“Thank you.” Lauren was still staring at the screen.
“For now, let’s close it up.” Dan gently folded the laptop screen. “It’s kind of rude to play with electronics in front of other people.”
“Oh. Okay.”
That caused two of the people at the table to look up from their cell phones.
Rachel swallowed and pushed back her chair. It was her turn. “And I brought these for you. Some of your old sketches.” She picked up a flat plastic bin from under the table and slid it over to Lauren. “I know it’s been a long time, but you used to get so much joy from your sketches. Having seen your amazing artwork inside the cabin at the compound, I know that you’ve really grown as an artist. I thought you might want to go through some of these.”
Lauren peeked into the bin, nodding.
“And just to let you know, there are about a dozen more bins like that in the attic, all filled with your art.”
A few folks at the table chuckled, and Lauren smiled. “I filled eleven sketchpads. Remember that?”
“I do, and we kept every sketch.” Rachel went on to add that her teaching experience would come in handy when it came time to homeschool Lauren. Wasn’t it time to start catching up on some of the education she’d missed? If they worked together over the summer, Lauren could probably attend high school in the fall.
Wynonna agreed that homeschooling was a viable option; however, she wanted to focus on reunification therapy for now. “There are a lot of basic social interactions that are still new to Lauren. Shopping for groceries, going out for a meal, making a simple purchase, or attending a concert or sports event. I think re-immersion will be the focus of our summer.”
“Of course.” Rachel’s pulse was thumping in her ears. Why was she trying so hard? She added that she’d begun a journal when Lauren went missing, detailing every development and discovery. She had also included newspaper clippings about searches and the police investigation. “You’re welcome to take a look, if you ever want to fill in the blanks and see what was happening on our side of the fence.”
Lauren thanked her, but the exchange felt way too polite and distant as Kate began to wrap up the meeting.
“So we’re going to start family therapy ASAP,” Kate said. “I trust you’ve all been looking at your calendars and penciling in some dates?”
It sounded so impersonal, booking a meeting to try and connect with your own daughter.
“We’re on it,” Dan assured Kate.
“And we should schedule a time for Lauren to visit the O’Neil home.” Kate turned to Lauren. “I think that’s a good idea. Familiarize yourself with the surroundings before you make the next big move.”
A visit to the house, . . . Rachel’s heart lifted at the small window of progress that had been flung open. A small window, a welcome gust of fresh air.
Chapter 27
After the meeting, Lauren sat beside Dan O’Neil and followed his instructions for pointing and clicking, filling in boxes with words she wanted to search, and closing things by clicking on the “X” in the corner.
“I remember some of this stuff,” she said, clicking on little symbols he called icons to see what would happen. “I had inputting class in school.”
“No wonder you’re so fast on the keyboard. Funny, what we remember.”
She remembered thinking computers were lame because it was too hard to draw with that little paintbrush on the screen. She remembered wondering why her parents were so interested in their e-mail when they barely cared about the real mail that the postman delivered each day.
Kevin had ranted about computers, complaining that people lived through electronics. “Just climb into the box,” he would grumble, “because that’s where you want to be! Head in your phone! Fingers glued to your damned laptop. Man is losing to the machine!” She didn’t know why he was yelling at her about it. Sometimes she worried he would take the television and the VCR away from her, so she tried not to watch too much when he was around.
Now Dan guided her through setting up an e-mail account of her own, with a password that was to be kept secret.
“So, now your mom and I can send you messages. Check in with you. And you can answer back, if you feel so inclined.”
“Okay. Thank you.” She didn’t know if she would ever use this e-mail thing, but it was nice of him to try and help her.
“That’s it in a nutshell.” Dan patted her shoulder, and she found she didn’t mind. He smelled good, like lemony soap, and his voice was calm but bubbly, as if every word from his mouth was a new discovery. “If you run into any problems, Paula or Bija can help you out. They can help you connect to the wireless at the lake house. So go forth. Have some fun with it.”
It was magic, the way one click of the arrow opened up new boxes with pictures and words. But the way it worked was secondary to the way it could open up whole books of information for her. Dan had moved quickly over the FIND LAUREN Web site, but now she scrolled back to her history to find it again, haunted by those balloons and sad but hopeful faces.
When had the bright balloons been launched? About two weeks ago, Dan had said.
That sounded about right, about the time when she’d spotted a single bright pink balloon floating in the sky. A light breeze had almost blown it into the compound, but it had been swept to the side and lodged in a tree just beyond the fence. Though she’d longed to climb up, extract the balloon, and read the little card dangling from its ribbon, her ankle had been throbbing that day, a reminder of what Kevin would do if he caught her outside the compound again.
It was ironic that one of the balloons had almost reached her. But then, what good was a balloon to a girl locked behind a fence with her captor breathing down her neck? A balloon couldn’t save her. It had been too little, too late.
Lauren had never imagined that you could do therapy outside. On rainy days, she and Wynonna sat in the gazebo with lit candles and talked as rain dripped quietly onto the grass around them. Sunny days found them out on the ranch working with the horses, mirrors of the soul, Wynonna called them. She had learned that from a wise teacher she once had, a man named Buck.
“Horses are sensitive creatures. They pick up on what is bothering us through our body language. I find them really effective as therapists because they don’t hear our lies. If you say something is fine and it’s not, I might accept your answer, but a horse senses the anxiety or depression inside you.”
“Does Yoda know what I’m feeling right now?” Lauren stroked the gray horse’s neck, wondering if that kind, serene eye could really see inside her.
“I think so.”
Lauren gave the horse a good rub, loving him up, as Wynonna called it. With his dappled gray hair, so thin that his skin could sometimes be sunburned, Yoda was not the prettiest horse at Spirit Ranch. Still, Lauren felt a special bond with him. He stood out like a sore thumb among all the other majestic brown horses, just the way she felt that she stood out in a group of normal people. He had been patient and calm when she’d struggled to climb onto him for the first time. And he was so enormous! A giant draft horse with the tenderness of a little mouse.
Yoda was content now, but Wynonna explained that his life had not always been peaceful. As a colt, he had been turned loose down in Arizona, abandoned by an owner who could no longer afford to feed his horses. When a rancher found him wandering the desert with a few other stragglers, he had been thin, dehydrated, and suffering from a rattlesnake bite. The veterinarian had wanted to put him down. Instead, Wynonna, who had been visiting her cousin in Arizona, took him home.
“Even after we got him physically healed, he was always bucking and whinnying,” Wynonna said. “He would let me get close, but he reared up when someone else came near him.”
“Why did he do that?”
“He was afraid. He didn’t understand that we weren’t going to abandon him and make him suffer. He was afraid to trust anyone.”
“But he’s so calm now. I think he trusts me.�
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“He does. He understands how it feels to hurt inside. He’s been there himself.”
Lauren let her hands drop away. How could a horse understand what she’d been through? She folded her arms, closing herself up. If she wanted to, she could clamp shut the door to her soul and keep her own experiences inside. She could keep the misery to herself—and the brief moments of joy, too.
Wynonna turned to her and laughed. “Even I can read that body language. Are you having second thoughts?”
As if he were teaming up with Wynonna, Yoda swung his head toward Lauren and pressed his muzzle against her.
“Hey!” She stumbled back, slightly off balance.
“Told you.” Wynonna’s smile was wide and open, like the Oregon sky. “He won’t let you get away with much. You can try, but you won’t hide your feelings from Yoda.”
Turning back to the horse, Lauren pressed her face into his bristly hair and hugged his neck. “I’m sorry, boy. You really do understand, don’t you?”
His answer was in his relaxed nostrils, his low-hanging neck, his soft, loving gaze.
She took a deep breath and sighed against him. Finally, someone got her.
Chapter 28
“My two-piece is falling apart. Can I get a new one?” Sierra asked as she pushed a red shopping cart down the wide aisle at Target.
“You have half a dozen suits, but Lauren needs one or two for swimming in the lake.” Mom put her hand on Lauren’s shoulder and guided her into the swimsuit section. “Look at that one—pink and purple polka dots. What do you think? Or would you like a halter top?”
With her head propped on the handlebar of the shopping cart, Sierra scowled at them. She couldn’t hear Lauren’s answer because her sister was whispering like a spirit in a ghost movie, but Sierra really didn’t care what kind of suit Lauren got, as long as she could get one, too.
But no, it was Lauren’s day . . . as if that were a national holiday. Already the cart was half full with shorts and jackets and sweats and jeans—all for Lauren. And Sierra? Apparently, she was just here to push the cart.
“When the hell is it going to be Sierra Day?” she muttered under her breath as she scrolled over her cell phone to check her Facebook page. “Oh my God. Mom? Jemma and Lindsay are going tubing on Jemma’s boat. Aren’t we done here? If we leave now, I can go with them.”
“Sierra?” Mom looked up from a rack of bikini bottoms. “We are in the middle of shopping.”
“We got enough. If we leave now, I can go with them. Please, please?”
“Absolutely not. This is a day to spend with your sister.” Annoyance sizzled in her words. “There’ll be plenty of opportunities to go tubing with your friends.”
Biting back tears, Sierra pushed the cart aside and slunk down against a shelf of folded T-shirts. She was close enough to hear Lauren’s soft voice now.
“It’s okay if she wants to go. That’s enough clothes for me.”
Sierra sniffed. Even Lauren was willing to end her misery!
But Mom clamped down again. “Sierra’s fine. Trust me, she’ll forget about tubing and get into the shopping again.”
Oh, no I won’t. I will never forget this.
They moved on to the T-shirts, where Mom found some cool tank tops for Lauren in neon orange and pink. Jealousy swirled as Sierra watched Lauren get anything she wanted. Even the cheap clothes looked good on Lauren’s trim body, while Sierra couldn’t go near tank tops and tight tees. She knew she needed to lose ten pounds—baby fat, she hoped. She could only wear certain styles. No form-fitting tees for her. It was not fair. Yeah, she felt bad about what Lauren had gone through, but look at her now. She was freakin’ gorgeous and skinny.
At the checkout counter, Lauren asked if she could buy some candy bars. Mom said yes, even though everyone knew where they would go. Skinny Lauren wouldn’t eat them. No, she was stockpiling them under her bed at the lake house. Paula had shown Mom the stash and warned her that this was typical behavior for kidnap survivors. Their way of taking back control. Bottom line: No one was supposed to touch Lauren’s stash. But if Sierra tried to take a bowl of chips to her room at home? Yeah, Mom would have a major freak-out. It wasn’t fair.
After they loaded up the car, Sierra figured they would head home. She was texting Jemma that she would be there soon when Mom pulled up to a fancy-looking store with brass sculptures of ducks and horses by the door.
“What is this place?” Sierra asked.
“The Outdoorsman. We’re all going to need some riding gear if we’re going to be doing therapy with horses.”
The delay pained her, but Sierra liked the prospect of getting some new clothes. “Can I get some of those leather pants with fringe?” she asked as she held the heavy glass door for Mom and Lauren.
“They’re called chaps, and no, jeans will be fine. You’re not going to spend the summer rustling cattle.”
“What about a jacket?”
“In June?”
Lauren was holding a western boot with a heel as if it held the key to life inside. It wasn’t really fancy, but since western stuff never went out of style, Sierra would look cool in them, clicking down the corridor at school.
“We need boots,” Sierra said.
Mom paused, frowning down at them. “Yes, we do. I haven’t ridden for twenty years, but I remember that sneakers do not work well in stirrups.”
At last—something she could buy! The salesman was a talkative know-it-all who told Sierra she was putting her boots on wrong. Whatever.
When they finally figured it all out and took the three pairs of boots to the register, the salesman blinked at Mom’s credit cards.
“Rachel O’Neil? I thought you looked familiar.” He smiled as he scanned a box. “I recognized you from television.” He nodded at Lauren. “And your daughter from those flyers, way back when.”
Lauren’s eyes grew wide as she stepped back, knocking into a rack of boot polish.
“Welcome back, Lauren.” The man gave her a little two-finger salute. “You’re a mighty brave girl, with all that you went through.”
“We’re glad to have her back,” Mom said firmly, as if she could will the man not to look at Lauren the ghost.
“So you’re going to do some horseback riding? Whereabouts?” he asked.
“Eastern Oregon,” Mom lied smoothly. “My parents have some land out there.” Lie number two. Sierra understood that no one was supposed to have information about their family activities, but still, it was a little weird the way those lies rolled off Mom’s tongue.
Lauren stood there like a duck in hunting season, just because the guy had recognized her.
And the man kept on yapping about the great happy ending to the kidnapping story. Sierra was getting sick of that. Everyone kept making a fuss over Lauren, acting like she was some kind of hero when she had been living in a shack not far from their neighborhood for six whole years. People acted like she was a total victim . . . but she could have just climbed over the fence and run to the main road. Someone would have called the cops and gotten her home. She had been two miles from home! Why was no one else seeing how ludicrous that was?
Chapter 29
Three days later, Rachel and Sierra cut through the narrow aisle of booths in the Portland Saturday Market amid scents of sausage and peppers mingled with burning incense and marijuana. Rachel pushed back the straw fedora her husband had worn to deejay the school auction and guided Sierra away from a display of glass pipes, bongs, and incense. She figured if the paraphernalia was for sale, the drugs probably were, too. In less than ten minutes at the outdoor marketplace she was reminded of the reasons Mirror Lake moms rarely made the short trip into Portland.
“This is so cool,” Sierra said as she fawned over a field of pinky rings with sparkly colored glass. “Mom, they’re three for ten dollars. Can I get some?”
“Sure.” Rachel dug into the pocket of her jeans for some cash. No purse today. She had dressed in jeans, an old white-collare
d shirt of Dan’s, and a denim jacket, trying her best not to look like a middle-class Mirror Lake mom who usually spent her weekends at soccer games and backyard barbecues.
With only a twinge of guilt that she was using her youngest daughter to make vendors more affable, she handed her daughter the money. Wanting to make amends with Sierra, who had been sidelined since Lauren’s recovery, Rachel had suggested the Saturday market excursion and had been a little surprised when her daughter jumped on it. Had she been that deprived of rings and henna tattoos?
While Sierra debated the merits of ruby glass versus amber, Rachel studied the vendor, a lean young man who was eating out of a white takeout container. “Hey, how’s it going?” Rachel asked.
“It’s going good. You let me know when you decide,” he said, then shoved in a forkful of noodles.
This is your chance, Rachel thought. “Love the rings,” she said. “Have you had this booth long?”
He shook his head, swallowing a mouthful. “I’ve been here two weeks, a summer hire.”
“What about the owner? Is he around?”
The guy—probably a college student, now that she got a closer look—wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his hoody. “He’s spending the summer in Thailand.”
Okay . . . so no information here. Rachel shot a glance down the aisle, taking in displays of wind chimes, knives and blades, T-shirts, metal sculptures, and handbags. The overabundance of drug props and weapons seemed a bit contradictory and alarming. Who needed such an endless supply of rolling papers and bongs? And when did Oregonians develop an appetite for exotic blades and samurai swords? Which of the booths were regulars at the market? She couldn’t be sure. She hadn’t been here since she’d been a college student, getting her West Coast cool on while a student at Lewis and Clark. Back then, the smell of burning incense and skunky raw weed in the open streets of the city had seemed rebellious and exciting. Today, it made her feel cranky and hopelessly over the hill, in both age and philosophy. One hearty sniff and she would probably fail the random drug test administered by the Mirror Lake Board of Education.
And Then She Was Gone Page 15