The only food was a half-carton of eggs that expired in two days. Lydia found a new loaf of bread in one of the pantries. There was also a coffee machine, which Lydia only recognized because there was a label on it that said COFFEE MACHINE, followed by what she assumed was the installation date.
The laminated set of directions beside the machine was clearly Paul’s handiwork. Lydia knew that her sister couldn’t be bothered doing something so tedious and stupid. She pressed various buttons until the machine whirred to life. She slid an espresso cup under the spout and watched it fill.
“You figured it out,” Claire said. She was dressed in a light blue button-down shirt and faded jeans. Her hair was slicked back to dry. For the first time, Lydia actually saw a woman who looked like her sister.
Lydia handed Claire the cup of coffee. “Drink this. It’ll help sober you up.”
Claire sat down at the counter. She blew on the steaming liquid to cool it. The counter stools were white leather and shiny chrome. The backs were low. They matched the couch and chairs in the family room that opened onto the kitchen. Wall-to-ceiling glass framed the back yard, where a pool that looked like it was carved from a giant slab of white marble served as a centerpiece for the barren landscape.
There was no part of this house that felt inviting. Paul’s cold, calculating hand could be seen behind every choice. The concrete on the entryway floor was polished to a dark mirror straight out of Snow White. The spiral stairs looked like a robot’s asshole. The endless white walls made Lydia feel like she was trapped inside a straitjacket. The sooner she was out of here the better.
Lydia found a frying pan in the drawer under the cooktop. She poured some oil in the pan and dropped in two slices of bread.
Claire asked, “Are you making me egg bread?”
Lydia fought a reflexive smile, because Claire sounded like she was thirteen again. Egg bread was Lydia’s way of getting out of whisking eggs. She just threw it all into a pan and cooked it until the shininess was gone.
Claire said, “I’m on parole because I assaulted somebody.”
Lydia almost dropped the carton of eggs.
“We’re not supposed to call it assault, but that’s what it was.” Claire rolled the espresso cup between her hands. “Allison Hendrickson. My doubles partner. We were warming up for a game. She was talking about how she felt like a Holocaust survivor after the Liberation because her last kid was going off to college and she was finally going to be free.”
Lydia cracked two eggs into the pan. She hated this bitch already.
“And then Allison started telling me about this friend of hers who had a daughter who went to college last year.” Claire put down the cup. “Smart girl, always made good grades. And then the girl gets to college and goes crazy—starts screwing around, missing classes, drinking too much, all the stupid things you hear about kids doing.”
Lydia used a spatula to stir the eggs around the bread. She was more than familiar with those stupid things.
“One night, the girl went to a frat party. Somebody slipped a roofie into her drink. Fast-forward to the next day, she wakes up naked in the basement of the frat house. She’s battered and bruised, but she manages to find her way back to her dorm, where her roommate shows her a video that’s been posted on YouTube.”
Lydia froze. Every nightmare she had about Dee going off to college involved some variation on this theme.
“The guys at the frat house filmed everything. It was basically a gang rape. Allison went into great detail about it, because apparently, everyone on campus watched the film. And then she says to me, ‘Can you believe that?’ And I say no, but of course I can believe it, because people are horrible. And then Allison says, ‘That stupid girl, getting drunk like that around a bunch of frat boys. It was her own fault for going to the party.’”
Claire looked as disgusted as Lydia felt. When Julia had first disappeared, people kept asking why she’d been at the bar, what she was doing out that late, and exactly how much alcohol she had consumed, because obviously, it was Julia’s own fault that she was abducted and most likely raped and murdered.
Lydia asked, “What did you say?”
“I didn’t say anything at first. I was too angry. But I didn’t know