The news, Laurel learned when her classmate got sick, can change everything. She would hold her number two yellow pencil with the eraser nearly gone and wonder what she could write with it, whose life she could change with words. She believed in the power of that pencil with her whole heart. She’d almost forgotten that until Annie’s story came along.
Numbed by reporting on yet another garden club or ladies’ circle meeting, more coverage of the minutes of the Chamber of Commerce, or “breaking news” about the sinkhole on Main Street in downtown Ludlow, she’d lost sight of there being anything truly worthy to write about. She’d been angry the day Damon handed her the assignment to interview Faye. She was tired of silly, no-count stories that served only as filler, despondent of ever being able to write something that mattered. Laurel has learned something already in the few days since then: you never know when a story will turn.
She realizes Damon is looking at her, waiting, it seems, for the answer to a question she didn’t hear him ask. She nods. “Sure,” she says, hearing the uncertainty in her voice. She wonders if he hears it as well.
“Okay, good. It’s a plan,” he says, and claps his hands together once, loudly, clearly pleased with her answer.
“What . . . time?” she asks, casting about for a clue as to what she has just agreed to.
“Well, the vigil is at six, so we better get there early, don’t you think?” He nods, agreeing with himself. “I can get some shots of the church, the people walking in, who knows what else.”
Shots? Did she just agree to let Damon be her photographer on this story? Damon isn’t a photographer. At least, not that she’s ever been aware of. Sure, he has a collection of cameras on the shelves in his office. But she always thought they were there for decoration, leftover from the days when it was his father’s office.
“We can ride together?” he asks, and his voice is so hopeful and excited that she cannot say no. She has never been in Damon’s car. She knows what kind it is: a BMW X1, bought for his college graduation. She imagines it smells like his cologne inside. His cologne mixed with the lingering smell of new car. She can’t imagine riding in Damon’s car, sharing such a small, private space.
“Sure,” Laurel says again, telling herself that this will be fine. Damon can be there with her as her photographer. They can be there to cover the story, writer and photographer, business people doing business, plain and simple. They can ride together; they can be professionals. There is no harm in this; it will not change a thing.
At the church, they watch as the faithful gather to pray, their faces somber and penitent, as if they themselves had something to do with Annie’s disappearance. Of course, it’s possible that one of them could have. Scott has been questioned at length. And based on the gossip she’s hearing, that Kenny guy from high school is of particular interest.
She watches as Travis Dove takes his place behind the pulpit to say a few words. But his few words turn into many as he recounts what Annie means to them all. He speaks of Annie’s vivacious personality, her sunshiny smile, her ability to make everyone in the room feel special and seen. He tells the story of how one invitation from Annie became the catalyst for his decision to become a pastor. Laurel did not know this. All she remembers about Travis is that he used to skulk around with Clary, looking edgy and dangerous. She glances over at Clary to gauge her reaction. But Clary is stone-faced as she watches him speak, her face emotionless. She either truly feels nothing or she’s a very good actress.
When Travis is done speaking, he relinquishes the pulpit to Faye, who puts her face too close to the microphone to speak, causing feedback to startle everyone, a whoosh of unease moving through the room. Faye apologizes, moves her head back a few inches, and tries again. She thanks everyone for coming, agrees with what Travis has said, and then urges people to keep praying. “We can’t give up on our girl,” she finishes, her voice thick with unspent tears.
Up next, Scott, who doesn’t look capable of murder. Of course, if capability were a deciding factor, half the people in prison wouldn’t be there. You don’t have to be capable of murdering someone all the time. You just have to be capable for the one moment it takes to lash out, to do something you can’t take back.
Scott tells everyone how much he loves Annie, how hard the decision was to call off the wedding, and how he hopes they will get their chance to gather here in this church for the wedding “real soon.” When he is done speaking, he flashes them a million-dollar smile, and Laurel thinks how lovely Annie and Scott’s children would’ve been. She immediately feels bad for thinking in the past tense. But the longer this goes on, the more pessimistic she’s becoming. She looks around at the pinched faces of the people gathered here—some familiar and some strange—and can tell she’s not the only one who is losing hope.
Travis Dove takes the pulpit again, his face filled with a strange mix of sympathy and smugness as he scans the crowd with his hooded dark eyes. He has done this before; he is used to leading people through dark times. He knows he can do this and do it right. This is what he was born for, like Laurel was born for the news. It strikes her then, how they are both there to do their jobs, to carry on even as things are falling apart. This is what their respective callings require. She is filled with it, driven by it. And so is Travis Dove.
Beside her, Damon frames that look on Travis Dove’s face with the camera lens, and she knows that he has seen it, too. She looks over at Damon, and he looks back at her, gives her the tiniest hint of a smile. In spite of the seriousness of the scene, Damon is joyous. Laurel realizes that the joy is coming from the camera in his hands. She looks away, pretends to scribble something important in the small notebook she brought along. But it is merely a prop. Later, she will write the story by simply replaying what she has seen, like someone watching a movie.
Travis has just begun to pray for Annie’s safe and speedy return when the rear door of the church swings wide and a group of cops enter, with Hal York in the lead. A ripple of fear runs through the crowd as people register what is going on. Why would the police interrupt the vigil if not for an urgent reason? Travis stops praying and leaves the pulpit to meet the officers in the aisle, like a bouncer assessing the credentials of the people trying to get into the club. The men confer, and then Travis nods, gestures to Faye, and steps back so they can walk over to her. The sheriff is the first one to reach her, and everyone hears her start to cry as he puts his hand on her shoulder and begins to speak into her ear.
Kenny
As that pastor, Travis, the one who used to date Annie’s cousin, drones on and on during the vigil, he catches people looking at him, then quickly looking away. Word has obviously gotten out that the police paid him a visit, that he was asked not to leave town. He knows this is only the beginning, that there will be more suspicion to come. He has lied more than once, and his mother always warned him that his lies would find him out.
He should not be here at the vigil. It was a bad idea to come. But he wanted to be where people who also love Annie are. And he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts anymore. Because they were bad thoughts, the kind of thoughts that can make someone go crazy if they think them too long. So when his mother asked if he would drive her to the vigil (apparently it was the place to be in Ludlow, South Carolina, on this fine summer evening), he said yes, not thinking about the looks he would get, not thinking about the questions his mom would ask about where his girlfriend is.
He lies to his mom, tells her his girlfriend is away on business, when really she has gone away to think about things. That’s how she put it. He does not know if she will be back. No matter how much he tried to downplay who Annie was to him, she somehow sensed that there was more he was not telling her. He guesses it showed on his face. She says she feels she can no longer trust him; she will never understand why he kept Annie from her. He told her he cannot give her a good reason, and that is the truth. The only reason he might offer is that Annie is his; she is not something he can share with a
nyone. But that would not sound right if he said it out loud.
So he remained silent while she ranted until eventually she ran out of things to say. She took her packed bag that was intended for their trip, put it in her car, and drove away. It occurred to him that he should be concerned for her, driving when she was so upset, but he just stood and stared at the door she’d slammed behind her, the same door the cops came to just a few hours before. He stood there until his legs began to ache and he had to sit down, a white noise whooshing in his head.
Now, sitting in the church as policemen enter, he feels like someone has turned a spotlight right on him. He feels people glancing his way, just for a moment, before their eyes dart away. They are gauging whether or not he has done something to Annie, whether he knows where she is. He can feel it as surely as someone feels warm sunshine or wet raindrops. He can sense their judgment, and he is used to this.
This is what it means for him to live here. He can claim he stayed for his mother, but the truth is he stayed for Annie. And he will remain here. Because he knows she will always come back. Back to the place where her mother died. Back to her home. It is smart to stay where she can always find him.
The only way he would ever leave is with her. He has been waiting for that moment his whole life, it seems—the one where Annie realizes she belongs with him. Everything else—his job, his mother, his girlfriend—has been filler. He closes his eyes, conjures up Annie’s face. He has only ever lived for her. He knows how pathetic this is; he knows what people would think if they knew the depths of his devotion. But he cannot stop himself. Annie is the one. But now Annie is gone. And one of the policemen is walking toward him.
Clary
On the way into the church, Glynnis had stopped her, pulling her into a hug and rocking her back and forth like a child, her floral perfume enveloping them both like a cloud descending. “You poor thing,” Glynnis intoned as they swayed together. “You poor, poor thing.”
Behind Glynnis, her daughter, Laurel, had looked on, her eyes wide. Clary gave Laurel a small smile to let her know it was okay for Glynnis to be accosting her that way. Even if Glynnis’s overwhelming perfume was likely going to give Clary a headache.
Glynnis had let go and turned to see the look on Laurel’s face. “What?” she asked her daughter. “She’s practically family. Our families go way back.” She looked back at Clary. “I even knew your aunt Lydia, God rest her soul. She worked with me at our family’s sporting goods store for a time.”
“You? Worked?” Laurel had said, and though they have both left their teenage years behind and are now supposed to be adults, Clary couldn’t help but chuckle as she walked away. Laurel sounded like a teenager talking to her mom. Clary knows at times she sounds that way with Faye as well. Her mother just has a way of bringing out the belligerent teen in her. She supposes that’s the way it is with mothers and daughters.
She thinks of her own daughter, feels the pain of loss as she still does from time to time. She wonders if her daughter would think she was ridiculous or overbearing or bossy or fun. If she had kept her, if she had been the one to raise her. Clary takes her seat, avoiding eye contact with Travis, and spends the rest of the vigil trying to focus on her missing cousin. But her thoughts stubbornly return to her daughter, missing from her life. It is only when the back door of the church opens and Hal York and some of his men walk in that she sits up and pays attention.
She can tell from the look on Travis’s face that he doesn’t appreciate this interruption, busting in on his moment. She saw how he angled himself when he was praying so that Damon Collins could get a good shot of him up there, doing his thing. She sees how much he loves the spotlight, how in spite of this tragedy he is finding a way to shine.
This is what he would do if she told him. This is what she was trying to tell Annie in their last phone call. She’d tried to tell Annie about the day she almost told him about the baby, about what he’d said and why she’d changed her mind. But Annie just wouldn’t listen. So they’d both gotten angry. And they’d said awful things. And now Clary can’t take back what happened.
Clary watches as one of the policemen turns in her direction. Her heart pounds, but the officer walks right past her, stopping at the next row in front of that boy who used to hang around Annie all through school with a worshipful look on his face, the one Clary always said was weird. And Annie would say back, “Who’re you calling weird?” and point to her newest piercing or her shocking choice of hair color.
The policeman makes a motion for the boy, who is now a man, to stand up and come with him, and the man, without a moment’s pause, does. His face is impassive, as if he has gone to a place deep inside himself. Clary recalls his face when it was younger, wearing the same faraway expression as he stood in front of some nameless, faceless bully. She recalls Annie standing up to whoever it was, and then she hears Annie say his name as she pulls him away: “Kenny.” That’s his name, Clary remembers. Kenny Spacey. He was in love with Annie. But Annie was going to marry someone else. Now he’s being led away by a cop. And Annie is missing.
Faye
She follows Hal out to his truck, composing herself as she walks. If he thinks she’s falling apart, there’s no way he will say yes. She needs to look like she can handle seeing Annie’s car.
“I want to go with you,” she says.
Scott, standing beside Hal, shifts his stance and looks down. She cannot tell if it is because he is uncomfortable with the situation at hand or uncomfortable around her specifically. It occurs to her that he hasn’t spoken directly to her since that conversation they had back when they first realized Annie was really and truly missing. He has kept Tracy around him at all times, let Tracy do all the talking for him. She wonders if perhaps this is on purpose, if he is using Tracy as some sort of shield. But against what?
“That all right with you?” Hal asks Scott, who is basically being forced to go and open Annie’s car. Since he has a key, it’ll be easier and less damaging to any evidence to use the key to gain access. She knows all this, not from her years of being a cop’s wife but from her years of being a cop’s best friend.
Scott shrugs, and Faye wants to yell at Hal, Why does he get a say? but she maintains her composure, forces herself to smile as Hal opens the passenger door and motions for them both to get in. Scott shakes his head, points at Tracy, standing beside her nondescript sedan. “I’ve got a ride,” Scott says.
“Then you’ll need to follow me,” Hal says. He steps out of the way to let Scott walk over to Tracy, then indicates that Faye should get in the passenger side of his truck. They ride away together, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Neither of them speaks as he drives to the spot where the car was found.
She makes up a scenario as they drive, the best possible outcome: Annie had a one-car accident while driving home, ran off the road, was confused and delirious, and wandered off. They will find her asleep in the woods somewhere near where her car was found. She will be taken to a hospital, have a recovery period, but be fine in the end. Faye tries to hang on to this hope, to ignore the voice of reality that asserts its dissent even as the optimistic side of her brain is trying to find a scrap of hope. These two sides of her always seem to be at war: reality versus possibility. She wishes that, just once, possibility would win.
They turn onto a dirt road that hardly warrants the name. It is really more of a path. The caravan of vehicles bounces along the ruts as they go deeper and deeper into the trees. Annie would never pull off the road out here willingly—no sensible woman would. But maybe she was meeting someone? Maybe Annie had a secret life no one knew about? A secret lover? A clandestine meeting, a spur-of-the-moment decision to run away? That would be better than involuntarily disappearing, right? But that is not like Annie. At least, Faye doesn’t think it is.
The cars all come to a stop, and she sees Annie’s SUV. Annie always kept it pristine, but now it is dirty, spotted with bird poop and covered in a fine yellow-brown dust.
Scott gets out of Tracy’s car at the same time that Hal gets out of his truck, as if they have synchronized their movements.
“Stay here,” Hal commands, then walks away. Together, the two men approach the Honda CR-V, white with tan interior, with childproof locks and a sunroof and satellite radio and a remote trunk lock, keeping a safe distance from it. Other cops guard the perimeter with serious faces, protecting potential evidence inside from being compromised. She watches the scene and recalls when Annie came home with the car, whooping and hollering for Faye to come see “her baby.”
At one point she teased Annie, “I don’t know which you love more, Scott or that car.”
“Shhh, don’t tell him,” Annie had teased back.
As Hal confers with Scott, Faye wonders if the cops will find any clues inside, if the car will bring them closer to finding Annie. The other officers join them, and they all turn toward the vehicle. She watches as Scott holds up the key fob and ceremoniously presses it.
“It’s a family car,” Annie had said the first time she drove it home and proudly showed it off. She called it her “Mom Mobile.”
Faye expects that they will tell Scott to leave now that he did what they brought him here to do. But then she sees Hal talking to him, gesturing toward the rear of the car. She sees Scott look down at the key fob, still in his hand, and she knows what they are asking him to do now. She sees his pinched expression. She guesses they don’t really need Scott any further—that this is just some cop trick to break Scott down. Hal must not have entirely dismissed him as a possible suspect.
She and Tracy must both figure out what’s happening at the same time, because at that moment Tracy gets out of the car and runs to Scott’s side. Faye finds herself sliding out of the truck as well. If Tracy can be there, then she can, too. As usual, Tracy speaks up on Scott’s behalf. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to ask him to open that trunk,” the girl says. She points at the car, her finger jabbing the humid air. “You have no idea what’s in there.”
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