like yesterday, because I remember how young it made her look when she did it, like we were kids again.” Emotion tightened Haley’s chest, so she took in tiny breaths that didn’t make it all the way into her lungs. It was one of her tricks for school, too, when she was so exhausted or jittery she felt tears coming. She preferred anything to tears—even the furious feeling.
“Emma was very free spirited,” Liv said, her forehead creasing. Haley couldn’t suppress her eye roll, and she knew the detective saw it.
“There was nothing wrong with Emma sleeping with or dating more than one guy at once,” Haley snapped at her mom. “She was in college. You don’t need to defend her.”
Liv blanched, but Haley didn’t apologize. It was one of the things that drove her crazy, the way people talked about Emma’s behavior as though it were any different from everything everyone else was doing in college. “Haley . . .” Liv started, but Haley took her mom’s hand and squeezed it. She turned back to Rappaport, and asked, “This bracelet, who found it?”
“It’s not the who that matters here,” the detective said, “it’s the where.” His voice was careful, but Haley knew it was an act; he’d determined how much he was planning to tell them long before they stepped inside his office. “As you know, Emma was last seen by numerous eyewitnesses at the party in the woods,” he said, “but no one could place her anywhere after, so we had to consider the possibility that she left the party of her own volition and had an accident farther downriver, where it’s a straight jump into the water. But the bracelet was found too far upriver, where the gorge has plenty of ground between the cliffs’ edges and the water. Anyone who fell or jumped that far north would . . .” Rappaport’s voice trailed off, and Haley willed herself not to shout at him to keep going. He cleared his throat. “Well,” he started again, “it’s a forty-five-foot drop from the cliff down to the dirt, and a body would have remained on the ground to be discovered. Which means if Emma was killed near the party, or if she fell or was pushed from those cliffs, someone went down into the gorge and disposed of her body so it wouldn’t be found, whether by burying it, or, more likely, by putting her into the river.”
“Mom,” Haley said, and her hand found Liv’s. It was freezing. Haley knew tears were next, so she asked Rappaport if he had a tissue. He passed her an unopened package of the neon-colored kind of tissues kids take to school.
“I’m sorry to deliver this news,” he said to Liv, and then he turned to Haley to say, “We plan to reopen the case, and though I wasn’t the detective on Emma’s case ten years ago, I want to formally apologize. I’ve seen several reports where you and your mother say you’re certain Emma wouldn’t have hurt herself.” The detective cleared his throat, his face changing. “Emma’s father,” he said, “I haven’t met Tim yet, but Detective Segal told me he’s in a fragile state, understandably, and that he maintains his daughter might have run away.” His brown eyes were gentle, and Haley was grateful for it. “This news will be devastating if it shatters a theory that might be protecting him, and it’s why I invited only the two of you here, so that you could break the news to him however you think is best. But please let me know how I can help,” he said. His face looked strained with awkwardness, but he was trying so hard Haley felt herself melt a little. Everything about Emma disappearing had been so indescribably hard, but it was the moments of unexpected kindness that always broke her. Her sister was gone, and even though Haley couldn’t bring herself to use the word dead, she knew it was the truth somewhere deep inside, no matter what anyone else said when they tried to console her. And Rappaport was right: for the first few months after Emma disappeared, Haley’s dad was absolutely sure Emma had simply run away. The years had eroded his confidence, but it always remained a possibility he held on to, something he fantasized about: the possibility that Emma was living a life far away in California, where she’d always wanted to go. It made Haley want to scream. Her parents could be overly protective, and Emma had been fighting with them (especially with her dad) before she disappeared, but they were good parents. How could her dad want to imagine a life where Emma hated him enough to run away?
“We’ll break the news to Tim,” Liv said, and then she let out a small sigh. “Could we have a minute?” she asked.
Rappaport looked surprised, but nodded and excused himself. The door shut, and Liv whipped around in her chair to face Haley. Her auburn hair was newly cut, and the tendrils that framed her face made her look younger than fifty-six. Her round brown e
yes were red-rimmed from crying, but still smart as ever. “This is going to kill Dad,” she said.
“It is,” Haley managed, but then she stopped knowing what to say. Her dad’s grief was too much. It was different when she was working with the doctors in the hospital and it was a patient’s sadness. This was her family.
“Will you tell him with me?” Liv asked. She gripped the arm of the chair, her thin fingers going white. “Your dad will be more under control with you there. He won’t want to scare you.”
“Of course,” Haley said.
Liv blinked a few times, looking like she was turning something over in her mind. “The detective didn’t seem very surprised when you said the bracelet was Emma’s,” she eventually said. “Do you think Josie’s the one who identified it first?”
Usually Liv never mentioned Josie by name, and whenever they ran into her, Liv barely spoke. Only once did she say anything about it, a muttered It just isn’t fair that she goes on living a life right in front of us, and Emma doesn’t.
“It had to be her, because who else?” Haley replied, tapping her thighs again. One, two, three, four, five . . .
She wasn’t sure whether her mom didn’t notice the tapping anymore or she just chose not to say anything. Six, seven, eight, nine . . .
The walls of Rappaport’s office seemed to come closer. “I gotta get out of here,” Haley said, thinking about how she couldn’t wait to call Dean and tell him everything. “But I’ll meet you tonight whenever you want to tell Dad.”
Liv nodded slowly, and Haley let her head fall against her mom’s chest, desperate for her comfort. Liv’s arms were strong and warm, and Haley breathed in her familiar vanilla scent before pulling away and zipping her coat, preparing for the Waverly chill and the afternoon ahead.
SIX
Priya
That evening Brad shuffled his feet as he walked across the kitchen to greet Priya. It was a habit that irritated her, because he was only thirty-eight, a few years younger than she was, but the shuffling made him seem much older. He hadn’t been athletic as a child or young adult, but right after Elliot was born he began working out so vigorously it gave his body the appearance of a lifetime spent as a well-muscled athlete. Only the shuffling gave him away.
“Hey,” Priya said as she set out a steaming plate of stir-fry.
“Hi, sweetie,” Brad said in return, and Priya forced herself to meet his eyes. Is this what other women did, the ones who knew their husbands had been unfaithful and decided to stay? She knew several women who stayed for financial reasons, but Priya had a modest amount set aside from her days selling her paintings, so it wasn’t that. She stayed because Brad made her feel safe, or at least safer than she’d ever felt before. There was no way someone who’d never experienced an anxiety disorder could understand, but Priya didn’t believe she could be okay all by herself without his care. It wasn’t just that he medicated her—she could find a psychiatrist for that—it was the day-to-day monitoring of her behavior, her moods, and her fears. Who else would do that with such care? Priya was terrified of her own mental state, because what if she missed the subtle signs and then plunged into a downward spiral? What if she went off the deep end again with no one there to save her? What if that happened, and she lost Elliot?
Brad set down his bag, his green eyes searching hers as they always did, asking: Are you all right today?
It was a harder question to answer without Elliot here.
“How was teaching?” she asked, praying she could get through the whole evening without anything tipping him off that tomorrow she was going to meet Josie, whom he’d expressly asked her to stay away from.
“My day was terrific,” he said, upbeat as usual after his anatomy lab. He loved being listened to, respected, and adored, and teaching gave him that.
“Great,” Priya said as he hugged and kissed her. She knew she should press for details but couldn’t come up with a good question. She uncurled from his hug and went to get water.
“The food smells delicious,” Brad said, which was kind because they both knew it probably wouldn’t taste that way. Priya had tried for years to get better at cooking; she couldn’t stand being mediocre at something. She’d always chased the things she was wildly good at, mostly school and art, but there were so many regular-life things she sucked at, like organizing Elliot’s closet or remembering to sign him up on time for Little League.
“Let me help you,” Brad said, grabbing two napkins from the center stack and folding them. “Where’s Elliot?”
“He’s next door with Robby,” Priya said, wondering what took him so long to notice. “I told him to be back by eight.”
“Isn’t that late?” Brad asked, and Priya was momentarily thrown. He usually let her make those kinds of decisions. Not for a ten-year-old, she wanted to say.
“Maybe,” she said instead, not wanting an argument.
“We’ll address it with him later,” Brad said, looking satisfied for uttering something fatherly. Priya was sure he’d have been a better dad to a girl. He didn’t get along that well with members of his own sex. There were always arguments at work he was telling her about, and they almost never involved a female colleague.
Priya sat at the table. If Elliot were here, it would be easier to fake being okay. She hated lying, and she knew omitting her meeting with Josie tomorrow counted as a big lie. Years ago, Josie had gotten in touch with Priya under the pretense of a new house on the market, prattling on about an appointment she’d made for Priya to view it, laughing over the irony that she’d once been Priya’s art student, and saying something about how after graduating Yarrow she realized you can’t make a living off art, you need a real job! Brad had wanted to move again, and Priya assumed Josie was the real estate agent he’d selected for them. She’d felt exasperated by the thought of another move, but she’d gone along with it, about to meet with Josie when Brad found out and exploded with rage. He’d told Priya that Josie was an agent trying to poach the sale from another agent, but Priya wasn’t dumb enough to believe that that could ever justify his reaction, so she went to the meeting behind Brad’s back.
“Let’s eat,” Brad said, sinking his large frame into a wicker chair. Priya had decorated the house a few summers ago with bright blues and yellows, and with colorful vases and wicker chairs that surrounded a farm table. Her décor choices struck her as ridiculous in the dead of winter.
Priya sipped her water. “How was your day?” she asked again, stupidly. She wanted to kick herself for repeating the question.
Brad raised his eyebrows, but said nothing about her misstep. He reached for his water glass. “How about you tell me about yours?” he asked instead.
“It was fine,” Priya said, exhaling, grateful he was being easy on her. It was one of the things she loved about him: he didn’t pick fights. Priya raised her fork above the chicken and vegetables. “Elliot mentioned the science project didn’t go well at school this week,” she said, spearing a pepper.
“Did he say what went wrong?” Brad asked. He gulped a swig of water and set his glass down too hard on the table.
“You should ask him,” Priya said, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin.
Brad frowned, and Priya watched as he shoveled the stir-fry into his mouth. He didn’t appear to enjoy it, but maybe he was just distracted about the failed science project. “We should go away,” he said suddenly, chewing furiously. He took another sip of water, and locked eyes with her. “You, Elliot, and me. We should get away.”
“Where would we go?” Priya asked.
Brad held her gaze until she looked down into her lap, embarrassed. Sometimes she felt so dumb in front of him. His mind worked faster than hers, even though it used to be the other way around. She knew part of the reason he’d fallen in love with her was her intelligence, but now her brain felt so clouded with worries, anxieties, and racing thoughts, and she couldn’t seem to get it back on track.
“Anywhere,” Brad finally said, not looking at he
r anymore. “Anywhere but here. Let’s get out of Waverly for a bit. Maybe a fishing trip somewhere, the kind of thing we’ve always said we’d do, but we never have.”
“It’s January,” Priya said, unsure of where he was going with this, unsure of what had brought it on.
“So we’ll hop on a flight somewhere. Even better.”
“Um, okay,” Priya said. She supposed Elliot might like a vacation, and she certainly could use one.
“Great,” Brad said. “I’ll look into some options.” His phone buzzed, and Priya watched as he nearly knocked over his water glass to conceal whatever message was on it. “It’s the hospital. I’ll have to call back. You don’t mind?”
“Of course not,” she said, forcing a smile at her husband.
SEVEN
Haley
That evening Haley sat on a stool inside her mother’s immaculate kitchen, watching Liv carefully place an ice cube into the dirt of one of her potted orchids. Haley loved her parents’ home with its wide doorways, exposed wooden beams, and stucco walls. It was the kind of house that was supposed to look lived in, and it used to, before Emma disappeared and Liv started maniacally organizing and cleaning each night. What Haley remembered most about the house from her childhood was the immense amount of artwork that always scattered the surfaces: kitchen countertops, side tables, even the backs of toilets next to scented candles they never lit. Emma’s talent had been obvious from a young age—everyone remarked upon it—and it made Haley happy to be surrounded by her sister’s art. She wasn’t the type to get jealous, and besides, there was plenty of praise to go around, because that’s how her parents were. And as Emma’s artistic ability was escalating, so was Haley’s academic ability. It had felt good to make her parents happy, and Haley wondered when the last time was that she’d done that.
“Where is he?” Liv asked, finally glancing up from her plants.
