by Brenda Novak
Sloane felt weak in the knees, but she couldn’t sit down because Micah was standing there, listening in. She tried to overcome the sensation. “So my father was right. Something was up.”
“He’s mentioned me to you?”
“No. You were what my parents were fighting about the night she disappeared. I heard them.”
He muttered something that sounded like a curse. Then he said, “That makes me feel terrible. I never wanted to make her life any harder. You have to understand, she was so lonely, so miserable. She and your father had drifted apart. They couldn’t get along, fought all the time. She wanted to leave him, but he wouldn’t let her go. She told me if she left without his agreement, he’d make sure she did it with nothing—including you and your brother—but she refused to give up her kids.”
“She stayed with him because she didn’t want to leave us.” A flash of happiness zipped through her. That confirmed what she’d always felt in her heart, that her mother wouldn’t simply abandon her.
“She felt trapped, as though there was no way out,” he explained. “And the worst part? She claimed he didn’t love her. That he was only trying to save face. She said he had so much pride he’d be ‘embarrassed’ for people to know his wife had walked out on him. When I met her, she was trying to make things work but was hoping he’d realize that they’d both be happier in a different situation.”
“Was she expecting to...to be with you at some point?”
“That might’ve been a secret wish. When you get involved in something like...like what happened between us, you aren’t thinking logically. I merely offered your mother my friendship, a shoulder to cry on, that sort of thing. There was no ill intent. The sexual interest came later, after I began to care about her in a...a different way.”
Sloane could smell Micah’s cologne. She could also feel the heat of his body. As sick as she felt, it was hard not to lean into him. “And you believe she had feelings for you, too.”
“I do.”
“But it never turned into a full-blown affair.”
“She disappeared before that could happen.”
“Does your wife know?”
“I told her after Clara went missing. I was wondering what’d happened to her, was worried about her, couldn’t let it go. It really tore me up. She could tell I wasn’t myself.”
Micah covered the phone with his hand, pushing it away from her mouth while he whispered in her ear. “Ask him if he ever went to the police.”
“Did you go to the police?” she asked when Micah let go.
Judd seemed taken aback. “About what?”
“About the fact that you knew my parents were having marital problems. That they were fighting. That my mother wanted out.”
“No. Why would I?”
“Because she disappeared, and that means... Well, it could mean...”
“That your father was responsible?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
“A lot of couples have problems, Sloane. Leaving is getting out, too.”
“You believe she ran off, even though she told you she would never leave me and my brother.”
“People can be pushed only so far. She was sort of fatalistic about her situation, if that makes sense. I assumed... I assumed that aspect caused her to give up and go somewhere else to start over.”
“And when the days and months passed and you didn’t hear from her?”
“I did hear from her. Or so I thought.”
Sloane felt her jaw drop. “What?”
“I received several calls late at night from an unknown number. I thought it was her, trying to work up the nerve to talk to me, or that she was at least letting me know she was okay.”
“How long did that go on?”
“For several months.”
“But you never actually spoke to her, never received any proof she was alive.”
“No.”
“And you never wondered if my father could’ve harmed her?”
“It crossed my mind,” he admitted. “But I had no real reason to suspect him. I couldn’t tell the police anything that might shed any light on the situation—other than that they were unhappy as a couple, and she would be unlikely to leave her children. And if I did that, if I caused a fuss and demanded an investigation, my own wife and family would be embarrassed at a time when I was fighting to save my marriage. After I confessed my feelings for your mother to my wife, I couldn’t keep going back to that relationship. I just...tried to move on.”
So, in the end, he hadn’t stood by Clara, either. He’d let her go like everyone else.
“Ask him how your father knew about the two of them,” Micah whispered and, once again, Sloane repeated what he said to Judd. She probably would’ve gotten around to asking that question herself. She was curious about the answer. But Micah was thinking rationally, objectively, while she was trying to cope with what she was hearing. The more she learned, the more she couldn’t believe that the police had never taken a serious look at her mother’s case.
“He caught her talking to me once, on the phone.”
“And that gave you both away? She couldn’t have pretended it was about me?”
“It was too late for a call from a teacher. Besides, who can say how much he overheard?”
Sloane started digging at her cuticle again, but this time Micah stopped her immediately. “So you’d talked on the phone before. That’s why you thought it was her calling after she disappeared.”
“Yes. Cell phones weren’t as common back then, so I’d given her my home number in case she ever needed help. Your father made her so...upset, uneasy, worried.”
“Would you say she was also frightened?”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far.”
Because he’d feel responsible for not doing more to help her?
“I was merely trying to assure her that someone cared, I guess,” he said. “That she had someone she could reach out to, if it came to that.”
Sloane hated the thought of her mother, desperate and crying, pinning her hopes on a man who was married to someone else and couldn’t do much. “Did she call you the night she went missing?”
“She might have. The phone rang that night, late. But before I could get to it, whoever it was had hung up.”
“You don’t know who it was.”
“Caller ID said unknown number and the person left no message. But she wouldn’t call me without blocking her number, and she sure as heck wouldn’t leave a message. That’s why I believed those other calls—the ones that came after—were her, too.”
Sloane switched the phone to her other ear and turned so that Micah could still hear. “Did you try to call her back?”
“I didn’t. I was afraid I’d only get her in trouble. Even if I blocked my number, your father would’ve known it was me because...because of the previous time, when he caught us talking.”
“So what do you think happened to her?”
There was another long pause.
“Mr. Judd?”
“I have no idea. I’d hate to even venture a guess.”
He seemed to avoid all the truly difficult questions.
“Do you believe she left?” Sloane pressed. “Moved away? If so, you should know that she’s never reached out to me, ever. Not even after I graduated and left Millcreek. And not after all the success I had in my career. Wouldn’t you expect that seeing me on the cover of a major magazine would draw her out even if nothing else could? If she was alive, I mean.”
“I believe she would’ve reached out long before you appeared on the cover of any magazine. If she could. She loved you a great deal.”
Sloane didn’t realize she had tears streaming down her cheeks until Micah went to the bathroom and returned with some toilet paper. There was an emptiness inside her she’d carried around ever since her mo
ther went missing. She looked and sounded normal, but she felt like the walking wounded. She was now an adult, had accomplished a great deal in a difficult industry, but none of that could make her whole. She craved Clara’s smile, her smell, her touch, almost as if she were still a child, and it was that craving, more than justice, that had drawn her back to Millcreek. With Clyde gone, she simply couldn’t continue to ignore that a piece of her was missing.
“Sorry, I don’t have any tissues,” Micah mumbled.
That didn’t surprise her with so much of his stuff still in boxes.
Embarrassed by her emotional reaction, she turned away to wipe her face.
“Are you okay?” Judd asked.
He’d been talking, but she’d quit responding, hadn’t even been listening. She’d been caught up in the memory of her mother’s gentle touch, the sound of her laughter and the warmth of her loving embrace—and how jarring and traumatic the night Clara went missing had been. How many nights since then had she lain awake going over and over everything that’d happened? Sometimes her father would be in another room, talking on the phone or moving about the house doing whatever, and she’d wonder if he was really the man he pretended to be.
“I’m fine.” She walked several steps away from Micah, keeping her back to him so that she could pull herself together without having to do so under his watchful eye.
“So...what’s going on?” Mr. Judd asked. “Why are you calling me now, after so long? Is there some sort of official investigation or—”
“Nothing official. So far, it’s just me, trying to find my mother. I’m not sure why it took me so long to begin this search, except that my father is a formidable enemy and looking for my mother means completely alienating him.”
“You’re in a very difficult situation. I’m sorry for that, but I hope you’re able to find her.”
“If she’s alive...”
“It must be terrible to consider all the possibilities.”
She grappled with tears again but managed to swallow the lump in her throat. “It’s time someone did.”
There was another long pause, which made her believe he was wrestling with his own emotions. “You’re right.”
“Let me know if you remember anything else—anything my mother said or did—that might be significant.”
“I will.”
She disconnected and turned to see Micah leaning against the wall with his arms folded. “So? What do you think?” she asked, but he didn’t seem to be analyzing what he’d heard. His expression wasn’t thoughtful or absorbed—it was more of a dark scowl. Why? Was he angry he’d had her come over, brought this shit back into his life?
He seemed to be searching for what he wanted to say, for the right words to express something, and that made her uneasy. After dredging up so much pain from her past, she felt raw, couldn’t tolerate hearing him accuse her of leaning on him when she’d let him down so badly before—if that was where this was going.
“I’m sorry,” she said, jumping in before that conversation could even get started. “It was never my intent to draw you into this mess. And don’t worry. I won’t bother you again. You’ve done enough. Getting me the contact information for so many people, and coaching me on how to approach them, has been a huge help.” She hurried over to the table and started shutting down her computer. “That’s all I needed.”
“You’re packing up?”
“Of course. I didn’t mean to stay this long. I’m ready to go back to the motel and let you get on with...with whatever you have planned for this evening.”
He shoved off the wall and jammed his large hands in the front pockets of his jeans as he walked slowly, almost reluctantly, toward her. “Sloane, I’m the one who owes you an apology.”
She froze as he stopped a few feet from the table. “For what?”
“For being so angry with you. For how I’ve treated you since you’ve been back.”
“You haven’t done anything.” She put her laptop into her big leather bag. “I know it’s difficult to have me in town after what I did.”
“That’s just it. You have as much right to be here as any of the rest of us. I was just being immature and selfish, looking at the situation only from my own perspective.”
She slid her purse into her leather bag, too. “It’s okay. You’ve always had parents you could love, admire and trust. It would be difficult to imagine growing up without that.”
He moved a step closer. “Don’t be so easy on me.”
“Because...” For a second he seemed like the old Micah, the boy she’d loved. “Micah?”
“Never mind.” He pulled out his keys. “We shouldn’t be having this conversation. I’ll take you back to the motel.”
She wanted to tell him how much she’d missed him. That she would’ve stayed in touch if she could’ve handled that along with everything else she was going through. But she couldn’t. That first year away from home had been the most difficult of her life—had encompassed so many big decisions and changes—but she didn’t have a better excuse than the one she’d already offered him.
Time seemed to stand still as they stared at each other. She thought she saw a flicker of some softer emotion in his eyes. Was it regret? She felt something, too, but she refused to categorize it. She didn’t dare even acknowledge it for fear she’d wind up going against her better judgment.
“I shouldn’t have made love with you before I left,” she finally said. “That had to have been confusing. But I didn’t do it to...to take something from you I shouldn’t have. I wanted you to be my first—to at least be able to keep, and treasure, the memory.”
“God, Sloane,” he said, but she didn’t get to hear what he was about to say next. The door opened and Trevor came running in, yelling, “Dad!”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Trevor skidded to a stop at the edge of the dining room the minute he saw Sloane. “Oh. I didn’t know you were here,” he said.
Micah’s heart jumped into his throat. “Trevor, did you try to call me?” He hadn’t had any plans to see his son tonight. Paige was usually more protective of her time with Trevor than she’d been this week. She had something Micah wanted and she loved being the gatekeeper, the one in charge. It made her feel powerful to deny him, to make him comply with her wishes. But Micah tried not to focus on the way she used their son as a weapon against him. If he allowed himself to resent her too much, they wouldn’t be able to get along, and they had to get along. He was determined to keep life pleasant for Trevor.
Trevor yanked his gaze away from Sloane. This was the first time he’d ever seen another woman in Micah’s house, and, of course, it would have to be Sloane. Trevor had to be thinking that all the bullshit he’d heard his mother spout off about Sloane—about them—had to be true. “Yeah. Mom called from the car,” he said. “You didn’t pick up.”
Sloane seemed nervous as she licked her lips. Obviously, she understood what this would mean. “Could your phone be dead?”
“It’s possible.” Micah didn’t have time to look for it right now. Hoping to avoid a scene in which Paige went off about how she’d known all along that he still had a thing for Sloane, he started for the door. “Where’s your mom?” he asked his son over his shoulder.
He was hoping to hear that Paige had already driven off, but Trevor didn’t have a chance to answer before Micah saw his ex coming up the walkway. Of course she hadn’t left. She would never forego an opportunity to see him. Especially right after he moved out, he’d “bumped” into her almost everywhere. She drove by his house, frequented the places he liked to go, that sort of thing.
“What’s going on?” he asked her.
When Trevor came to the door, too, Micah put a hand on his shoulder so he’d stay put and couldn’t go back to the kitchen where Sloane was. Paige couldn’t see Sloane from where she stood, so if Trevor would only hold his sil
ence, Micah felt he might be able to get out of this.
“I have a dinner date,” Paige said. “Can you take Trevor for a few hours? I tried to call but...”
“I don’t know where my phone is.”
“I figured I could just swing by. You’re always asking for more time with him, so I felt it was safe to assume you wouldn’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.” He squeezed Trevor’s shoulder to make it less obvious that he was trying to keep him in place. “I’ll take him whenever.”
“He hasn’t had dinner yet,” she said. “Sorry about that. I was in a hurry to get ready and didn’t have time to stop anywhere.”
Micah could tell she was hoping the news that she had a date would evoke enough curiosity that he’d ask who she was seeing. But he didn’t care. As long as the guy was a decent human being and would be good to Trevor, he’d been hoping she’d meet someone else. Maybe then she’d forget about him, let him move on without punishing him every time he said or did something that proved he wasn’t coming back.
It was also possible she was lying about having a date. She’d done that sort of thing before—pretended she had other male interest in order to make him jealous. She’d even done it while they were married. Once, she almost got him into a fight with Blake, another guy on the force, at a picnic in the park because she insisted Blake had made a pass at her. It turned out others had seen Blake’s “pass” and it was simply a smile and a wink after telling a joke.
“I can throw some chicken on the grill and steam some broccoli.” Since he’d moved his grill without putting it into any sort of box, it was sitting on the patio, ready to go. He just needed to get the groceries. “What time will you be back?”
“I have no clue. Would it be a problem if it’s late?”
“No. But he has school tomorrow. Maybe he should just stay here rather than wait up.”
“Yeah!” Trevor was excited by the idea, probably because she’d never allowed it before. “Dad can drive me to school in the morning.”
“But what would you wear?” she asked.
“We could stop by your house, with your permission, of course,” Micah quickly added, “and get whatever he needs.”