Where I Left Her Page 5

  When the strange man smiled at her, she felt silly for staring.

  “Scotch on the rocks,” she said, nodding toward the drink in his hand. “That’s always been my dad’s drink of choice.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted. He propped an elbow on the bar. “Is that a good or bad thing?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” she said, surprising herself with the playful, flirtatious tone.

  “What would make you sure?”

  She shrugged. “Is it your usual drink?”

  “No,” he said. “I’ll drink pretty much anything except for a dirty martini.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because that’s my dad’s drink of choice.” He winked.

  She liked him already.

  “What about you? You always stick to red wine?”

  “No, I’m like you. I’ll drink most things, except for white zin.”

  “Let me guess, that’s your mom’s drink of choice.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “It’s just gross.”

  He laughed. Hard. She melted.

  When Natalie arrived, Jay shocked Whitney by asking for her number. Natalie had given her a broad smile and a thumbs-up. By that point, she didn’t need the endorsement, but she welcomed it.

  Jay had already hooked her.

  “Oh, yes, that’s better. I’m sure serial killers never frequent bars in restaurants.” Amelia laughed.

  “He’s not a serial killer,” Whitney insisted, her phone buzzing again.

  What are you up to today? his text read.

  “How do you know?” Amelia asked.

  Whitney glanced at his picture displayed at the top of their text thread. “I just know. He’s a nice guy. Charming. Good-looking.”

  “That’s what they said about Ted Bundy,” Amelia pointed out, and her friend laughed.

  “Okay, you watch way too much TV. Jay’s a nice guy. He’s not a serial killer.”

  “I sure hope not, since he totally knows where we live,” Amelia said.

  This time she wasn’t laughing. “What’s going on, Amelia? We’ve talked about this. I didn’t think you had a problem with me dating Jay.” She’d dated a few guys in the last couple of years and Amelia had never seemed suspicious of them.

  “I don’t.” She shrugged.

  “Then why were you saying he’s a serial killer?”

  “It wasn’t really about Jay, I guess. I just wonder, you know, like how well do we really know anybody?” Amelia said, a faraway look on her face.

  Lauren nodded in agreement.

  Whitney’s stomach knotted. Her daughter wasn’t the philosophical type, and this new depth was not a welcome change.

  * * *

  “Lauren seems nice,” Whitney said a few minutes after Lauren left.

  “Yeah, she’s cool.” Amelia opened the fridge and pulled out a water. After unscrewing the top and taking a sip, she reached for her earbuds.

  Inwardly, Whitney groaned. She was already losing her.

  “You seem to really like her,” Whitney blurted out loudly before she could get both earbuds in.

  “Yeah, she’s cool,” Amelia repeated slowly as if Whitney was hard of hearing.

  “No, I mean you really seem to like her.” Whitney put emphasis on the word like, hoping Amelia would understand what she was getting at.

  But she appeared more confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Smooth, Whit. Real smooth.

  “Nothing. I’ve just never known you to spend all night working on a personality test with a friend.”

  “It’s not that weird.” Amelia bristled. “A lot of kids at my school are into the Enneagram.”

  Whitney tried a different tack. Leaning over the counter, she rested her elbows on top. “So, did you figure out how alike you were?”

  “We actually weren’t that similar at all,” Amelia answered a little sullenly.

  Maybe Whitney’s instinct was right. She straightened up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, you know. Your dad and I took a compatibility test before we got married and we weren’t alike at all either.”

  The look on Amelia’s face told Whitney she had said the wrong thing.

  Again.

  “Why would you compare me and Lauren to you and Dad?” Her eyes widened. “Oh, my God. Do you think Lauren’s my girlfriend?”

  “I don’t know,” Whitney said. “Is she?”

  Amelia shook her head. “I’m not gay, Mom.”

  “It would be okay with me if you were,” she said quickly.

  Amelia paused for a minute, studying her face. For the first time in weeks she didn’t seem irritated. “Thanks. But I’m not.”

  “Okay.” Whitney held on to the edge of the counter, feeling off balance.

  “And no duh, you and Dad aren’t alike. Did you really need a test to tell you that?” Amelia wore a teasing smile.

  Whitney’s lips tugged upward, and she let out a light laugh. “Well, it’s like Paula Abdul says, ‘Opposites Attract.’”

  “Huh?” Amelia’s nose scrunched up.

  Whitney shook her head in a dismissive way. “It’s a ’90s song.”

  “Is that really why you and Dad were attracted to each other? Because you’re opposite?”

  “No, I was just joking. I actually don’t think your dad and I are opposite. We’re different, sure. Everyone is. But we’re also alike in a lot of ways too.”

  Amelia snorted. “Yeah, right. You guys are totally different. Karen and him—now, they’re alike.”

  Whitney’s stomach coiled, remembering how Amelia was when Dan and Karen first started dating.

  Dad’s new girlfriend is so nice.

  Dad’s new girlfriend is so pretty.

  Look what Dad’s new girlfriend bought me.

  Whitney was the only one who never bought into the perfect-Karen act. Everyone else did, Dan’s parents included. Of course, they’d never approved of Dan’s relationship with Whitney, so it made sense they’d like someone so wholesomely different.

  But Whitney knew she was too good to be true. No adult was that sweet. That selfless. That smiley.

  Whitney knew what a manipulator looked like. She saw right through Karen from the very beginning. And she’d been right. Karen quit her teaching job right after marrying Dan, confirming Whitney’s gold-digging theory. And as much as Karen doted on Amelia when she and Dan were dating, Dan saw Amelia considerably less once he got married. Not only that, but a year into their marriage, Dan tried to get the amount of his child support lowered. As adamantly as he swore Karen wasn’t the one who’d instigated that, Whitney knew better.

  Unsure of how to respond to Amelia and certain she’d end up saying the wrong thing, Whitney kept her lips glued shut. Busying herself, she snatched up a sponge and wiped down the counter.

  “I wonder what their kid’ll be like,” Amelia mused aloud. She said it in a nonchalant way, but the words felt charged, alive. “Anyway, I’m just glad I’ll be visiting before the baby comes. Then I’ll have Dad all to myself.”

  “I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself. Nothing’s been decided.”

  “What do you mean?” Amelia cocked her head to the side. “Dad and I talked. He said I could come visit.”

  Whitney set down the sponge. “Honey, I’m sorry but I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with you traveling all the way to Amsterdam alone.” It wasn’t just the traveling either. Dan’s parenting style was vastly different than Whitney’s. When Amelia was with him, he let her do things Whitney never would. Amelia wouldn’t be properly looked after. Who knew what kind of trouble she could get into, a naive girl in a foreign country? Dan didn’t know Amelia the way Whitney did. She acted tough. Strong. But she was sheltered. Innocent. Not street-smart at all.

 
The perfect prey.

  Amelia crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t care what you think. I’m going.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Dad said you might do this, but you can’t keep me from going.”

  “Oh, yes, I can.”

  She shook her head. “Nope. Dad said it’s in your divorce agreement. By law I get time with him. He can go to his attorney.”

  Was her own daughter threatening her with legal action?

  It seemed unfathomable.

  As she stared at the teenager standing in the middle of the kitchen, arms crossed, knees locked, eyes narrowed, she realized her own daughter had become a stranger to her.

  7

  I NEVER HAD a best friend before Millie.

  I mean, yeah, sure I had friends. When I was young, I played with the kids my parents’ friends would bring over. And later, I would go to the occasional sleepover. But, usually, I was the girl who got left out, no matter how hard I tried.

  In middle school, I sat near a group of girls in English class. One day before the bell rang, they were all talking about their boyfriends. I didn’t have a boyfriend, but I piped up anyway, telling them I was dating a boy in high school. They bought it and started drawing me into the conversations from then on. Our friendship didn’t last past seventh grade, though.

  But with Millie it was different. She was the first friend—maybe the first person in my entire life—who really saw me.

  The real me.

  I didn’t have to put on an act or be someone I wasn’t.

  She thought I was amazing. Special. Unique. And when I was with her, I believed I was too.

  One of my favorite things about Millie was how much she loved to dance. When I picture her in my mind, that’s what she’s doing. Dancing. She was always doing it. It was like when she heard music, she was unable to keep her body from moving in sync with it. She’d dance in the store, on the street, in front of other people, she didn’t care.

  Whenever I was over, she’d blast music in her room and make me dance with her. I’ve never been much of a dancer. Seat-dancing, I can do. My arms aren’t the problem. It’s my legs that refuse to obey. But Millie never took no for an answer. She’d tug on my arms until I gave in. Although, in all honesty, it didn’t take much coaxing.

  Dancing with Millie made me feel weightless. Free. Beautiful.

  She’d slide her fingers through mine and guide my movements to help me find the rhythm. The beat flowed from her.

  I often danced with my eyes closed. Mostly because I was trying to concentrate, so I wouldn’t step on her feet. But also, because then I couldn’t see how clunky my movements were. In my mind, I could picture myself dancing gracefully.

  One afternoon we were dancing in her room. My eyes were closed. Millie was guiding my movements, her fingers wrapped around mine, when all of the sudden one of her hands released mine and grazed my cheek. I opened my eyes to find her face so close I could feel the heat of her breath on my face, smell her fruity lip gloss that always sparkled intensely on her lips. She looked so serious, her eyes meeting mine. As she moved in closer, her hand sliding back toward my hair, I thought she was going to kiss me.

  I’ve never been into girls. Not before or since. But in that moment, I wanted her to press her lips to mine.

  Apparently, I’d read the entire situation wrong, though. She was just brushing a strand of hair off my cheek.

  When she pulled back, I felt so many conflicting things. Disappointment. Relief. Confusion.

  But one thing was clear: I would’ve done anything to be close to Millie.

  Anything.

  8

  SATURDAY, 2:00 P.M.

  TWENTY-ONE HOURS

  AFTER DROP-OFF

  “DAN?” WHITNEY WAS grateful when he answered the phone. She’d been worried he might already be in bed, since it was eleven o’clock his time. He’d never been a night owl. Early to bed, early to rise, he used to say. Her fingers ached from the exertion of holding the phone tight to her ear. She perched on the edge of her bed, staring at the blank white wall in front of her.

  “Whitney, hi.” He didn’t sound happy to hear from her. He also didn’t sound like he was expecting her call.

  But she held on to hope anyway. “Is Amelia there?”

  “Of course not,” he said as if it was a ridiculous question.

  “Well, have you talked to her? Is she maybe on her way to see you?”

  “No. Why would you even ask that?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, Dan. I know you had been talking to her about visiting.”

  “Yes, but not today. This summer. And it wasn’t a secret. I talked to you about it too.”

  “Yeah, and when I said I wasn’t comfortable with it, you told Amelia you were going to your attorney.”

  Dan snorted. “Not exactly.”

  “Are you saying that Amelia lied to me?”

  “No, I just...she was worried you wouldn’t say yes, and I was just explaining to her that there are ways around that.”

  “So, is that what you did? You went around it? Helped her get a plane ticket. Told her to come see you, to hell with what I thought?” Her entire body was shaking now.

  “No, I didn’t. Geez. Calm down,” Dan said in that patronizing tone Whitney hated. “Last time I talked to her she hadn’t even gotten her passport yet.”

  Right. Her passport. Amelia didn’t have one. There was no way she was on her way to Amsterdam. She exhaled, temporarily relieved. Then another thought hit. “What about your parents? Do you know if Amelia’s been in contact with them?”

  Amelia had always loved time with her paternal grandparents. They lived in the Santa Cruz area, so not that far. Every year they sent expensive gifts at Christmas and on her birthday. And the times when Amelia visited, they’d make her root beer floats and take her out for fast food.

  Dan would sometimes take Amelia to see them in the summertime. She loved the beach. Swimming had been her favorite pastime since she was a toddler. Dan and Whitney used to call her their little fish.

  “No, I actually just talked with Mom today. Dad’s been pretty sick.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Whitney said, and it wasn’t exactly a lie. She would never wish ill will on anyone. But there was certainly no love lost between her and Dr. Carter. There was a time when Dr. Carter was someone she trusted, confided in. He’d been her therapist when she was a teenager. That’s how she’d met Dan in the first place.

  Her first appointment with Dr. Carter, her mom dropped her off in front of a large two-story white house, a large porch wrapping around it.

  “Are you sure this is right?” Whitney asked her mother.

  She nodded. “Yeah, he said his office is in his home.”

  So Whitney hopped out of her mom’s car and headed up the front porch stairs. Then she knocked on the door.

  When it opened, a young man stood there. Whitney instantly noticed how good-looking he was. Brown hair, blue eyes, tanned skin, dimpled smile.

  “Um...” she stammered, staring down at her tennis shoes. She wished she’d worn something cuter than the jeans and T-shirt she had on. At least she’d had the forethought to wear her hair down, put on some lip gloss. Smoothing down her hair, she forced a wobbly smile. “I’m...um...here to see Dr. Carter?” She hadn’t meant it to come out like a question.

  But the boy smiled, and her cheeks heated up. “Sure. I’ll take you to his office.”

  Whitney took a step forward, but the boy stepped out and they bumped into one another. Giggling, she stepped back. So did he.

  “My dad’s office is actually back this way.” He pointed toward the side yard.

  “Oh.” She bit her lip. “You’re Dr. Carter’s son?”

  “Dan.”

  “Hi, Dan.” She smiled, her cheeks warming. “I’
m Whitney.”

  He guided her into the side yard and through the back to a guesthouse turned office, and he showed her how to access it the next time she came. She was a little bummed that he’d shown her. She’d been hoping to run into him next time.

  “Mom didn’t mention anything about Amelia,” Dan said now.

  “Okay.” Whitney drew in a breath, her mind already reeling again with ideas. Possibilities.

  “What’s going on?”

  Whitney explained the situation quickly—just the bare bones.

  “And you think she might have run away?” he asked when she finished.

  “I don’t know,” Whitney said honestly. “Everyone keeps saying she’s probably just staying late at her friend’s and she’ll come home any minute, but I have a weird feeling in my gut.”

  “You and your weird feelings,” he joked.

  Despite herself, Whitney smiled. “It’s just that she’s been lying a lot lately. Sneaking around. And now I found out she’s taken some money out of her account.” Whitney bit her lip. “I honestly don’t know what to think. It looks like she even skipped swim practice, and she never misses that.”

  “Swim practice? But she’s not on swim team this year.”

  “What? Yes, she is.”

  “Have you been to a meet?”

  “She’s only had one and it was an away meet. She told me the first home meet isn’t for a few more weeks.”

  “Well, that may be true, but Amelia’s not on the team this year.”

  Stunned, Whitney stared at the wall. She thought back to the afternoons Amelia came home, hair wet from practice, dumping her swim bag by the door. To all the evenings when Whitney came home late from the warehouse, asking about practice, and Amelia replied that it went well.

  “I don’t...I don’t understand. Are you sure?”

  “One hundred percent,” he said. “I paid her team dues over the summer for this upcoming season, but then I was refunded. When I called to ask her about it, she said she decided not to join this year. Studies were hard and she was worried about getting behind in classes.”