“Bless you,” Eva says, taking the container of soup from him. “I haven’t given the first thought to dinner.”
His eyes narrow as he studies her closely. “Bad day? You look like you lost your best friend.”
“In a manner of speaking, I did. Today was Annette’s last day. She’s moving to Florida tomorrow.”
He sighs. “I’m sorry, Eva. I know how much you rely on her. I hope you’re planning to hire a replacement.”
She stares past him at the dormant patch of grass between her house and the sidewalk. “I’m going to wait and see what business is like this spring before I decide.”
“I’m happy to help out if you get in a bind.” He holds her door open while she steps inside.
Ian is a trust fund kid. While he’s never had to work, his high energy level dictates that he stay busy. He’s worked too many jobs for Eva to count, including caterer and shoe salesman and waiter. He currently works as a clerk at a local wine and cheese shop.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Ian. Thank you. And thanks for the soup,” she says, pushing the door closed with her foot.
She hangs her down jacket on the coat rack by the front door and takes the container of soup to the kitchen. Setting it on the counter, she opens the cabinet to the right of the stove and removes a half-gallon bottle of Absolut Citron vodka, the only alcohol she keeps in the house with the exception of a bottle of red wine a neighbor gave her for Christmas. She fills a tumbler with ice and vodka, adding a splash of soda for good measure. She doesn’t bother turning on any lamps as she makes her way to her dark-paneled living room and settles into her husband’s leather recliner. The gas logs in the fireplace to her right no longer work, nor do the lights on the eight-foot artificial Christmas tree to her left. The cheap tree, purchased at Home Depot the December Reese went missing, long outlived her expectations. Every night for three years after the accident, a thousand mini white lights glistened in the window, a beacon to guide Reese home. Even though the lights are burned out, Eva can’t bring herself to take down the tree. Once a month, she blows off the dust with her hair dryer and rearranges her daughter’s and husband’s gifts underneath. Stuart will never open his presents, and he’ll never again wear any of his clothes hanging in their master bedroom closet upstairs, but she can’t bring herself to donate them to Goodwill.
Her drink goes down too easily, and she’s thirsty for more. Staring into her glass, she clinks the ice cubes as she fights the temptation. She refuses to go down that rabbit hole again. She sets her glass on the table next to her, beside the framed black-and-white photograph of Reese from her senior year in high school. The vignette image is classic, a lovely young woman with bare shoulders and a single strand of pearls draped around her neck. She picks up her cherished porcelain figurine, a black Scottish terrier wearing a blue-and-white checkered vest, and cradles it in her hands. Stuart and Reese had given her the figurine for Christmas fifteen years ago, the year she lost Bailey, the Scottie she’d loved so dearly.
Taking her empty glass to the kitchen, Eva places it in the sink and reheats Ian’s Brunswick stew. Back in the living room, with her soup bowl on a tray in her lap, she channel-surfs until she finds an old Julia Robert’s movie. When the movie ends at ten, she returns her tray to the kitchen and slowly climbs the stairs, traipsing down the hallway past the closed doors of the master bedroom and her daughter’s room to the guest room at the back of the house.
She crawls fully clothed beneath the bedcovers. She is always on alert for the ringing of the phone or the doorbell. Flat on her back with hands behind her head, she stares at the ceiling. Rays from the moon stream through the open window and create dancing shadows on the ceiling. The shadows are ethereal, like ghosts. Stuart’s ghost. But not Reese’s. Because, despite what Annette thinks, Eva refuses to believe her daughter is never coming home. While there’s a slim chance a madman is holding Reese captive, or that she’s suffering from amnesia, Eva suspects she’s living somewhere under an assumed identity. And it’s all Eva’s fault for making Reese’s life a living hell during her teenage years.
Eva tried drinking away the guilt, and when booze wasn’t enough, she resorted to narcotics. Which drove her to lose nearly everything. Not that anything she has left is worth living for without Reese and Stuart.
She flashes back ten years to the night before Reese left for college. Eva can still see her daughter’s mountain of gear accumulating by the front door to be packed in the car the following morning. Suitcases, crammed with clothes; plastic bins, full of linens and towels; bulletin boards and cardboard tubes of posters and paper shopping bags of school supplies. On top of the pile was Reese’s beloved acoustic guitar, Max, the name she’d given it when she’d purchased it three years ago with money earned from several summers of babysitting.
Eva cornered her daughter in the upstairs hall during one of Reese’s many trips up and down the stairs. “I know it’s been a difficult summer, but I’d like to put all that behind us and enjoy our last evening together. Daddy and I are planning a going-away celebration dinner. He’s cooking steaks on the grill, and I’m making your favorite potato casserole.”
With an armful of decorative pillows, Reese brushed past Eva on the way to the stairs. “Fine. But can we eat early? I have plans with Shannon.”
From the railing above, Eva looked down at the top of her daughter’s honey-colored head. “But it’s your last night in Richmond.”
“That’s why I’m going out with my friends.” Reese dropped the pillows on top of her pile and disappeared down the hall toward the kitchen.
Much to Eva’s dismay, Reese wore her headphones and brought her surly mood to the table when they sat down for dinner at six thirty that evening, a half hour earlier than they normally ate.
Eva yelled at her, “For God’s sake, Reese, take off the headphones.”
“What?” Reese asked, although Eva was sure she’d heard her.
“Take off the headphones,” she repeated, pointing at her ears.
Reese tugged the headphones off and set them down beside her plate.
“We agreed we’d leave at six in the morning,” Eva reminded her. “We have a long drive ahead of us tomorrow. I hope you’re not planning to stay out too late tonight.”
Reese stared at her plate, not touching her food. “I can sleep in the car.”
“Are you excited about decorating your dorm room?” Eva asked as she carved off a chunk of steak. “I can’t wait to meet your roommate.”
Reese dragged her fork through the potato casserole. “Can we please not talk about this right now?”
Eva looked to Stuart for help. “Your mother spent all afternoon preparing this nice dinner for you,” he said. “The least you can do is give us your attention for a few minutes.”
“Sorry. I’m not hungry. And Shannon is waiting for me.” Reese pushed back from the table, dumped her untouched steak down the disposal, snatched her headphones, and stormed out of the house.
Reese had stayed out late every night that summer. Always past midnight but never later than two o’clock. At two thirty, Eva texted Reese to come home. At three o’clock, her anger morphing into fear, Eva tried calling Reese—three, four, five times. And when those calls went to voice mail, she tried Shannon’s cell and Shannon’s family’s house line. All of her calls went unanswered. Eva was frantic when she woke Stuart at five. At five thirty, they were heading out of the house to drive by Shannon’s when their daughter came strolling up the sidewalk from the corner with her guitar slung across her back.