She positioned herself in a spot in the Malcor family room that allowed her to monitor the situation. One glance to the left and she could keep an eye on the press in the front yard. One glance to the right and she could monitor how Davy’s parents were doing. She looked both left and right, taking in the whole scene as she reminded herself to do her job well, remember her training, and not get rattled. You got this, she told herself, using positive affirmations like her sister was always going on about.
So far the parents, Daniel and Tabitha Malcor, were the only family gathered. They were cordial to each other, but Anissa could feel the tension between them. She knew they’d divorced, a casualty for many parents of missing children.
As for the press, the local affiliates were the only ones gathered so far, loitering as close to the house as they dared. The larger outlets were no doubt on their way, but for now the situation felt manageable. A few cars had slowed as they drove by, but no creepy lookie-loos, no crazies prophesying about Davy’s fate. Not yet. One neighbor had stopped by to deliver brownies and lasagna, the token meal of bereavement if ever there was one.
The smell of the food reminded Anissa she’d forgotten to eat that day. She watched with longing as Tabitha carried the dishes into the kitchen and deposited them on the table. Tabitha looked up to see Anissa watching her.
“This is only the beginning,” Tabitha said, pointing at the foil-covered dishes. “Soon there’ll be casseroles on every available surface in this kitchen and stacked in the fridge. More food than we can possibly eat. And I just got rid of the chest freezer last year.” She sighed and ran a hand through her short dark hair, shot through with silver threads.
Anissa thought Tabitha, with her hair cut short, looked a lot like Davy. She wondered if that had been Tabitha’s intent, to remind people of Davy every time they looked at her. Or, at least, the Davy Anissa remembered. The one in the photos on the evening news tonight, the same old shots recycled for this latest news cycle. She wondered if Davy would look like Tabitha still, now, as a grown man.
Had Davy grown into a man? Anissa did not think it was likely. She wondered if that disqualified her to do her job. Didn’t she need to believe in the best outcome for the people she helped? To truly speak on behalf of the family, shouldn’t she feel the way they did? She supposed it didn’t matter. She was there now. For better or for worse, she was the woman for the job.
The Malcors’ doorbell rang and she startled, caught off guard.
Tabitha exited the kitchen and strode toward the front door. “I’ve got it.”
Anissa rose to cut off her pathway to the door. “No, I should get it. If it’s a reporter, then—”
Tabitha gave her a bemused, sarcastic half grin, a habit Anissa had noticed.
“Then I’ll tell ’em to get the hell off my lawn,” she said. “You forget, this ain’t my first rodeo.” She sidestepped Anissa and reached the door. On the couch her ex-husband made no motion to intervene. Anissa stood by as Tabitha tugged it open.
She was meant to protect the family; she was not supposed to let the victims answer their own door. The confusing part was that Davy’s parents didn’t act like victims.
The door opened to reveal a reporter, just as Anissa had feared. And not just any reporter. The most annoying, the most tenacious, the slipperiest of the slippery: Monica Allagash. Blonde and calculating, she was a reporter for the Charlotte CBS affiliate gunning hard for an anchor position. She was not conventionally pretty, yet oddly attractive. Her smile was less a smile and more an animal baring its fangs. Monica was, Anissa had long ago decided, as much a predator as the ones she reported on. They’d had a few run-ins in the past, Monica pressing her on camera, making her look ruffled and downright foolish on the evening news.
Seth used to tease her about it. “You let her get to you. You can’t let her get to you.” Now as Anissa moved to step between Tabitha and Monica, she thought of Seth that morning standing in her shower, water dripping off that Roman nose of his, daring her to get in with him. I let you get to me too, she thought. Then she put Seth out of her mind and moved between Tabitha and Monica.
She looked directly into Monica’s golden-brown eyes as she spoke. “We are asking members of the press to respect the family’s need for privacy as they wait for more information regarding their loved one.” She spouted off the party line a bit more tersely than she might have with someone else.
Undeterred, Monica cocked her head and bared her teeth. “Oh, I don’t need to speak to the family,” she said, giving Tabitha the side-eye before turning back to face Anissa. “I can speak to you.”
Beside her, Anissa felt Tabitha stiffen. In the yard at the base of the entry steps, Monica’s cameraman recorded the three of them in the doorway. Self-centered as it was, Anissa’s thoughts went to how she looked. She’d dressed in such a hurry, thrown her unruly curls into a messy bun, smeared a streak of color across her lips, and dashed out the door. From the angle he was shooting, she vainly and unprofessionally wondered if she’d have a double chin in the shot.
She lifted her chin, willing her neck to look long and slender as she spoke. “I have no further comments at this time. There’ll be a press conference when there’s a new development.”
Her voice sounded unemotional and robotic, which was the intent. Sometimes her job was so rote and mechanical that she wondered why the position even existed. But someone had to be the gatekeeper. Someone had to speak for those who couldn’t or shouldn’t be expected to. She reminded herself she was doing exactly what she’d dreamed of—helping Davy’s family. She straightened her back and visualized her spine morphing into steel like some sort of superhero, battling evil reporters at every turn.
But instead of backing away, Monica Allagash leaned toward Anissa and Tabitha and smiled conspiratorially.
“Just tell me.” Her voice was nearly a whisper, as if the conversation was meant only for the three of them. “Is there a warrant yet to search Gordon Swift’s residence?”
Tabitha inhaled at the mention of Gordon Swift’s name and Anissa rushed to speak before she could.
“Gordon Swift is not a suspect in the disappearance of Davy Malcor,” Anissa parroted yet another oft-repeated line when it came to this case. After Gordon sued the department, they were instructed to make it clear to the press that they would not under any circumstances smear his name any more than it already had been. For her part, and with good reason, Anissa believed in Gordon Swift’s innocence, no matter how unpopular that opinion was in Wynotte.
“Ok, he might not be a suspect. But he remains a person of interest, right?” Monica Allagash countered. Her voice took on a fake saccharine tone. “He seemed super flustered about today’s discovery when I spoke with him earlier.”
In her head, Seth’s warning repeated, “You can’t let her get to you.” Working hard not to appear angry or even rattled, Anissa calmly replied, “We have no further comments about the case at this time.” Then she looked away from Monica and directly at the cameraman still filming. “Except that we expect the public to keep in mind the difficult time this family is facing, and to give them the privacy and respect they deserve.”
“Oh, for sure,” Monica said, nodding sympathetically. Then she looked past Anissa, directly at Tabitha. “But when you are ready to talk, I hope you’ll come to me. I’d like you to consider me a trustworthy repository.”
“Suppository?” Tabitha retorted, an unmistakable leer in her voice.
Monica’s shiny veneer slipped away. A panicked look replaced the smug confidence as she sputtered, “No, I-I didn’t say— I said re-pository. Not sup-pository. A repository is a—”
“I think that’s enough, Monica,” Anissa said and closed the door in the reporter’s face, then turned to find Tabitha bent over laughing.
“Hoo! That was too good,” Tabitha said, her body quaking with laughter. “I couldn’t resist.” She straightened and put her hands on her hips, her brown eyes fixing on Anissa. “I can’t stand her. She’s been relentless ever since she first came here, convinced herself she’s going to break this case somehow, ride it all the way to a network news position.” Her smile disappeared and she was all business again. “But my son isn’t her career maker.”
Anissa nodded her agreement and gave Tabitha a little smile that she hoped conveyed not just her gratefulness to Tabitha for leveling Monica with the perfect put-down, but for the privilege of letting her ride out this wait with them when no one else was granted admission.
One day not long after Davy disappeared, she’d walked to this very house. She’d picked some wildflowers growing along the way, clutching them in one sweaty palm, determined to present them to Davy’s mother and tell her about that night. But a police officer had refused to let her in and sent her away. She’d thrown the flowers in a ditch as she walked back home, her head hung low, tears wetting her face and blurring her vision. She couldn’t help then, but she could now.
Daniel entered the room carrying a plate heaped with lasagna. “Y’all want some dinner? It’s getting about that time.”
Tabitha raised her eyebrows at Anissa, an unspoken invitation. Anissa’s stomach growled in response, but she forced herself to ignore it.
“Oh, you guys go ahead,” she said. “I’m here to work, not eat.”
Tabitha shook her head. “If you’re in my house, you’re eating with us.” She waved in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m not kidding when I say there will be more than we can eat.” She cocked her head. “I might even send you home with leftovers.”
Anissa smiled reflexively. She did not belong there—that was what the policeman who’d shooed her away that day had said. But here was Davy’s mother offering her dinner and a seat at the Malcor family table.
“I guess I could eat something,” she said.
Tabitha headed toward the kitchen as Daniel asked, “What were y’all laughing at just now?”
“Suppositories,” Tabitha said and smiled.
Anissa, in spite of her better judgment, couldn’t help but smile too.
October 12, 1985
6:18 p.m.
Marie’s husband, Jim, drives them to the party. Tabby and Danny sit in the back seat holding hands like teenagers. Her thoughts stray to their own teenager, and Tabby wonders if TJ told the truth about his plans for the night. Is he still young enough to want to play night games with friends, or was that a cover for something else? She’s heard the other mothers talk about teenage schemes—lying, sneaking out, trying cigarettes, alcohol, drugs.
These are the years they are entering—and will stay in—for quite some time. She’d once thought parenting would get easier when her children were out of diapers, but that doesn’t seem true anymore. Though there are moments when Tabitha feels the rewards she thought came with parenting—an unexpected hug, a thank-you she didn’t have to ask for, something funny one of the kids says—those moments are fleeting. She finds herself looking forward to a time in the future where the rewards will become more evident. It is a time she can’t envision but has to believe is out there, somewhere. Sometimes she feels duped, that having kids is a trick she has fallen for, a trick that must be perpetuated for the human race to survive.
Danny leans in, pressing his lips to her ear as he whispers, “Penny for your thoughts.” His warm breath on her ear makes her shiver and she laughs away her worries about TJ. Tonight is a kid-free zone. They agreed before they left the house.
“Just wondering who’ll be there. Running through my small talk options,” she lies. “I’m out of practice at parties. Not sure I’ll know how to behave.”
He squeezes her hand. “You’re Tabby Malcor. It’ll come back to you.”
She rolls her eyes. “Lately all I feel like I am is Mom.”
In the dark car Daniel waggles his eyebrows and leans in again. “Tonight you’ll remember you’re so much more than that.”
She bats her eyes at him. “I take it you’re gonna help with that?”
“You bet your sweet ass I am.”
Tabby laughs. When Marie asks from the front seat what’s so funny, they both answer, “Nothing!” at the same time, which makes them laugh harder. Jim parks in the Myerses’ driveway and they all tumble out of the car, the laughter subsiding as they walk inside.