“Mara said she never got the tone the way she wanted it,” Ted says. He grabs a spoon from the drawer and leans against the counter. “But I always found it to be pleasant.”
He strikes the bowl, and the sound bounces into my ears. Pling! Something in my brain jolts. It’s that feeling that Dr. Lockwood tells me isn’t real, but I know it is. He strikes it again—pling!—and my breath quickens. Pling!—and my knees go rubbery.
I hear a voice in my head. Throaty and half startled. It’s Mara’s. Well, hello there.
Pling!
Well, hello there.
Pling!
I’m on the verge of a memory. I can feel it just out of frame. Mara—she stood at the counter. Struck a bowl or plate. Well, hello there, she said. I place my hand on the wall and squeeze my eyes shut. Well, hello there. You’ve certainly been gone for a while.
Pling! Pling!
The room is tilting. Ted is playing. I feel like I’m going to be sick.
But why? The words I’m remembering are benign. An example of Mara snapping out of the world inside her own head, surprised all of a sudden to see me.
Pling!
I was out of breath. Mara was at the counter and I had my hands on my knees and I was sucking in air like I’d never tasted it before. There were tears in my eyes. Mara was blurry.
Pling!
Well, hello there. You’ve certainly been gone for a while.
“Fern?” Ted says.
I shake my head. Put my hand in the air to shush him. There’s something in this memory. Something horrible and heavy. I’m doubled over with it.
Pling!
I was running. Something was scratching at my face. Branches. Twigs. I was darting through trees. The woods. A rush of green and brown and green. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe.
I’m gasping now. As if I’m back in those woods. My legs are as weak as if I’ve sprinted three miles.
Pling! Pling!
I sprang out of the trees. Onto the edge of our property. That plinging sound sang out. Mara’s studio was just ahead, the door and windows all open—and I burst inside. Put my hands on my knees. Panted as tears pooled in my eyes. Well, hello there, she said. You’ve certainly been gone for a while.
Relief swelled inside me. I was safe now. I was somewhere familiar. I was finally with someone I knew. Unlike—what? Where had I come from? Who was I running from? I’m trying so hard—eyes pinched, fists clenched—but I can’t rewind the memory any further back.
“Fern?” Ted says again. He’s put down the bowl. The spoon. He isn’t playing anymore.
“Shh,” I say. “I…”
But I can’t continue. Because I think I know. I think a part of me has known since last night, when I read how Lily was not really a witness at all, but a victim. I’ve been distracting myself with boxes and pottery and memories of Mara. I’ve been telling myself I had it all wrong, I never met Astrid at all. But last night I dreamed that my wrists were tied together, that I was standing with Astrid in a concrete room. And now I’m remembering a sprint into Mara’s studio, the relief I felt so potent only because of the terror that preceded it.
“Fern,” Ted says, “perhaps you should sit down. You look very pale.”
I ignore him. Because I’m thinking of Astrid’s story. Not the memoir, but the one that everyone knows. She was taken from her neighborhood, and weeks later, she was returned. Left on a curb two streets from her house.
What if I, too, was returned? To a place very close to Ted’s. The woods. The acres of trees that have always haunted me.
“Ted.”
I’m surprised by how steady my voice is. It comes out as clear as the sound of spoon against bowl.
“Yes. What’s happening to you?” he replies.
“Did I disappear when I was a kid?”
He’s going to laugh. He’s going to tell me it’s my meds, like Mara did when I asked if I knew Astrid Sullivan.
Except he doesn’t laugh. He sighs.
Then he lowers his head, eyes dipping into his crossed arms before he lifts his gaze to look at me. There’s something on his face I’ve never seen before. Sadness? Confliction? I don’t know. But it makes my skin crawl. My mouth dry.
“Oh, Fern,” he says. His voice is gentler than I’ve ever heard it. “What do you remember?”
ten
I stumble toward the pottery wheel. Reach for the stool. Feel it shudder beneath me as I sit down hard. I press my feet