“Closure!” His mother spat the word once they were all inside the car. “I hate when people throw that word around. Like it means anything at all.”
“He didn’t know what else to say,” his father said, ever the diplomat.
“To them this case may get closed, but for us there is no closure,” Tabitha argued. She thought about it and added, “Not that they can give us at least.”
Thaddeus couldn’t resist. “So who can?” The question hung there like a cartoon speech bubble by his mouth with no reply from his mother. They all knew the answer: no one could. It was stupid and fairly heartless to goad her, but all day he’d felt cantankerous, itching for a challenge, a fight, anything to keep from feeling the grief and regret that simmered deep inside.
For the rest of the ride they were silent. His father didn’t even turn on the ’70s radio station that normally provided background noise. Thaddeus looked out the window and wondered how he would fill the rest of this first day that Davy officially did not exist in. He looked at his watch. It was only 3:00 p.m. There were hours to go before he could fade into the sweet oblivion of sleep.
As he’d sat on that platform, pinned under the hot gazes of curious citizens, he’d let his mind wander, carrying him away from that place and the reason he was there. He’d put his hand in his pocket and gripped the rock. It was silly to keep carrying it now.
He’d decided then and there that as soon as they got home, he’d go back to the place where Davy was last seen. He’d have his own little ceremonial transfer, returning to his brother what he’d thrown away that night. He’d leave it in the place Davy was last seen; he’d take a moment to pretend like that night had gone differently—that he’d made different decisions. He’d give himself that brief, fleeting reprieve, then he’d walk back home and face reality, his pocket empty for the first time in two decades.
When they pulled into the driveway, he got out of the car along with his parents and followed them inside. Instead of heading to the bathroom or his old bedroom or slumping in front of the TV, he mumbled that he was going for a walk and exited out the back door. Once outside, he looked left then right for any sign of the press but saw no one.
It was generally understood that the press would not broach the property line, staying at the edges of the front lawn, filming glimpses of the family wherever they could catch them. But they never knew when a cameraman would attempt to creep around and get some footage that no one else had. He knew now more than ever, with the developments in Davy’s case, that this scenario was possible.
Satisfied that most of them would still be en route from the press conference, Thaddeus took off through the backyards of his neighbors, staying hidden until he felt it was safe to step out onto the road and follow it back to a place he had not been for years, except in his mind. And his nightmares.
The field where Davy disappeared was now a condominium development. Hallowed ground had been rendered into multifamily dwellings, bunched up together, ugly and impersonal, all evidence of the farm removed. He resented those condos, resented the men who developed them, resented the people who bought them with no regard or respect for what had happened there. The land should’ve been turned into a park, a baseball field, a school, anything that would honor Davy. But money, as it always did, had ruled out. The condos got built, the developers got their fortune, and a bunch of people got a home. Who was he to question it? But the closer he got to the site, the more he did.
When he reached the edge of the property, he closed his eyes and pictured the land the way it had been. He’d spent his childhood driving by the place and could still see the corn planted in the red dirt in perfect green rows across the massive fields, a narrow gravel drive splitting those fields in half, ending in front of the large white farmhouse, the cottage sitting just to its right. That, he recalled, was where Gordon Swift had been living. That was where Gordon had somehow encountered Davy that night.
And now, for the first time, instead of it just being a theory that Swift had abducted and somehow concealed his brother that night, they’d found actual evidence on Davy’s body that linked the two. Thinking of Gordon made his heart pound, made his breathing shallow. He wanted to hurt the man, and had he seen him at the station, he had no doubt he would have. Though hurting Gordon would solve nothing, thinking about hurting Gordon was a consolation of sorts.
Thaddeus kept walking, picking his way through the condominium development around to the spot where Davy was last seen. He still knew where it was. For a while there had been a marker, a makeshift memorial of rocks and faded stuffed animals and tiny crosses. But the developers had removed it all when they leveled the ground for the construction, pushing the mementoes into a larger pile of debris, just more trash to be burned. The press, for all their interest in the case, hadn’t covered that story. His mother had cried herself to sleep that night and Thaddeus, home from college by then, had turned up the volume on the television to drown out the noise.
He arrived at the spot and noted the number of the condo standing in that location, willing it to be something of significance—the date Davy was born or the date he disappeared, something. Instead the numbers meant nothing. They were just random numbers on a random street.
He’d put off coming here for so long, not wanting to see this cookie-cutter residence tainting what was, to him, a historical landmark. And yet, upon leaving the press conference announcing his brother’s confirmed death, it was the only place he could think of to go.
He lowered himself to sit on a stranger’s front stoop, resting his back against the door. A skinny Siamese cat crawled out of the bushes and mewed at him, a plaintive wail that echoed the way he felt inside. He extended his hand to the cat and called out a half-hearted “Here, kitty.”
He was surprised when the cat actually responded, trotting over like it had been waiting for him. It rubbed itself up against his knees and allowed him to scratch its ears. The cat flopped down beside him on the stoop, and together they sat for longer than he’d intended, the cat purring and Thaddeus thinking through the events of the day, trying to hold the weight of them.
He willed himself to remember everything since the moment the sheriff woke them. There was the news delivered, Larkin and her daughter and the long hug in the yard, the tense wait in the room at the station before the press conference, he and his parents listening to each other breathe as they waited for it to begin. There was the press conference itself, the woman assigned to babysit them giving the opening remarks, his father’s brief, nervous statement on behalf of the family (that had been a surprise; he’d counted on his mother to give in and do it), the sheriff taking the podium, the press snapping photos of him and also of the three of them as they worked to keep their faces impassive while on display. Then there was the ride home and his mother’s talk of closure. He should’ve said it aloud, that she was right: closure was impossible. Davy’s disappearance was forever an open loop. Thaddeus pulled the rock from his pocket and wondered if he could let it go, just leave it behind, on some stranger’s stoop.
Suddenly the door he was resting against opened, sending him sprawling backward into the entryway of someone’s home. Only, as he blinked and looked up in confusion, he didn’t see a stranger’s face looking back at him. He saw a familiar one, recognizing the curls first as their designated babysitter bent over and peered into his face.
Anissa, he thought, recalling her name as he wondered why and how she’d managed to be there at that moment. His first thought was that she took her job too seriously. His second one was that she had followed him there. But that didn’t explain how she had gotten inside the house.
“Thaddeus?” Anissa asked, her voice sounding as confused as he felt. “What are you doing here?” She was holding a can of tuna and a little of the juice had sloshed out when he fell into the house. It dripped down her hands, the air filling with the smell of fish.
“What am I doing here? I should be asking you that. Are you following me?” He heaved himself off the floor and looked back at her as he rose to a standing position.
Her eyebrows nearly met in the middle as she squinted at him. “What are you talking about?” She held out her hands, gesturing to the air around her. “I didn’t follow you. This is my house. I live here.”
He looked around, taking in the surroundings as he worked on grasping what was happening. He noted the floral sofa, the peach-colored walls, a large framed photo of a seascape, a coffee table book about Georgia O’Keeffe displayed on a little table in the entryway. It was definitely a female’s residence. In fact, he could see no trace of a male, as if it had been specifically, intentionally, purged.
He closed his eyes as he let it sink in that this was indeed her house. But how? He’d always wondered who lived in this particular condo, in this one special spot. He’d thought of knocking on the door, introducing himself, and asking if the residents knew what had taken place there. Not to freak them out, just to inform them of the importance of the place where they lived. And she, of all people, was the person who would’ve answered the door. This couldn’t be a coincidence . . . could it?
“Thaddeus,” she prompted. “What are you doing here?” Without waiting for him to answer, she added, “Were you waiting for me?”
His reply was defensive. “I wasn’t waiting for you. I was—” How to explain what he’d been doing? He shoved the rock back in his pocket. He wouldn’t be leaving it here, not now.
The smell of tuna had intensified as they stood there, and it was starting to make him feel nauseated. Anissa was still holding the can. He looked away from her, at the doorway he’d fallen into, wishing he could just walk right through it and disappear. Instead he looked back at her and calmly asked the question on his mind.
“How is it that you live in the last place my brother was ever seen?”
October 12, 1985
9:27 p.m.
The darkness has grown thicker since they spied on the man in the little house. Walking back seems to take twice as long. Davy keeps his eyes forward, concentrating on getting to the road that runs in front of the farm, where Anissa’s house sits.
The darkness is disorienting. To their left, he knows, is the gravel drive that leads down to the big house and the little house beside it. If he gets confused, he can always veer that way and find the road, then walk along it, even if cutting across the field is a faster way to get back to where the other kids are.
Davy regrets leaving the group, regrets coming to the fields with TJ at all. He should have stayed with Larkin and Kristy. He could have juggled for Larkin. She always clapped when he kept all four balls in the air.
“So do you think you could?” Anissa asks for what is obviously not the first time, her raised voice jarring him from his panicky thoughts. “I mean,” she adds quickly, “you don’t have to, obviously.” She gives a little laugh. “I mean, I only just met you, so . . .”
Davy hears sadness.
“Sorry,” he says quickly, trying to stave off whatever hurt he’s caused. “I was just thinking about how we need to get back. My brother’s probably looking for me by now.” Davy wishes that were true but knows it likely is not.
“Oh yeah. We should,” she agrees. She begins walking faster.
“No,” he calls out and she stops. His eyes have adjusted to the dark enough to see her face, but her curls are lost in the blackness. “What were you asking me?” It suddenly seems important for him to know. “I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention.”
She glances backward at where they’d come from, then turns her gaze toward the direction they are headed. Davy wonders if she wants to get home as badly as he does. Somehow, he doesn’t think so.
“It doesn’t matter,” she says and starts to walk again. He reaches out to stop her, catching only the edge of her T-shirt. The fabric slips through his fingers, but the tug is enough to stop her.
“What?” he asks again. “I’m listening this time.” There in the black field, they blink at each other as an understanding, a connection, forms between them. Though they are too young to name it, they aren’t too young to feel it. He nods at her, assuring her.
Anissa sighs, then speaks. “My birthday is next week. And I was wondering if, maybe, if your parents said it was ok, maybe you could come to my party? It’s at McDonald’s.” She grimaces. “Lame, huh?”
Davy shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s lame. I love McDonald’s.”
Half of her mouth turns up. “You aren’t just saying that?”
“Can I have a Big Mac if I come?”
“You can have anything you want!” she says, and Davy watches as the other half of her mouth joins to make a whole smile.
“Then I’ll be there,” he says. He isn’t sure this is true. He has no idea if his mom and dad will say yes, if they have other plans like going to one of TJ’s lame baseball games, or if his parents will feel like driving him when the time comes. But he senses that, for now, the best thing he can say is yes. They’ll figure out the rest later.
“Now let’s get back to civilization,” he says.
“I’ll race ya,” she says, then takes off running before he can even agree to the race.
“Hey, no fair!” he calls after her. But she is already gone.
* * *
It is a while before Anissa realizes she can no longer hear Davy behind her, huffing and puffing as he tries in vain to catch her. She was the fastest girl in her class back in Illinois. It’s too soon to tell if she will be the fastest girl here.
She looks back but doesn’t see her new friend, then stops short, panting as she scans the darkness. She feels a prickling sensation on the back of her neck and swats at it as if it’s a mosquito or a fly.
“Davy?” she calls, hesitant, into the night. She waits, but there is no response. She turns in a slow circle, her eyes roving for a glimpse of movement, light, something that means she isn’t alone in this field.
She hears an engine sound and turns hopefully toward the noise, watching as a car pulls into the gravel lane that leads down to the big house. She assumes it’s someone there to visit the man in the smaller house, a girlfriend perhaps, or a friend coming to watch the baseball game with him. The car drives slowly, in no hurry to reach its destination.
Anissa squats as it passes, hoping whoever’s driving doesn’t see her. She watches the dust dance in the fading taillights. In the quiet of the field, she waits for the sound of the car parking as it reaches the man’s house, the sound of a crisis avoided.
Instead she hears the car turn around at the end of the lane, its headlights swinging back in her direction. Her heart leaps into her throat as the car approaches. She cannot tell if it is blue or black, but she can see that it’s small, one of those hatchback kinds. They are probably lost, she tells herself, just turning around. Nothing to worry about. They will get back out to the main road and go back where they came from.
The car stops before it reaches her, pulls up parallel to the field, stops far enough from where she’s hidden that she can barely make out what’s happening. Still, she watches, squinting against the blackness, her eyes adjusting to the light the headlights provide.
A large figure gets out of the driver’s side and steps into the cornfield, looks right, then left.
Anissa flattens herself against the ground to avoid detection. This person is a stranger. She knows about stranger danger.
The figure calls out, a male voice trying to summon someone. But from the distance, over the noise of the car’s idling engine, she cannot make out what he says. She stays where she is, taking silent, shallow breaths, wishing she could press herself closer to the ground as the person goes back to the car and the door slams.
But the car doesn’t drive away.
She wishes there was corn in the field, something that would conceal her better. But the darkness is her only ally.
When the car finally drives away, Anissa exhales in relief. She wants to call for Davy, but her voice is stuck in her throat. She whispers his name, knowing he won’t hear her. She gets to her feet and turns around in the field again but sees no one. She wonders if any of the kids are still up by the road.
With no other options, she trudges forward, making her way back to where the night began, hoping she will find her new friend Davy there waiting for her. He will brag that he beat her. She promises herself she won’t argue with him, even if it means she has to let him win.
Sometimes losing is worth it.