FIFTY-FOUR

Gum. There, among the silver and copper coins sparkling beneath the water, was a small gob of pink gum.

In five short days, it would be three months since the fountain’s inauguration. Three months. And already, there was gum at the bottom.

Autumn stared hard at its design—the intricately sculpted steel bird emerging from the ashes. A phoenix taking flight. The commission board loved the symbolism. Rebirth. Renewal. A reminder to the city that while tragedy happened, it didn’t win.

She ran her hand along the plaque. Traced her finger along the inscribed words.

Tragedy on the Tracks, March 28, 2016 Twenty-Two Lives Lost

One life spared.

The tribute was meant to be her phoenix. A search for closure, sure. But more importantly, something that gave her survival purpose. An offering of healing in the midst of so much unnecessary pain.

For a fleeting moment, Seth had captured it.

And then she ruined it.

Right now, all those people were sitting in the sanctuary, waiting for a miracle survivor who wasn’t going to show. Her attention lifted from the plaque. A woman was staring at her. Autumn quickly looked away, wishing she was wearing her White Sox hat so she could pull her brim lower. She was positive the woman would come over. Tap her shoulder. “Hey, aren’t you the lady who survived? Aren’t you supposed to be at that big church for the tribute everybody’s talking about?”

She braced herself for the moment.

But when she snuck a peek, the woman wasn’t any closer than before, and she was no longer staring. Autumn had landed herself in the same place she’d been in months ago. Borderline agoraphobic, paranoid everyone recognized her.

Only now, she couldn’t hide in her apartment.

Claire would eventually show up, and Autumn would attack. She’d turn feral at the sight of her blabbermouth sister. She’d tear out a clump of her bottle-brown hair. She’d say things she’d regret. And poor Grandma Ally would have to watch from heaven, distraught that her two lovelies were at it again.

It was best to stay away.

Her phone buzzed.

It had been buzzing for the past thirty minutes.

The first one was from Leanne. We’re here! Full house already.

The second, from Chad. U here? Jane wants to talk to you about something.

The third followed before Autumn had a chance to read the second. Only a suggestion! Won’t take long.

The one that came in now was from her sister. It was the third one she’d sent in twenty minutes. Every time Claire’s name popped up on her screen, the feral thing inside would start clawing about for an escape.

Penny had sent one too. Are you okay? We’re worried.

A part of her kept waiting—hoping—that Paul would text. But nothing came from him. He wouldn’t care where she was. He was probably glad she was gone. Her absence probably took some of the spotlight’s glare off him and all those horrible things people were saying.

It was the least she could do.

Autumn sat down on the fountain’s ledge. She scuffed her shoe over a name neatly etched in the brick. Vincent Poole. Most people wouldn’t know that he’d been four years old. Most people wouldn’t know that he loved airplanes or went to speech therapy twice a week or called his baby sister Linny-Lin. To most people, Vincent Poole would be nothing more than a faded name engraved in red brick.

Another text came.

Where r u????

Autumn shut her sister off while old familiar feelings stirred inside.

Guilt. Shame. Anxiety.

Why?

Why did Paul’s grandfather have to have a stroke? If he’d never had the stroke, Paul wouldn’t have called her to watch his kids, and if he never called her to watch his kids that night, Autumn never would have agreed to interview Reese. If Autumn wouldn’t have interviewed Reese, Reese never would have sent anything to Seth. Paul never would have told her the truth about Vivian, and in turn, Autumn never would have told Claire.

Paul’s secret would be safe.

Their relationship would be intact.

The tribute, ready to share.

She’d be at Redeemer right now, standing backstage with the mayor, eager to show the poignantly beautiful video Seth had put together.

Instead, she was here, rubbing her shoe along Vincent Poole’s brick, asking God the one question she couldn’t escape and He wouldn’t answer.

Why?

“Excuse me, miss?”

Autumn looked up from Vincent’s name, her muscles tense.

A greasy-haired man with greasy clothes was tapping a cigarette free from a pack of Marlboros. “Do you have a lighter on you?”

He didn’t recognize her at all.

Paul walked toward the front doors of Redeemer with his heart in his stomach. It was the last place he wanted to be. After such a hellish day, he wanted to lock himself inside his house and watch a movie with his children. But Regina had called shortly after she sent her reply to his group text, her voice swollen with irritation.

“I didn’t travel all this way for nothing. And I certainly don’t want to go by myself.”

She marched ahead of him now, her heels click-click-clicking against pavement in a brisk staccato.

Paul hurried ahead of her so he could get the door.

He thought the lobby would be empty by now. He’d been counting on it—this assumption that he could slip into the back while the lights were low and take a seat without drawing attention.

But the lobby wasn’t empty.

People shuffled about.

Some gathered in tightly knit circles, talking in hushed tones.

Others wandered aimlessly from one display to the next, like they weren’t sure what else to do. There were paintings and awards and picture collages. A man with a shiny bald head and a business suit scratched his chin and studied Vivian’s photographs like a critic at an art gallery.

There was a charge in the air. An unidentifiable hum. As though something unexpected were occurring.

He caught two women staring. They quickly looked away. But they weren’t the only ones gawking.

A wave of heat rolled up his neck. The strange current in the air was probably due to him. Paul Elliott, giant phony, potential abuser, had just walked inside Redeemer.

“Reese!” The relieved cry belonged to his mother, who had just stepped out of the ladies’ room.

She hurried over and wrapped his daughter in a hug.

Regina pursed her lips. She thought Reese had run away for attention and that gushing over her now would only encourage her to do it again.

Mom, apparently, did not agree.

She carried on with her affection while telling Paul, over Reese’s head, that Tate was having a lot of fun playing with Mitch’s boys, who were almost as hopeless as Tate when it came to sitting still for any length of time. Paul had called Tate as soon as he and Reese finished their conversation next to Dorothy and Toto. He figured his son would be worried, like he’d been the first time Reese had gone missing. This had been much more serious than before. Reese had been missing for so much longer. But Tate barely stayed on the line long enough for Paul to get the words out that his sister was fine. When Lisa picked up the phone, much more attentive than his son, he could hear all the boys making machine gun and lightsaber noises in the background.

“Oh, this day,” Mom said, giving Reese another hug. “It was almost the death of me.”

She didn’t know the half of it.

Paul’s mother didn’t get on the Internet. Other than the occasional birthday present ordered online, she didn’t have need for the World Wide Web. When it came to her phone, she preferred using it for actual conversation. Reese tried to show her Facebook once, but Mom thought it was the silliest invention since the pet rock. “Why in the world would anybody care about what I’m doing?”

Then she saw a picture of food—some Paleo meal one of her neighbors had posted—and that pretty much sealed the deal on her opinion.

Unless someone had told his mother—and he doubted, in all the chaos of looking for Reese that anybody had—she wouldn’t know about Vivian leaving or the rumors spreading and splitting and growing like cancer cells.

The two women were staring again.

So was the bald man who’d been studying Vivian’s photographs.

Regina looked at her watch. It was a Kate Spade, something Paul knew only because she’d told him so on the drive from O’Hare yesterday morning. “Shouldn’t things be underway by now?”

“Yes,” Mom said. “But I heard in the ladies’ room that Autumn isn’t here yet.”

The news gave Paul a jolt. He pulled his attention away from the gawkers.

“Isn’t she the woman who organized the event?” Regina asked.

“Yes. Nobody seems to know if there’s going to be a video.”

Reese looked up at Paul with wide, worried eyes. “Do you think it’s because of my interview?”

He set his hands on her shoulders. “She didn’t include it, Reese.”

“She didn’t?”

“She never picked up the footage.”

“But I sent it to her friend, Seth.”

Paul received another jolt.

Reese had sent her interview to Seth?

“Paul,” Mom touched his arm, “what’s going on?”

“Let me see what I can find out.”

He excused himself and found Mitch on the other end of the lobby welcoming a small crew of caterers.

“Mitch.”

He turned around. He looked the same way now as he’d looked when they went out for lunch at Lou Malnati’s a couple of months ago, right after he dismissed Bill Meadows from the elder board.

“Where’s Reese?” Mitch asked.

“With my mom.”

“Man, what a scare.”

“This has probably been the worst day of my life.” As soon as he said it, another wave of heat rolled up his neck. His wife’s death should probably be the worst day of his life.

“Well, this has probably been the craziest day of mine.”

“My mom said Autumn isn’t here?”

“She’s not coming.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. She sent me a text a half hour ago, apologizing. She said she couldn’t make it. Something’s wrong with the video, I guess. I have no idea. All I know is that this isn’t my gig. I’m not supposed to be in charge. I’m not even supposed to be working right now. But since I’m here, I’m the default decision maker.”

“Sir, do you have a place for the dessert?” The question belonged to a young man with acne and floppy hair.

“Someone’s getting a table.”

The kid nodded.

Mitch ran his hand down his face. “First, Reese goes missing. Then Autumn doesn’t show. And these rumors? Paul, I have no idea how they started, but we will get this cleared up.”

Paul’s attention slid to the floppy-haired kid.

He didn’t seem to be eavesdropping.

“Not all of them are rumors.”

Mitch’s eyes widened, then narrowed. It was a narrowing followed by a slow-moving smile that turned up his face. The kind of awkward grin a person put on whenever they were pretty sure, but not entirely positive, that their leg was being pulled.

“Vivian was leaving. It’s why she was on the train.”

Mitch’s smile melted away. He blinked, dumbstruck.

Once realization settled in, once he processed what Paul had told him, there would be hurt. A sense of betrayal. A secret of such magnitude wasn’t meant to exist between friends like them. Paul owed him an apology, but before he could deliver it, one of the worship art directors, along with an intern, came down the hall carrying a long table.

“Does this work?”

And then Penny appeared, wearing yellow capris.

As soon as she saw Paul, she gave his arm a squeeze. “I’m so glad to hear Reese is okay. I was praying all day long.”

“Thank you.”

“The mayor’s looking for you,” she said to Mitch. “He wants to get started.”

“Started with what? We don’t have a video.”