Page 27 of The Missing Half

Chapter Twenty-six

I wake the next morning alert and buzzing. Brad, I think. After all my stalling, and prevaricating, and clinging to the hope that he is blameless in Kasey’s disappearance, we’re finally going to talk to Brad.

I fling back the covers, but my feet pause just as they touch the old beige carpet of my bedroom floor. We’re not going to talk to Brad. I am. Alone. On top of the dread this sends prickling up my spine, there’s also the problem of how I’m actually going to get to the lake an hour away. I’d been so discouraged by Jenna’s news last night, I’d completely forgotten she was supposed to be my ride.

In my oversized T-shirt and underwear, I pad into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, pour myself a cup, then open my maps app. According to its directions, one way on a bike would take five hours, and it doesn’t look like I can get that far using public transit. After yesterday, my dad’s not going to drive me, and I can’t think of a single other person I’d feel comfortable asking. I switch over to my Uber app, but the estimated price for a two-hour round trip actually takes my breath away. I can’t justify it.

I think of my car, which has been sitting untouched in my apartment’s designated parking space since my dad drove it home from the impound lot almost five months ago. But with my license suspended, driving it would be breaking the law, and I’m in enough legal trouble as it is.

Unable to stand still any longer, I swallow a gulp of coffee and head to my closet to throw on some clothes. I move through my apartment packing my backpack, because no matter how I get there, I’ll have to bring my wallet and phone. More important, I’m going to need the receipt I found in Kasey’s jean jacket with the handwritten address on the back.

My car keys sit in a jewelry bowl on top of my dresser, eyeing me as I sit on the floor to tie my shoes. I shouldn’t drive. I know I shouldn’t. But then I think of Brad, the man who potentially took my sister and Jenna’s too, enjoying a peaceful family vacation, and I find myself walking to the dresser. Without quite telling my hand to do it, I grab the keys.

—

I’m a swarm of nerves as I drive to the lake, going five under and shooting anxious glances into my rearview the entire way. The route is straight and monotonous. Cornfields laced with strips of woods pass by my window in a blur of gold and green. The sky is a cloudless, endless blue. To me, it all feels unnervingly vast. Every mile of land I pass represents a thousand places that could have swallowed Kasey and hidden her from sight.

When I turn onto the road that leads to the little lake town, flashes of the past flicker in my mind like bits of a movie on a broken projector. Sun glinting silver on the water. A deck of playing cards on a soda-sticky table. Fresh fish dinners. Noisy games of Yahtzee. The memories shine with the feeling of rightness, of belonging. Me, Kasey, our mom and dad, the two Andrews boys, and their parents. But as I get closer and closer to Brad and Sandy’s house, the scenes turn gray and lifeless. One of our little group is now dead. One may have been her killer.

The house is smaller than I remember, a one-story with blue wooden siding, the lake shimmering behind it. I assumed the hour-long drive would dull my nerves about confronting Brad and temper my anger at him, but instead, it compounded them into a white-hot fury. By the time I pull up out front, my hands are shaking. I grab the receipt with the address on the back from my bag then fling open my car door.

I’m walking up the front path to the house when I hear voices from behind it. There’s a child’s shriek of laughter followed by a peal of giggles. Beneath is the hum of adults talking. I glance toward the front door, but the house looks dark and still, so I follow the sound around the side and stumble headfirst into the Andrews family reunion.

The backyard crawls with people. Kids sprint in every direction, shooting giddy, panicked looks over their shoulders as they run from a little boy with no front teeth who’s clearly “it.” Adults stand in clusters, red Solo cups and cans of beer in their hands. Two picnic tables form a cornucopia of food: open bags of chips, jars of pickles and condiments, Tupperware bowls full of macaroni and cheese and fruit salad. The hinges of a cooler squeak loudly as a woman opens it to dig around inside.

As I gaze around at all the people, my conviction wanes. No one seems to have noticed me yet. Maybe I should just go back to my car and wait until I can catch Brad on his own. But as I start to head back around the side of the house, I hear my name. I turn to see Sandy walking toward me, and my throat constricts with nerves. She’s the last person I want to do this in front of.

“Sandy. Hi.”

“What’re you doing here?” she asks, her voice bright.

My eyes rove around the yard as my mind races to come up with some logical excuse for barging in on their vacation like this. And that’s when I see Brad. Standing by an open grill with an apron wrapped around his waist and a spatula in his hand. He’s nodding along to something the man across from him is saying, and when he smiles, something cracks open inside me, leaking out a bitter blackness, a malignant tar of rage. Suddenly, everything else is swept from my mind. I no longer care about Sandy or embarrassing Brad in front of his family. All I care about is Kasey and finally getting the truth.

“I’m here to talk to Brad,” I say. Without waiting for a reaction, I stride toward him, leaving Sandy frozen in my wake. Heads turn in my direction, the collective gaze of the Andrews family heating my skin, but I don’t care. When I’m about ten feet away, Brad’s eyes catch mine over the other man’s shoulder, and his smile drops. He opens his mouth, but I don’t want to hear his voice.

“Kasey was here that night,” I spit at him, my words trembling and loud. The man Brad was talking to turns to look at me and instinctively slinks to the side. I pull the receipt from my pocket, wave it in Brad’s direction. “I have fucking proof.”

He lifts his hands. “Nic—”

“Don’t,” I snap. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Hang on—”

“What did you do to her?” I shout, my eyes stinging with tears. “What did you do to my sister?”

Suddenly, Brad’s hand is around my upper arm, his fingers so tight and unexpected that my voice cuts out. He’s never touched me like this before, and Jenna’s warning from last night flashes in my mind: We don’t know what he’s capable of. “This isn’t the place, Nic,” he says, and although he mutters the words beneath his breath, they are hard as steel. He isn’t going to let me speak his secret here in front of his wife and family. He won’t allow it. “Let’s go inside, then we can talk.”

I want to tell him I don’t give a shit about the setting in which we have this conversation, but yet again, when it counts, all I can do is freeze.

Brad turns to face the yard of people, which is split between those watching us openly and those pretending not to. “Sorry, everyone,” he says loudly. He’s positioned my body slightly in front of his own so no one can see his grip on my arm. “This is just a misunderstanding. We’re taking care of it inside. You good to take over the burgers, Larry?” He glances at the man he was talking to earlier, who nods and reaches out to take the spatula from Brad’s outstretched hand. “Now, please, get drunk and try to forget any of this happened!”

Halting laughter breaks out over the yard, people slowly turn back to their conversations, and the kids’ game of tag starts again. Brad steers me toward the house, and as he does, I spot Sandy standing alone in the middle of the yard, watching us with an unreadable expression on her face.

It’s only when we’re both inside and the door has closed behind us that I finally find my voice again. “That hurts,” I say.

For a fleeting moment, Brad frowns down at me as if he doesn’t understand. Then he looks at my arm and lets go, as if he suddenly realized he was touching a flame. “I’m sorry,” he says, and to my surprise, he actually looks it. It unnerves me—the quiet normalcy after the burst of violence. “But you shouldn’t have barged in like that—”

He’s interrupted by the sound of the doorknob twisting, and we turn to see Sandy slipping through the doorway.

“Sandy.” His eyes go round with fear. He wants his wife nowhere near me right now, and about this we can agree. I was reckless outside, but it is Brad I want to hurt, not her. And while the force of his grip may have scared me, there’s nothing he can do to me here, not with his entire family outside the door. “I’ve got this,” he says. “Don’t worry. Go back outside.”

“No.” Sandy’s voice is cool. “We need to deal with this quickly and quietly.”

Brad walks over to her, one hand reaching for the doorknob, the other ushering her out. “It’s just a misunderstanding, hon. Like I said. Nic and I can hash this out together.”

“It’s true,” I say. “I’m sorry for showing up like that. I was just…I just need to talk to Brad.”

“I wish that were the case,” Sandy says. “But it’s not.”

I don’t understand what she means, and by the look on Brad’s face, he doesn’t either, but he just continues to guide her toward the doorway. “I’ll be back out in a minute. I promise—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Sandy suddenly shouts, her voice reverberating around the little house. “Would the two of you just let me speak? Kasey didn’t meet up with Brad here the night she went missing. I was the one she came to see.”