And they did. He heard the door shut behind them, and the camera kept recording nothing and no one. He watched for a bit, waiting for Lauren to remember the rules and kick the boys out. A bird flew by the camera. A breeze blew, rustling the branches of the azalea bush, long devoid of flowers. An adventuresome squirrel scampered along the rail of the porch. But no sign of the boys. Karen was gone. Ian was likely in his room with headphones on, lost in a world of animated gun battles, oblivious, leaving Lauren alone with two older boys wearing matching leers.
He looked up suddenly, remembering he was standing in the lobby of the police station. Candace, the receptionist who occasionally flirted with him (harmlessly), glanced nervously away. But he could tell she’d been watching him, likely wondering just what he had stopped to see on his phone. He shoved it back into his pocket and tried to catch Candace’s eye. But she busied herself with looking busy.
He walked out of the lobby, looking sheepish and feeling worried. And torn. Should he go to his house and interrupt Lauren and the delinquents? Or should he head to Norah Ramsey’s house as intended? Should he do his job, or protect his daughter? His hunch about the doll was just a hunch, after all. No one would know if he didn’t follow up. No one but him. Which would he regret more? If he didn’t catch Norah Ramsey, he might never know what happened to Matteo. But if he didn’t check on Lauren, something bad could happen, something that he’d regret forever.
Matteo was dead. No investigation was going to change that. When there had been a chance Matteo was alive and just in hiding, then the detective work—the dedication—had been worth it. He had had the hope that he could save his brother. But Matteo didn’t need saving. Not anymore. His daughter, however, did—even if she didn’t know it. Nico got into his car and sat there for a moment just to be sure exactly what his gut was telling him. Could he even trust his gut anymore? He could feel the pull toward home, toward his family, acutely. It was like the moon pulling the tides. And the tide had turned for him, just like that. He backed out of his parking space and turned in the opposite direction of Norah Ramsey’s house. For the first time in a long time, Nico had something—someone—else to save.
Bess
She let herself into Norah’s house, just like she used to, remembering the code in the same way that she could still remember her childhood phone number. Some things just stayed with you. Behind her, Casey carried the rest of the dinner. She’d thought that maybe she and Casey would just stay and eat with Violet and Polly. It had to get lonely, just the two of them rattling around this house.
Bess wondered what they talked about. Did Polly tell her what Norah had been like as a child? Did she tell her about herself? Ask Violet questions about her life? Bess couldn’t imagine being estranged from one of her daughters for so long. She wondered how Polly had withstood it. She knew that Polly hadn’t had much choice in the matter. Bess knew how stubborn Norah was, how long she could hold out once she committed to something.
“I guess they’re not back yet,” she said to Casey as they trooped through the house toward the kitchen in the back.
“Back from where?” Casey asked, sounding bored. She was asking only to make conversation. Bess was still shocked she’d agreed to come along and help transport the meal.
“They went to visit Norah,” she said. She tried to make her voice light as she said it. What was it the kids said in their texts? NBD: no big deal. She wanted to make it sound like Polly and Violet’s errand was just that, an errand.
But Casey wasn’t falling for it. “In jail?”
Bess nodded and began unloading the food. She’d brought too much; she always did. She smiled at Casey as she set the salad down on the kitchen island. “Thank you,” she said. She truly was thankful for the help, but more than that, she was thankful her daughter had agreed to spend one-on-one time with her. Casey had been even more wary of Bess since the whole scene with Eli. Bess wanted her to know she was forgiven, but she didn’t want to bring it up and embarrass Casey anew. But maybe now, here, she could try to smooth the waters.
She opened her mouth to speak, trusting the right words would come out. She would tread lightly, she would speak gently, she would begin making inroads to her daughter’s heart. “I . . . ,” she got out.
She watched Casey’s face change, a panicked look registering as she glanced around the empty house. Clearly Casey had counted on Polly and Violet being there to act as buffers. She’d not counted on being trapped in an empty house with her mother while they waited for them to get home.
Still, this was Bess’s moment and she was going to take it. “I . . . ,” she started again.
She watched as Casey’s face changed again, but this time it filled with relief, her eyes training on something just over Bess’s shoulder. She glanced behind her to see Violet letting herself in the back door. Bess exhaled, not with disappointment, but relief. She was off the hook for a little while longer. But soon, she told herself. Soon she would confront her daughter. She’d find out what had happened to bring her home. She’d make Casey tell her. Somehow, she would.
Polly bustled in after Violet, looking beleaguered. It had to be hard, seeing your daughter incarcerated, no matter how long you’d been estranged from her. Bess reached into the bag on the counter and extracted the wine, holding it up to Polly with her eyebrows arched in question.
“Bless you,” Polly said. She held up her index finger. “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the back bedroom suite. Bess turned to the girls, who were surveying each other warily. For a day or so, Bess had thought that the two of them were becoming friends, which she’d found sweet. But now something seemed strained, like a thread pulled taut in the air between them, dangerously close to breaking. Again, Bess wondered what she didn’t know about her older child. Again, she found herself wishing she could break through the barrier Casey had erected to keep her from gaining access.
Instead she just asked if the two of them would like to help her assemble dinner. When in doubt, cook. That was her philosophy.
“I think I’ll go upstairs. I’m not very hungry,” Violet said.
Bess looked at this girl she’d watched grow from preschooler to teenager, seeing all the iterations of her at once, like she was partly hers, like she had claim, too. Which, in a perfect world, would be true. That’s what she and Norah had said; that’s what they had promised: to be there for each other all the time, through all the years. Back then they’d never imagined it working out any other way. But it had.
“Sure,” was all Bess said in response. “Of course.”
After Violet left, she and Casey blinked at each other, like What now?
The answer came in the form of Polly breezing back in, looking less worse for wear. She’d even managed to put on a smile, albeit a weak one. When Bess handed her a glass of wine, the smile widened, the dog at her heels. Bess had forgotten all about him. He sniffed Bess, and she scratched his head. “Hey, boy,” she said to him. She hoped she’d remembered correctly that he was a boy. Polly opened the back door to let him out.
Casey saw the moment as her opportunity to take her leave. “I’m just gonna go check on Violet,” she said as she backed out of the kitchen.