Saturday, 12:30 p.m.
Olivia was in the side yard with Goose when a white SUV pulled up to the house. Its door was emblazoned with a familiar green-and-gold logo, and Olivia felt the flush of adrenaline. She held her breath, and her body stilled, as if hope were a small bird she might startle away.
Adam?
Her son’s name in her head brought the rest of him with it—the too-big glasses that slipped down his nose when he read, the peanut-butter-and-raisin sandwiches she’d find moldering in his backpack, the fullness of his smile, the emptiness of his bedroom, the downy stubble that would never grow into a beard, the lanky limbs that would never fill in with muscle.
The bird she imagined wasn’t hope at all, but fear. She felt the grip of its talons, the slice of its beak.
The deputy approached, his face grim, and a new thought pricked.
Is this about Ellie Byrd?
The deputy was young—late twenties, she guessed—with tight curls cropped close to his head and a cleft chin. He spoke before he’d made it fully up the driveway.
“Olivia Duran?” His tone and expression were matter-of-fact. A man with a job to do.
Whether that job involved her son or the missing girl, Olivia knew that men in uniforms rarely brought good news.
Please don’t ask to come in. Olivia inhaled, lungs swelling to fill her chest. Please don’t ask if there’s someplace we can sit.
The worst news always followed being asked to take a seat. When the police came to talk about Adam, that was one of their first requests.
She’d led them to the living-room couch, choosing the spot where Adam had fought off a recent virus and remembering how she’d brought him tea and soup and brushed the hair from his forehead while he slept. Remembering, too, how she’d done the same when he was a toddler, his head in her lap, the entirety of him fitting in the crook of her arm.
Olivia had picked at the leather on the armrest and waited for the lead detective to share whatever update was so horrible that they’d requested her to sit first.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Duran. There’s no sign of where your son’s gone.”
Where your son’s gone. As if he’d left voluntarily. She’d never believed that, no matter what Meredith claimed.
Her nails, already bitten to nubs, scraped the armrest. She’d willed herself to hold the detective’s gaze even as it scalded with its sympathy.
“We’ll share any news as it comes in.”
Updates that were frequent at first fell off as the trail ran cold.
“And of course, feel free to reach out. Anytime.”
Her calls were returned quickly until new cases demanded their attention. She tried not to blame them. She’d been the one who’d failed to protect Adam, not them. They’d only failed to find his body.
Out of reflex, she’d thanked them—Always be polite, Olivia—even as her fingers throbbed from gouging a hole in the leather. After they’d gone, she’d called a local nonprofit to arrange a donation of the couch. She could no longer stand to look at it.
Now Olivia nodded, waiting for whatever it was the deputy had come to tell her and resentful that it always seemed to be that way.
Though the silence lasted only a few seconds, Olivia considered saying, My husband might be involved in that girl’s disappearance. If she told the deputy about Richard and Ellie before he could pose the question, she and the kids would be safe, at least.
Unless…
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying anything stupid.
The deputy said, “A wildfire is burning near Johnsville.”
A wildfire. She released her tension in a shallow hiss. If he noticed the change in her breathing, he gave no sign.
“System flagged your address as a nonresponse. You signed up for the emergency alerts?”
“Cell service is out, but we have a landline.” A landline she’d ignored when it rang because she had larger concerns than a wildfire a dozen miles away. “Are we being evacuated?”
“It’s voluntary for now, but with the wind, this fire could be a bad one. Be ready to evacuate.” On cue, the wind shuddered. “How many people in the house?”
“Four.” She lowered her pitch and tried not to smile in relief. “Me, my husband, and our ten-year-old daughter live here, and our adult son is visiting.”
“Anyone require special assistance?” At the shake of her head, he said, “Any animals?”
“Just a dog.”
He pulled out a neon-pink ribbon. “Stay safe,” he said. “And please pay attention to those alerts.”
“I will.”
The deputy stopped at the edge of her property and tied the pink ribbon around the trunk of a small tree. Then he walked across the road to where the Kims lived.