in my chest. This is what I’ve been waiting for. Someone to tell me that none of this is a coincidence. That I’m here for a reason.
“It’s such a tragedy,” Emilia says. “She was one of Paisley’s favorite babysitters. I think, truthfully, when she saw how much you looked like Zoe, she was won over immediately. And you’ve been great with her, of course. Tom and I know we made the right choice.”
She smiles reassuringly, but I’m not sure what I feel. I’m here because of Zoe. Because we look alike, and that strange bit of happenstance struck the fancy of a little kid. All those strange looks, awkward conversations. Not coincidence after all, not really.
“You might have warned me,” I say, I hope not rudely. I take a big gulp of seltzer through my straw.
“I’m sorry.” Emilia’s face clouds over. “You’re right, we should have. I didn’t know how to bring it up, honestly. I was afraid you might not take the job.”
“Do George and Joan—” I start to ask. I want to know if Zoe’s parents know about me. What if I run into them in town? But before I can finish my question, Emilia cuts me off.
“What about Joan?”
“Oh, I …” I’m hit with the presumptuousness of my question. Martina’s podcast made me feel for a second like I was on a first-name basis with everyone in the Spanos family, the same way characters on TV start to feel like friends. Emilia looks at me sharply, then her eyes wander to Tom, still in the pool. Mentioning Mrs. Spanos clearly pushed some kind of button, and I forget why I even brought her up. “Nothing, never mind.”
Emilia’s face relaxes. “We didn’t only hire you because of that, you know. You interviewed well. You were fantastic with Paisley during our trial run at MoMA. Don’t think I let Paisley entirely steer the ship.” She laughs and leans back in the chaise, hair fanning out against the back of the chair.
“Right, of course not.” But it’s clear now. I got this job because of the missing girl. It doesn’t explain everything I’ve been feeling—the rush of nostalgia at the beach, the odd moment at the ice-cream shop, the wave of vertigo peering up at the balcony at Windermere. But it’s something. A rational explanation for the way in which my fate and Zoe’s have oddly intertwined.
* * *
Mary is off tonight, and I’m instructed to help myself to party leftovers in the kitchen if I get hungry later. I feel the opposite of hungry. No, that’s not quite right. I feel hollow and like nothing could ever make me solid again. As soon as the last guests have departed and it seems socially acceptable, I slip into the pool house and latch the door behind me.
Tearing off my hat and sundress, I turn the hot water all the way up, filling the bathtub. I need a long, long soak. I feel more than just sweaty and hot. I feel violated somehow, and at the same time, like I’m the one who’s done something wrong. I’m an interloper in Herron Mills, in Caden Talbot’s world. Even though I didn’t mean to be. Even though the Bellamys invited me in.
I slip into the bathtub, gritting my teeth until my skin adjusts to the scalding water. I don’t have bubble bath, so I pour some shower gel beneath the tap until it forms a few lackluster suds. My phone is propped on the edge of the tub. I’ve barely had it for two weeks, and there’s already a scratch on the top left corner of the screen.
I think about putting on music. I should put on music. But my finger traces the scratch, then navigates to my podcasts. I don’t want to listen anymore. But I need to know. I press play on Episode Three.
* * *
Martina Green is struggling. I turn the volume all the way up and sink down in the bath, breathing in the steam. The third episode of Missing Zoe is dedicated to interviews with the people closest to Zoe, but by the last week of February, eight weeks after she vanished, Caden has still declined Martina’s interview requests, and the Spanos family is, understandably, not ready to speak to a teen podcast producer about the very open wound left by the disappearance of their beloved daughter and sister.
It’s palpable in the interviews that Martina does get—with a teacher from their high school, a couple of friends, and