Making Her Way Home

He asked more questions. Laurence tore his attention from the television long enough to express disgust for Sicily’s father.

“Thank God, he’s been out of the picture for years. Although Rachel found plenty of substitutes. She had a gift for picking losers.”

“I understand that she may have had a drug problem herself.”

“We’d have paid for rehab if she had ever been serious about licking it.” Laurence’s cell phone rang; he glanced at the number and silenced it. “I’m afraid I don’t know Rachel’s habits. As I said, we saw very little of her or Sicily.”

“Would you describe yourself as estranged from your other daughter, as well?”

His face closed. “She chooses to keep to herself,” he said, voice clipped. “But at least she hasn’t made a mess of her life like her sister did.” His phone rang again; once again he didn’t answer it. “What do you suggest we do to help, Detective?” He was clearly becoming impatient. “It would seem Elizabeth has no intention of calling on us. The least she could have done was let us know what was happening. This is our granddaughter.”

He found himself compelled to defend Beth Greenway. “I doubt she let herself believe Sicily wouldn’t turn up. It’s a good-size park, and the search continued until dusk.”

He explained that it would resume at first light, that the girl’s disappearance would be widely publicized. He asked for the most recent pictures they had of their granddaughter. Rowena produced the same fourth-grade school photo Beth had. The sight of the little girl’s face gave him another pang. He wished she’d have at least smiled.

He very much hoped he would have the chance to see her smile.

* * *

BETH HAD WANTED DESPERATELY TO be alone, but almost from the minute the detective left, she wished he hadn’t. At least he’d distracted her. And—oh, it was an illusion of caring, not the real thing, but he’d mostly been kind.

Now all she could think about was Sicily and what could possibly have happened to her. Beth simply couldn’t imagine her as foolish enough to go off with someone she didn’t know. Even a family with children. She might have gotten bored, yes, and decided to hike one of the short nature trails—although Beth wasn’t even sure about that. Gone up to the restroom. She wouldn’t necessarily have woken Beth to tell her where she was going. She was used to making her own decisions. But she didn’t do dumb things.

The park had been so busy, if someone had grabbed her and she’d screamed, plenty of people would have heard. So that didn’t seem likely, either. And the idea of her wading into the water and going swimming was ridiculous. The beach was so rocky she couldn’t have gone barefoot, and she’d never have discarded her brand-new flip-flops, which had so pleased her. And think how cold the water was! Besides, people would have seen her. There’d been plenty of other adults around.

None of it made sense.

The part that made Beth most uneasy was the disappearance of the kids Sicily had been with when Beth fell asleep. The kids and their parents. It seemed so coincidental that they’d decide to leave within the same half hour when Sicily vanished.

Beth had seen from his expression that Detective Ryan doubted the family had ever existed. She’d heard him talking to some of the search-and-rescue volunteers.

“No one here remembers seeing the kid at all.”

But some of the people had to have seen Sicily. Beth knew they had! If only she could remember the faces of anyone who’d been near when she and Sicily spread the blanket and she began to read. But the truth was, she hadn’t really looked. Even at the parents of those other kids. She hadn’t wanted to make eye contact and maybe be forced to chat.

She could be charming at work; it was a job skill. But she liked to keep her distance the rest of the time. Sometimes, toward the end of a day at work, she thought if she had to make smiling conversation for one more minute, she wouldn’t be able to bear it. She frequently longed to be by herself.

Like I am now. Only now—please God, are you listening?—she didn’t want to be by herself. She desperately wanted to hear Sicily in the kitchen saying hopefully, “I could make cookies. Do you like chocolate chip, Aunt Beth? Because I make really good ones.”

And she would argue at first, saying, “I don’t eat desserts very often. If you’re hungry, we have ice cream,” but then she’d see the anxiety mixed with the eagerness in her niece’s golden-green eyes. She would realize that baking those cookies would make Sicily happy, because she’d feel as if she was contributing something. So then Beth would say, “You know, I haven’t baked in ages. Do you mind if I help?” And they’d mix the dough and make a mess and the heavenly smell of cookies baking would fill the kitchen. They might even giggle, and at some point Beth would discover in amazement that she was having fun.

When did I last have fun?

Never? There must have been times, but if so they were lost in the more painful memories.

I could drive back to the park. The impulse was powerful. She saw herself walking slowly, calling, “Honey? I’m here,” as if Sicily were only hiding. Which she wouldn’t be. But…what if she’d fallen and hurt herself, been knocked out, and was now regaining consciousness in the dark? What if she had a broken leg and couldn’t get up to walk?

The idea of continuing to do nothing but sit here was unendurable. Beth heard a thin, anguished sound and realized she’d made it. She was horrified; she knew better than to make any noise at all! No matter how much she hurt, she knew how to be silent.

She made herself draw slow, deep breaths. Look around, ground herself. This was home. Her home. No one was hurting her; that was long in her past. Her hurt now was for her niece, who had to be scared and bewildered somewhere.

She’d have her cell phone if she went back to the park, so Sicily could call her if she were able. Detective Ryan could reach her, too, in case he had news.

A part of her knew this was ridiculous, but she rushed to her room and changed clothes, into jeans and a sweatshirt warm enough for the evening, plus thick socks and athletic shoes. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and looked quickly away from that pale, haunted face.

She carried a flashlight in her glove compartment, but she had a better one here in the house, big, sealed in rubber, with a bright beam. Beth grabbed that, and a zip-up sweatshirt she’d bought Sicily, because if she was out there she’d be cold.

Then Beth left the house.

* * *

SICILY WOKE WITH A START TO A scraping sound. By the time the trunk lifted, she realized what she’d heard was key in the lock. She cringed toward the back of the trunk, then thought, No! I should have jumped out. Really fast, and run.

Too late. A man bent over her, too quick for her to really see him. He flung a blanket over Sicily. Even as she started to fight, he bundled her in rough, scratchy wool so tight it was like the Egyptian mummies. She could hardly move at all except to buck and kick and she couldn’t get enough air to scream.

Nothing she did made any difference. He was way bigger than her, and he carried her in his arms, not over his shoulder, where she might have been able to squirm her face or arms free. He didn’t walk very far. Doors opened and closed. She thought maybe they went down some steps, which she couldn’t figure out until she understood. Basement. Once he banged her head against a hard surface, maybe a door frame. More steps and then abruptly she was dumped onto what felt like a mattress.

As she fought her way free of the blanket, the door slammed shut and she heard the distinct slide of a lock. Sicily found herself in complete darkness. No light came in any window, and for a minute she heard nothing at all. And then…was that a television?

* * *

WHETHER DRIVEN BY UNEASINESS or only a gut feeling, Mike went straight back to Edmonds. He’d wanted to assess the grandparents, but he had the bad feeling he’d made a mistake. He should have parked down the street and kept an eye on Beth Greenway’s house.

He pulled up in front to find the porch light on and one light somewhere inside, but the house was darker than when he’d left. If she’d gone to bed, why had she left lights on at all? He had trouble imagining her brushing her teeth, changing into a nightgown and settling comfortably into bed. Maybe with the aid of a sleeping pill—but would she be willing to knock herself out so that she might not hear her phone ring?

Yes. If she already knew where Sicily was. If her anxiety was only for herself.

He went to the porch and rang the bell, hearing the deep tolls inside. There was no stir of activity. He rang again. Swearing, Mike circled the garage and found a side window. Of course it was dark inside, but he stood patiently waiting until his eyes gradually adjusted enough for him to see that the small space was empty. Goddamn. Where had she gone?

He went back to his Tahoe and sat with the door open so the overhead light was on. He snatched his cell phone from his belt, then had to flip open the notebook he carried to find her number.

She answered on the third ring, her voice quick and eager. “Yes?”

“Where the hell are you?” he growled.

“Detective Ryan? Did you find anything out?”

“No. What I want to know is why you aren’t home.”

The silence was long enough he began to wonder if the call had been dropped, or she’d ended it. But finally she said, “You came back to see if I was there.”

He could have lied and told her he’d come back to check up on her because he was worried about her. He didn’t. “Yes.”

“I’m not.”

“I figured that out.”

“How?”