A cop car waits in Gwen’s driveway to protect her daughters from this hell she’s caused. Her children are traumatized—Gwen has already called Lisa for a referral to a child psychologist—maybe she can fix her daughters. But she thinks Elizabeth and Theo may be dead by now, and she’s not sure how she’s going to live with herself. Please, please let them be found.
The neighbors are probably on the phone with real estate agents in case the Barkleys have spread their curse farther and wider than before. She can hear her mommy friends whispering about her. The news has gone viral, and the kidnapper is closing in on them.
Jared is Peter. He was Peter. Gwen understands, sees it now. She has always known he had the answers, somewhere in her consciousness. Why else would he disappear like that?
She remembers how he screamed at her. His jealous messages. But when Gwen complained about him, her friends had said how lucky she was to have a boy like Jared. They said she had unrealistic expectations.
Boys are just like that sometimes, they’d said knowingly. You should be grateful. He’s right, you are kinda demanding.
Gwen hadn’t felt respected, hadn’t felt loved. After Charlotte disappeared, she questioned her intuition again and again. She remembers that spark of rage in Savannah’s eyes when she announced she had thrown a rock at the man who stole her sister. Pride bubbles through every molecule of Gwen’s body. Oh, how she wishes she were that strong. All the primal screaming in the world will not heal her soul, not this time.
She pads into the closet and rams her face into a soft stack of laundry and screams. Gwen needs to put all her coping strategies to use and stay strong. The cotton is streaked with her saliva. Her girls are home, but Elizabeth and Theo are gone. She shoves her face back into the pile of clothing.
Gwen’s ears perk up at the sound of footsteps knocking up the stairs. She holds herself straight and peeks through the sliver of light that illuminates the bedroom.
“God, are you okay?” He scans the bed, where the girls sleep, cuddled up against one another. Cora sucks her thumb, a habit she’d stopped two years before.
She lays her head on her husband’s shoulder. He runs his fingers through her hair. “I thought I heard screaming,” he whispers. His neck is moist with sweat. “Can we go downstairs and talk? I don’t want to wake them.”
She bites her lip, thinking. “The cops are still outside?”
“Yes. Come down and have a glass of wine with me, babe.”
They step around the one creaky floorboard in the house, right beside their bed. This always annoyed her, but tonight she simply steps past it. She turns to take one last look at her children before they sneak down the stairs. Gwen squeezes her eyes like the shutter of a camera, trying to superimpose the image in her brain so she will never forget. Someday they will be teenagers; they might not be best friends, but she will have the memory of the time they loved each other more than anything. That time has passed for Gwen and her sisters.
She takes a bottle of white wine out of the fridge and plunks it between her and Kevin. He uncorks it and flashes her a tired smile. She inhales the crisp scent of rose. Sinking into the barstool beside him, she stares at the counter. The wine glugs as he pours them each a generous amount. He clinks his glass to hers. “Here’s to my wife’s smart thinking.”
Gwen offers a weak smile. “What if they can’t find them?”
“They will.”
“I have something to tell you,” she says, raising her chin. “This is my fault.”
A series of images flickers through Gwen’s mind. She remembers playing at the inn with her friends. Her mother insisted that she play with the maid’s daughter. Gwen didn’t want to. She was just one of those children. Her mother had tried—in Gwen’s mind—to force her to play with this girl, who was far too little to be any fun. Gwen hadn’t understood it. Gwen called her names. Made fun of her. Really, she said anything she could think of to make the small toddler go away.
She had been a bully.
“How can this possibly be your fault?”
“Kevin, I was terrible to her as a child. I bet she remembers. And I might never have a chance to apologize.”
He holds her shoulders firmly. “You were just a little girl. A mean thing to do? Yes. But that isn’t why Elizabeth is here now.”
“I’m one of the evil bullies I give talks about. I didn’t even feel guilty at the time, Kevin. It wasn’t till many years later.” She grips the glass tightly. “I was not a good person.” The glass slips from her hand and smashes onto the ceramic tile. She paces across the kitchen, ignoring the shards of glass scattered in all directions. Blood drips from the soles of her feet, smearing on the white flooring and then the carpet as she moves.
“Gwen, you’re bleeding.” The edge in his voice ripples through her mind.
“Charlotte will never be found,” she whispers. “Not ever. I can never go back and change that night.”
“This is not then,” Kevin says. “Hope is not lost.”
Kevin guides her into the bathroom. She crouches on the floor beside the toilet, watching droplets of blood trickle into puddles. “Where could they be? Something has happened to them. This won’t end well.”
“You might need stitches,” says Kevin, focusing on her foot.
“Ouch! Dammit it. I do not need stitches.” Numbly, she moves her ankle into her lap and digs slivers of glass from her foot, tossing them methodically in the garbage.
“Your left foot is bleeding a lot.”
She catches his despairing eyes. His parents are so incredibly normal. His mother plays fucking bingo at the community center, and his father is a lawyer. Kevin must have felt so damned secure as a child. He’s in over his head. She is out of his scope. Gwen tried to be a normal mother. She runs a Girl Scout troop and teaches those kids their value; they read intersectional literature. They march together and learn important lessons such as how to change their own flat tire. She has analyzed every angle about how to survive life as a woman in this world, and the other moms respect her for it.
But now? Well, who wants to send their kid sledding with an unfit parent who attracts kidnappers? This does not instill confidence in her ability to organize a playdate. Raising strong girls is all good until real danger puts little children in harm’s way. Not only will Cora and Savannah have PTSD, they’ll also be friendless.
Like Elizabeth.
She is so very dizzy.
“Hon, can you do me a favor?” she says, hanging her head between her knees. “Check on the girls. And bring me my phone.”
Kevin finishes inspecting her foot. She hadn’t noticed him working out the rest of the slivers with tweezers or wrapping the left foot in gauze. She smiles. “Thank you for being you.”
“I’ll be back with the phone. I’m sure the kids are fine. Asleep in our bed. That’s what the cops are here for.” He kisses the top of her head, and she wonders why he loves her. She has spent so much time rebuilding herself that she’s not sure which Gwen she is anymore. Is she the jealous bully who snuck her kid sister out at night over a boy? Or is she the Instagram brand she has curated? Her head pounds.
Oh, the roles we play, Gwen thinks. We act so many parts. Elizabeth is a human on a stage, just like the rest of us. She has manipulated no more strings than Gwen or her mother or even her father. Gwen molds herself to meet the expectations of others. And she has also expected too much. From herself. From her mother. And now, from Elizabeth Lark. Both of them have been forced to contort and twirl like marionettes on a stage.
“Here’s your phone.” Kevin interrupts her racing thoughts. “Maybe we can move to the couch. You don’t need to sit here on the bathroom floor all night.”
“I’m fine,” she says, glowering.
“What?” He throws his hands up.
She clenches her jaw. “I just want to sit here with my phone. Maybe you should go lie down with our daughters. I’m not a very good mother, it seems.”
“Come on.”
“Seriously, just go. I want to be alone.”
“All right,” he says, and heads toward the stairs. “Have it your way.”
Gwen limps into the kitchen and pours herself another glass of wine. Something isn’t sitting right with her. Elizabeth mentioned Jared’s parents. Is it possible they’d know a little more than they told the police? Maybe if she went to the doorbell and begged, feigned some sort of grief over Jared’s death? She has to do something. She can’t just sit around and wait for the cops to find Elizabeth and Theo’s bodies. Because if they aren’t found alive now, they never will be. Maybe his parents will give her information about that night. Or where he went twenty years ago. Gwen could tell them that she was his old girlfriend. The word sends a chill down her spine.
Girlfriend. Goosebumps prickle her flesh.
A short drive up the hill—that’s all it is. She wraps her foot in another bandage and leaves.
The clouds smother the moon tonight; not a speckle of light punctuates the darkness. Her headlights are insufficient to illuminate the road ahead. She travels through a deep wooded area, up the hill toward the parents’ house. It’s just beyond this stretch of wilderness. Gwen tightens her grip on the steering wheel and switches the radio off. She can hardly see. This road wouldn’t be easy under any circumstances, as she can’t remember the last time she drove alone at night. She and Kevin hardly leave the girls after dark, and when they do, he is behind the wheel. This thought, in itself, fuels her desire to do something, to fix this on her own.
The wind buffets the car, and it takes all of her concentration to keep her car aligned with the curves of the road. Her tires hum over the wet asphalt. It smells like rain, thick and heavy in the air. She wants to get through this patch of darkness before the storm catches up to her. A splinter of lightning whips across the sky, but it is far off. Gwen isn’t afraid of storms—of course she isn’t, growing up in Oregon. It’s just so very dark.
As the car winds up the hill, she tries so hard to put the pieces of that evening together. The bits are scattered; from the instant she realized Charlotte was gone, the urgency intensified and so did her panic. The same feeling had pulled at her in the snow when everyone went missing, leaving her alone, trying to find them before sunset. She rolls down the window a couple of inches, lets the air cool her face. The houses get larger, the lawns more expansive as she drives. She had no idea her boyfriend’s family was so wealthy. Staring ahead, she pushes away the inadequacy she feels around one percenters and tries to form a plan. Elizabeth had said the Hendersons remembered she had dated Jared. She can use this.
Gwen pulls up beside the Hendersons, grateful that the cops have left. She will offer them condolences, really use this ploy to get information. They must know who he was friends with more recently, right? Maybe, as his first love, she can dig more out of them. Yes, this is what she’ll do.
She sits in front of the house, car idling, hands sweaty and gripping the steering wheel. It takes her a moment to gather her courage. Her sister is the missing one, she reminds herself. The Hendersons have to talk to her.
She climbs out of the car and moves confidently down the long path to the front door. The neighbor’s light flickers on. Probably nervous from all the police activity today. Someone steps outside, craning their neck her way. Gwen squints, tries to get a look at the neighbor who had no clue who she was living next door to. Shit, if they’ve lived here long enough, they’ve probably heard of Charlotte’s case.
The woman continues to walk swiftly down her driveway, as if she’s coming over to speak with her, and Gwen is not in the mood to gossip with the neighbor. She feels the expletives working their way up her throat, but she pushes them down. No need to be rude because of her own fucked-up life. It’s not the neighbor’s fault she lives in a mansion. She’s also wearing a dress and heels at this hour. Gwen focuses on the Henderson’s door. This is where she’s going; she can’t get distracted now.
And then the woman is waving at her. As the distance between them closes, she looks very familiar. Gwen steps closer. The woman is calling her over. Her auburn hair glints under the porchlight. God who is that?
“Gwen?”
She freezes, locks eyes with the woman. “Adele?”
“Why, yes,” the woman says, “come over, dear. I can’t believe all that’s happened today.”
She sighs. Not now. “Why don’t you drop by the inn? It’s been an awful day, and I need to get home soon.”
Adele’s face falls. “Ken is staying there. I can’t possibly come by. But if you have to go …”
That’s right, Gwen thinks. Ken’s at the inn. She hadn’t known precisely where he lived, but she’s not exactly surprised either. Rocky Shores is a very small town. And this is the only multimillion-dollar neighborhood, unless you count the three or four houses directly on the beach with lots of property. Everyone knows the families that live there too.
He’s at the inn often. And he’s about to be permanently in the doghouse. She wonders if Adele knows yet. Gwen groans. She hopes this won’t be a discussion about Ken and her mother.
“Okay,” she says, “but just for a moment.” She’ll drop back by the Hendersons in fifteen minutes, max.
Gwen follows Adele into the house. It’s even more impressive inside. The house extends backward; she couldn’t make out how huge it is from the driveway. Oak floors gleam, polished to a shine. Buttery leather couches surround a roaring fire. A circular staircase leads to the second level. She peers into the kitchen. It’s the size of her entire first floor. Mom said Kenneth was wealthy, but she hadn’t said he was this rich.
“How are you, dear?” Adele says. “I heard about Charlotte. And that she is missing again. I am so sorry.” She shakes her head. “Why are you up this way?”
“I have an appointment with your neighbors,” she says, unsure what Adele knows about her neighbors, about how much to reveal.
“I saw the cops there earlier.” Adele smooths her dress. “I wondered what might be going on.”
Gwen relaxes. So that’s what this is about. The woman is curious. Still, she’s not supposed to say anything about the investigation. “Right,” she says. “Not sure about that.” Her voice is thick. She blinks away tears. “I’m not at liberty to say anything.”
“I’m so sorry. This must be hell. Here I’ve been, all worried about Kenneth, about my marriage. And you have real problems.” She shakes her head. “What do they say? Count your blessings? Check your privilege?”
“Something like that. I need to do it too.” She is distracted, not in the mood for this. “I should go. It’s been a very bad day, looking for Elizabeth and her son.”
“I understand,” Adele says. “Tell Kenneth I miss him, if you see him.”
“Sure.” She turns on her heel, about to leave, when she stops herself. “Have you noticed anything about your neighbors? About their son maybe?”
“Not much.” She shrugs. “Years ago, I guess there was some trouble with him. Ken tried to help, to mentor the boy. I thought it was because we never had kids. He hadn’t wanted them, but maybe he regretted our decision? Can’t say, really. Too late to speculate. Why?”
“Ken mentored him?” Gwen’s brain starts moving. “Like they worked together?”
“I guess. Kenneth has a garage. He has a classic car collection. I guess he was just showing it to Jared. Boys like that kind of thing.” Something in her face clouds, something very subtle, but Gwen catches it.
“Cool,” she says, beginning to shake. “Could I see? I love classic cars too.”
“Oh no. I’m afraid Ken keeps that all locked up. I don’t even have a key.” She points to the wall. “See, the wall there rolls open. So does the one on the other side of the room, in case he ever takes one of those vehicles out. He says it’s his man cave.” She laughs. “We have bigger problems than his car collection, I’m afraid.”
“So he never lets you in, but he let the neighbors’ kid in?” Gwen cocks an eyebrow, scans the living room for anything out of place.
She’s paranoid again. Stop it, she tells herself.
“I suppose so,” Adele says. “Men are weird. I have my craft room, though. My walk-in closet. He doesn’t go in there.”
“Makes sense.” Gwen smiles. “I’d better get going.”
She waves goodbye and takes a few steps down the path. Again she stops. “Adele?”
“Yes, did you forget something?” Adele stands in the doorway, rubbing her shoulders because of the cold.
“I was just wondering. For all this time, all I’ve been told is that Ken works for your father. What exactly do they do?”
“Oh, that’s all very complex. Computer systems for large companies, security. They have contracts with Boeing and Amazon.”
She perks up. “Security? You mean like security cameras and computers?”
“I think so. I don’t really keep up with it all—”
“Thanks, Adele. I’m sorry, I was just curious. I really ought to get going. Need to visit your neighbors really quickly.” She waves again, moves swiftly down the long driveway. Except she doesn’t go to the Hendersons’. Instead, she leans against her car and pretends to scroll through her phone. She wishes there was a way to get into that garage. But there have to be cameras everywhere, alarms. There isn’t a way to go skulking around Ken’s property without getting caught.
But Ken is Elizabeth’s father. Ken is always at that inn. He lives next door to Jared.
Pretty much anyone who has a connection to Jared is suspect. It’s just a feeling. Feelings are not facts, her therapist says. But she’s ignored her gut before, and that didn’t end well.
Gwen doesn’t need to talk to the Hendersons. She needs to find Ken.
She gets in the car and squeals down the road. To the inn. She’s got to get to her mother. The mantra repeats, over and over. Get to that inn. Get to Mom.
Jared had liked Charlotte, she remembers. He had commented on her cuteness and said things like, “Oh come on Gwennie, let her go with us.” Probably he liked her because Gwen didn’t. This is what she understands now. It was more manipulation, designed to create a deeper chasm between her and Charlotte. Charlotte was so little, so sweet, but her charms didn’t work on Gwen. But that only made Charlotte try harder. All the pictures she painted for Gwen—tossed in the trash. The engraved necklace—lost.
Wait.
Gwen had worn the necklace that evening. She did! Yes, it was how she got Charlotte to come with her.
She applied her makeup while Charlotte complained.
“We’ll wear our new necklaces,” Gwen said. “We’ll be like twins. I’ll put lip gloss on you too.”
Charlotte reluctantly agreed.
Where did the necklace go? Jared slapped her. She swung back. It must have come loose during their scuffle. Gwen is not one to endure such bullshit at the hands of a man, yet she didn’t think to mention that he’d hit her when she spoke to the police.
But he’d helped with the search. He seemed heavy with remorse.
Then he disappeared.
“This isn’t a kidnapping,” Sarah Marlow had said. “There’s no evidence of that, and abductions are incredibly rare. We are looking at a little girl who disappeared within yards of rough water.”
Kidnappings may be rare, but rare things have to happen to someone. Where did he take her sister when she was commiserating with her friends? Could Gwen have saved her if she’d told the police these brutal, buried truths?
It’s important to break the pattern, Lisa says. Or did Lisa say that? Maybe this has been Gwen’s mantra all along. Is it true that Myra loved too little?
No, Gwen realizes. Her mother loved her plenty. She gave all she could. And that was enough.
Kenneth could be inside her mother’s house right now. She can’t bear to think like this. Her head aches. She arrives at the inn, releases a breath. Rushing for the door, she hopes with all her heart that her instinct is wrong. That she’s overreacting, taking things to the nth degree again.
The door is locked, enveloped in blackness. Probably no guests. Her parents must be at the house. There is a key under the flowerpot—or there was, when she was a kid. She lifts the heavy ceramic and reaches into muddy water until she hears the plunk of a small piece of metal on cement. Aha! It’s a little rusty, and she fiddles with the door for a moment before it flies open. A weird, almost electric instinct rushes to the tips of her fingers, and Gwen can’t ignore this feeling. Not this time. She flips on the light switch and steps into her father’s office. The key to his safe hangs on the hook beside the cards to the guest rooms. Inside is a gun. Gwen opens the safe, loads the gun, and shoves it in her coat pocket.
Gwen uses her father’s landline to call Kevin. It’s late. She considers what to say, but mostly she wants to make sure he’s okay before she calls the cops.
Christ, her hands tremble.
One ring, two, three …
“Hello?” His voice is thick with sleep.
“I’m at my mom’s.”
“Did something happen?” he asks, a bit more alert.
“I was just upset. I don’t feel like driving home. Okay, sweetie?”
“If you’re sure.”
“I hear Mom. Gotta go.”
She hangs up and calls 911.