Page 102 of Gone Tonight
I nod. “And my father, at least emotionally. She screamed at him a lot, but I never saw her hit him. I wasn’t all that popular in high school, either. I guess when I met James, I felt like he really saw me and cared about me.”
Catherine digests this.
“Maybe he saw you, but you didn’t see who he was.”
She has no idea how right she is. James knew me far better than I knew him.
“Yeah.” I exhale. “Now that I look back on it, there were little hints. But I didn’t know what he was capable of until that night with Coach.”
She reaches up to rub her temples. I have the beginnings of a headache, too. We could both use a cup of coffee right about now, but I can’t afford to stop. I need Catherine to be as far away as possible by the time James ventures out to our meeting spot.
We ride the rest of the way in silence, other than Catherine giving me the occasional direction from her Waze app.
It’s strange being back on these familiar roads, traveling into my past. Last night I drove here in a blind frenzy after I checked my phone and saw the little blue dot representing Catherine speeding down the highway. I tore along the roads, weaving around trucks, and cutting in and out of the far left lane, already intuiting that it was James who’d lured my daughter to that precise spot.
We’re driving the same route this morning, but it feels like a very different journey.
“Take the next exit,” Catherine instructs me, reading the map on the screen of her phone.
“I know the way now,” I tell her.
I weave through the streets, guided by memory. I drive past a big, grassy park with a playground and sports fields. Timmy’s Little League games were held here, and the first time he got a hit my dad and I stood up on the bleachers and cheered as Timmy turned to look at us, a smile splitting his face, before he dropped his bat and ran with everything he had for first base. Another time, my dad made Timmy and me kites with spare scraps of wood from his job, and we brought them here to test them out.
The details of that Saturday afternoon come back to me as if they’ve been preserved all these years, tucked away between layers of protective wrap like a glass ornament.
Timmy’s kite got stuck in a tall oak tree, so before he could start crying, I gave him mine. My father squeezed my shoulder in a silent thank-you and left his hand there for a moment. We ran up and down the fields, the red-and-white-striped kite soaring above us, until we were breathless and sweaty. Just as we flopped down on the soft grass, we heard the jingle of an ice-cream truck. We looked at each other, then got up and sprinted after the truck, waving and yelling for it to stop until it pulled over to the curb. Timmy chose an ice cream shaped like a cartoon character, with bubble gum balls for eyes. I got a chocolate eclair, and my dad picked a strawberry shortcake. Whenwe’d eaten them down to their little wooden sticks, my father put an arm around each of us as we walked back to the car.
That was the spring before I disappeared.
I turn left again, putting the park in my rearview mirror. We’re less than a half mile to the pizza restaurant. I need to find a place to pull over, somewhere with enough cars and people so we won’t attract attention, but not a location that’s too busy.
I choose the parking lot of a Rite Aid drugstore. I coast to a spot toward the middle of the lot and cut the engine of the Bonneville. My fingers ache when I take them off the wheel. I must’ve been clutching it more tightly than I’d realized.
I pull out the key and give it to Catherine. She reaches into her purse and gets out the keys to the Cadillac. I already know the car is a walnut color and Catherine described its location, so all that’s left for me to do is walk there.
I’m seized with the urge to hug Catherine, but I know she won’t welcome it, so I merely say, “See you soon,” as I open the door of the Bonneville.
“Mom?”
I look back.
Catherine seems to be struggling to figure out what to say. She finally chooses “Good luck.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” I promise.
Ten minutes later, the Cadillac is almost within my reach. All I have to do is cross the street, walk down a block, and enter the parking lot.
I stand by the curb next to a traffic light, waiting for it to turn.
Cars and vans and trucks whiz past me. I try not to think about the fact that any of them could contain someone who knew me as a teenager—or who saw me last night when I was sneaking into the employee entrance of Pizza Piazzo, the one that leads directly to the kitchen. I didn’t encounter anyone during the few seconds it took me to set the fire and I’d tied a dish towel around my lower face, I remind myself.
I feel completely exposed, even with my big sunglasses. This place brings me nothing but terrible luck. I can’t help feeling like I’m tempting the darkest of fates by returning here.
The light turns.
I cross the street, noticing as I draw closer to the strip mall that ribbons of yellow police tape cordon off Pizza Piazzo. The fire department got there in time to save the building. From the outside, other than the broken windows some workers are boarding up, you can’t even tell there’s anything wrong.
I take a deep breath and look down at my burner phone. I’ve already tapped in the number James gave me. All I need to do is press enter.
