“Does it matter?”
“It matters. Ty’s perfectly willing to let your judgment be clouded by guilt. I, on the other hand, am not.”
“I just want her back,” I say, fresh tears staining the pillowcase.
“Shh,” she says. “I know. Just hold on, okay. Just hold on.”
56
Kylie
SHE HAS NO idea which direction to take, but she starts running. Completely naked. Running. Feet pounding. Arms pumping. Running as if life will end if she stops. As she knows it very likely will.
She can’t tell if he is behind her. If he will jump in a vehicle and tear off after her, overtaking her, running her down even.
She won’t look back. Looking back will allow the fear to swallow her, pulling her beneath the surface like a drowning victim in the last moments of resistance. She veers off the narrow paved road and runs into the woods, knowing that at least here, he’ll have to follow her on foot.
Her chest can barely pull in the air needed to keep oxygen flowing to her limbs. She steps on rocks that cut into her feet, but the pain is nothing compared to the fear.
The woods begin to thin, fade from trees to grass pasture. She keeps running, stride after stride, until she can feel her legs begin to fail her. She won’t last much longer. No more energy. No more air.
And that’s when she sees the house.
57
Lizzy
BY THE END of the day, I’m not sure I can make it through another one like this. Ty and Winn are at each other’s throats. And while I know Winn is only standing up for me, I just want out of the conflict. I long for a quiet place where I can sit and wait for the phone to ring with news of Kylie.
My nerve endings feel as if they’ve been dipped in Tabasco sauce. I have to get out of the room for a while. “I’m going to take a walk,” I say to Winn. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
“I can go with you,” she says.
“That’s okay,” I say. “I think I need to clear my head.”
Ty gives me a disapproving look, but says nothing.
Winn says, “Don’t forget your phone.”
I grab it from the nightstand and walk out the door.
I take the stairs and let myself out a side entrance. The late spring afternoon is warm, and I welcome the feel of the air on my skin in comparison to the freezing air conditioner of our room.
The hotel connects to a park. I find the entrance and start to run, even though I’d intended to walk. The exertion feels good. I push myself, faster, faster until I can barely draw in breath. When I stop, I lean over with my palms on my knees, sucking in oxygen.
I walk to a nearby bench and sink onto the wood seat, sliding down and letting my head rest against the back. I have no idea how to exist in this place we’re in. This waiting place. There’s only been one experience in my life I can compare it to. When Kylie was a little girl, we had a scare over some blood work that came back indicating she might have leukemia. During the second round of testing while the doctors determined whether she had it or not, all I could do was push myself through every phase of the day. Functioning like a robot that can only do what it has been programmed to do.
I have never known the kind of relief I knew the day we got the news that Kylie did not have the disease. For a long time after the nurse who had called me hung up the phone, I sat on my kitchen barstool, staring out the window, letting my gratitude fill every pore in my body. I could not bear the thought of losing her, and to be given that reprieve was the greatest blessing of my life.
And now here I am, asking to be blessed yet again in the same way. Tragic events befall countless people every single day on this earth. Why should I think I should be spared?
I don’t have an answer for that. My needs are not more worthy than the next person praying for a miracle. And I know that’s exactly what I’m asking for. I drop my head. I pray again, from the bottom of my soul, for my daughter’s safety.
58
Lizzy
I SEE THE police car at the front of the hotel as I round the corner to exit the park.
The lights on top are spinning, throwing out alarming crisscrosses. My heart thumps hard in my chest, and I feel suddenly sick with apprehension. I run as fast as I can toward the car, forcing myself not to process the scenarios pounding through my brain.
A police officer steps out of the hotel just as I get to the main door. “Are you here about my daughter?” I ask, breathless.
“Mrs. Harper?”
“Yes,” I manage, barely able to get the word out.
“Can you come with me, please?”
“What is it?” I ask, panic welling up.
Just then Ty and Winn come running out of the hotel. “They’re taking us to the police station,” Ty says.
“What’s happened?” I ask, and I’m pleading now. I don’t think I can stand another second of not knowing.
The three of us slide into the back of the car, the officer getting behind the wheel. He turns on the siren and pulls quickly out of the parking lot and onto the highway.
I look at Ty, feeling the tears running down my face. “Can he not tell us anything?” I ask.
“He said he was only asked to pick us up and take us to the station. He doesn’t know anything else.”
Winn slides her arm around my shoulders and pulls me up against her. “Shh, Lizzy. We have to assume the best. Okay? Don’t let yourself consider anything else.”
But I can’t help it. I am tortured by fear of what we are about to learn. I put my face in my hands and try not to sob out loud, my shoulders shaking with silent force.
The drive takes almost fifteen minutes. The cruiser swings into the lot of a building marked Charlottesville Police. As soon as the car stops, Ty opens the door and Winn and I slide across the seat to get out.
“This way, please,” the officer says, waving for us to follow him.
We walk quickly inside the building, our footsteps echoing on the hard floor of a long, well-lit hallway. At the very end, the officer knocks on a door, sticks his head inside and then waves for us to step in.
In the corner of the room sits Kylie. Huddled inside a blanket, her face pale and drawn. She looks up and spots us, instantly dissolving into tears. Ty and I both go to her, dropping onto our knees and enfolding her in our mutual embrace. All three of us are crying then. I feel Winn’s hand on my shoulder.
“I’m so sorry,” Kylie says, on a broken sob. “I’m so very sorry.”
“Thank God,” I say. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
59
Ren
I DO A GOOGLE search for “Kylie Harper” as soon as I get out of bed.
The first result is the Huffington Post with Missing UVa Student Found.
I click on the link and wait for the article to come up, and then quickly skim it.
Kylie Elizabeth Harper, 20, was found alive late yesterday after she had been missing for five days.
Harper was apparently abducted in Charlottesville, Virginia on her way back to her dorm after seeing a band in the college town. One source says she managed to escape through a second-floor window of the house where she was being held.
Investigators say Harper claims there was another girl being held in the house with her, and, that after she escaped, the kidnappers took the other girl and disappeared. There are still no reports of the second girl’s whereabouts.
I glance at the beginning of the article again, reread the first line with an incredible sense of relief. For her. For Lizzy. And a sick feeling for the other girl involved.
I pick up my phone and type in a text message.
So relieved for you and your family. If you need me for anything, I’m here for you.
I want to say more. But force myself to put the phone down and leave it at that.
60
Ty
YOU TRY TO make things like they once were. Back when Kylie was a little girl, and you came home from work at dinner time. Back when you all at
e at the table together. When you didn’t use work as an escape from a life you’d begun to grow bored with.
Kylie decides not to finish the semester at UVa. The first two weeks after she moves home, you don’t leave for the office until the three of you have coffee together, heading out only after you’ve all talked about what you’re doing for the day and interesting stuff in the newspaper. It’s all very normal. Very family like.
Then you ask yourself why it feels like you’re all trying too hard. Acting out roles instead of just being yourselves in a way that feels comfortable and right.
As for your life at the office, you’re all business. No more affairs. You’re committed to doing right by Lizzy. There’s been no mention of that rock star loser, and so you’re willing to pretend that it never happened.
And if you try hard enough to act normal, be normal, then there’s no reason life can’t go back to what it once was. You’re willing to make sacrifices for it. Convinced that in the end, it will be worth it. Because, after all, human nature is such that it’s not until you nearly lose something that you realize what you have.
61
Kylie
KYLIE KNOWS THAT she has to start getting out of the house.
But she can’t seem to make herself.
She’s closed herself in, sealed out the world beyond her front door, as if in doing so, she won’t have to think about the ugly stuff she hadn’t really believed existed before her abduction.
It was all stuff she heard on the news, things that happened to other people, other families.
She dreams about it nearly every night. Wakes up in a sweat, gasping for air. And she sees the other girl’s face—Erin’s face—hears her voice. Constantly wonders what those men did with her.
She still hasn’t been found. Kylie has begun to think they will never find her.
Her guilt is mind-numbing, choking. It sits like a concrete blanket on her shoulders, and it is all she can do to move through a complete day beneath its weight.
She’s sitting on the screened porch one afternoon with her MacBook on her lap, staring out across the back yard when her mom comes out, handing her a glass of iced tea.
“Thought you might be thirsty,” she says.
“Thanks,” Kylie says, setting it on the table next to her.
“How are you doing?” her mom asks, a now familiar concern darkening her eyes.
“I’m okay. Try not to worry about me, Mom. I’ll get there eventually.”
“I know.”
“I just can’t stop thinking about Erin,” Kylie says, anguish sharpening the edges of her voice. “If she hadn’t screamed when she did, I never would have gotten away. I know she did it intentionally so I would have a chance. It probably cost her her life.”
“And the first thing you did was run for help. There was nothing else you could do,” she says, reaching out to squeeze Kylie’s hand. “You were no match for those men.”
Kylie considers this, knowing logically that her mom is right. But logic has little sway over guilt. And so she says nothing.
“You have a lot of healing to do, honey. And that’s going to take however long it takes. You were a victim too.”
“It’s just . . . I can’t stand to think of where she might be.” The tears come in full force then, and Kylie can do nothing to stop them.
Her mom gets up, scoots onto the chair beside her and folds her close in a tight embrace. “Shh,” she says. “I’m so sorry, honey. For everything you’ve been through. For everything you’re feeling. If I could take it from you, I would.”
“I know,” Kylie says, burying her face in her mother’s neck and crying until she has no more tears to cry. They sit, silent, while a neighbor’s dog barks, a car drives by on the road in front of the house, and life goes on.
The ice in her tea has completely melted when Kylie finally speaks again. “Mom?”
“Hmm?”
“I came across a story on the Internet about you and Ren Sawyer in Italy together. Was that true?”
Kylie feels her mother stiffen, as if bracing herself against the conversation to come.
“Parts of it,” she says softly.
“You really met him?” she asks.
“I didn’t know who he was at first. I think we both really needed a friend just then for completely different reasons.”
“Is that all you were? Friends?”
“In the end, yes,” she says.
“Can you I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“If what happened to me had never happened, would you and Daddy still be together?”
She’s silent for several long moments, before saying, “Part of me wants to gloss over our history, Kylie. Tell you, yes, absolutely. But another part of me feels that I owe you honesty. You’re an adult now. You know that life gets complicated sometimes.”
“I know that Daddy has cheated on you.”
Her mom draws in a sharp breath, as if a knife has just been inserted in the center of her chest. “Kylie—”
“I never wanted to admit it,” she says. “I guess I wanted to believe you were to blame because of what I read in your journal that time. But that wasn’t right. Or fair to you. I’m sorry, Mom. For all the times I was so ugly to you. I’m sorry.”
She kisses Kylie’s hair and shakes her head. “Let’s leave all that in the past, okay? I think we’ve both had a clear reminder of how precious life is. How uncertain and unpredictable. I don’t want to take a minute of it for granted.”
“Neither do I,” Kylie says.
They sit quiet for a bit, comfortable with each other in a way they haven’t been for a very long time.
“I was thinking I might take a drive on the Blue Ridge Parkway this afternoon,” her mom finally says, “and bring my camera along. Would you like to go?”
“I would,” Kylie says. “I really would.”
62
Lizzy
THREE MONTHS PASS in a blink.
I watch Kylie for signs of healing and begin to see a little progress each day. She’s begun to show an interest in photography, and we go shopping one afternoon to buy her a camera. It’s something we’re doing together, and I love that we can share it. Comparing shots, talking about places we might like to go, that we would love to capture with our cameras. I don’t think I’m biased in saying she has an eye for angles, for unique takes. There’s something about the camera being between her and the world that is allowing her to ease back into it. To begin seeing life as beautiful once again, the harsh, ugly edges of her experience fading for bits of time here and there, anyway.
As for me and life outside anything that doesn’t relate to Kylie, I simply don’t let myself think about it. My commitment to Kylie is complete, my needs secondary at best. I’ve had a few texts from Ren, but I’ve deleted them without reading them. It seems better not to let his words into my head, my heart. Because I have chosen to make this life with Ty, with Kylie, what is important to me.
I have to give Ty credit. I’ve never seen him try so hard. He calls me throughout the day. Sends me flowers. Plans weekend escapes for the three of us.
It’s nearly ideal. As perfect as I had once imagined our life could be, if Ty were able to refocus some of his career ambition to a home life with us. And that’s what he’s done.
So I try. Tell myself I will see him through new eyes. Truly forgive the past.
I’ve been given a second chance with my daughter. I’m reminded of the enormity of this gift on a daily basis. Even more so because of the fact that Kylie and I have found common ground and our love for each other means everything to me.
For that, I can wipe the slate clean. Start from our new beginning. Block my mind of any what-ifs that try to rise up with Ren’s name attached to them.
What kind of mother would I be if I did anything other than that?
63
Kylie
KYLIE WAKES UP one morning to the knowledge that it’s time she leaves the
house, alone. She’s at the kitchen table, reading a book on her Kindle and finishing a pot of coffee when she looks across the table at her mom and says, “I think I’ll go into the city and take Dad to lunch today.”
Her mom glances up in surprise. “Want me to go with you?”
“That’s okay. I kind of think I need to venture out on my own.”
“Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Do you want to let him know you’re coming?”
“I think I’ll surprise him.”
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”
She helps clean up the kitchen and then goes upstairs to shower, irrational apprehension gnawing at her with the thought of driving alone to the city, parking in the dimly lit parking garage next to her dad’s office building. She could give in to it. Wait another day. But it isn’t going to get any easier. In fact, she is pretty sure that every day she lets fear get the better of her, the more difficult it will ever be to conquer it.
Her mom watches from the front door as she backs out of the driveway and waves reassuringly, as if she has the whole thing completely under control.
She drives the fifteen miles or so with a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, blasting Spotify tracks through the car’s Bluetooth to distract her from anything other than watching the miles slide by on her odometer.
She hits the Interstate that leads to downtown, and then takes the exit that lets her off a few streets up from the parking garage. She drives straight to it, turns in and gets her ticket, taking the first available spot. She gets out of the car quickly, hits the remote lock and runs to the elevator, as if she is late for an appointment instead of being terrified by ghosts she cannot see.
Her dad’s office is on the seventh floor. She gets off the elevator and speaks to the receptionist, the same red-haired grandmother who has occupied the position since Kylie was a little girl. Her name is Edith, and she gets up from her seat to walk around the desk and give Kylie a hug. She doesn’t need to say anything about what happened to her. Her embrace says it all, and Kylie returns her hug with gratitude.
That Month in Tuscany (Take Me There) Page 19