push back or pull forward. “I remember when it happened. I was nine,” he said.
I tried to picture it, his family watching at home, seeing Sean on the news, holding me up. I’d never pictured the people beyond the screen. It was an event that bonded us all together, stretching further than we could see.
“Did he ever . . . talk about me?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“No, like I said, we weren’t close. It wasn’t something he liked to talk about. My parents got divorced not long after, and I lived with my mom in Lexington, mostly. I didn’t grow up in that area. Didn’t visit much. When I did, he didn’t mention it.” He took another sip. “Never did like the spotlight.”
The opposite of my mother, then.
Except both of us were next of kin to people we didn’t have much of a connection with anymore. I felt suddenly hollow that neither Sean Coleman nor my mother had someone closer willing to claim them.
“What about your mom? Were they still in contact?”
He let out a single bite of laughter. “No. No way. My mom remarried, got herself a whole new life, and never looked back. I’ve got three younger half siblings now, all in high school.”
“Must be nice,” I said. Even though he was estranged from his father, at least he had them close by.
“They’re all right,” he said with a grin. “Listen, I’m supposed to meet up with Detective Rigby soon. She called, said she’d be stopping by later. I wonder if this is what it’s about.”
“Probably,” I said, relieved that I’d run into him. Relieved that I could tell him first. “I should probably leave you be, then.” I stood, even though I’d barely touched the drink.
He stood, too, holding out his hand. Almost like he was offering to shake my hand, but instead he just clasped it in his grip. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for telling me.”
Of all the things people said when the truth of my past came out, this was the first time someone had reacted that way.
TRANSCRIPT OF 911 CALL FOR SERVICE
DATE: OCTOBER 17, 2000
TIME STAMP: 5:52 A.M.
DISPATCH: 911. What’s your emergency?
CALLER, UNKNOWN MALE: Uh, I think something’s happening next door.
D: Sir? What’s happening next door?
C: I don’t know. My neighbor is screaming. She’s screaming for her little girl. I think she’s missing. I don’t know, I was outside getting ready for work and she just came running out, screaming.
D: Can I get your name, please?
C: Stuart. Stuart Goss.
D: Mr. Goss, what is your location?
C: [ADDRESS REDACTED] I’m heading over there now. Laurel? Laurel, what’s going on? What happened?
CHAPTER 21
Wednesday, 4 a.m.
THE RINGING PHONE JARRED me from sleep, and my heart was racing in a panic—like I might find myself outside again, hearing a phone, standing over a body in the grass. I sat upright as it rang once more, the shadows of my bedroom furniture orienting me. The stuffy room; the door closed with a lock up high; the window latched shut. It was still so dark, no sign of morning.
A third ring, and I reached for it on my bedside table, my vision too blurry to read the name.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Liv, sorry to wake you like this.”
“Bennett?” It was his voice, but it sounded quiet and clipped.
“I knew you’d want to hear it from me,” he continued.
“What? Hear what?” I was trying to ground myself, while Bennett talked in circles, like I had missed half the conversation.
He drew in a slow breath, mouth pressed close to the phone. “It’s Elyse.”
I didn’t respond, too confused to know where to start. Elyse what—
“They found her yesterday. At the campgrounds.” A pause as I tried to process what he was getting at. “She overdosed.”
My breath escaped in a rush, like someone had knocked me back.
The sirens I’d heard last night with Nathan, the ambulance rushing by the hotel. Had it been for her? How many hours earlier had this happened?
How long had people known, the truth circulating through their group texts, until Bennett was eventually contacted? He was the only one who would call me directly.
“Is she okay?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. Heard it in his voice as soon as he spoke. A call in the middle of the night, the clipped words—he was trying to break the news to me softly, but it was only delaying the inevitable.
“No, she’s not.” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat, continued on. “She was crashing in one of the