The Missing Woman: Utterly gripping psychological suspense with heart-thumping twists

by Georgina Cross

  My parents never made it to college. They work long hours to make sure they can afford my private school tuition and hope one day I’ll graduate with a bachelor’s degree. It’s why I don’t see them as often as I’d like. My parents work extra shifts at the manufacturing facility while my granddad greets me at home and takes care of me.

  Something else, besides planning Homecoming, is the fact I don’t officially have a date to the dance. But not to worry, Sabine tells me. Zach’s best friend is going to ask—they’re arranging every detail and Sabine is thrilled since we can double-date and pose for pictures together. Nick and I dated off and on before deciding to become friends again. “Maybe Homecoming will get you back together,” Sabine hints.

  Heidi releases another sigh, her mashed potatoes falling from her spoon with a plop. “We’re going to be so bored.”

  I shove a nugget into my mouth and chew quickly. “We’re not leaving yet.”

  “What about this weekend?” Sasha asks.

  “We could go to the movies,” I suggest.

  “No, we should hang out and study,” Sabine tells us.

  “Great,” Heidi mumbles. “Consolation prize before you ditch us for vacation.”

  “It will probably be a boring trip anyway,” I pipe up.

  “Seriously?” Sasha stares. “Lake Tahoe? You can ride jet skis across the lake. The water is so clear you can see right to the bottom. Kylie went with her family last year and said the lifeguards are gorgeous.”

  Sabine shares my look. “But three days driving by car?” She rolls her eyes and shudders. “With my parents? Symphony on cassette tape and Catholic hymns on the radio?”

  Heidi says, “You’ll have your Walkman.”

  Sabine tucks her hair behind her ears, revealing the gold earrings the group of us recently pitched in and bought for her eighteenth birthday. She loves those things—shiny brass with just enough swing. The flashier the jewelry the better when it comes to Sabine. And as I watch her and consider our upcoming trip, I’m almost positive she’ll swim in the lake wearing those things too.

  She nudges my arm and glances at our friends who are still sulking.

  “I’ll probably sleep,” I say, making it up again. But this time, it’s not a complete exaggeration. “After exams, I’ll want nothing more than to sleep.”

  “See?” Sabine laughs, turning to our friends. “You’re not going to miss a thing.”

  Just like I thought, studying for exams is brutal, but surprisingly, I complete the tests feeling more confident than I expected. There’s a chance I might be able to keep my straight As after all. Sabine worries about getting a low grade on her physics test but the grade comes back with full marks, and she sighs with relief. The pressure we place on ourselves, unrelenting.

  It’s Saturday morning, the start to fall break, and Sabine’s parents call for us to load up the car. A grueling 32-hour drive lies ahead with Mr. and Mrs. Taylor talking non-stop about how amazing it will be to cross five state lines.

  “Think of how much we’re going to see before we reach California,” Mrs. Taylor says excitedly. “So much of the country.” She’s breathless, her eyes twinkling, the same hazel eyes she’s gifted Sabine, the pair of them looking so much alike with their blonde hair and perfectly shaped noses with rose-bud lips that seem to permanently smile no matter what they’re thinking.

  Mrs. Taylor sets a thermos of coffee in the center console for her husband and he reaches for her hand, placing a kiss across her fingertips in thanks. He glances over his shoulder to make sure Sabine and I are buckling our seatbelts. His hair is blonde but darker at the temples with gray streaks appearing through the strands, and he smiles, tapping his hands across his chest to show off the goofy T-shirt he insists on wearing on road trips. The one that says, Drive or Bust.

  They’re giddy, and I’m not. I wasn’t totally making it up when I said the trip is going to be boring. But I meant the drive. Sabine and I know once we get there it will be amazing.

  Flying would have been simpler but I don’t have the funds to pay for a ticket and I don’t expect the Taylors to cough up that kind of money either. They’re cash-strapped too since they’re saving up for whatever college tuition Sabine doesn’t receive in a scholarship. We’re going on this trip because Mr. Taylor’s boss announced it as his yearly bonus. The only catch? The location is two thousand miles away, a long haul, but not unachievable by car. After much consideration, the Taylors decide we’ll make the trek because, well, why not? None of us have been to Lake Tahoe before and we heard it’s incredible. But also because, as Mrs. Taylor put it, this is one of our last family vacations together. “Soon you girls will be heading for college,” she says emotionally, “and we’ll hardly see you anymore.”

  When I hear this, my heart warms over—how they include me as family. Sabine and I are only children and we cling to each other as sisters, another reason we bonded so quickly our freshman year. Our parents treat us as if we’re each other’s long-lost twin. If I’m not at her house on weekends, she’s at mine.

  Mr. Taylor backs out the drive and away we go. Three full days of driving with, as Sabine said, religious talk radio on the AM dial. But occasionally, the Taylors flip to a local station and we’ll listen to Hootie & the Blowfish or Bon Jovi, Mrs. Taylor bopping to TLC’s “Waterfalls”. An hour later, Mr. Taylor will switch back to a news station or highlights from a football game. At one point we listen to an hourlong sermon since we’re missing Sunday Mass.

  And I sleep. I knew I would be exhausted from exam week, but there’s not much else to do in the back of the van. Sabine’s Walkman runs out of batteries, and soon, she’s sleeping too—in fact, she’s sleeping so much that at one point it’s hard to rouse her and on day two of the trip, her mom is placing the back of a hand to her forehead, worried she might be sick.

  “I feel fine,” she says drowsily. But her head tilts to one side and she hikes her knee against her chest and falls asleep again, the swaying of the car and the endless stretch of interstate enough to make anyone drowsy. I close my eyes too.

  But Sabine isn’t eating much either, even when the Taylors make stops along the way and force us out of the van to take a break inside one of the many roadside diners. Sabine says she’s carsick or has a little bug. She pushes aside her food, and for her mom’s sake, swallows down a few crackers.

  Back in the car, I stare out the window. Sabine isn’t talking as much as I’d hoped and my backside aches from so many hours in the car. It would be nice to have someone to pass the time with but Sabine is dozing every chance she gets.

  Along the way, the Taylors point out sites that might be of interest. The busy labyrinth of interstate overpasses in Dallas with the city’s towering skyline. The flat open spaces of west Texas as we cross into Amarillo and Canyon State Park. The rising elevation and backdrop of the Sandia Mountains as we approach Albuquerque, New Mexico. Only at the outskirts of Las Vegas does Sabine perk up—she presses her hands against the glass and marvels at the bright city lights glowing in the desert night in the distance. Mr. Taylor keeps driving. We veer onto the interstate again.

  Turning away from the window, I ask, “You feeling any better?”

  “Yes.” She adds quietly, “I’m just ready to get out of this car.”

  “You and me both.” I reach over and squeeze her hand. One more night in a travel motel to go.

  On day three, signs for Lake Tahoe. Dropping off Interstate 580, a smaller road winds us through the national park, our drive taking us along the eastern shore of the lake. But the sugar pines are too thick to spot any water through the trees, the white firs towering above us and on either side of us, the snow-capped mountains of Diamond Peak straight ahead. It’s only as we’re passing through Sand Harbor and coming around the curve of Crystal Bay that Sabine seems to come alive.

  It’s the sight of the lake that wakes her up—me too. The shimmering magnificent blue water with its indigo waves lapping against the docks. Miles and miles of la
ke stretches beyond and across the Nevada state line to the opposite shoreline where commuters cross to California. We spot sailboats cruising with sails at full mast. Powerboats and jet skis with vacationers revving their engines. A row of college-aged lifeguards on the beach, just like Sasha said. Rosy-cheeked children splashing in the water.

  Sabine’s smile spreads to her cheeks. “I’ve never seen a place more beautiful.”

  And her mom turns from the front seat. “Totally worth the drive, don’t you think?”

  The rental house we’re staying in is in the King’s Beach area of Lake Tahoe, a chalet retreat with mustard-painted walls and an alpine roof. The home is quaint with its red door and brown shuttered windows, and in the back, a patio and pitch of grass that extends to our own private beach. But the best part? The spectacular view of Lake Tahoe. Navy water stretches before us. The rise of the Sierra Nevada and Carson mountain ranges dramatically rise into the sky on either side. Our own boat dock.

  The four of us race from the car to stand and gape, mouths open, not wanting to unload our bags just yet and allowing the sun to shine against our faces instead, enjoying the break from ninety-degree temperatures in Louisiana and the cooler weather of the west coast.

  I stretch my arms overhead. My God, it feels good to be stepping out of that van. It feels fantastic to be a part of this bright sun-filled day with puffy white clouds soaring above us.

  Sabine runs for the lake and the wind whips at her hair, blowing it back from her face with a sudden gust that barrels off the water. She lets out a laugh I’m relieved to hear. It’s good to see her smiling and moving around again. Whatever ailed her the last few days on the road is made better now that she’s taking in fresh air.

  I run to catch up, then kick off my shoes and dip my feet at the edge of the water—it’s freezing—and I shriek, causing Sabine to laugh. She slips off her shoes and steps into the water too. Another shriek.

  “That’s mountain water for you,” Mr. Taylor calls.

  I catch a sight of him wrapping his arms around his wife. He’s holding Sabine’s mother close, the two of them swaying together and watching us fling water between our toes. A few minutes later, Mrs. Taylor announces we’ll be enjoying our first night’s dinner outside on the patio.

  Sabine finds the bracelets at a gift shop the following day. Matching bracelets made from sterling silver with charms dangling in the shape of Lake Tahoe, the charms set in a blue-fire opal inlay.

  “Let’s get them,” she says.

  “They’re beautiful.” I clutch the bracelet to my wrist.

  She fastens one around hers too. “This way, we’ll remember our trip forever.”

  We’re having such a wonderful time. A morning bicycle ride to the King’s Beach rec area, a long walk along the beach, lollipops in our back pockets from the corner drug store followed by discovering this little shop tucked behind an ice cream parlor.

  I rub the charm between my fingers.

  She cracks a beaming smile, taking in the view through the window. “Don’t you love this place? Don’t you want to come back one day?”

  We’ve been here less than twenty-four hours and I know I already love it as much as she does.

  “Maybe when we’re older,” Sabine says. “A college road trip. Or we’ll bring our kids back.” Her eyes light up. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  I laugh. “Kids? You’re thinking that far ahead?”

  “Absolutely. We’re best friends forever, aren’t we? So of course we’ll bring our kids. We’ll pack them in the car like my mom and dad did.” Excitedly, she sucks in her breath. “We can stay at the same house! The exact same chalet. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

  I do love this idea. And I smile, thoughts of our forever friendship and future children that we’ll lead on bicycle rides around Lake Tahoe.

  At the front of the store, Sabine whips out cash to pay for our bracelets while blocking my hand from reaching for any money. “My treat,” she tells me. “I’ve got this.” Glancing to her right, she spots a rack filled with Lake Tahoe postcards and pulls one out featuring picturesque King’s Beach. “Let’s send the girls one.”

  I eye the postcard. “But we’ll get home before it makes it through the mail.”

  “It would still be fun. Let them know we’re thinking about them.”

  Laying the postcard flat on the counter, she borrows a pen from the shopkeeper and scribbles a note:

  Missing you. See you when we get home!

  Love, S and E

  She signs our initials in giant looped letters.

  Adding Heidi’s address, she says Sasha can share the card and buys a stamp and drops the postcard in the shopkeeper’s mailbox. We step toward the ice cream shop, Sabine reaching for my hand and swinging it as we admire our bracelets, the blue opal charms sparkling in the sun. “Lake Tahoe forever,” she tells me.

  Twenty-Five

  It’s one of those trips I don’t want to end. But it does, and as Mr. Taylor puts it, “That’s the thing about good times. They come to an end. But that way, we can look forward to more great times.”

  Mrs. Taylor grins before turning to check on Sabine. “You feeling okay?”

  She’s doing much better on the return ride home, not as carsick as she once was, even though we sleep away the hours to help pass the time.

  At one of the rest stops, her mom orders a coffee and is chatting with home only a few hours away. She’s snapping back to business, thinking about school and asking Sabine about college. “We should work on your college applications soon, all right? When we get home, over the next few weeks, start putting those essays together. It’s so important you get into Samford.”

  Samford University—Sabine’s parents’ dream she follow in their footsteps and attend the private Christian school in Alabama, their alma mater where they worked hard and earned scholarships to attend. Sabine will have to do the same for the Taylors to afford her tuition.

  “I know, Mom,” Sabine says. “It’s at the top of my list.”

  She gives her a worried smile. “Don’t let Homecoming distract you. I know it’s coming up.”

  “It will be fine, Mom. I’ve got this.”

  But Sabine doesn’t have this.

  Something changes within days of us returning. She’s quiet. A paleness to her cheeks, and I worry she might be sick again. Whatever ailed her on the road trip is coming back.

  But it’s not that. She says there’s something on her mind she doesn’t want to talk about. She even turns down a day of shopping for Homecoming dresses.

  Blowing me off, she says she’s busy. She claims she doesn’t have time for Zach either. When pressed, she tells us she’s worried. The scholarship process for Samford is more difficult than she anticipated and she’s terrified she won’t be able to pull it off. Her parents’ disappointment will be excruciating.

  But there’s something else—I know it. I know Sabine like I know my own mind. A college application for a girl as bright and accomplished and studious as her would not have her acting this way. She’s withdrawing. She’s keeping a secret.

  My best friend I’ve known for years—the determination during exam week, the laughter and pure happiness from our time spent in Lake Tahoe—is gone. A switch turned off in a matter of days.

  “Tell me,” I beg. We’re sitting on her bedroom floor. She’s asked me not to come over, that she doesn’t want to talk, she’s busy, but I came over anyway. Sitting beside her, I ask, “What’s happening? Tell me. I can help. But I need to know how.”

  She looks away and it cuts right through my heart, a frustration also welling inside my belly. She’s tired of me badgering her. She wants me to stop. I’m not going to get an answer so I’ll leave still not knowing what’s wrong and—

  “I’m pregnant.”

  At first, I don’t think I’ve heard her correctly. She repeats the words again, “I’m pregnant,” and squeezes her eyes shut. “I know what I have to do.”

  The breath goes
out of me, my ribcage deflating as I stare at my best friend.

  “There’s a clinic in Mississippi. I’ll take care of everything.” She says these statements so resolutely, so robotically. My brain hasn’t even caught up yet. A baby?

  And I realize what she’s saying. My heart seizes. “Wait? You can’t… slow down… Let’s figure this out.” My thoughts are scrambling too much inside my brain as I take this all in, desperately trying to keep up and wanting to understand. But Sabine’s plan is already cranking into place. She’s had time to think about this, but I haven’t.

  Sabine. And Zach. Pregnant.

  I flash back to last week. The car ride where she slept so much. Not wanting to eat and pushing away her food.

  We thought she had a small bug or was carsick. At the lake, she seemed so much better.

  My eyes search hers. She pulled herself together for our sakes. But now…

  “Sabine…” I whisper.

  She blinks back the tears. “Mom and Dad can’t know. They would never forgive me. What I’m going to do is…” Her eyes stretch wide with panic. “It’s against everything they believe in. The church. An absolute abomination. They’ll never forgive me.” She searches my eyes desperately. “Zach can’t know either.”

  “Oh my God. But we need their help. Your parents, they’ll understand.”

  “No!” And she leaps to her feet. “None of them can know—only you. You’re the only one.” Her tears can’t hold back any longer and they fall heavily down her face. “I have to do this. Get this done and move on. Finish my essays. Get into Samford. Make my parents proud. It’s the only thing.” She’s panicking, convincing herself while also forcing herself into action mode even when every part of her is stunned.

  “But Sabine—”

  She won’t listen to me. “I need your help. Please, Erica. You’ll drive me. The appointment is in two days. I’ll need to stay with you after so we’ll tell my parents we’re busy. We’re working on college essays together. They’ll never know.”