The water on the stove boiled over, hissing and spitting against the hot burners. Emily rushed to dial it down, pushing the pot to the side with an oven mitt. Then she checked the green beans and groaned. They were burnt to a crisp. She flipped off her oven mitts.
“That’s it,” she said, swinging the mitts in our direction. “This conversation is over. Bill, Bridget is worried about Holly, just like us, which means she’s probably going to stick around for a while. Deal with it. As for you, Bridget, I want absolute cooperation. No funny business. No sarcastic cracks.”
“You got it,” I said.
“But—” Bill began.
“No.” Emily stirred the pasta sauce, scraping burnt bits off the bottom of the pan. “I won’t have the two of you butting heads like stubborn donkeys. We’re all adults now, and we’re going to handle this like adults.”
“So can I see Holly’s room then?” I asked.
Emily glanced at Bill, who shook his head a fraction of an inch to either side. Emily turned off the heat to the stove and came around to my side of the counter. “Bridget, I think it’s best if we let everyone cool off first. The last few days have been stressful for all of us.”
I let her guide me to the door, recognizing defeat.“All right. Maybe tomorrow then?”
“We’ll see. Do you have a number we can contact you at?”
“I don’t have a phone,” I replied. “But I’m staying at the motel in town. You can reach me there.”
“Perfect,” Emily said, smiling as she ushered me through the door. “We’ll be in touch.”
And then I was out on the porch again, where a chicken clucked by and pecked at my shoes. I sighed and started down the long driveway. Halfway to the street, bike gears whizzed behind me. I whirled around just in time to evade Ryan’s wild ride. He spun the bike to a stop, showering me with dirt.
“Oh, shit. Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I shook off the loose mud. “What’s up, Ryan?”
His eyebrows shot up. “You remembered my name?”
“It’s not a hard one to forget,” I assured him. “I assume you Evel Knievel’ed out here for a reason?”
“Yeah!” He looked over his shoulder at the house, a sign that Bill and Emily weren’t aware of his escapade. “Listen, Holly was a total bitch to me sometimes—” I gave him a look. “—Okay, she isn’t a bitch. I’m just annoying. But the point is, I really like Holly, and I don’t want anything bad to happen to her, and I figure her sister probably knows how to find her better than the cops do, so—”
I held up a hand. “Dude. Relax. Take a breath and get to the point.”
He squeezed the hand brakes on the bike repeatedly. “Well, I get home around three-thirty on Tuesdays because I don’t have band practice, and Bill and Emily don’t get home until six-ish, so if you really want to see Holly’s room—because you know Bill is never going to let you up there—then you can come by tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll let you in.”
“You’re going to let me in?” I repeated.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t even know me. I could be a grifter.”
“I don’t think you’re a grifter,” Ryan said. “Besides, it’s not like I’m showing you where Bill and Emily hide their valuables.”
“Fair point,” I replied. “All right, Ryan. I’m in. See you tomorrow.”
“Sweet.”
And then he was gone, tearing through the dirt on the rear wheel of his bike.
In town, I walked past the motel and headed to the main strip, where the locals were ringing in the crisp evening with a few beers at The Pit. The sports bar had gotten a paint job. The old green walls were freshly covered with Belle Dame High’s vibrant colors. Other than that, the restaurant was the same as it had been when I had left. As I sat at the bar, I recognized a few of the regulars, Belle Dame alumni who kept up with all aspects of the high school athletics. Our town was small, but the Wolfpack was known as one of the best football teams in the state, and I knew firsthand about the success of our fastpitch team. The bartender—a curvy, college-aged girl in a tight black T-shirt—set a drink napkin in front of me.
“What’ll it be?”
“Bourbon, rocks. Thanks.”
She poured the drink and slid the glass over, squinting at me. “You look familiar.”
“I’m the missing girl’s sister.”
“Ah, right.”
She sidled off to wipe down the opposite end of the bar, striking up a conversation with another customer. I nursed my drink, staring blankly at a Tar Heels game on the television above the row of booze bottles. Belle Dame felt stale already.
“Bridget? Bridget Dubois?”
I swiveled my stool around to meet the hazel eyes of a tall guy with neat dark hair. It took me a second to recognize him. Emmett Marks had filled out. What was once lanky teenage muscle had morphed into impressive adult bulk, the swell of his shoulders indicative of a close and loving relationship with protein powder. He looked good, better than he had in high school, and I made the mistake of glancing all the way down his body before catching his eyes again. He smirked, showing off his dimples.
“Hey, Emmett,” I said.
“Damn, it’s really you.” He picked me right off of my seat and whirled us around in a showy hug. I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Put me down, you oaf!”
He set me next to the bar then settled in on the stool next to mine, waving the bartender down for a beer. “Sorry. God, I can’t believe you’re here! What’s going on? How are you? What are you doing back in Belle Dame?”
“Haven’t you heard?” I asked him. “Everyone else has. Holly’s missing.”
He sputtered over the lip of his beer bottle and wiped his mouth. “What? Holly’s gone?”
“You should probably take a break from the gym and turn on the local news every once in a while.” I smacked his muscled chest with the back of my hand. “She disappeared last week.”
Emmett’s dimples vanished. “I had no idea. I’m really sorry, Bee.”
I drained my glass, savoring the subtle burn in my throat. “Thanks. Anyway, I’m back for her. I figured—I don’t know—” I sat the glass down on the bar top with more force than intended. “Actually, I don’t know what the hell to do. I haven’t seen Holly in years. I don’t even really know her anymore. What kind of healthy sibling relationship is based on FaceTime calls and postcards?”
“Easy, Bee.” Emmett’s broad shadow built a protective cave of privacy around us as he comforted me over the bar top. After all these years, he still wore the same body spray. “I’m sure the police will find her.”
“Bill and Emily won’t even let me into her room,” I mumbled, tipping the glass side to side so that the ice cubes clinked against each other.
“Man, you had the nerve to visit the Millers?”
“Yeah, Bill tried to kill me, so it was all in good fun.”
His chuckle echoed low and deep in his throat like the bass end of a vibraphone. “To be fair, the day you left town was also the day after Emily bailed you out of jail for arson.”
I flicked his earlobe. “She bailed you out too, remember?”
He grabbed my finger and grinned, and I noticed that his braces from middle school had paid off. “I sure do. Those were the days. You and me. Junior year was so fun. I wished you’d stuck around long enough for us to be seniors together.”
“I was a little busy dropping out of high school to become a juvenile delinquent,” I replied. “And mourning my parents.”
“Yeah, that was rough.”
The door to The Pit swung open, bathing the dark bar in the last of the fading sunlight. The evening was starting to pick up. Conversation swelled and ebbed while overlapping referee calls emanated from the televisions. Another bartender joined the first to pick up the extra business, and servers carried mouth-watering baskets of wings, fries, and pickles from the kitchen. Without being asked, the bartender brought me another drink.
; “I have an idea.” Emmett raised his bottle. “For one night, just tonight, you’re allowed to forget about all the shit that’s happened in this town before now. No dead parents, no old trouble, no missing sister. We drink, we have fun, and I promise to get you home safe. Tomorrow, you can start fresh. Deal?”
I considered his offer then tapped my glass against his beer. “Fine. But just so you know, I can still drink you under the table.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
The night wore on. I switched to beer after my third bourbon as the dim lights in the bar turned hazy. Emmett and I played pool, betting on the outcome. I let him win the first time, challenged him to double or nothing, and kicked his ass in the second round. Then we played darts. Three games in, the bartender told us to sit down. Apparently, our tipsy throwing style was hazardous to the other patrons.
Laughing, we returned to the bar, where I ordered waters for the both of us. After an ill-fated night with a bottle of tequila in Mexico City, I had learned the importance of hydration. Hangovers weren’t my thing, and it wouldn’t impress Bill and Emily if I showed up at their house smelling like alcohol.
“I miss this,” Emmett said, unwrapping a straw and plunking it into my cup for me. “You should stick around for a while.”
I took a long sip. The icy rush flushed the stale taste of beer from my mouth. “I’ll be here until we find Holly, however long that is.”
“Really?”
He was close, those dimples flashing. I nodded. He leaned in. I tilted my chin up. Our lips brushed. My head swam in a way that had nothing to do with his proximity.
I pulled away and pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to regain my sense of reality. The noise of the bar flitted in and out like a poorly tuned radio. On the other channel, the one in my mind, I heard garbled voices and the piteous churn of a neglected appliance.
“You okay?” Emmett asked, peeling my fingers from my face.
“Yeah.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Yeah, I just need the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
I slid off the stool and wove through the crowd. The single stall bathroom was hidden behind the kitchen, and thankfully, there was no line to use it. I slipped inside, locked the door, and leaned over the chipped porcelain sink.
My ears hummed in the sudden silence, adjusting from the noise of the bar. In the other dimension, the machinery whirred on, as did the murmured voices, muddied as if they were coming from the next room over. I pulled deep breaths through my nose, filling up my lungs. My head floated, connected to the rest of my body in structure but not in spirit. I grasped my neck with both hands, as if to make sure the top of my spine was still attached to the base of my skull. My fingers crept along my jawline, down my throat, to my collarbone. I pressed hard.
The pain knitted me back together. My head slammed onto my shoulders like a snapped rubber band, and my reflection came into focus in the mirror. My hair hung limply around my face. I was sweating and breathing hard, but the peculiar sensation of being in two places at once had, to my immense relief, faded out. I turned on the tap and splashed my face with cold water, then rested my head in my hands, waiting for my pulse to slow down. Was this what a panic attack felt like?
I returned to the bar with a clearer head and my hair tied up. Through the crowd, I spotted the top of Emmett’s head. He kept glancing toward the bathroom, keeping check of my progress. When I caught his eye, I waved to let him know I was okay. He waved back. Then, another guy stepped into my path. He was older, in his mid-thirties maybe, and I didn’t know him from around town. In the background, Emmett’s grin fell off his lips.
“Hey,” the guy said, smirking. “I’m Brett. I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you new in town?”
“Nope, I’m the local prodigal daughter. Excuse me.”
I tried to dip around the all-too-friendly Brett, but he slipped a hand across my stomach, holding me in place. “Can I get you a drink?”
I took his hand by the thumb and removed it from my abdomen. “No, thanks.”
He dogged me as I weaved away. “Aw, come on. One drink. I promise I’ll leave you alone after that.”
“How about you leave me alone right now?”
“Hey.” His fingers closed around my upper arm, squeezing hard. “You don’t have to be such a bitch about it.”
“Let go of me.”
He dragged me closer. “Not until you let me buy you a drink.”
My wrists were locked in his grip, but my legs weren’t. I jabbed my knee upward, catching the inside of his thigh where I knew there was a major pressure point, and his leg buckled beneath him. He yelled, releasing his grip on me to tend to the spasming muscle.
“I warned you to let go,” I said.
Brett glared at me, favoring his other leg. “You really—”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Out of nowhere, a fist slammed into Brett’s nose, followed closely by the rest of Emmett’s brawn.
“Jesus! Emmett, don’t!”
Brett cupped his bleeding nose. “What the hell, man?”
Emmett lifted Brett up by his shirt collar. “If you ever touch her again—”
I grabbed the back of Emmett’s shirt, trying to pull him away. “Emmett, come on. It’s not worth it.”
But Brett, not to be outdone, arched his head back and slammed it against Emmett’s. The two of them stumbled apart, only to lurch toward each other again for another round. A ring cleared as the other patrons rescued their drinks and retreated from the violence. The bartenders yelled at the boys to break it up, but it fell on deaf ears. On his next pass, I seized Emmett’s belt loop and tried to yank him away from Brett. He didn’t even feel it, and when he drew his arm back to land another punch, he slammed his elbow into my eye. Colors burst in my vision as I lost my balance, falling against a bar stool and onto the sticky floor.
“Okay, gentlemen. That’s enough!”
Two uniformed cops, a man and a woman, pushed through the crowd. The man stepped between Emmett and Brett, who stopped fighting as soon as the bar lights reflected against the cop’s shiny badge. The woman, a tall redhead with warm brown eyes, scooped me up from the floor.
“You all right?” she asked, looping my arm around her shoulder.
“Yeah.”
As she led me from the bar, Emmett called out, “Bridget, wait!”
“I don’t think so, buddy,” the other cop said, clapping Emmett on the shoulder. “We’re going to have a talk.”
A squad car was parked on the curb, red and blue lights flashing. The redhead leaned me against the hood and checked the state of my eye.
“That’s gonna bruise,” she said, with just a hint of that North Carolina twang. “You need a ride somewhere?”
The idea of climbing into the back seat of a cop car turned the bourbon and beer in my stomach. “No, I’ll be okay.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m staying at the motel. It’s only a couple blocks from here.”
“All right.”
I slid off the car, waved to her in thanks, and continued up the sidewalk, grateful for the warm orange glow of the overhead streetlights. She stayed there, outside the bar, but when I made it back to my room and glanced through the blinds, I saw the dark squad car cruise through the motel parking lot.
Chapter Six - Dead Ends
The switch from Thailand to North Carolina had left my internal time clock in disarray. The morning felt like evening, and I was ready to eat dinner instead of breakfast. I gargled mouthwash in the motel’s small bathroom and spat, rinsing the bitter taste of last night’s bender from my tongue, and watched the minty blue froth circle the drain. Then I rinsed my face and looked into the mirror.
The moment in The Pit’s bathroom came back to me. The lightheadedness—the disconnect between my mind and body—wasn’t something I’d experienced before, and the unnatural sensation wasn’t brought on by a mixture of bourbon and beer. It was deeper than that. Instinctual, almost. Like my
brain had attempted to input too much information at one time and ended up short-circuiting.
A flash of blue glittered in my reflection. I blinked and leaned closer to the mirror, examining my iris. Holly and I had the same hair, face, and figure, but while Holly had inherited my mother’s pretty sapphire eyes, I had received my father’s darker brown ones. It was the one detail that set us apart. That and the nine years between us. For a split second, I could’ve sworn that it was Holly’s eyes in the mirror instead of mine.
“You’re finally losing it,” I muttered. I pressed the motel’s towel against my face, savoring the dark safety of the terry cloth, and inhaled. The fabric suctioned against my nose and mouth. I yanked it away and threw the towel to the floor.
After a shower to rinse off the remainder of last night, I rifled through my meager set of belongings. A pair of jeans, one sweatshirt, a couple of threadbare T-shirts, three pairs of cargo shorts, the flannel that Autumn hated so much, and my little wallet. I picked up the wallet and flipped it open. It was full of folded Thai baht bills, useless here in Belle Dame. My credit card peeked out of a pocket. It looked brand new. I couldn’t remember the last time I managed my bank accounts. The only time I ever accessed them was to book flights. As much as I liked to pretend that I lived off of whatever petty cash I made during my travels, that wasn’t the case. My checking account housed Mom and Dad’s liquidized assets, and though the Dubois family was a firm staple in the lower end of middle class, it was enough for one person to live modestly off of for several years. If I was staying in Belle Dame for longer than a couple of days, I would need clothes that didn’t make me look like a drifter.
The North Carolina sun made the spring morning hot and humid. I flipped my sunglasses on, ignoring the leftover ache between my eyes, and walked into town. Autumn’s boutique was nearby. I could drop in to see her and ask her to dress me. It had been a while since I picked out clothes for style rather than comfort.
Halfway there, I spotted the local police station and walked in willingly. The rush of air conditioning and stiff scent of polyester uniforms brought back a flood of memories. I’d lost count of how many times I’d been picked up and dropped off at this station for one miscreant deed or another. I was so angry then, like my parents’ deaths had flipped a switch in me that turned off rational thought, and I took out all of my aggressive energy by turning into a cultural cliché. It was one of the reasons I’d left Belle Dame; I couldn’t look myself in the eye anymore.
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