Where I Left Her Read online

  Lauren was allowed to climb up on the bed with her mom so she could get a better look at the baby. It didn’t look like much. A bald head. Scrunched up face. Wrinkled skin. She didn’t think the baby was that cute.

  Her mom told her to be careful and not to touch the baby. Said she could get sick. Lauren was getting bored. Restless. She’d been so excited to meet the baby, but now it wasn’t that exciting. She didn’t want to leave, though, because that meant she’d have to leave her mom. So she kept sitting there. Kept staring at the baby as she did nothing.

  And that’s when something magical happened.

  The baby started crying, writhing around, stretching her neck from one side to the other. When the baby’s neck turned all the way to the left, Lauren saw it. A birthmark, identical to the one she had on her own neck.

  It made her feel special. All fuzzy inside. Almost like she and her sister already had their own little secret. Just between them.

  She didn’t say anything then.

  But on the day of her sister’s funeral, she wished she had, because when she peeked into the tiny casket, that baby’s neck was white, pale, clean, no markings of any kind.

  Turning her head now, Lauren took in Amelia’s profile in the moonlight. A breeze kicked up, the hair brushing away from Amelia’s neck, revealing the tan edge of a pear-shaped birthmark.

  33

  YEARS PASSED, BUT I never forgot about Millie. I stopped drinking and smoking pot. I graduated from high school, then Dan and I went away to college together. My parents were so proud of me in those days. It scared me sometimes. I’d always wanted them to see me. To notice me, the way I felt they did Kevin. But I’d mistaken pity for love. Kevin needed my parents and they were there for him, giving and giving. I thought I wanted that, too, until I had it. Their pity. Their sympathy. Their stolen worried glances.

  I wasn’t fragile.

  I wasn’t broken.

  I was strong and accomplished, and not because I’d overcome so much, but because I just was. They never saw it. Not then, and not now.

  To them, I’m always one bad event away from falling apart.

  There were times when I was exhausted with trying to play the part. Be the person Dan and my parents thought I was.

  But there wasn’t an alternative. I’d lived a lie for so long, I didn’t know how to live the truth.

  One time, when Dan and I were visiting home from college, we ran into Millie at the grocery store. She had a toddler in her shopping cart. It was odd to see her grown-up, food shopping with a kid. I knew she was still with Mitch before she even said anything. It was clear by how gaunt she was, how skittish she seemed. Her eyes kept darting around like Mitch would show up and find out she was talking to us. There was also a slight discoloration on her cheek as if a bruise was fading.

  I pulled her aside, asked if I could take her out for coffee or lunch. She hesitated momentarily, but then agreed to meet me at a coffee shop the next morning while her daughter was in preschool.

  When she showed up the next morning, there was a fresh bruise on her arm. I noticed it when she brought her coffee cup to her lips, causing her sleeve to slip down her arm. Not wanting to draw attention to it, I averted my eyes.

  Millie was a lot like I remembered her. Magnetic, but guarded. Careful with her words. Our conversation was shallow. The weather. Old friends of ours. The past. Anytime I tried to press her about her present, about Mitch or being a mom, she found a way to divert, redirect, distract. She had it down to a science.

  Not that she needed to spell it out. It was clear to me how she was. I could see it in the paleness of her cheeks, the greasiness of her hair and the blue rings around her eyes. I saw it in the way she pulled at her sleeves. In the way her hands perpetually trembled. The continuous licking of her dry lips. And in how jumpy she was every time a grinder went off behind the coffee bar, or a person laughed or talked too loud.

  Finally, I couldn’t help myself.

  “You don’t have to stay with him, you know?”

  “God, you haven’t changed at all.” She let out a bitter, raspy laugh. “Why can’t you ever mind your own business?”

  “I’m just trying to help.” I caught her gaze with mine. “Then and now.” She frowned. “Millie, I’m so sorry about everything that happened back then.”

  She shook her head, waved away my words. “That was a long time ago, Whit.”

  “Are things different now? Better...with Mitch?”

  She glanced out the window, her eyes sad. “Yes and no, I guess. I mean, he still has a temper, but most of the time things are good.” She shifted in her chair, hugged herself.

  I knew it was all I’d get out of her. She wouldn’t admit anything more. Not to me.

  * * *

  As we sat there in that coffee shop, I tried to imagine if our lives had turned out differently. If I had never tried to trick Mitch into hurting me or taken all those pills, would we have remained friends? Would her relationship with Mitch have fizzled out all on its own? Would I have won and Mitch lost?

  I’ll never know.

  Either way, that night back then seemed to seal her fate.

  I didn’t see Millie again until after Dan and I were married. It was right around the time I got pregnant. We were visiting my parents for a few days before Christmas when we ran into both Millie and Mitch at the mall. It was so awkward.

  We made painful small talk: How old was their little girl? Did they still live around here? What had they been up to?

  And on their end: When had we gotten married? How was that going? Were we finished with school? Working?

  It hurt, talking with Millie like this. Acquaintances. Former friends. Mitch eyed me suspiciously the whole conversation.

  Missing her caused an ache to spread through me. So many years had passed. An ocean separating us. And yet, I wasn’t ready to let her go completely. I needed to. I knew that. Dan and I were talking about having children. Buying a house. Grown-up things.

  Millie wasn’t part of that equation.

  She was simply a portion of my past. A small blip in my history. But even as I thought that, I knew it wasn’t true. She’d been a huge part of my existence. Had shaped me. Turned me into the person I was. And yeah, maybe I’d made it larger in my mind—what we had, what we’d been to each other—but maybe that’s because I’d never had closure.

  We’d been so close and then in one fell swoop we’d been cut from each other’s lives. I thought what we needed was one more night together. One last hurrah if you will.

  So that night, while Dan slept soundly in my childhood bedroom at my parents’ house, I snuck out and went to Millie’s. I’d been shocked to find out when we spoke at the mall that she lived with Mitch in the same exact apartment he’d once shared with Greg. How had Millie’s life stayed frozen in time, when mine had blasted full speed ahead? Dan was the soundest sleeper I’d ever met. And he never got up in the night, so I wasn’t worried about getting caught. As long as I got home by early morning, he’d never find out.

  When I arrived at the apartment, I was glad to see it didn’t look at all like I’d remembered. Millie had added her own touches. A floral painting here and there. Family portraits. Fresh flowers on the end table. A pink throw blanket on the couch. The most distinct difference, though, was that it was clean. Smelled feminine.

  Mitch wasn’t happy to see me, but Millie was. For a little while he hung out with us, a brooding, dark shadow in the corner, just like old times. But thankfully, he finally went to bed, and Millie and I sat up all night talking in her living room. She poured us cheap vodka and I puffed on a couple of cigarettes even though it had been ages since I’d had one. It was like old times. Even down to how guarded she was. I knew she had to be careful about what she said. Mitch could be listening to every word. I was careful, too, with the questions I asked.

  When I left
, I honestly thought that would be the last time I saw her. I held her tight, whispered in her ear. Something about how if she ever needed me, I’d be there.

  Her eyes shone as I stepped away from the door, and I knew then that she never planned to contact me. I turned away, a lump in my throat and hurried toward my car. I’d almost reached it when Dan stepped out of the shadows. After gasping, I asked what the hell he was doing there.

  Dan’s gaze slid past me to the apartment I came out of and he said, “I can’t believe you.”

  There was no convincing him I hadn’t slept with Mitch. In his mind, Mitch was the ex I couldn’t get over. He kept saying that he always knew my heart belonged to someone else. That he’d always felt someone else in the room, standing between us, a beating heart, a heavy breath.

  He wasn’t wrong about that part.

  My heart had always partially belonged to someone else. Just not the person he thought.

  34

  SUNDAY, 6:45 A.M.

  OVER THIRTY-SEVEN HOURS

  AFTER DROP-OFF

  LAUREN HAD ALWAYS believed in her memory of that birthmark. It was something she remembered so vividly. It was real. Tangible. Not something she’d made up. She was sure of it.

  Her entire life, she’d dreamed of the little girl with milky white skin, puffy cheeks, wide eyes, the pear-shaped tan birthmark on her neck. In her dreams, the child appeared to her at various ages. An infant, a toddler, elementary school–aged. Every time, she’d want to play a game of hide-and-seek. Lauren would cover her face with her hands and count, sometimes peeking out through her splayed fingers.

  The little girl would skip away, find a hiding spot.

  But even the nights she cheated and peeked through her fingers, Lauren was unable to find the little girl. She’d search behind couches, inside drawers, under cabinets, in piles of blankets. Desperate, she’d scour every room, and often venture outside. Scaling walls, cutting down bushes, tearing apart plants. But in the end, all she was left with was emptiness.

  Lauren would awaken to her own screams, skin dampened with cold sweat, pulse ricocheting through her veins.

  In her dreams, Lauren never found her.

  But in real life, she had.

  It was last year right before Lauren’s grandma passed away. Her grandma had been living in an old folks’ home, and Lauren had gone to visit her. She’d only seen her grandma a couple of times as a young child. When she’d gone into foster care, her grandma never contacted her; as an adult, she had to assume that CPS had notified her family, and the old hag had rejected her. But for some reason, on her deathbed, her grandmother had finally reached out. Wanted to find redemption in her final moments, Lauren guessed. At first Lauren had only gone to tell her off, to make her feel bad about not taking Lauren in when she was younger. But the old woman had been so frail, so sickly, that Lauren lost her nerve. Besides, she was the only person she could talk to about her mom. And she’d been aching to learn more about the woman she’d loved so fiercely and missed so much.

  Her grandma had shared a few photo albums with Lauren. They were the kind with plastic over the photos and the little spots to write in captions. Flipping through one, Lauren came upon pictures of her mom as a teenager. Her mom had always been so beautiful. In several of the pictures, she was with a friend. Next to them in cursive handwriting it read: Millie and Whitney. BFFs.

  “Do you remember Mom’s friend Whitney?” she’d asked her grandma, pointing out the picture. Her grandmother was sitting propped up in her bed, knitted blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her eyes were glazed and watery, her mouth trembling, drool pooling at the corner as she studied the photograph.

  Yes. Whitney Lewis. I’ll never forget her. Her grandma’s voice took on a dark quality. She ruined your mother’s life.

  As her grandma had tried to relay the story to Lauren, it was hard to follow, but one thing was clear: Lauren’s interest was piqued. She’d wanted to know more about this woman who had once been her mom’s best friend.

  And her interest had grown further when she found her mom’s journal. It was filled with stories of her mom’s former best friend.

  So she’d hopped on Facebook, and searched for Whitney Lewis. She was going by Whitney Carter now, but had listed Lewis as her maiden name, so she was easy enough to find. Lauren hadn’t really known what she’d hoped to discover on Whitney’s account. But nothing could’ve prepared her for the truth. She’d been stunned when she came upon a close-up, profile shot of Whitney’s daughter wearing a swim cap, her neck exposed, revealing the same tan birthmark Lauren had.

  Amelia yawned, her eyes glazed over as she stared down at the grave site. Lauren felt bad about having to wake Amelia up so early but she wanted to get a jumpstart on their trip. She was certain Whitney was searching for them. Possibly the police, as well.

  “You ready?” Lauren asked.

  Amelia nodded.

  When they’d first come up with this road trip idea, Amelia had been much more excited. Today she was subdued. Almost regretful. Clearly, she was having second thoughts. And Lauren shouldn’t have been surprised. Not after the DNA results came back inconclusive yesterday. Amelia wanted to believe it meant something. She’d even said as much.

  Maybe your theory isn’t correct, she’d said to Lauren, a hopeful lilt in her tone. Maybe the birthmarks are a coincidence.

  But they weren’t. Lauren was right. She was sure of it. The DNA test was only inconclusive because she didn’t turn in a cheek swab from Whitney. She’d stolen some hair out of her brush, and taken a cup, hoping they could lift the saliva. But the company said they needed a cheek swab.

  Lauren kicked herself for not leaving yesterday. She only waited for the DNA results because she wanted to give Amelia one last chance to decide if she wanted to turn her mom in or not. But she should’ve known waiting would be a mistake.

  “Come on.” She nudged Amelia playfully in the side. “If we leave now, we can be at the beach by this afternoon.”

  Amelia smiled. Lauren figured that would get her. Amelia had chosen Santa Cruz as their first stop. They’d already booked their motel.

  “You know, my grandparents live in Santa Cruz,” Amelia said, a wistful grin on her face.

  Lauren’s stomach tightened. “We can’t visit them. Not today.”

  “Can I at least call my dad and let him know I’m okay?”

  Lauren shook her head.

  “Michael?”

  “Don’t you mean Phil Lopez?” she joked, and Amelia laughed. “I still can’t believe your mom didn’t put that together. Hard Knocks is a pretty popular band.”

  “If they weren’t around in the ’90s, my mom’s never heard of them,” Amelia said, smiling, as if she was proud of herself for keeping this secret from her mom.

  Lauren thought about all the secrets she’d been forced to keep. Back when her dad was alive, she kept them to protect herself from his wrath. From his explosive temper and fast-flying fists. And then later on in foster care she had to hide things from the other kids, and some of the grubby-handed foster care parents.

  Prior to meeting Amelia, she couldn’t imagine a life where the biggest secret you kept was that your boyfriend went by the name of his favorite singer in your contacts. But ever since they’d gotten close, she’d caught a glimpse of a better life. One with a family. A sister. A trusted friend.

  It was the reason she’d altered her original plan. When she first came to town, she’d been hell-bent on one thing: revenge. She wanted to make Whitney pay for what she’d stolen from Lauren. But then Lauren became friends with Amelia, and realized that she could have something better, more satisfying than revenge. She could have a family. A sister. A trusted friend.

  That’s why a few weeks ago, she’d come clean.

  It was evening, the sun a bright orange like a flame burning out. The air had cooled, but still held so
me warmth to it. They sat side by side on the edge of the pool at Amelia’s apartment complex. Next to them sat their discarded sandals. Their calves were submerged in the water. A few feet away, a young woman dried off her two little boys.

  “Come on. Time for Mommy to make dinner,” she said in a singsong voice, which was barely audible over her son’s screaming tantrum. “Daddy will be home soon.”

  Lauren was beyond relieved when the mom was able to corral her children and get them the heck out of the pool area. His screams got gradually quieter until they disappeared altogether. She didn’t envy that mom at all.

  The smell of chlorine was thick, cloying. Amelia kicked her legs upward, and water sprayed in the air. Earlier Amelia had wanted to swim, but Lauren didn’t bring a suit and despite Amelia’s offer she knew she’d never fit into one of hers. So, they’d opted to simply stick their feet in.

  Silence spun around them, the pool area empty.

  An urgent feeling pressed on Lauren’s chest, reminding her this was the perfect time. They were alone. No Whitney. No screaming children.

  Since before she’d even met Amelia, she’d fantasized about this moment. How she’d break the news. Lauren had watched dozens of clips online of people being reunited with long-lost family members. They were cheesy, and overdramatic with a lot of tears. The kind of thing Lauren would make fun of if she’d watched with friends. Being raised the way she had been taught her to be tough. Never show weakness.

  Despite that, she’d teared up watching those clips.

  And as she sat by the pool with Amelia, she realized that deep down she wanted that cheesy dramatic reunion, complete with tears, sniffles and hugs.

  That revelation alone almost made her keep quiet.

  Growing up, her friends had often accused her of being a pessimist, to which she’d retort, No, I’m a realist.

  She wasn’t the type to get her hopes up. So, why was she doing that now?

  Amelia drew her legs out of the water, placing her feet on the ground, her knees bent. Lauren’s chest tightened further.