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“What’s wrong?”
Gigi looks up. “Today’s the anniversary.”
September 25th. I can’t believe I forgot. “Oh Gigi, I’m so sorry. What can I do for you?”
She pats the empty space next to her on the porch swing. “Come and sit. Just be with me.”
I sit down, and we rock back and forth in silence. I don’t know a lot about their daughter, Beth, but what I do know is that ten years ago she ran away after a huge fight with them over her boyfriend, who they’d disapprovedof from the very beginning. It was after ten when they discovered that she’d snuck out of the house and tried to hitch a ride to his apartment. The man who picked her up was a convicted rapist who had just been released. He graduated to murder the night Beth got into his car.
The swing sways gently as we sit in silence. I can feel Gigi’s grief as if it’s a tangible thing.“I’m so sorry,” I repeat.
“You know?” Gigi says.“They say that some good comes out of everything. I never did see what good could ever come from Beth being murdered.” She folds and refolds the tissue in her hands.“There is one thing, though. Maybe her death has kept another girl safe.”
I knew that this was the reason Ed had made it his mission to be the savior of female hitchhikers. He will never pass one without stopping and always warns them of the danger and tries to get them help, though I’m the first one who’s actually come to live with them. Gigi told me that he once picked up a girl who turned out to be a trafficking victim, so he became an active member of Truckers Against Trafficking, an organization dedicated to combating human trafficking. I think it’s the reason they were so willing to take me in. I don’t believe that I can in any way replace Beth, but I think it makes them feel good to set the table for three again.
After a while, Gigi turns to me. “She would have been twenty-six by now.”
I don’t know what to say, so I just nod. It’s so rare that Gigi opens up about Beth, and I never want to cause her more pain by asking too many questions, so I just try to listen now.
“He only got twenty years, you know,” she continues. “He’ll be forty-seven. Still young enough to do it again.” She shakes her head. “I can only hope something happens to change him.”
“That’s terrible. He should have been put to death,” I say, infuriated at the injustice of it all.
Gigi gives me a strange look. “No, child. We are not God. We don’t get to decide who lives and dies.”
I’m quiet because I don’t agree. I think he should be made to suffer the way Beth suffered, the way Ed and Gigi suffered. It makes my blood boil knowing that he’s still allowed to breathe the air that he deprived Beth of, and I don’t understand how Gigi can stand the thought of him living while her daughter is long dead and gone. I guess that’s something else I’m discovering about myself—I’m not very forgiving.
“Tell me more about her,” I say, despite my previous hesitation.She seems to want to talk about Beth, even need to talk about her, today.
Gigi smiles now. “A spitfire. Always knew what she wanted, and nothing was going to get in her way or stop her. Oh, the blowups she and Ed used to have! But just as passionate as she was about her ideals, that’s how passionate she was about her family. I’ll never forget, one time we were having coffee after church and a man was giving Ed a hard time about the allocation of funds for the building committee—they were both on the board. This man started raising his voice to Ed, and Beth, who was only ten years old at the time, came stomping up and told him he’d better speak to her father with respect. Told him he was not being a good Christian example at all.” Gigi laughs. “That shut him up, I’ll tell you.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, trying not to imagine Beth’s last moments on earth fighting off a rapist.
Lost in her memories, Gigi continues. “We had high hopes for her. She wanted to be a lawyer, and she would have done it too. She always was one for the underdog.” She sighs. “I don’t know. I’ll always wonder if we were too hard on her. She was seeing a boy who was nineteen, and we thought he was too old. If we’d known she was going to go off on her own like that...”
I reach out and hold her hand. “It’s not your fault. Of course you couldn’t have known. Terrible things happen sometimes. I wish they didn’t. But please don’t blame yourself.” I stop, suddenly worried I’ve gone too far, but her expression is still kind.
“You’re such a sweet young woman, Addy. Thank you. For the most part, I forgave myself a long time ago. The truth is, hewastoo old for her, and none of us could have known what would happen. But Ed, I think Ed still feels like he failed her. You know, a father feels he should be able to protect his daughter.” She pats myhand. “I’m glad he found you. Since you’ve come to us, a little bit of the spark is back in his eyes.”
I take her hand in mine and hold on to it, but inside I’m afraid. It’s wonderful having people care about you, and I know how lucky I am to have Ed and Gigi. But what will happen if it turns out that the sweet young woman they think I am is really anything but?
− 16 −
Blythe
The waiting room of the private detective’s office suite looked a lot like how Blythe had imagined it. Gray walls with peeling paint, generic framed art hanging on them, and a wooden coffee table piled with out-of-date magazines. There was no receptionist, and a sign on the inner door announced “With Client.”
Blythe hadn’t known who to ask for a referral until she remembered that her friend Elaine had hired someone to follow her husband, whom she suspected—correctly, as it turned out—of cheating. Jim Fallow had provided Elaine with enough proof to negotiate a favorable divorce settlement, and she’d assured Blythe that Fallow was as good at his job as he was discreet.
The door opened, and a woman wearing dark sunglasses walked past Blythe. Suspicious wives must be this guy’s specialty. When Fallow came out, she was surprised by how well-turned out he was. She chided herself for buying into the stereotype of too many old movies. No rumpled, ill-fitting suit for this detective; he wore pressed black dress slacks, a white button-down shirt, and a well-tailored camel jacket that appeared to be cashmere.He was handsome, with salt-and-pepper hair, and seemed to be in his early forties. Whatever money he saved on the modest office, he obviously didn’t spare on his personal appearance.
“I’m Jim. You must be Mrs. Oliver.” He shook her hand warmly and motioned for her to come inside.
“Blythe, please. Nice to meet you.”
In his much more stylish interior office, he led her to a small round table with two comfortable chairs and invited her to sit.
“Can I get you anything to drink? I’ve got coffee, tea, sparkling water.”