And there are my parents, awake after all, in the doorway. My father squints at me as if he doesn’t recognize me; then he ducks back inside and the alarm cuts off.
My mother steps out of the way so I can come in, and I notice she is wearing slippers in the same muted gray as her tailored pajamas. Her sleep mask is pushed up like a headband and she looks completely unrumpled and calm. Pajamas, pantsuit, she’s ready to therapize me. “What were you doing, Zoe? It’s two in the morning.”
“I heard a noise.” I feel as stupid as I know I sound, but I can’t stop. “Someone was knocking on the door.”
She leans close to me, and I freeze, not sure if she intends to embrace me or offer comfort. Instead she grasps my chin and examines my eyes, checking my pupils. “What did you take?”
I jerk away. “Nothing!” Allergy pills don’t cause hallucinations. What I heard was real.
The phone rings, and I can hear my father telling the alarm company it was a mistake. A guest opened the wrong door. A guest. I want to shout I’m your daughter! I want them to believe me, or comfort me, or worry about me.
Instead my father is already hanging up and shuffling past us toward bed. On the way he says, “I reset the alarm. Stay put until morning.”
My mother is still examining my face speculatively. “You had a dream?” she offers.
Oh, she’d love that, wouldn’t she? An easy explanation and another way to analyze me, neatly fitting all my thoughts and worries into labeled cubbyholes. There’s no point in trying to persuade her. No matter what I say, she’ll think it was all in my imagination.
I open my hand, displaying the broken wristwatch I’ve been clutching. “I stepped on this out front. Is it yours?”
She picks it up from my palm and holds it at arm’s length, trying to focus without her reading glasses. Finally she shakes her head and drops the watch back into my hand.
Before turning to follow my father up the stairs, she says dismissively, “It’s broken.”
CHAPTER
13
ZOE
THE NEXT MORNING I’m slow to wake. I stumble downstairs, and my father tells me we’re going back to the police station.
My heart gives a hard thump. Maybe it’s over. Maybe I can go home.
“Is there news?” And just like that, my hope is chased by guilt. There could be bad news, but I still believe Ava is behind her own disappearance.
My mother sets down her coffee—black, no sugar or cream. “I don’t know. Glenn said we should meet there again this morning.”
“But why?”
She looks at my father, who shrugs. Apparently they are letting Glenn dictate “normal behavior” in this situation. Anyone could see my mother and father would rather just head off to work. I can imagine Mom thinking, After all, it’s not like we can do anything for Ava, so why waste time? At least they are pretending to pretend to care.
I care, but not about Ava. I care about Emma and Andrew. Does that make me a monster too?
My parents wait with unveiled impatience while I dial Andrew’s cell number from their home phone, but the call goes straight to voice mail. Is he ignoring me? My voice sounds high and strange as I leave a message with my parents’ phone number and address.
I’ve written his cell number dozens of times on forms at Emma’s preschool and doctor’s office, on the waivers for trampoline parks and playgroup outings. But I always called it from my cell phone, where he’s listed as my “in case of emergency” contact. This feels like an emergency, but my parents are no comfort at all.
Once I’m settled in the back seat of their car like a kid, all I can think about is hearing Andrew’s voice and talking to Emma. My life in the Lone Star State seems so far away, a fading echo, like the child’s voice I thought I heard last night. I need my own cell phone. I need a way to reach my family in Texas.
I need to know if Andrew still loves me.
Before I am fully awake, we are back at the station. Neither Glenn nor Detective Davies is waiting for us, but the officer at reception buzzes us through.
The watch is in my pocket, and as I follow my parents into the same conference room, I finger the metal. Yesterday Glenn was so angry, blaming me. Last night some part of me hoped he had come to make peace. This morning I know that was just another dream. I can’t expect him to be sorry for the way he treated me. But maybe I can convince him of my innocence.
Bringing up what happened—the tapping, the voices—will make me sound crazy. It’s not like anyone was hurt or the house was invaded. There’s no upside to saying anything.
Experience tells me that keeping my mouth shut is the best way to stay out of trouble.
Before we even sit down, Glenn comes through the door in front of Detective Davies and he’s scowling, his eyebrows drawn down at an angle as sharp as his cheekbones. I can feel the pit open up inside me, sucking down my last vestige of hope.
But he’s staring back at the detective, practically spitting out the words, “You spent an hour, an hour, grilling me and you have nothing. No new information, no plan, nothing. You’re not even looking for her.”
With the kind of patience earned by years of dealing with people on their worst day, Detective Davies speaks mildly. “We’re gathering information, talking to everyone who—”
“You need to talk to her.” Glenn whips back around, and his gaze on me is like a blow to the sternum. “You read her fucking emails.”
My face grows hot. “I didn’t write those.”
“Bullshit. You hated Ava.”
“She hated me,” I say fiercely. “I just wanted to be left alone.”
“You wanted anything she had. What did you do to her?”
“Nothing. What did you do? Everyone knows it’s always the husband.”
Glenn pushes a chair out of the way, and I grab the one nearest me, either to attack him or defend myself, but Detective Davies puts a hand on Glenn’s shoulder and says, “That’s enough.” And whether it’s the authority in his voice or the realization that we are, in fact, in a police station, Glenn shakes free and throws himself into a seat, scowling down at the tabletop.
My father pulls out a chair for my mother, and she sits gracefully. They aren’t afraid, I realize with a jolt. They think Ava is fine, wherever she is. They don’t seem concerned that she might be missing. They sit at this conference table like there will be an agenda with a PowerPoint presentation and a coffee break. As though this weren’t a case of us all being here because Glenn is trying to control a situation Ava obviously created.
But when Detective Davies sits down, that seat becomes the head of the table. And I think he was letting Glenn and me shout at each other just to get a feel for our relationship. Glenn fills me with hot anger, but the detective’s self-control, his calm watchfulness, tempers that rage. In the real world, it doesn’t matter what Glenn thinks of me. Detective Davies is the one who needs to believe I’m innocent.
I look right at him, relaxing my face and widening my eyes. “They’re checking my phone, right? Trying to see who sent me the texts?”
He nods without expression. “And they’ve got your laptop and are working with the email provider. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”