Another text buzzes. What are you waiting for? Didn’t you see the news?
Is Felicia trying to warn me? I don’t understand. Then I see her coming out of the school without Sam. I tap her number, but as it rings I see her waving open-handed at the crossing guard. She’s not holding anything.
I stumble back, my hand with the phone falling down by my side. The emails sent from my account. This must be the same person, stalking me, framing me. Frantic, I look around, but there are phones everywhere. One of the dads is on the phone; so is a teacher standing outside the school; even a little boy is playing a game on one while being dragged through the parking lot.
Another text buzzes. You’re wasting time looking for me.
Fear skitters down the back of my neck, cascading in ice-cold droplets across every nerve ending in my body. Someone can see me right now. Where are they? I spin around again, but get nothing more than a curious look from the crossing guard at the drop-off lane.
And then my phone rings and I answer it.
A harsh voice whispers, “Don’t be stupid, Zoe. Run!”
CHAPTER
4
I SPIN AROUND AGAIN, scanning the parking lot.
“What are you doing?” Andrew has come up behind me, and I realize that not only do I look like a crazy person, turning in a circle, I’ve apparently developed tunnel vision. The more freaked out I am, the less observant I become.
“Someone sent me awful texts.” I hand him the phone and wait while he reads.
“It’s from Felicia’s number,” he says with the literalness that makes me call him Captain Obvious. He’s used to easily definable problems, where you identify each part, make a plan, and find a solution. Usually I find that deeply comforting. Now I’m worried that this problem is too confusing, too scary, and the obvious solution will be to write me—our marriage—off as a loss.
“It isn’t her. I saw Felicia taking Sam into school and I called her phone … it wasn’t her. She came out and got into her car and drove away, the whole time someone else was talking.” My voice is growing more shrill with every word. “Someone can see me. Someone knows who I am.”
Andrew keeps the phone in his hand and scans the parking lot.
My raised voice has attracted attention. Parents walking their kids are giving me a wide berth. I can see a mean mom standing by the driver’s side of a shiny new Lexus minivan, whispering to the driver. As soon as she sees me looking, she makes a little caught me face and pulls out her own car keys. Bitch. Why don’t bad things ever happen to people like that?
“Okay.” Andrew puts a hand on my shoulder. “The faster we get to the sheriff’s office, the faster we can clear this all up. You’ll be safe there, and I’ll be with you.”
Safe. Hasn’t my husband seen any scary movies? That word is the kiss of death. Nevertheless, I swing into my side of the car, shut and lock the door, and then, when Andrew climbs in and gives me my phone, I shut it down completely. I can’t remember the last time I did that. There’s always the fear that Emma could get hurt or the school might call or something could happen to Andrew. Every crash reported on Highway 59, every twenty minutes he’s late getting home, essentially every day he makes the treacherous journey across the looped deathways of Houston, I am worried and my phone is on—in my pocket or my hand.
Now I drop it like a brick into my purse.
As we pull out of the parking lot, Emma’s music is still playing. They Might Be Giants wails about the “Alphabet Lost and Found,” and I catch a line about slang words that don’t belong. There have been times I’ve felt that way even in my new life—out of place, like a curse word in a church.
I feel that way right now in this car, beside my silent husband. I wish I could make a joke to break the tension, but I’m so afraid it would sound careless, heartless. And if I say something serious, will he answer with something devastating?
I clutch the purse on my lap and wish Felicia really had called me. She felt like a real friend, even though she knew only the lie. Maybe she would like me just as much, or even more, if she knew who I really was. Her subversive edge has always made her seem like she’d want a double life of her own as a spy or a crime fighter or a superhero. We usually talk every day about kids, television, our husbands, and neighborhood gossip, an ongoing conversation that fills the gaps between the face suburbia shows and the truth that runs beneath it all.
Sometimes I drive entire days with Emma’s music blasting from my speakers, but Andrew must find the cheery voices grating. With a little too much force, he punches the button for the radio, and NPR comes on. He doesn’t want to talk to me either. That could mean he hasn’t decided what to do about our marriage. Or it could mean he knows, and this isn’t the right time to discuss it.
I squeeze my eyes shut, as if I could wish myself back just twenty-four hours to a happy, safe life. Instead I hear the Morning Edition host say:
“In breaking news, we have just learned that Zoe Hallett—the sister of missing New York Times best-selling author Ava Hallett—and Glenn Melcher, the author’s husband, have been named as persons of interest in her disappearance. In an additional twist worthy of the novelist herself, Zoe’s exact whereabouts have been unknown for at least three years, although her parents report phone contact as recently as last month.”
My heart rate skyrockets, and I taste sour acid in my mouth. Andrew veers a little too close to a parked car and pulls back into our lane with a jolt. “Don’t panic.” I can’t tell if he is talking to himself or to me. “There was no way you could be involved. You were here with Emma.”
He is definitely trying to reassure himself. He was out of town until Tuesday. Ava’s been missing since Monday. And that was the day Emma and I stayed home. She had one of those inexplicable high fevers small children sometimes get, and she spent the day cuddled next to me, drooping and damp with sweat, while I coaxed her to sip iced apple juice and we watched Dora the Explorer together.
Could anyone verify that I was in Texas that day? Felicia called to see if we were all right, but she didn’t see us in person. Surely if we traveled, there would be some kind of record. Or they could check the cell phone towers or something. And no one would stage a major crime with a four-year-old in tow.
“It has to be a mistake,” I offer.
“Why would they think you were involved with this Glenn person?” Andrew frowns at the road, and I wish he would pull over and look at me, really see me. I know he means involved with Glenn in Ava’s disappearance, but I already feel a flush rising to my face.
No more lies. Lies are what landed me in this mess in the first place. I take a deep breath, or try to, but all I can think about is how I’m about to add another nail to the coffin of my marriage.
Maybe I can shrug this off as a misunderstanding? But that’s crazy. Andrew’s going to find out anyway. I can do this. I have to. I press a hand against my stomach as if I can force the truth up and out of my mouth. “Before he and Ava were married, when they weren’t even together, he and I … we dated. For a couple weeks.” Ten weeks. Almost a whole summer. I thought it would be a lifetime, but then he went back to her. I watch Andrew’s face, wishing Glenn and I had lived our happily-ever-after or that Glenn had never existed and I really could be the true love Andrew deserves. Instead I’m not good enough for either of them.