by Amber Garza
Whitney thought about the late-night phone call. “Have you been talking to a boy?”
“Oh, my God, you have a one-track mind,” Amelia said, clearly deflecting.
“Answer the question,” Whitney demanded.
Staring hard at the ground, Amelia kept her lips pressed together.
“I can go through your phone, you know,” she declared, unsure if that was true.
Amelia’s head popped up, and she opened her mouth as if she planned to respond, but then she closed it.
After a few seconds, she finally said, “Fine. Yeah. I’ve been talking to a boy.”
“One you know in real life, right? Not someone you met online, because you know there are people out there called catfishes and they—”
“Oh, my God, Mom. Yes, I know all about that. I’m not stupid. He’s someone I know in real life,” she said. “He’s really nice...and um...” She bit her lower lip. “He wants to take me out.”
“Like on a date?”
Nodding, Amelia’s cheeks turned pink.
“I don’t know.”
“What if we had him over for dinner? He’s totally cool with meeting you,” Amelia’s words got faster, more desperate.
It made Whitney uncomfortable. “I don’t think so. Let’s table this for now.”
Amelia’s face fell. “But I’m sixteen now. Wasn’t that the rule?”
Whitney sighed. Yeah, that was the rule. God, why hadn’t she made it seventeen? “Just give me time, okay? I need to think on it.”
Amelia shook her head, her eyes shining. “I can’t even believe you.”
“I’m sorry, honey. It’s just that you barely turned sixteen. Maybe just give me a minute to get used to it?” Whitney lifted her arm, reaching out to touch Amelia’s shoulder. “Let’s go finish The Bachelor.”
Amelia drew back. “Nah, I’m good.”
“Come on.” Whitney waggled her eyebrows. “You know you wanna watch it.”
But Amelia didn’t soften at all. Her face remained stoic, resolute.
“I’m only trying to protect you, Amelia,” she said in a gentle voice. “That’s my job as your mom, and it’s not always easy. But you’ve gotta trust me. I know the world better than you do.”
“Oh, here we go.” Amelia rolled her eyes.
“What?”
“Just because you were a bad kid who got involved with the wrong guy doesn’t mean I’m going to do the same thing,” she said. “I’m a good kid, Mom. I’m not like you. Why can’t you see that?”
“I know you are. I do see that.” Whitney blew out a breath. “But good kids get taken advantage of all the time.”
“He’s not going to take advantage of me.”
“You don’t know that,” Whitney said.
“I do—”
“Amelia,” she cut her off, wearying of this back-and-forth. All she wanted was to go back to their fun evening with snacks and The Bachelor. This boy was already causing damage. Getting between her and Amelia. “I don’t want to talk about it any more tonight. I said I would think about it, and we can discuss it later, okay?” She headed toward the doorway, lingering for a beat. “You sure you don’t want to join me for more Bachelor?”
“And watch other girls get to go on dates? Yeah, I’m sure I don’t,” she said in a clipped tone, the finality of it unmistakable.
The second Whitney got into the hallway, Amelia slammed the door behind her, missing her back by mere inches. When Whitney returned to the couch, Amelia’s cell phone stared up at her. After a few attempts to get into it, she set it down on the coffee table with frustration.
After watching the rest of the show, Whitney headed to bed, exhausted from her long day. By the time she got up the next morning, the phone was gone. She figured Amelia had retrieved it. Whitney decided not to fight her on it.
She figured they’d already done enough of that.
15
SATURDAY, 6 P.M.
TWENTY-FIVE HOURS
AFTER DROP-OFF
“WHAT TIME AGAIN did you say you dropped her off?” Officer McAvoy asked, staring at Whitney with his disproportionately large wide-set eyes. He sort of resembled an insect with his balding head, pointy ears and round middle, but she instinctively liked him. Maybe it was his scent—a mixture of coffee and cigars—which reminded Whitney of how her grandpa had always smelled.
The second officer, Sandavol, walked around the family room, carefully studying everything. Sandavol was attractive with tanned skin, black hair, and a thick fringe of eyelashes framing her normal-sized eyes. She wasn’t as friendly as McAvoy, but Whitney could tell she was the type of woman to get the job done. From the minute she walked in she’d exuded confidence.
“Around five,” Whitney answered.
“And you don’t remember the exact location or the last name of the friend she was with?”
Whitney frowned. Officer Sandavol picked up a framed picture of Amelia that sat on Whitney’s desk and inspected it.
“No...” she replied distractedly, then blinked. “Sorry, I mean, yes.”
“So now you do remember?”
“No, I just meant...I mean, no, I don’t know Lauren’s last name...but I do know where I dropped Amelia off.” Whitney sighed. “Or at least I thought I did...” She looked to Natalie for help.
“Amelia’s sixteen years old,” Natalie said. “She’s been really asserting her independence lately. Whitney’s a great mom, but you can’t expect her to know every detail of her daughter’s life at all times. Trust me, I didn’t know all of my daughter’s friends when she was Amelia’s age, and I rarely knew where she was at.” She laughed, but the officers didn’t, so she stopped and threw Whitney an apologetic look.
Whitney knew Natalie was trying to help, but her words only made her feel worse. She should’ve known Lauren’s last name and she should have paid more attention to where she dropped Amelia off. Whitney wasn’t like Natalie. She knew every detail of Amelia’s life. She’d been trying to back off, give her space, but that had been a mistake.
“Does Amelia drive?” McAvoy asked.
“Not yet,” Whitney answered. Amelia had wanted to get her license the minute she turned sixteen. It was Whitney’s fault it had been delayed, a fact Amelia never let her forget. Whitney had waited too long to get her signed up for behind-the-wheel training, and the classes were full for months after Whitney called.
“Is this a recent picture of Amelia?” Officer Sandavol held up Amelia’s sophomore class photo.
Whitney nodded.
“Can we use it?”
Again, she nodded, keeping her lips pressed together, fearful that if she spoke, she’d cry. Having the police here in her home made everything feel so real. All day Whitney had been expecting Amelia to walk in the door any minute. Natalie rested a hand on Whitney’s arm. Whitney breathed out through her nose, her bottom lip quivering.
“You said that she’d been asserting her independence lately.” Officer McAvoy turned to Natalie. “What did you mean by that?”
“She’s been kind of pushing Whitney away a little, trying to make her own decisions. You know, like all sixteen-year-olds.”
Officer McAvoy nodded, turning his attention to Whitney. “Is it possible that Amelia ran away?”
A few months ago, she would’ve offered an emphatic no. But now she wasn’t sure. It had been her own first guess, after all. “I honestly don’t know. She’s been different lately.”
“Different how?” Sandavol jumped in.
“For starters, she stopped hanging out with the friend group she’s had for years.”
“Would you mind making me a list of those friends?” Sandavol thrust a pad of paper in Whitney’s direction.
“Sure.” Her hand shook so badly it was difficult to write legibly. The words kept coming out like slashes, as if she
was ripping the paper, rather than writing on it.
“Thanks,” Sandavol said when Whitney handed it back to her. The officer scanned it, then lifted her head.
“What about Amelia’s dad? Is he in the picture?” One of Sandavol’s eyebrows cocked.
“Yeah. He used to see her a couple of weekends a month. But a year ago, he went to live in Amsterdam for a work project. He and his new wife. They’re expecting, actually.” She clamped her mouth shut, wondering why she was rambling. Calming herself, she continued, “I talked to him a couple hours ago. She’s not there.”
“And he hasn’t heard from her?”
“Not in the last few days. I thought maybe she would go to him, but I don’t think she has her passport, yet.” She paused, drew in a breath. “She did pull a chunk of money out of her bank account recently, though.”
“We’ll need you to provide Dan’s information, as well.”
Whitney nodded.
“Does Amelia have a job?” McAvoy asked.
“No, but she babysits from time to time.”
“What about hobbies?” His eyebrows raised slightly.
“She dabbles in a lot of things. Drawing. Fashion. She loves music. Movies. She sometimes helps Natalie with the designs for the business. But her biggest hobby has always been swimming,” Whitney said. “She’s competed on swim team since she was seven.”
For years, Amelia’s skin perpetually smelled like chlorine, her hair crunchy with a greenish tint and her nose was freckled from too many sunburns. Most Saturday mornings were spent at the pool, Whitney in the stands with the other parents and Amelia with her team, playing cards and eating snacks while waiting for her heats to be called. Sometimes Whitney hated it, waking up at the crack of dawn and then sitting in the retched hot sun all day. In Sacramento, most summer days were well over a hundred degrees. And she’d be out in it all day, waiting for the few heats Amelia would swim in.
“Rec league or at school?” McAvoy asked.
“Both,” Whitney said. “But I guess not this year. I thought she was signed up, but her dad informed me today that she dropped the school team.”
A look passed between McAvoy and Sandavol that made Whitney’s stomach twist.
“Why?” McAvoy asked.
Whitney shrugged. Looked at Natalie. “She told her dad it was because she’s overwhelmed with schoolwork. I don’t know if that’s true.”
“Do you think it’s possible that she’s depressed?”
The question threw her. She knew what depression looked like, and she’d never once considered that Amelia was. “I don’t think so.”
“Any other recreational activities? Choir? Drama?”
“No.” Whitney shook her head.
“What about a boyfriend?”
“I don’t know if I’d call Jay my boyfriend,” Whitney answered, twisting her hands in front of her. “Especially after what I learned today.”
Sandavol’s expression didn’t change. “I was actually asking if Amelia had a boyfriend but tell me about Jay.” Right.
The back of Whitney’s neck itched, and she reached back to scratch it. “He’s just a guy I met at a bar...err...a restaurant...and we started dating. He seemed really great, but today I found out he lied to me about where he lived.”
“Any idea why he did that?” McAvoy asked.
Whitney shook her head. “I can’t even get a hold of him now.” With shaky fingers, she took her phone out of her pocket and pulled up the picture of Amelia and the strange boy. Holding it up, she told them about her conversation with Becca. About the older man Amelia had been talking to online, and the boy she’d been seeing behind Whitney’s back.
When she finished, Sandavol handed Whitney back the pad of paper. “If you could add Jay’s and Michael’s details to the list that would be helpful.”
As she wrote their names, her stomach soured.
“And if you know of any other boys she’d been talking to, you can add their names.”
Whitney added the name Phil Lopez to the list, then handed it back to Sandavol.
“What about drug use?” McAvoy asked.
“No, I don’t think Amelia does drugs,” she said. “Then again, I didn’t know she drank either.”
“Okay.” McAvoy scribbled something down. “Amelia’s phone is still off, but we’ll continue to ping it every forty-five minutes.” Whitney’s body swayed back and forth, like a balloon in the grip of a toddler. Any minute the child would let go and she’d leave earth completely. “Can you access her social media accounts for us, please?”
Nodding, Whitney made her way to the computer. She heard a noise outside, and her head turned. She wondered again about what Sandavol was up to. Time was blurred at the edges. Gray and hazy, slow-moving.
Numb, Whitney wiggled the mouse back and forth until her computer came to life. “I don’t know any of Amelia’s passwords, but I can go into her Facebook and IG account from mine.”
“Does Amelia have her own computer?” McAvoy asked.
“Yeah. A laptop. But it’s not here. She must’ve taken it with her to Lauren’s.”
“Do you mind if we take a look around her room?” McAvoy asked.
Whitney nodded. Then wordlessly guided them down the hallway. Amelia’s room looked exactly like she’d left it. Not quite dirty, not quite clean. As McAvoy and Sandavol brushed past her, crowding the small space, Whitney leaned against the doorframe. There was a patch of worn carpet in the center of the room. She pictured Amelia dancing there, arms high above her head, hips swaying, head upturned, a smile on her lips.
On her nightstand sat a picture of the three of them—she, Dan and Amelia—back when Amelia was a toddler. Whitney moved toward it and picked it up. She’d given it to Amelia right after she and Dan split. It had always been one of Amelia’s favorite pictures of them, and she thought it would give her comfort. It must have because she’d kept it displayed ever since. Whitney took in Amelia’s big smile, mouth open around a giggle. Dan had his arm around Amelia as she nestled in his lap. Whitney leaned into Dan, her cheek resting on his shoulder. Behind them was a stark white backdrop, bringing out the brightness of their matching blue sweaters. Blue. Dan’s favorite color.
A fact he had shared with her in one of their first conversations.
“Sorry,” he said, appearing flustered as he ran a hand over his hair. “I just can’t stop staring at your eyes. They remind me of the blue-blue water.”
Up until that moment, he’d always seemed so scholarly. Articulate. And I’d never known him to stutter. “The what?”
He smiled. “When I was a kid, my parents took me to Universal Studios and we watched this one show that took place on a stage in front of all this water. And the water was this bright blue, almost turquoise color. Unlike any natural color I’d seen before. So the only way I could think of to describe it was by calling it blue-blue water.”
Now I was the one feeling flustered. My cheeks heated up. I looked at the ground. “You know our eyes are the same color.” I could hear my mom’s voice in my head: Just take the compliment. Say thank you.
But it was too late. I’d already screwed up.
“Nah.” He shook his head. “Sure, mine are blue. But yours are blue-blue.”
I giggled, bobbed my head up to look at him. Blue-blue. I like it.
Amelia’s had been blue as well, when she was an infant. But when she was about nine months old they started to change, morphing into a deep, chocolate brown. Whitney thought they were beautiful.
Dan thought they were suspicious.
“How did she end up with brown eyes when we both have blue? Isn’t that an impossibility?”
“Pretty sure that’s a myth, Dan.”
Quiet a moment, he scratched his chin. “He has brown eyes, right?”
“Who?”
“You kno
w who,” he said, pursing his lips like he’d eaten something sour.
Whitney blew out a breath. “Yeah, so? He has nothing to do with Amelia.”
“I saw you leaving his place that morning, right before you got pregnant. I know what happened.”
“I told you it wasn’t like that. When are you gonna let this go?”
“You okay?” Natalie sidled up to her, yanking her thoughts back to the present. With a shaky hand, she set the picture back down and smiled at her friend. When Whitney first met Natalie, she never imagined they’d become this close. Natalie was a client that eventually turned into her boss, and Whitney didn’t expect their relationship to become anything more. As a single parent, Whitney didn’t have a lot of time for friends. Mostly, she’d had acquaintances. But as she worked closely with Natalie a friendship evolved. Natalie had so many qualities Whitney liked—her fierce protectiveness and loyalty being right there at the top. Whitney knew she was the kind of person she wanted in her corner.
“I just can’t believe this is happening,” Whitney said, raking her fingers through her hair.
“We’ll find her,” Natalie said firmly.
Sandavol stood over Amelia’s desk while McAvoy studied a picture on Amelia’s dresser. He picked it up, nodded toward Whitney. “This you?”
Whitney was already bobbing her head before making it over to him, her mouth already forming the letter Y. She knew the photo well. It was one of her favorites of her and Amelia. But when she reached McAvoy, her stomach dropped, her mouth suspended around the word yes that was now wedged in her throat, unable to launch.
It wasn’t the photo she’d been expecting. The one Amelia had had on her dresser for years.
McAvoy must have registered her shock, because he said, “Everything okay?”
She felt Sandavol straighten up behind her. Calming herself, Whitney forced a smile. “Um, yes, that’s me.” And she wasn’t lying. It was her in the photo. But the person with her wasn’t Amelia.
How had Amelia even gotten this photo? And why would she ever put it in her room?
“Who is the person with you?” McAvoy asked.
