Haley pressed her hands against the door to the café. The ice-cold glass felt like relief, and she shoved it forward and stepped inside. Smart-looking people chattered and unwrapped muffins from eco-friendly paper shells. An espresso machine hissed and made Haley startle. “Over here!” Josie called to her, pulling out a chair. Josie was glossy and beautiful, just like Emma used to be. Her blond hair rolled in waves over her shoulders, and her sparkling blue eyes were the color of pool water. Her skin was smooth and olive, a shade darker than most other blonds, and it made her look so healthy and alive, and like it was the middle of summer instead of freezing January. Haley sat quickly—it was a good way to avoid having to shake hands and get germs—and yanked off her knit cap. “Is this one mine?” she asked, gesturing to an untouched coffee on the table.
“All yours,” Noah said. His light, thick hair was mussed from the wind. He, too, was rather good looking, and seeing them together was a little comical: they looked like they belonged in Hollywood, not inside an East Coast coffee shop discussing real estate. It had been like this when they were in college, too; the two of them were gorgeous and vibrant when most of the students looked tired and puffy. Even Emma had lavender half-moons beneath her eyes in those weeks before she disappeared. Josie had twice pointed that out to Haley back then, growing agitated when she tried to tell Haley how worried she was about Emma, but Haley was still so young that she had no idea what to do with something like that. Why hadn’t Josie told a real adult?
Noah smiled at Haley now, and she thought back to when she was only sixteen and meeting him for the first time in the student center and feeling immediately flushed and nervous the way you do when you’re that age. Haley and her family lived only five miles from campus, so she often saw Emma, Josie, and Noah. Every time Emma and Josie would pull into the driveway to pick her up for coffee she’d go itchy with excitement, desperate to be out of her mother’s sight and in the worn leather back seat of Josie’s car. Josie would regale them with some story, usually about a guy and a hookup, which felt as scandalous a thing as Haley could imagine. She’d never seen a female friendship like theirs, and the thrill she felt to be included was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. It was like the three of them hovered on the precipice of something dangerous, like anything could happen at any moment, and whatever it was would be more exciting than the life Haley had known. And then Emma disappeared, and everything felt wrong, as though all the things they’d ever done together had led to tragedy.
A barista called out a drink order, and Haley tried to pull herself from her thoughts. She thanked Josie and Noah for the coffee and took a sip, forcing a smile as they watched her. She wanted to ask whether they’d had a recent phone call from Detective Rappaport, but she didn’t usually bring up anything having to do with Emma. Josie and Noah had lost so much, too, when Emma disappeared, even if they dealt with it in different ways: Josie ditching her art degree and getting therapy and then her real estate license, and Noah taking a few drug-fueled years off in Australia, trying to party hard enough to forget everything that had happened, until his parents demanded he come back. Noah’s dad had a major company in New York City that he’d always expected Noah to take over, and apparently Noah was a complete failure in his eyes for becoming a real estate agent. Josie said Noah’s parents barely spoke to him now. Haley couldn’t imagine ever letting go of a family member over something as unimportant as a career choice. But maybe people who did things like that didn’t understand real loss.
Noah cleared his throat. “Ready to find your dream home?” he asked, and then he winked as though he were being ironic, like he didn’t take this too seriously and neither should Haley. “You’re gonna see so many beautiful properties this weekend,” he went on, warm and casual, like a surfer talking about ocean waves.
“Noah’s right,” Josie said, and the sunny lilt in her voice made Haley realize Josie wasn’t going to mention anything having to do with Emma or police stations. If Josie employed a tactic to cope with Emma’s death, it seemed to be perfectionism, from her manners to the appropriateness of what she talked about. Haley watched as Josie reached into a butter-colored leather bag and retrieved a handful of brochures. All the fancier homes seemed to have them. “The first is a smart contemporary, set on two acres, but it might be too close to a main road for Dean’s liking.” Her voice was high and soft around the edges, and Haley considered the possibility that maybe Josie had just grown up, and this vanilla version of the person she’d been in college had nothing to do with Emma’s death.
“Right, probably too close to the main road,” Haley said, averting her eyes from the picture of the hulking gray-blue contemporary, and from Noah and Josie, too. She glanced around the coffee shop, at the stark white walls covered with an exhibit of oil paintings, mostly landscapes filled with black water and mossy lily pads. Astronomical prices were pinned on tags beneath each one.
“This one’s right near town,” Noah started, about to hand over a brochure for a house she recognized.
Haley shook her head to stop him. “That’s the Lamberts’ house,” she said. Her eyes flickered to Josie, and she tried to discern if the name meant anything to her, but Josie’s face was blank. “Emma dated their son, Frank, in high school.”
There, she’d done it. She’d mentioned her sister by name. Color drained from Josie’s face, and Noah’s professional smile faded. They all stared at each other until Noah said, “I’m sorry, Haley,” and carefully put the brochure back into Josie’s bag. His smile came back, but it was gentle now, kind even. Haley swallowed over the hard lump in her throat. “It’s okay,” she said. “How could you have known?”
Noah was quiet. Josie sniffed, looking down at her hands. She shook her head, then raised her eyes to meet Haley’s. “I’m sorry, too,” she said. Noah’s chair creaked as he shifted his weight, and the moment passed.
“Do you want to take a peek at this one?” Josie asked carefully, pushing a brochure across the tiny round table. Her real estate speak was softer than Noah’s . . . take a peek . . . so completely nonthreatening, so devoid of what was really happening here, which was Haley choosing a life for herself and Dean: a house that might hold a family. It was paralyzing to think of the enormity of it. Did other people feel that way? Like one choice could set off a chain reaction that spiraled completely out of their control?
Noah nodded encouragingly at the brochure. “You’ll see the kind of property Dean’s looking for,” he said.
“Four acres of land,” Josie said. She unbelted her khaki trench, graceful as she slipped out of it and hung it on the back of her chair. “Hot in here,” she said.
Haley felt their stares like a hand on her skin. She tucked her head and studied the cover photo showing a classic-looking colonial with green shutters. Her fingernails were covered in chipped silver polish, and she felt self-conscious about them as she unfolded the brochure to check out the photographs inside: a pristine white kitchen with a navy La Cornue stove and gleaming silver pots hanging above a marble island, a stone path leading beneath a trellis twined with greenery into a rose garden, and a glistening saltwater pool. Dean made enough money that they could afford the house, but could someone who wore Vans and chipped nail polish really live in a palace like this? Who was she kidding?