He hadn’t talked to anyone. About any of it.
He hadn’t acknowledged that he couldn’t cope with his guilt and grief alone.
He hadn’t gotten any help whatsoever.
Post-traumatic stress disorder. She’d looked it up on the Internet, and there, in the four main categories of symptoms, found what she imagined to be a pretty decent description of Finn:
1. Intrusive memories
2. Avoidance
3. Negative changes in thinking and mood
4. Changes in emotional reactions
Every article she read said that symptoms often started within months of a traumatic event, but sometimes they did not appear or magnify for years.
There could be triggers. Not just people, but also places.
And so when Violet was done reading what she could on the Mayo Clinic site, and Wikipedia, and WebMD, she closed all those windows and replaced them with one.
Missed Connections on Craigslist.
And even though she didn’t have enough left in her to earnestly hope that Finn was out there reading, she downed the rest of her drink to steel herself, and then she began to type.
30
AUGUST 2016
Finn was waking up groggy. At least, he was trying to wake up. Never had he had such a hard time coming out of sleep. Just when a thought would start to form, he’d feel himself drifting off again, against his will. Then, a few minutes later, he’d start to come to and repeat the cycle all over again. Or was it hours later? He’d lost all sense of time. How had he even come to fall asleep here on the couch, anyway? How could he have been so stupid as to let his guard down like this? He needed to find Bear. It had gotten so quiet, it was deafening. He wasn’t used to quiet, not even for sleeping. There was always the fuzzy sound of the baby monitor he couldn’t convince Violet that Bear was too old for, and Violet’s own soft snoring, which had begun during pregnancy and never stopped, and the light car and foot traffic through their Asheville neighborhood. Nothing like the solitude of this cabin. Only this wasn’t supposed to be solitude. Bear should be here, and Caitlin, and the twins. Where were they?
He must have drifted off again because when he became aware of the voice, it was in the middle of a one-way conversation—on the phone with someone, he could tell. The voice sounded like George. But George couldn’t be here; that couldn’t be right.
Not that Finn was going to go through with any of his threats, of course, but still—he was sure he had rattled Caitlin. His rookie attempt at blackmail, or at least the threat of blackmail, had worked. Well, it had also sort of backfired, but—surely she wouldn’t have asked George here. Unless …
What if George had just shown up? What if he’d decided to come on his own?
Finn fought to open his eyes. He could just make out the form of George standing outside on the lakefront deck. His back was to Finn, his profile illuminated by the bright screen of the cell phone he held to his ear. It was dark out—Christ, it was really dark, and Finn was positive he had fallen asleep in the morning. The sliding glass door was cracked open just enough so that Finn could hear snippets of conversation, but not the whole thing.
“You ran out of here so fast … We could hardly talk in front of the kids…”
George sounded frustrated, impatient, but not unkind. Could it be Caitlin on the other end of the line? But that would mean she wasn’t here …
“Thank God it was Dr. Avery … I suspect he pulled some strings to get us all out of there … If he does tell my father, I’ll handle it…”
George backed up to lean against the side of the cabin, and his voice came clearer through the door.
“I promise, he’s fine. I’ve been looking in on him every forty-five minutes or so, like you asked. That stuff must really work, if he slept most of the day and is going to stay out all night too. Do you know my mom complains it isn’t strong enough? She’s so full of it…”
It had to be Caitlin. George wouldn’t dare talk about his mother that way to anyone else. Finn yawned, fighting to keep his eyes open. Slept all day … out all night. Was George talking about him?
“I still don’t understand how a three-year-old can choke down coffee, of all things. I don’t care how much creamer is in it.”
Finn squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them, then tried it again. His blurry vision refused to clear.
“All right. Well, look. We were in agreement that you had to go, but when you get back, you are going to have to tell me what Finn could possibly have said or done to make you come down here and get involved like this…”
Finn’s ears strained at the sound of his name, trying desperately to stay focused, to fight the fog of sleep that still wanted to creep back in and overtake him.
“I know. Later. It’s just the small detail that I happen to be in the cabin with the man unconscious on the couch. You do know this could ruin us…”
Finn cringed. George was never supposed to get dragged into this. Neither was Caitlin. Finn didn’t want to ruin any more lives. He had only wanted the damn cabin key. He’d remembered about the alarm system—otherwise he would have just driven around down here until he found the familiar road, broken in, and hoped for the best.
“No, no, I’ll handle it. He’s sound asleep with the other kids. I know you wanted to take him with you, but I think it’s better this way. Our only shot at getting out of this. If we can just make her understand … Right. We’ll figure it out. We have to.”
George was hanging up, coming back inside. For a moment, Finn thought of feigning sleep. Maybe if George went into one of the back rooms, Finn could sneak away. Maybe he could still escape from this trap he’d unintentionally walled himself into. But that would mean going without Bear. Where was he? A fresh wave of unease washed over Finn. George had mentioned something about a doctor. But also about the kids being asleep.
Finn wasn’t sure he felt sturdy enough to venture out anyway—not even into the car, much less into the woods. His legs felt almost too heavy to move, and his stomach churned as if he’d had too much to drink. So he didn’t see any sense in pretending. He’d done enough of that. Too much. His eyes remained open and fixed on George as he stepped into the living room and slid the glass door closed behind him.
“Hey there, sleepyhead.” George spoke with uncharacteristic sarcasm. “Welcome back to the world of the living.”
“How long have I been out?” Finn asked. “And where did you come from?” Finn attempted a good-natured laugh, but it sounded strange to his ears, and George didn’t smile in return.
“Figured you’d be starving,” George said. “I made you a snack.”
Finn struggled to sit up while George crossed the room to the kitchen counter and picked up a plate. Seconds later, he plunked it down on the coffee table in front of Finn.
“Peanut butter crackers,” he said apologetically. “If there’s one thing you can count on us to have, it’s kid food.”
Finn didn’t bring up the groceries Caitlin had unloaded into the fridge yesterday. He was starving, but now did not seem like the time to request a three-course meal. “Thanks,” he said. He shoved the first Ritz sandwich into his mouth in a single bite. It was delicious, he had to admit.
The men locked eyes, each daring the other to speak.
Finn took another cracker and chewed self-consciously as George stood over him, watching.
“Well, this is cozy,” George said finally.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Finn said, averting his eyes.
“Oh, come on. It’s exactly what it looks like.”
Finn strained his ears for any sound of life in the bedrooms behind him. He heard none. “Where is everybody?” he asked, his anxiety growing as the jolt of sustenance helped clear the fog from his brain.
“I don’t think you are in a position to be asking questions here,” George said. “No offense,” he added, and Finn found himself fighting back a hint of a smile. George really was one of the most amicable guys he k
new. It sometimes seemed at odds with the fact that he was also one of the most powerful. He’d observed this dichotomy dozens of times watching George halfheartedly attempt to discipline the twins—though he suspected that had more to do with his absentee parent status than with a lack of backbone. Still, now that Finn was at his mercy, it didn’t seem outside the realm of possibility that he could get off the hook somehow. Caitlin had always been the tougher one to crack.
But if she wasn’t here, where was she? Finn’s eyes darted around the room as if expecting to see something he had missed, but everything looked basically as it had before he’d fallen asleep. The kids’ tent was erected in the middle of the floor, empty save for a stack of pillows and blankets. Finn cringed at the sight of chocolaty-looking handprints all over the nylon dome and hoped they didn’t belong to Bear. Here he was making a mess of his friends’ lives, but he was still worried about his son making a mess of their stuff.
“Milk?” George asked. “Juice?”
Finn was tempted to ask for something stronger, but knew it wasn’t a good idea. What he needed now was a clear head. “How long was I out for?” he asked again. George only stared at him.
Finn’s mouth was dry. And his blood sugar felt off. Once he was steady on his feet, then he would figure out what to do. “Juice,” he said softly. “Thanks.”
Was Bear asleep in the bedroom, with the twins? Is that who George had talked about looking in on? He wanted to ask so badly, but he hesitated to speak his son’s name. Was there any chance at all that George did not know the extent of what he’d stumbled into?
I know you wanted to take him with you, George had said, but I think it’s better this way. Our only shot at getting out of this. Had he been talking about Caitlin taking Finn, or Bear?
George appeared before him with a glass, and Finn gulped the juice as if he hadn’t had a drink all day—which, he supposed, he hadn’t. Not since that coffee this morning. And he hadn’t even finished the rest of it—
Finn was midswallow when something else George had said came back to him. Something about a kid drinking coffee. I don’t care how much creamer was in it … That stuff must really work. And Finn, who’d drunk the cream-loaded coffee himself, had been asleep all day. Slowly, he raised his juice glass to eye level and peered into the liquid, looking for any sign of something that shouldn’t be there. Abruptly, he set the glass on the table.
“Do you mind telling me what’s happened?” Finn asked. “Don’t make me beg it out of you, George. Seriously.”
“First, why don’t you finish your juice,” George said. He was still standing, hovering over Finn in a way that made him nervous.
“I don’t want the juice.”
“Yes, you do. You must be incredibly thirsty. Drink up.”
“Maybe later.”
George lifted his sport coat open to one side, just wide enough so that Finn could see what was at his hip, a tan leather holster. George was carrying a gun.
“Drink it.”
“Oh, come on. You’re not going to shoot me.”
“What makes you so sure?” George smiled. “You mean because of my image? Because I’m an upstanding citizen? Last time I checked, upstanding citizens are within their rights to confront intruders in their homes. Especially when those intruders happen to be wanted on federal charges. And when they show up at a remote cabin driving a car that’s registered to some redneck in a trailer park in Tennessee.”
So George had been here long enough to do his homework.
“I have the pink slip,” Finn said, feeling oddly defensive. “I just haven’t, you know, gotten to the BMV yet.” He gave George a wry smile.
“Do you want me to drive you?” George asked, with exaggerated sincerity.
“Would that be before or after you shoot me?”
“Just—don’t make me do it, okay? Drink the damn juice.” George actually did manage to look like he meant business that time. Then, true to form, came the clarification.
“I’m no murderer, obviously,” George said. “But I can make it so you can’t run out of here. And I’m not going to be too swift at calling an ambulance either.”
“Where’s Caitlin?” Finn tried to keep his voice calm.
“That’s always the question, isn’t it? Where’s Caitlin?” George’s façade dropped, his voice gently mocking. “Don’t you ever get tired of my wife bailing you out of things? Because I have to say, I think I’ve finally reached my limit.” He smiled disingenuously at Finn. “We had a helluva run, though, didn’t we? You’re lucky, you know, that she means enough to me that I let her talk me into caring how much you mean to her.”
Finn wasn’t sure how to reason with this new George, but clearly he’d taken the wrong tack. “How about a truce,” he suggested. “I get myself a glass of water from the tap, and you set the alarm, and no one goes anywhere until Caitlin comes back.” George didn’t correct him, so Finn figured he had guessed right. She wasn’t here, and that had probably been her on the phone. But did she have Bear with her?
George leaned his weight onto the arm of the leather recliner opposite Finn and sighed heavily. “Sounds like a reasonable request. Thing is, that would mean I have to figure out what to say to you while we wait. And I’d rather not deal with the hassle.” George gazed out toward the lake, where the moon was sparkling off the water like an image from one of the glossy brochures at the Visitors Center down the road. “It was so quiet here while you were asleep. Peaceful. I don’t get much time alone with my thoughts, you know. Always rushing around from one airport to the next, and then when I get home, the boys are there waiting. You know how it is, being a father yourself.” He looked pointedly at Finn, and Finn thought he saw there something darker than anger over Bear—something deeper.
“Look,” Finn said. “You win. Just tell me where Bear is, and I’ll drink the damn juice.” Maybe he could go into the bathroom and throw it up.
“You know who really wants to know where Bear is?” George asked. “His mom. Your wife. Remember her? Thinking of the state she must be in right now, forgive me if I’m not feeling charitable.”
George removed the gun from its holster and held it gently in his palm. “You’re drinking the juice. You are not in a position to negotiate here, Finn. Too bad you didn’t make it out on the golf course with me more over the last few years. If you had, you’d know by now that these days, when I take aim, I rarely miss.”
31
AUGUST 2016
When she heard the knocking at the back door before the sun was even up—was it early morning already?—Violet’s first thought was that Gram had come back. She was curled under an afghan on the couch, and even before she threw off the cover she was fantasizing about yelling through the closed door—“What does it take to get a little head space from you?”—and then flinging herself back into bed. Never mind that she was already feeling guilty for behaving like a child—albeit a child who’d only wanted to be left alone to get drunk—the day before.
The buzz was wearing off, and Violet’s head was starting to throb as she peered at the clock. It was not morning. It was 1:30 A.M. She’d fallen asleep disorientingly early—it couldn’t have been past 9:30 or 10:00—logging off Craigslist and throwing herself onto the couch with all of the drama but none of the grace of Scarlett O’Hara. She guessed that was what happened when you started drinking in the afternoon. She’d never had much practice with it before.
The back door … the middle of the night … She bolted upright on the couch. A confused, drunk person walking home from a bar to the wrong house, or someone else? Agent Martin, having located the car? Finn? Bear!
She flew off the couch and into the kitchen, breathless. With a twist, the dead bolt was freed and Violet yanked open the door.
She stared.
She had never seen Caitlin look so awful.
This couldn’t be the Caitlin she knew, the Caitlin who had once shown up at a different back door of Violet’s wearing a sparkly V-neck shirt
that read I WOKE UP LOOKING LIKE THIS.
“Very funny,” Violet had said, nodding at Caitlin’s chest and rolling her eyes. It wasn’t that she begrudged her friend her perpetually flat-ironed hair and manicured nails and powdered skin and designer everything. It was just that sometimes she wished they could stand a little farther apart so she wouldn’t feel so underdone by comparison.
“You think it’s actually funny?” Caitlin had said, sounding a little too hopeful. “George bought it for me.”
“It depends on who’s wearing it. On me, people would be like, ‘Well, yeah, we can see that.’”
But looking at Caitlin now was more like looking in a mirror. Reflected there, she saw exhaustion, worry, guilt, shame. “Oh God,” she said. “Is it Leo? What are you doing here?”
“Leo is fine,” Caitlin said. “They discharged him, though we’re keeping a close eye. Just to be a hundred percent sure.”
“Doctor’s orders?”
“More like Mom’s orders.”
Violet looked past her into the darkness, but no one was there. “Who’s watching him?”
“George.” She took a deep breath. “I’m here about Bear. I … I know where he is. I came to take you to him.”
Violet blinked at her, disbelieving. Opposing tides of relief and fury clashed within her, turning her instantly into a dangerous whirlpool.
“If you know where he is, why isn’t he with you?” she cried. “Why did you waste time driving here, rather than calling the FBI? What’s wrong with you?”
“Because we were afraid if I brought him to you, you wouldn’t come with me,” Caitlin said, jutting her chin stubbornly into the air. This was unfamiliar territory for her, Violet knew, being called out on anything at all, let alone something so awful. And Violet could see it on her face as her voice turned pleading. “I need you to come with me. No matter what happens next, you’ve got to come talk to Finn first.”
“We were afraid?” Violet repeated, incredulous. “Who is we? You and Finn?”
Almost Missed You Page 24