“You know what Lyman said to me?” Pink continued. “He told me he was glad I was back, said everybody wondered where I ran off to. I asked him what the hell he was talking about.”
Michelle turned toward him, finally realizing what had happened.
“I didn’t leave anywhere,” Pink said. “I have no idea what he’s talking about. Do you know what else he said?”
“I have to make a phone call,” Michelle said, hurrying inside.
Pink stood by the railing, unmoving. She felt sorry for him, felt terrible that she had brought him through the way she had, the pentagram pressed between their palms. He had no idea where he was.
She picked up the phone, her fingers trembling as she pushed the buttons. The phone rang several times before someone answered.
“Hello?”
“Cassie?” Michelle asked.
A hollow silence. Michelle wondered if the person was still there.
“Mom? Is that you?” Cassie said.
“Cassie! Cassie!” Michelle said.
Cassie shrieked, then cried. They talked in excited bursts, not waiting for one to finish before the other spoke, conversing in questions and disjointed statements, voice over voice, elation, tears, laughing, shock.
“My god, Mom, I can’t believe it. Dad will be blown away!”
“What?”
“He never gave up on finding you,” Cassie said. “He stayed up at the cabin by himself, hunting the woods, phoning the police, organizing search parties. Aunt Darcy stayed with me.”
“Your father . . . where is he now?” Michelle asked.
“At the dealership, but I’m going to call him as soon as I get off the phone.”
Michelle was about to tell Cassie that she would call him, but decided against it. “Okay.” She needed time to figure things out before she spoke to Cliff. “Cassie . . . I’m so glad you’re in my life.”
“Me too. I love you. Now don’t you leave that cabin.”
Cassie couldn’t stop asking questions, wanting to know everything that had happened, making Michelle promise to not leave the cabin.
“I’ll be here,” Michelle said. “Cassie?”
“Yeah, Mom?”
“Don’t hang up yet. Tell me how the swim team is doing.”
Michelle listened to the tender resonance of Cassie’s voice, the excited consonants, the rich, eloquent vowels. Michelle could picture Cassie’s mouth, her lips forming the words, the silky skin of her chin and cheeks. Michelle pictured Cassie in the pool, water sheeting from her arms and legs as she climbed up the ladder, her face shiny and wet, a sparkle of sun at her cheeks. Michelle couldn’t wait to be home.
Michelle hung up after Cassie did without saying goodbye. She never wanted to say goodbye to Cassie again.
Pink walked into the cabin with Lyman. Lyman introduced himself and she could tell he didn’t remember her. Pink reminded him he’d danced with her a couple nights ago at the Hilltop. Pink said, “You act like you never seen her before.”
Lyman said he hadn’t. “And the Hilltop . . . that burned down a year ago, Pink.”
The two men stared at each other as if they had suddenly become strangers. “Is the whole damn town on drugs?” Pink shook his head and looked back at Michelle.
“Need a ride into town?” Pink asked.
“No. Thanks,” Michelle said. “I have someone picking me up.”
Lyman kept glancing over at Pink as if Pink were some kind of phantom. Pink didn’t seem to notice.
“Well, Mrs. Stage,” Pink said. “I hope you find what you’re looking for. Call me if you ever want me to list this cabin for you.” He handed Michelle a card. “This is a solid place, you know. Built it myself.”
What would happen to Pink when he found that the people he loved were gone, everything he knew had vanished? She wondered if Claire still lived in Ardenwood. And what would Clarence tell him—how would he react to Pink’s reemergence? Michelle felt responsible for the grief Pink would most certainly endure when he found he was living a life that wasn’t the one he remembered from the day before.
“I’m so sorry, Pink,” she said, going to the desk and grabbing a pen. She scribbled on the back of the card he had given her and handed it back to him, telling him to call if he ever needed to talk.
He looked surprised. “Well, I can always use a new friend,” he said. “Let’s go, Lyman.”
The house fell quiet after they left. Michelle went to the fridge to see if there was anything to eat, finding a bagel and a partial loaf of bread. How could Cliff still be alive, she wondered? In her mind, she could see the red snow around his chair, the pistol locked in his hand. She saw the dark hole at the top of his head. She remembered Cliff’s missing finger, the scar on his forehead, Cliff telling her how Cassie had been killed when the Cherokee flipped. Had she glimpsed one possibility, something that had happened in a different version of their lives? What determined which one you lived?
The phone rang. Michelle caught it on the second ring. It was Cliff, gushing into the phone, crying. She was hardly able to understand him.
She assured him she was okay. It had been a long time since she’d felt comforted by the sound of his voice.
“I can’t wait to see you,” Cliff said, sniffling. “I thought I’d lost you forever. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t . . .”
“I’m here,” Michelle said. He wanted to know where she’d been the past few weeks, if she’d been hurt, how she’d survived, if someone had found her, if she’d been alone, scared.
“I’ll tell you everything when I see you,” she said, knowing that whatever she told him wouldn’t be the truth.
The afternoon dragged. Michelle couldn’t wait to see Cassie, to get back to Atlanta. She was resting on the couch when the phone rang. She figured it was Cliff with an update on their ETA.
“Mrs. Stage?” the man said. “This is Sheriff Fisk. Remember me?”
“Yes, of course,” she said.
There was a pause. “Glad to know you’re back,” he said. “At some point we’d like to get your story, everything that happened. Helps us when folks go missing, to know where to look, what to expect. But that’s not exactly why I’m calling.”
Michelle closed her eyes. There was no way to explain what happened without sounding crazy.
“Mrs. Stage?” the sheriff said. “You still there?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m here.”