The Long Way Back, page 25
Are they too close? Is that even possible? Charlie isn’t the sort of mother who ever wanted to be her daughter’s best friend, but is it her fault if it happened anyway? She loves her girl like a storm, an avalanche, a force of nature that cannot be held back. Her love is inevitable. And destructive? Did she push her daughter away with her constant need to pull her close?
As they near Charlie’s driveway, she realizes that the reporters are focused on something off the road—no one even flinches when Jude flicks on his blinker and nudges carefully through the crowd. By the time a few cameras swing toward the cab of the truck, Charlie can see that Frank and Sophie are standing on the driveway near the bottom of the short hill. They’ve dragged two garbage cans to opposite sides of the lane and strung an old fishing rope between them. Frank is tying orange ribbons all along the length.
Charlie rolls down her window. “What’s going on here?” she asks.
Frank gives her a grim smile and walks over. He’s clutching a roll of bright ribbon in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. “Good morning, honey,” he says, leaning up to kiss her forehead. She ducks a bit so he can reach. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Fine. I’m more interested in what you and Sophie are doing.”
“Keeping the hoodlums off the property.” He glares toward the vans. “I’d flip ’em the bird if it wouldn’t end up on the news. Can’t have an old guy like me being a bad example for the kids.”
“Certainly not.” Charlie smiles in spite of herself.
“Mr. Morrow, if you would like an officer stationed on the property, I’m sure we could swing it for you,” Jude offers. “At least at night.”
“Nah, this’ll do the trick.” Frank hooks a thumb over his shoulder at their makeshift barrier. Then he hollers: “Soph! Let the rope down so they can pass.”
Sophie unhooks one end of the long rope and lets it drop to the ground so that Jude can roll over it.
As he eases down the driveway he says, “They’re good people.”
“The best,” Charlie agrees.
“I’m glad you have a support system.”
“You make it sound like I’m going to need it.” Charlie keeps her eyes carefully trained on the lake spread out before her, the sun glinting off the surface of the water like a scattering of golden coins. She loves days like this, when Superior looks like a lost treasure.
Jude puts the truck in park and turns it off. Facing Charlie, he waits a few heartbeats until she gives him her attention. “You are going to need them,” he says, watching her carefully. “No matter what happens, no matter how this turns out, you’ll need good people around you. You and Eva both.”
Charlie’s thankful that he includes Eva, that he talks about her in the future tense instead of implying that she’s never coming back. Still, she doesn’t like the seriousness of his tone. “Let’s find this Zach guy,” she says, slapping her hands on her thighs as if to dispel the solemn mood in the air. She reaches for the truck door, but Jude puts a hand on her arm to stop her.
“This is where we part ways, Charlie. I’m glad you could help today, but my team will take it from here. We’ll analyze the recordings and contact you if there’s anything you can do to help.”
“Please don’t shut me out of this.” Charlie doesn’t want to beg, but she will if she has to. “Please. Let me help.”
“You already have. And I promise: I won’t leave you in the dark.” There’s a note of finality in his voice, and Jude turns to swing open the driver’s-side door. He jumps down to the gravel before Charlie can open her mouth to protest.
Hurrying to unbuckle her seat belt and follow him, Charlie jogs around the truck only to find that he’s already talking to Frank and Sophie.
“Keep an eye out for Lauren, she’s our victim specialist. She should be here in the next hour or so,” Jude says. “Charlie, if you could send me Eva’s work schedule for the past sixty days, that would really speed up the process. We have a lot of footage to go through, and anything to help us narrow it down would be much appreciated.”
She reluctantly accepts the business card that he hands her.
“Take care of her,” he tells Frank. And then he’s back in the truck and pulling out.
Charlie watches him drive away, feeling powerless and empty. She can’t decide if it was better to peek behind the curtain and be allowed to ride along with him this morning, or if it only made matters worse. Of course, she’s no FBI agent. Charlie’s not even very good at solving the mysteries in the paperbacks she loves to read. But it feels wrong to be shut out of the investigation into her own daughter’s disappearance. She’s not law enforcement or coast guard or a trained diver. But she’s Eva’s mom. That should count for something. Maybe everything.
When Jude’s truck has disappeared beyond the bend, Charlie sucks in a shuddering breath and heads toward the porch. Her feet are heavy, her head stuffed with cotton, and she feels herself sway just a bit. In an instant, Frank and Sophie flank her, arms linked behind her back as if they are ready to prop her up. To catch her if she falls.
“Thank you,” Charlie says, resting her cheek against the top of Frank’s head.
“For what?” He gives her a little squeeze. “Just doing my job.”
* * *
Lauren looks to be mid-fifties, trim and fit, with platinum blond hair that falls to her shoulders and a no-nonsense manner. Charlie would bet money that she’s a former agent, but Lauren does not match the picture she’d painted in her mind. Someone soft and maternal would not have offered Charlie much comfort at all. She’s in the market for competent powerhouses with an uncanny ability to get results, and Lauren fits the bill. Still, Charlie has zero desire to talk to her.
“I’m here to assist in any way I can,” Lauren says after a stilted conversation over coffee. “My job is to offer support, make referrals, and ensure that you know your rights.”
“Agent Turner wants you to babysit me.” Charlie doesn’t mean to be so blunt, but she’s really past the point of caring.
Lauren laughs, and the sound in the small kitchen is unexpected. “You don’t need a babysitter, Charlotte. I’m just here to help.”
“Thank you for the offer, but I’m doing fine.”
“Okay then.” Lauren takes another sip of her coffee. “Is it all right with you if I spend a little time with Frank? You’re not the only one impacted by what’s happened here.”
Charlie feels chastened, even though Lauren is being nothing but patient and kind. “Of course,” she says, pushing back her chair and bringing her own coffee cup to the sink. She pours the dark liquid down the drain. “I’m sure Frank would love the chance to talk a bit. I haven’t exactly been around.” Charlie is struck by the sudden understanding that she’s been a shitty mom and honorary daughter. Poor Frank. He must be in ruins and holding it together for her sake.
“What will you do?” Lauren asks. It’s a simple question, but Charlie can tell there’s much behind it. Lauren is clocking her self-care, trying to gauge how she’s really doing. “Could you snag a nap? Go for a walk? Find something to eat?”
“A walk,” Charlie says, deciding the moment the words leave her mouth. Outside, away from here. She’ll put on her hiking shoes—the lightweight, quick-drying ones—and walk the shoreline down to Black Bear Park. “Will you be here when I get back?”
Lauren shrugs. “Would you like me to be?”
Charlie doesn’t answer. In the living room she squeezes Frank’s shoulder, then grabs her hiking shoes off the rack near the door. “I’ll be back soon,” she says. “Why don’t you keep Lauren company in the kitchen for a while?”
Frank gives her a bit of a funny look, but when she smiles, he relaxes a little. “You okay?” he asks.
“No.” It’s honest, and she can tell that Frank feels the same way. “But we’re going to get through this. Right now the FBI is looking at that house cam footage—hopefully they’ll turn up something concrete.”
“One step at a time,” Frank says, repeating a mantra that he often said when Charlie was young and first came to live with him and Hattie. When she tried to race ahead, to skip the hard parts, he reminded her that the only way to get anywhere was to put one foot in front of the other, one step at a time.
It makes her throat tighten now, because she doesn’t want to go through any of this. But he’s right, and she knows it. “That’s why I’m going for a little walk,” she says, crouching down to pull on her shoes. “I’ll be back soon. Spend some time with Lauren, okay?”
“Be careful,” Frank calls as she slips out the door.
The day is both cool and warm, in the way that only spring days can be, and Charlie can feel the promise of summer in the way the sun kisses the skin on the back of her neck. If Eva were here, she’d grab some sunscreen from the cupboard above the washing machine and chase after Charlie to rub it in.
“Never go out without protection,” she’d joke.
Charlie prays that chutzpah is alive and well in Eva at this very moment—wherever she might be.
The siren call of the lake is tempting, but Charlie’s feet carry her somewhere else entirely. Sebastian is locked—a habit they formed on the road and hadn’t been able to break, even in safe, provincial Landing—but there’s a magnetic key holder tucked in an alcove between the propane tank and the hitch. Charlie locates it easily and palms the key, suddenly desperate to be inside the trailer.
The interior of the Airstream is familiar, if stuffy and a bit close. It reminds Charlie of days that started out cold and then got hot while they were out adventuring—they often returned to a closed-up Sebastian and this exact stale air. It smells faintly of laundry detergent and yeast, even though they never once baked bread in the tiny trailer oven.
A few weeks ago, Charlie opened everything up, throwing the windows wide so the cool, spring air could scourge everything clean. She washed the bedding, mopped the floor, and began to stock the cabinets with necessities for the road. But Eva had balked, and the ensuing standoff was so bitter that Charlie had locked everything back up again and stayed away just so Eva would stop cold-shouldering her.
Now, there’s a crate on the table filled with things that Charlie never had time to unpack. Cleaning supplies are mixed in with a bag of wild rice (the Sutton girls love their Minnesota wild rice, even if they poke fun of how on the nose their devotion is), a twenty-four pack of their favorite lime sparkling water, and a few canned goods, among other odds and ends Charlie picked up during their months off the road.
Charlie had no agenda when she decided to open up Sebastian, but there’s a clear and obvious task before her. Taking a can in each hand, Charlie opens the latched pantry and stacks them neatly inside. The glass cleaner and anti-bacterial wipes go under the sink. The water bottles can be lined neatly in the fridge, whether it’s on or not.
The crate is nearly empty, and Charlie has grown used to the thick air when there’s a staccato of raps on the trailer door.
“Come in,” she calls, forgetting for a split second where she is and what’s going on. She could be anywhere: the Tetons, Yosemite, the Great Smokey Mountains. Eva could be just outside the door, playing with Scout.
But she’s not.
“Charlie?” Lauren pops her head into the trailer, and the expression on her face is enough to bring Charlie crashing back to reality—to the precarity of the situation they’re in.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, nearly dropping the stack of new dishcloths she’s holding.
Lauren schools her expression into a mask of calm neutrality. “They found something. Agent Turner wants you to come as soon as you can.”
* * *
“Thank you so much for sharing Eva’s work schedule,” Jude says as he grabs an extra folding chair for Charlie and sets it down in front of one of the computer consoles. They’re in the main room of the boathouse, and though it’s still a hive of activity, Charlie would swear that there are fewer people here today than she saw yesterday. She wonders if they’re already reassigning resources.
“Oh,” she says belatedly. “I’m glad it helped.”
“Immensely. We’re working on isolating all the clips that were recorded before, during, or after Eva’s shifts, and pulled out some stills that might help us identify Zach.”
“You guys are fast.”
He nods, turning back to the computer. “Okay, let’s start with some specifics. Looks like our Zach is tall—assuming Eva is five foot seven like you’ve already said—he’s well over six feet.”
A screenshot appears on the console. It’s a bit pixelated from being enlarged, but there’s absolutely no mistaking that Eva is standing on the sidewalk in front of an old, black sedan. She’s wearing jeans and her puffy winter coat, her curls hidden beneath a thick beanie. Behind her is a man. His face is turned away from the camera, toward the street, but he towers over Eva. His hair is blond, or maybe light brown, and his shoulders square.
“Do you recognize him?” Jude asks, zooming in even farther.
“No,” Charlie says. But maybe she does? “He could be anybody. Tall, blond, built like an athlete. That’s half the men in this state.”
Jude flicks through a few more stills. The man—Zach, she assumes—reaches out to grab the string of Eva’s apron. Charlie hadn’t realized she was still wearing it, but the next few frames show him tugging, Eva turning, and the apron coming off in his hands. The movement has pulled the couple closer, and the last screenshot shows him tilt his head toward Eva.
“They kiss, don’t they? Is that why you’re showing me stills instead of the video?”
“I want you to focus on him, not the two of them as a couple,” Jude says. “I know it must be really confusing to see your daughter with a boyfriend you didn’t even know existed, but we need to identify this guy.”
“Then let me see the actual footage. Let me see how he moves, if he has any tics or characteristics that seem familiar to me.”
Jude doesn’t respond, but he types a few commands into the keyboard and a video pops up. It’s the same scene as the pictures Charlie just saw, but this time she can watch Eva and Zach move. There’s her daughter’s familiar, bouncy walk. She lands on the balls of her feet as if she’s poised to run at any moment. And behind her, a young man, moving much more intentionally. Slow and almost fluid. When he reaches out for her apron strings it seems like an afterthought, a tiger pawing lazily at a toy. The unraveling that happens—the way Eva spins with the slight tug and ends up in his arms—is all her.
They do kiss, long and deep, and it’s hard for Charlie to watch. Not because of the intimacy of the moment, but because Eva so clearly and deeply trusts this man.
“I don’t recognize him.” Charlie squeezes her eyes shut and rubs her forehead with her fingers. “Do you have any footage of his face? Does he ever look directly at the camera?”
“We’re still isolating scenes and enhancing everything we can,” Jude says. “I just wanted to get your initial reaction in case he was someone you could immediately identify. A friend of the family or something.”
“No, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him.” Charlie can practically taste Jude’s disappointment. It’s sharp and bitter on her tongue.
But he doesn’t give anything away. “I’ll print some of these out so you can take them back to Frank. Let him have a look. And Sophie, too. Maybe someone will recognize him.”
“Agent Turner?”
The sound of his name and the urgent tone make Jude’s head snap up.
“I think you should see this.” A man with a neat goatee and tortoiseshell glasses motions Jude over to a console at the very end of a long table.
“Stay here,” Jude tells Charlie. But the second he’s out of his chair, Charlie’s up and following. If they’ve found something, she wants to know.
“What’ve you got, Dan?” Jude leans over the table to get a better look at the screen. If he’s noticed Charlie standing a few feet away, watching and listening, he doesn’t let on.
“I’ve been looking at footage outside of the range you gave us,” Dan says. “And I got a few hits. It seems he came to Landing more often. Not sure what he was doing, but he liked the road beside Mugs. Sometimes he’d just sit in his car.”
“License plate?”
“No. The angle is all wrong. We can only see the side of the car. But look at this.” Dan clicks on a file and opens it. The screen fills with a picture of the blond man, leaning against his dark sedan. There’s a cell phone pressed to his ear, and he’s talking animatedly. His eyes are wide, his mouth open; Dan freezes the frame mid-sentence. He taps the screen and says, “This is the first full frontal view we’ve found. Look familiar?”
Jude squints at the picture, moving in closer and then backing away. Charlie still doesn’t recognize the man, but it’s helpful to see his full face. At this distance he’s generic-looking, with hair that’s just a touch too long—it grazes the line of his heavy brow on one side. She’s ready to ask Dan to print this photo off for her, too, but then Jude sucks in a breath through his teeth.
“Is that—”
“That’s what I was wondering,” Dan cuts in before Jude can finish. “All those boys look alike, but we don’t see this one very often. It’s been a couple of years at least.”
“Get the Brennan file for me,” Jude says, snapping to attention.
Something has changed in the atmosphere. Energy crackles through the air like electricity, and all the hair on the back of Charlie’s neck stands up. “Who’s Brennan?” she asks.
Jude whips toward her, the look on his face assuring her that he’d forgotten she was there at all. “Thanks for coming, Charlie,” he says, taking her lightly by the elbow and steering her toward the door. “You’ve been very helpful.”
