Page 86 of All These Beautiful Strangers

“Greyson, what’s wrong? Is Ryder okay? Is it Nolan?”

Greyson stood. “No, everyone’s fine, Mom. But there’s someone here who had to see you.”

He motioned at me behind him and I stood too.

Claire took a deep breath when she saw me and then turned and nudged Greyson firmly in the chest.

“You don’t page someone nine-one-one in the ER unless you’re bleeding from the head,” Claire said.

“Trust me,” Greyson said. “We’re sort of at that level here. Metaphorically.”

Claire looked at me. “What is it, Charlotte?” she asked, not unkindly. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s about my mom,” I said. “I need you to tell me everything you know about her and Jake Griffin.”

Greyson, Claire, and I sat on a bench outside near the entrance to the hospital.

“Jake Griffin, now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time,” Claire said. “What made you want to know about Jake?”

I tiptoed around the truth, which was something I was becoming quite good at.

“My father gave me access to the interviews the PI conducted, and Jake’s name came up,” I said. “I’m just trying to fill in the holes in my understanding.”

Claire nodded. “Okay,” she said. “But Jake doesn’t have anything to do with your mother’s disappearance. That was decades ago.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m just trying to understand her better, is all.”

“Well, there’s not too much to tell,” Claire said. “Your mom and Jake grew up together. The Griffins lived right down the street from your grandparents’ house—in that blue Craftsman home on the corner. They were always together, and sometime in middle school that turned into dating. But Jake—he was a dreamer. He wanted something more than what Hillsborough had to offer, and in high school he transferred to some fancy boarding school out of state on a scholarship.

“Your mom and Jake did the whole long-distance thing. And for the most part, it worked out for them. I mean, they had their squabbles, like anyone.”

“What did they fight about?” I asked.

“Normal stuff,” Claire said. “Like not spending enough time together. But they worked it out. And then, Jake’s junior year, right before he was supposed to come home for winter break, he killed himself.”

“Why?” I asked.

“To tell you the truth, we were all pretty shocked by it,” Claire said. “Jake was this bright-eyed kid. He always seemed happy. But, I guess it just goes to show that you never really know what’s going on with someone. I guess Jake was struggling at school. They found a stolen exam in his room. They found a note, too. Jake wrote that someone had found out that he cheated and they were going to turn him in. Cheating would have meant expulsion. I think he thought that everything he had worked so hard for was about to be taken from him. When you’re that young, I guess that would seem like the end of the world. Tore your mom to pieces. She never saw it coming.”

“What about my father?” I asked.

Claire looked confused. “What about him?”

“The boarding school Jake went to was Knollwood Augustus Prep,” I said. “They were friends.”

“Jake and your father knew each other?” Claire asked.

“Yes,” I said. “My mother never mentioned that?”

“No,” Claire said. “No, she didn’t.”

Was it possible that my mother was unaware of the connection? Or perhaps it was just a weird coincidence that they had met years after Jake had passed away?

But there was a feeling that nagged at me in the pit of my gut. A feeling that even though I couldn’t yet figure out how things were related, they somehow fit together. The connection was important. I just had to figure out why.

“Maybe it’s like that six-degrees-of-separation thing they talk about,” Greyson said. He leaned forward to turn up the dial on his radio. The Red Hot Chili Peppers were playing. “Like I know someone, who knows someone, who knows someone, who knows someone who knows Tom Cruise,” Greyson said. “It’s a smaller world than you think. A couple of summers ago, I was backpacking around Europe with some buddies, and we were standing in front of Buckingham Palace waiting for the changing of the guard and I look to my right, and who is standing next to me but Mrs. Chavez and her husband, who live across the street from us. Clad in fanny packs and everything. Like, what are the chances that I would travel halfway around the world and somehow be in the same place at the same time as my neighbors?”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s weird, I guess.”