Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
D uring Noah’s search for Avery, he suddenly found himself driving toward the old family property, the house where he and Mona had been raised long ago. Surprised, he slammed the brakes and remained stopped in front of the old house, his mind whirring. There was no way Avery would have come out here, was there? Noah and Mona’s parents—Avery’s grandparents—had died before Avery was born, and Noah and Mona had sold the family house when Avery was six or seven months old.
For years, Noah kept himself at a distance from the place. But now, sitting in front of it with his heart an open wound, he reckoned with what the new owners had changed: the fresh dark-gray paint, the new driveway, the basketball hoop they’d put above the garage door. From what Noah remembered, the new owners who’d purchased the place sixteen years ago were a married couple, maybe with a toddler and a baby or a baby on the way. He wasn’t sure. He could remember the mother's smiling face and the father's sturdy handshake. He also remembered how jealous he’d been of them. How much it had made his heart ache to see a couple around his age doing everything he’d imagined himself doing: buying a house and raising a family. At the time, he’d been telling his friends he never wanted kids. They were so dirty and messy, and he liked to live his own life. But he’d been lying. Everyone knew he was lying, yet nobody had called him out on it.
Wasn’t that part of the reason he’d gotten into his line of work? He’d wanted to be a father. He had so much love to give.
But now that he actually needed to be a father for Avery, he was messing everything up.
As he sat there, looking up at the old house, memories took over.
Suddenly, he remembered the first time he’d brought Margot over to meet his parents. It had been a day similar to today. January or February with sleek and sweeping hills of snow. He’d picked her up from where she lived with her mother and father. By then, all of Margot’s siblings had left the nest. He and Margot were sixteen—the same age as Avery now—and Margot was nervous, clinging to a bouquet she’d bought for his mother.
“They let me make my own bouquet at the shop,” Margot had told him.
He’d been fascinated by that. “I didn’t know they let you do that. Make your own, I mean.” He’d only bought flowers once, and they’d been for Margot. He’d felt stupid, then, realizing that maybe she hadn’t liked the bouquet he’d picked out.
“They usually don’t, but I didn’t like anything they’d put together themselves,” Margot had told him, her eyes straight ahead as they’d driven along. “This is the first time I’m meeting your parents. I want to make a good impression.”
Driving her back home like that, he’d thought about the future they were surely going to have together: a house, children, and bouquet after bouquet. He’d told himself he’d learn how to make a more brilliant bouquet.
But dinner with his parents had gone terribly.
Looking back, it was funny, sort of. But back then, it had been heinous.
Noah, Margot, and Noah’s parents had sat down for a meal of clam chowder and fresh bread. Margot’s bouquet sat in a vase in the corner of the room, and the smell was floral and fresh. They were making light chitchat about Noah and Margot’s classes at school and Margot’s plans for after high school, which, she told them, involved university, maybe something in the humanities. The year was 2003, and unlike in previous generations, nearly everyone planned to go to college. Margot and Noah weren’t any different.
“We’ve been looking at the same schools,” Noah had said, wanting to remind his parents how serious he was about Margot.
“Oh?” His mother smiled gently. “Which ones?”
“The University of Massachusetts is on the list,” Margot said.
“We talked about California,” Noah said—wanting, then, to illustrate to his parents that he and Margot were capable of going anywhere they wanted to go, even if it was a world away from Nantucket. He wanted to flex. He’d been a teenager, after all.
His mother’s face had soured. She’d taken a big bite of clam chowder and not said anything. Noah had stewed in a mix of pride and shame.
And then suddenly, his father had interrupted. “You said your last name is Earnheart?”
“That’s right,” Margot had said.
“You’re not related to Lillian, are you? Lillian Earnheart?” his father had said, straightening his posture.
Margot’s own shoulders had shrunk the slightest bit.
“She’s my mother,” Margot said in a small voice.
His father’s face had turned a violent red. Noah had closed his eyes. His father’s tempers were legendary.
“Who wants more bread?” his mother had asked.
“That woman cost my company thousands last year,” his father had spewed.
Margot had stared at the table in front of her, her spoon poised over her salad, her eyes glassy.
Noah had stuttered, “Lillian can be difficult. But she’s really lovely when you get to know her.”
“Lovely?” his father had scoffed. “I’ll believe that if I ever see it. If you two get married, I imagine she’ll find a way to shove the cake on the ground.”
Margot’s eyes had filled with tears. Noah had wanted to shrink down to the size of a pea.
But now, so many years later, Noah’s phone was ringing, breaking him out of his reverie. It was Sam. He considered not answering it. He considered texting her that he really couldn’t deal with Lillian Earnheart right now. But Sam was a friend, a wonderful one, and he couldn’t throw away his friends right now.
“Hey, Sam.” He put it on speaker and drove away from his childhood home, away from the ghosts of his past. “How’s it going?”
“Good news. Lillian came home.”
Noah couldn’t manage a sigh of relief, not now that Avery was missing. “Great.”
“She was out with some guy. Vic Rondell? Have you heard of him?”
“Nope.” He hoped Sam couldn’t hear how little he cared.
But Sam was an empath. He couldn’t get anything past her. Her tone shifted. “Noah? You good?”
Noah sniffed. “Um. Long story.”
“Explain.”
“Well. You remember my niece?”
“Avery. Yeah.”
“She told me she was ready to start school this morning, and I was stupid enough to believe her. She slipped out, maybe around lunch. They don’t know. I’m out looking for her.”
Sam groaned. “Oh, Noah. I’m so sorry. You both have been through so much.”
Noah was silent.
“Have you gone back home? Checked there?”
“Yeah,” Noah admitted.
He didn’t want to tell her his greatest fear was that she’d left the island, that she was somewhere, shivering, waiting for a bus that would take her to still more trouble, more loneliness, more ache. At sixteen, she could do very little for herself. There were people out there eager to take advantage of her. He wanted to scream.
“I can help you look,” Sam offered.
“It’ll be dark soon.” Noah sighed. “I’m sure wherever she is, she’s trying to find shelter. She’s acting like an idiot, but she isn’t an idiot deep down. Perhaps she’ll be back in juvie in a few days. Hopefully, she’ll turn up.”
Perhaps then she’d want to make a real go of it with Noah. Maybe then she’d tell him what was going on.
“Ugh. Noah. I don’t know what to say.”
“I better go,” Noah said.
He hung up and kept driving, rerouting himself back to his place. The sky was the color of a purple bruise.
Where are you, Avery? he thought, hoping that wherever she was, she could feel how much he feared for her. Don’t you know you’re the only person I care about in the world?