Where I Left Her Read online

  “This is my daughter Lauren.”

  The little girl with her hair in two unbalanced pigtails smiled up at her.

  Whitney stared hard at the picture. What was it doing here? Was this the same girl? The girl that had been in her house. Sat at her kitchen table. Ate her food. Drank her coffee. Spent the night in the room next to hers.

  There’s no way.

  Lauren would be around twenty-four by now. Not seventeen.

  Then again, Whitney remembered that the little Lauren she’d met had been small for her age. Looked younger even then. Maybe she still looked younger than her years.

  Whitney didn’t believe in coincidences. Not this big, anyway. There was no doubt in her mind that Lauren had been here. This photograph was proof. Why would the old couple lie about it?

  Her mind was like one of those rides at the fair that spun in circles, sticking her body to the side. It spun with endless questions, round and round, never stopping. Never landing on any answers. Anger surfaced, thinking of how she’d stood on their doorstep unraveling and they stared right into her face telling bald-faced lies. They knew Lauren. She’d been in this house. In their lives.

  But then she remembered how genuinely confused they were earlier. Could it be that they didn’t know Lauren and Amelia had been here on Friday?

  God, there were still so many things she didn’t understand. Didn’t know.

  With every clue came a dead end.

  The desperation that had been mounting since Amelia first went missing burned bright, a lit cigarette crackling down to a pile of ash.

  Her gaze lowered to the picture in her hand, landing on the baby, and her stomach bottomed out.

  Oh, God. If Amelia’s Lauren was the same girl in this picture, then this wasn’t simply a case of teenagers who ran away.

  This was revenge.

  29

  I WOKE UP in a hospital bed the next morning. Millie had called 911 when she couldn’t feel a pulse. According to the doctors, she saved my life. If she had waited, I could’ve died. I felt stupid. Everyone thought I’d been trying to kill myself, Millie included. But that wasn’t it. I was only trying to get Millie to see me. To see that I was hurting. To see how Mitch was tearing us apart.

  But mostly to see how evil he was.

  I thought if she was forced to choose me, she would.

  If his actions were destroying me, she’d have no choice but to let him go, right?

  I figured she’d be so angry she would refuse to talk to him. Better yet, I’d hoped she’d tell her parents or even the police. If Mitch got caught giving drugs to minors he could go to jail. Then he’d surely be out of our lives for good.

  But that’s not how it went down.

  Millie turned in my two remaining pills, and my mom recognized them as the ones missing from her medicine cabinet. And, lo and behold, I was right, they were pain pills. And sometimes my mom did take two. But never three, or more. And never with alcohol. I guess it was the perfect storm.

  I’d miscalculated, and almost killed myself. Worse, it was all for nothing.

  30

  SUNDAY, 5:00 A.M.

  THIRTY-SIX HOURS

  AFTER DROP-OFF

  THE GRAININESS OF the photo and the fact that it had been taken from more than a few feet away made it impossible to see anything close-up. If it had been a digital picture, Whitney could have zoomed in.

  Tucking the photo into her pocket, she secured the lid back on the box and pushed it into the closet. She wanted to march right into the couple’s room and demand to know what their connection to this photo was, but that would be stupid. The only one getting in trouble in that scenario would be her.

  Feeling along the wall, she made it to the edge of the hallway. When the toe of her shoe hit something, her gaze lowered to the floor. A discarded pen, a logo stamped on it. It was getting a little lighter outside, and she was able to make out the words, even from this vantage point.

  Dollar Dayz Inn.

  Her temperature rose. Was that right or was she seeing things? She lowered herself, picked it up. Read the words again.

  Dollar Dayz Inn, just like she’d thought.

  Whitney knew the place. Right off the freeway. Near where Whitney used to live.

  Where Lauren grew up.

  Adding the pen to the growing collection in her pocket, she stood so quickly all the blood rushed to her head. She was momentarily dizzy, so she clutched the edge of the couch until it subsided.

  Then she raced out the back door. Once outside, she let out a long, slow, relieved exhale.

  Cool air circled her, carrying with it the smell of damp grass, bark and flowers. She made her way across the back lawn and out to the street. A dog barked. Tires buzzed on the asphalt. A light shone from somewhere on the street. Head down, Whitney sprinted to the park.

  Once inside her car, she turned on the ignition and gunned it out of the parking lot. The motel was at least twenty minutes away, and she was getting impatient.

  As she sped down the street, she had the fleeting thought that maybe this was nothing more than a wild-goose chase—but then again, better chasing something than nothing.

  SUNDAY, 6:00 A.M.

  The motel looked even worse than Whitney remembered. She didn’t think it was possible for it to become sketchier, but somehow it had. Her stomach turned at the idea that Amelia might be here. Sitting in her car, Whitney scanned the lot, her gaze resting on the motel office. Her first instinct was to go in there and ask if either Lauren or Amelia had checked in here. Now that she was pretty sure she knew Lauren’s last name she could use that. But then she thought better of it.

  There was no way the staff would willingly give out that information, and it might alert Lauren that she was here.

  No, she’d have better luck asking around to the tenants. It was early, but she figured somebody was bound to be awake. A picture was all she needed. She didn’t have one of Lauren. The one in her pocket didn’t count.

  But she had plenty of Amelia.

  She took out her phone and pulled up her favorite one.

  Phone in hand, she got out of her car, locked it tight. A couple of guys stood outside one of the rooms downstairs, smoking. Hesitating, she hovered at the edge of her car, a dark figure hidden in the shadows. They didn’t look like guys she should be talking to in an empty motel parking lot. There was no one to witness if she got hurt...or worse. No one to step in and help if things went awry. Biting her lip, she peered down at the photo in her hand. There was a possibility that Amelia was somewhere in this motel. Whitney had to do whatever it took to find her. Lifting her chin, she urged her legs to walk forward in their direction.

  The minute she reached them, she forced herself to talk, afraid if she waited, she’d lose her nerve. “Hey.” The word she chose was casual, confident, but her wobbly voice betrayed how nervous she was.

  They didn’t respond with a friendly greeting of their own, just stared blankly.

  It rattled her, but she wouldn’t allow herself to back down. “Um...I’m looking for my daughter.” Holding up her phone, it shook in her hands. With her other hand, she pointed at Amelia. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen her, would you?”

  “No,” one of them said without even looking at the picture. His steely gaze took in the parking lot behind her as he stuck the tip of the cigarette in his mouth. The other end crackled, the blaze a bold orange, flickering against the black sky.

  Whitney shivered.

  The other one, squinted, moved in closer. “Um...you know, I might have. Earlier today. I think she was with that other girl.” He snapped his large fingers, nudged his friend. “The one that’s staying upstairs.” His friend shook his head, clearly not wanting to be involved.

  Whitney stood up taller, leaned in. “Was the other girl dark haired? Kinda tall? Glasses?”

  “Yea
h, yeah, that sounds like her,” he said, drawing his cigarette to his lips.

  “Oh, thank you.” Whitney hugged her phone to her chest. She was so close she could feel it. Her gaze flickered to the stairs. “You said she was staying upstairs. Do you happen to know what room?”

  The rude guy shook his head, muttered something unintelligible. The friendlier guy shook his head too.

  It was clear that was all she was getting out of them. Still, it was something. Even more than she’d been expecting.

  “Thank you,” she said again, before scurrying off, grateful to be able to put distance between herself and them.

  She ascended the stairs, her feet clanging against the metal steps. It was a jolting, glaring sound against the silence. The freeway was near, so during the day it was probably loud. But now only an occasional car went by. The motel lights flickered. No one was outside upstairs, and Whitney’s heart sank.

  There were at least a dozen rooms. How would she figure out which one Lauren was in?

  Maybe it was time to call the police, to fill them in on what she knew. It was something she only contemplated a moment before realizing how dumb it was. She’d have to admit how she knew. How she’d broken into that house.

  And that wasn’t all she’d have to confess to. If Lauren was who she thought, she’d have to finally come clean about everything she’d done. She wasn’t ready for that yet. First, she had to find Amelia, and then she’d deal with the consequences. Once she knew Amelia was safe, she’d confess to all her past sins. She’d accept any punishment she needed to.

  A cool breeze whisked over her. Shuddering, she hugged herself. Glancing at each door as she passed it, she wondered if Amelia was on the other side. So close, and yet still impossibly far. She wanted to scream out Amelia’s name, but knew that would be stupid. The need to do something drastic clawed at her insides like a trapped cat.

  She was exhausted.

  All she wanted was to find Amelia and go home. Put this whole thing behind them. But she knew it wouldn’t go down like that. Even once Amelia was found, this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

  And that made Whitney even more exhausted. She could feel the tiredness seep into her bones as she continued past all the upstairs motel rooms. When she’d reached the last one, a woman stepped out. She wore flannel pajama bottoms, a ripped T-shirt. Her copper hair was pulled up into a messy bun and in her hand she held a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

  At the sight of Whitney, her eyes widened.

  “What?” she snapped in a defensive tone. She drew a cigarette out of the pack and stuck it between her dry lips.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Whitney said, in her most apologetic voice. “It’s just...my daughter is missing.” The lady’s expression softened then, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Relief flowed through Whitney’s chest. “I’m so worried. I think she might be staying here. And um...” She held out her phone. “I wonder if maybe you’ve seen her?”

  The lady lit her cigarette. Then she narrowed her eyes, moving in closer. She studied the picture for a minute. Whitney held her breath.

  “Yeah, actually, I have seen her.”

  Whitney’s pulse jumpstarted. “Really?”

  “Yeah, she and the other girl left like a half hour ago.”

  “A half hour ago? You’re sure?” Her heart sank. She’d been so close.

  “Yeah, cause that’s what time my boyfriend left and I walked him out.”

  “Do you know where they went?” It was a long shot, but Whitney had to ask.

  “I overheard them saying they were on their way to visit their mom. Wait. Is that you? Guess you guys had a mix-up or something.”

  Heat shot up Whitney’s spine.

  Her sister.

  Their mom.

  She knew exactly where they’d gone.

  And it wasn’t far.

  31

  AFTER MY OVERDOSE, I wasn’t allowed to see Millie anymore.

  At the time it seemed ridiculous. It’s easier for me to understand now. I actually get why my parents kept us apart.

  If I were in their shoes, I would do the same thing.

  But in that moment, it felt like they’d destroyed my life. Taken away the thing that mattered most to me.

  For the next six months or so, Millie and I found ways to interact. We’d sneak phone calls. Talk at school. If the subject of boys came up, she was vague. She never talked about Mitch.

  But then she got pregnant and dropped out. That’s how I knew she’d chosen him over me again.

  The phone calls became scarcer and then stopped altogether.

  My parents forced me to go to therapy. I know they expected me to talk about Kevin’s death. That’s how they justified my actions. The lying. Manipulating. Using drugs. Trying to kill myself. I was acting out because I’d lost my brother.

  And maybe they were right. At least partially, anyway. Kevin’s life and death had definitely affected me. His illness had permeated every aspect of our family. There wasn’t a day, a moment, even, that wasn’t affected by it. It consumed my parents while he was alive, and certainly after he died.

  That’s why I missed my life with Millie. A life that had nothing to do with Kevin. A life that was all mine.

  It was the loss of Millie that I felt deep in my bones. That made me depressed. And it’s what I’d planned to talk to Dr. Carter about. But when he stared at me with that expectant look on his face, pen poised over his yellow steno pad, I opened my mouth and told an entirely different story.

  One that wasn’t even mine.

  I told him about the darkness that haunted me day and night. About the boy I fell in love with who bruised my skin and ripped at my heart. Who supplied me with drugs, and isolated me from my friends. I told the story so many times—to Dr. Carter, Dan, my parents—that eventually it stopped being Millie’s and became mine.

  It lived inside of me, taking on a life of its own. Fusing to my bones, attaching to my heart. Becoming real. True. Something I believed.

  32

  SUNDAY, 6:30 A.M.

  THIRTY-SEVEN AND A HALF

  HOURS AFTER DROP-OFF

  THE ROAD WAS winding, trees lining the sides, bending to meet in the middle, a canopy shading the street. It was beautiful over here in this part of town. Large custom homes with sweeping, wraparound porches. As a child, Whitney wished she’d lived over here.

  As an adult, she’d come here many times.

  Always to visit Lauren’s mom.

  Whitney wasn’t surprised when she first found out Lauren’s mom was here. Whitney always thought she deserved to be somewhere pretty. Elegant. She’d always hoped for the best for her, even if it had to be this way.

  From a little ways off, Whitney spotted them. Lauren and Amelia standing outside on the grass. Moisture sprung to her eyes, her lips quivering. Amelia was alive. Safe. Her entire body was flooded with relief, joints and muscles instantly relaxing. Her chest expanded, and that funny fluttering feeling finally waned.

  After parking along the curb, she wanted nothing more than to tear out of the car, run to her daughter. Draw Amelia into her arms. Hold her close. Never let her go.

  But that wasn’t possible.

  Not anymore.

  Whitney had worked so hard to find her, but now that she had, she was at a loss for what to do. The tears continued to flow. If Amelia was here of her own volition, it meant that Lauren had told her the truth.

  About Whitney. About Amelia, and who she really was.

  Staring through the smudged glass of her car window, she watched the girls standing over their mother’s grave. Sisters. Together at long last.

  * * *

  Lauren stared down at her mother’s gravestone, feeling the swell in her chest like an ocean wave cresting and then falling. It was surreal, standing here with her si
ster.

  Most of Lauren’s childhood was a blur. Hazy at best. Muddled memories. Days blending together. Little snapshots—the places they’d lived, the yards she’d played in, her mom’s voice, familiar scents, the little stuffed monkey she’d slept with. But there were a few memories that stood out. Days and moments she recalled with stark clarity. Like when she met her sister for the first time. Her mom had left her overnight. That was probably the first reason she remembered it so well. Up until that point, she’d never spent a night without her mom. It was scary, not having her there. What if she’d had a nightmare? No way would her dad comfort her. He barely looked in her direction, and she didn’t think he’d ever hugged her.

  That night, she’d slept coiled up in her bed, her little stuffed monkey pressed to her chest, and prayed for morning to come quickly.

  When the sun had finally come up, her dad took her to the hospital. It was a crowded place with beeping machines, phones ringing, doctors in lab coats and nurses in white whisking past them. Carts being wheeled on the linoleum, women walking slowly down the hallway in hospital gowns, attached to wires and poles, people dressed in regular clothes holding flowers and cards.

  Her stomach felt funny like that time she ate way too much candy the day after Halloween. But her dad didn’t like when she whined or acted afraid, so she held her head high and continued to follow him.

  Once she saw her mom, her fears faded. Her mom looked tired, sitting in the hospital bed wearing a white gown, her hair messy, her face pale and sweaty. But she also looked beautiful. Happy. That may have been the other reason Lauren remembered the day so well. She’d rarely seen her mom that happy before.

  Her baby sister was asleep in a glass bed with wheels. When she stirred, making a tiny, squeaking noise, Lauren’s mom scooped her out. She had a pink blanket wrapped tightly around her body, only her head visible. Lauren joked that she looked like a baby burrito. Her mom laughed. Her dad didn’t.