The next day, Robby and I took Mom on a walk around the neighborhood. We had to get her out of the house. She had spent so much time in her room, not eating, not sleeping.
“She’s aged ten years,” I told Robby. “Look at her eyes. They’re dead. And her hair. She barely brushes it.”
“Dad has to get back here,” Robby said. “What can you and I do?”
“Well, get her out of the house, for one thing.”
It took a lot of convincing just to get her to take a short walk. “I don’t want anyone to see me,” she said. “I don’t want to run into one of the neighbors and have to chat.”
“I’ll do all the chatting. I promise,” I said.
It was a warm summer day, a few puffy white clouds high overhead, a soft breeze shaking the tree leaves. The kind of day that could make a person feel happy, if her sister wasn’t missing and her family wasn’t in shreds over it.
We made Mom walk five or six blocks. Robby and I tried to keep a conversation going, but it was pretty awkward. Mrs. Miller in the house on the corner waved from her front window, but we didn’t run into anyone, and Mom didn’t have to do any chatting.
When we got back to the house, the phone was ringing. Robby picked it up in the kitchen. I got Mom some cold water from the fridge.
Robby talked for a few minutes. He had his back turned, and I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I leaned on the kitchen counter and waited for him to finish.
When he hung up, he turned to me. “Was that Nikki?” I asked.
He scowled at me. “Why would Nikki call on the landline? She’d call my phone.”
“So who was that?” I asked.
“The police.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t good news.”
I gasped. “What do you mean?”
“They have Doug’s phone. They tried to trace the cell tower that text message came from.”
“And?”
“And they couldn’t trace it. They don’t have a clue where it came from.”
I sighed. “And they can’t tell if Marissa really was the one who sent it?”
“Yeah. It says it was sent from her phone. But that doesn’t really mean anything.”
We stared at each other. The hum from the refrigerator suddenly grew louder. “Should we tell Mom?” I said finally. I glanced to the kitchen door. Mom was in the den. I knew she couldn’t hear us.
“We didn’t tell her about the text message, remember?” Robby said, leaning back against the cabinets. “We didn’t want to upset her . . . without knowing . . .”
“We still don’t know anything,” I said, my voice cracking. “I’m seriously worried about Mom. She seemed so weak and fragile on our walk. She was always the strong one in the family.”
“You can’t blame her,” he said.
“I’m not blaming her. I—”
“I’m totally messed up, too,” he admitted. “We all are, right? It’s not like we can wake up one morning and say we can have a normal day today. A day without thinking nonstop about Marissa.”
“I’m going to call Dad,” I said. “I really think he needs to get home. For Mom.”
Robby bumped me out of the way and pulled open the fridge. “What is there to eat? I’m totally starving.”
I bumped him back. “Go get a bucket of chicken,” I said. “I’m not in the mood to go grocery shopping again.”
“Okay. I can get into that.” He closed the fridge door. “Do you want regular or extra crispy?”
“Your choice,” I said. “And don’t forget the gravy for the mashed potatoes!”
He made a face at me. “I only did that one time, Harmony. So give me a break.”
I laughed. It was one of the first normal conversations we’d had since before the wedding.
I told Mom we were having KFC for lunch. Then I walked down the hall to my room and closed my door. I sat down on the edge of my bed and raised my phone.
My good moment with Robby quickly faded from my memory, and I had a heavy feeling in my stomach as I prepared to call Dad. Dread. Total dread. It can make you feel heavy and cold.
The phone rang before I could dial, and I saw that it was a FaceTime call. I clicked accept and a second later stared at the face of my dad.
“Huh? I was just going to call you,” I said.
“Well, I wanted to check in,” he replied, “and see your face.”
Of course, FaceTime makes everyone look weird because the camera is so close up. It’s like a selfie, kind of distorted. But I could see that Dad looked tired. He hadn’t shaved so he had a stubble of black beard over his cheeks with patches of gray. His eyes were only half open, as if he didn’t have the energy to open them all the way.
“What’s happening there, Harmony?” he asked. “How is your mother doing?”
“Not great,” I said. “That’s why I was going to call you. I think—”
The picture wobbled, then faded. A burst of static made me lower the phone. “Dad? Are you there?”
His face reappeared. I could hear the hum of voices in the background, someone shouting, and some kind of music playing.
“You disappeared for a second,” I said. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the lobby,” he said. “The Wi-Fi in my room is ridiculous.” He jiggled his phone, and I could see the front desk of the lodge behind him.
“The police couldn’t trace that text message,” he said.
“Yes. They called here. Do you believe Marissa really sent it to Doug?”
He sighed. I could see his eyes begin to water. “I . . . I don’t know what to believe, Harmony. I just don’t. And I don’t really know why I’m still here. I’m not doing any good. I mean, I’m not helping to find Marissa.”
“Maybe you should come home, Dad,” I said. “Maybe—”
And then I stopped, and a startled cry escaped my mouth.
Behind Dad in the lobby . . . I saw her. I saw the dark hair first and a blur of a face. Dad’s phone slid to the right, and I saw her clearly. Right behind him.
Marissa.
Yes. Marissa. She was standing right behind him. On the screen, it looked as if she could rest her chin on the shoulder of Dad’s polo shirt.
Marissa. She was there.
If only I could find the words. If only I could overcome my shock and speak. Cry out. Shout to Dad. Do something.
“Dad—” I finally choked out. Marissa stared over Dad’s shoulder, as if she could see me. She gazed into the phone. I could see her so clearly.
“Dad—” I couldn’t get the words out. I couldn’t make a sound.
“Dad—turn around!” I finally screamed. “Turn around! Hurry!”
