Chapter Thirty Edward
Edward wasn’t generally a guy who panicked. He’d learned early in life that there were two human emotions that served no purpose whatsoever: worry and regret. But when six o’clock rolled around and he hadn’t heard anything from Ren, he felt the cold tendrils of unease take root at the base of his spine. They’d hit the road early; he’d dropped her off just after ten in the morning. That was nearly eight hours of silence, and even if she’d forgotten that he wanted her to keep him updated, and even for someone who wasn’t used to calling and checking in, it didn’t feel right. Unfortunately, he couldn’t track his phone without his iPad or laptop, and he didn’t have either of those things right now. So he kept calling. He would call and the phone would ring and eventually go to voicemail, and he’d leave yet another message.
But the first time it went directly to voicemail—indicating that it’d been turned off or the battery had finally died—was the moment unease morphed into true panic. He had no way to reach her, no way to know whether she was safe.
At seven, blood heavy with anxiety and dread, he headed to the lobby, deciding to wait for her there. With every car that pulled into valet, he’d think, Maybe that’s her in a cab. Maybe that’s her father dropping her off.
An hour went by, and still no sign of her.
He approached the check-in desk. “Have you seen a woman, early twenties, about this tall?” He held his hand about chest high. “Very, very long blond hair?”
It was at that description that the woman’s face relaxed. “Can I get your name, sir?”
“It’s Edward. Edward Fitzsimmons.”
“Thank you. Yes, she left several hours ago with an older couple.” The woman bent, opening a drawer, and then set his phone on the counter. “And she left this for you.”
Edward took the phone, numb, and walked in a daze to the elevator. Back in their room—nope, his room, he thought bleakly—he lost track of time, staring at the floor, trying to sort through every possible scenario.
Older couple could have meant Gloria and Steve, but he didn’t know how they’d find Ren here. It could mean Christopher Koning and his wife, in which case Ren might have opted to stay at their house for the night. But then why not call?
No matter which way he broke it down, something wasn’t right.
And the only place he knew to start was at 1079 Birchwood Terrace.
The street was so different at night. Or maybe that was just his mood, reading everything with suspicion. To an anxious mind, what looked like utopia during the day looked like a neighborhood that could easily mask darkness, could effortlessly let an innocent twenty-something vanish.
There were lights on inside; they were warm and soft, and from the porch he could hear music. Closing his eyes, he took a slow, deep breath.
Calm down, Edward. There’s an explanation. You’ll find her.
He lifted his fist and knocked. The sound of small footsteps pounded on hardwood, and the door swung open, revealing—holy crap—a tiny Ren in pajamas and slippers.
Golden hair spilled down over her shoulders. Wide green eyes gazed up at him. What felt like a spear passed through his chest. “Hi,” he said, offering a friendly smile.
“Mommy, there’s a man at the door!” she yelled in response and ran back down the hall.
A woman leaned through a doorway in the distance and gasped, “Oh! Emily! Wait for Mommy or Daddy before answering the door!” Wiping her hands on her apron, she approached, calling back over her shoulder, “Honey, someone is here!”
In the other room, a male voice murmured something, and Edward caught only “Sweetheart…door…always…me or Mommy…safe.”
Edward’s heart was a roaring beast in his chest. This didn’t feel like a house of shady abductors. But it also didn’t feel like Ren was there, either. She would have come out at the mention of a man at the door, he knew she would.
The woman met him at the doorway and smiled. “Hi, can I help you?”
Edward tried to smile warmly, to take the edge of hysteria out of his eyes. “Hi, yes, I was wondering if a Mr. Christopher Koning lives here?”
The woman’s expression stuttered. “Yes, that’s my husband. Let me—” She stopped, looking back and seeing him already coming down the hall, and said, “He’s asked for you.”
The man in front of Edward looked just like the printed photo that Ren brought with her—blond hair, green eyes, hopeful smile. But the resemblance to his daughter was even stronger in person. Ren had his nose: narrow and gently turned up at the end. They shared the same coloring, the same arch of their brows. But there was something else, some undefinable aura about him that felt like Ren, too. Whether it was the kind eyes or the patient smile that said he was in no hurry for Edward to put his words together, he wasn’t sure. Edward’s head was spinning.
“I’m Chris,” the man said. “How are you?”
Edward shook his extended hand. “I’m good, thanks. My name is Edward.” Edward swallowed, unable to predict how this was going to go. “I’m sorry to show up on your porch like this. I have a strange question.”
Chris smiled and stepped outside, closing the front door behind him. “Let’s hear it.”
“Did a young woman come to your house today?” Edward asked.
Chris frowned. “No…” But then something seemed to land, and his shoulders squared as he took a step closer. “Who did you say you were? Who came here today?”
“Her name is Ren.” Chris didn’t show any sign of recognition, but his eyes were wild now, searching Edward’s. “We drove across the country to find you.”
“How old is she?” Chris asked sharply.
“She just turned twenty-three.” Edward winced. “I dropped her off earlier to talk to you, but she never returned to the hotel, and I got worried.”
Chris was white as a sheet, and Edward pulled out his phone, opening his photos to show him a picture of Ren at dinner the other night. He swiped through photos of her at Mount Rushmore. “This is her. This is Ren. Ren Gylden?” Pausing, he added quietly, “She—she thinks you might be her father.”
With a shaking hand, Chris took the phone and stared down at the smiling girl. “Gracie?”
Edward went still. “What did you call her?”
When Chris looked up again, tears streamed down his face, and he pointed to the screen. “That’s my Grace. Oh my God.” A sob escaped his throat. “That’s my girl. My daughter. Becky! Come here!” he yelled into the house, before turning back to Edward, a world of devastation in his eyes. “She was taken twenty years ago.”
On their dining room table, Chris and Becky Koning spread out every document, photo, and newspaper clipping they had and told Edward the story of the disappearance of Chris’s three-year-old daughter Grace Koning at a Fourth of July celebration in a local park. Chris, at the time recently divorced from Ren’s mother—Aria, a petite blond woman—had taken his daughter to see the fireworks and, distracted by the question of a man nearby while looking for his daughter’s sweater, turned back to find she was no longer at his side.
What followed was an all-out manhunt lasting nine months and spanning eight states. But Grace was never seen again.
“Over the years,” he said, carefully moving his hands over his collection of documents, “there have been nearly ten thousand calls in to the hotline we set up, but only a handful of credible leads. For years I’d think I’d see her in every crowd. I think that feeling of needing to look for her every second I was out started to wane maybe eight or nine years ago.” He looked to Becky, who nodded, rubbing his back. “All this time,” he said, “she’s been all the way in Idaho.” He laughed, a sad, sharp exhale. “So many nights I’d wake up wondering if I imagined her. I’d get up and look at these pictures and try to figure out how I could possibly keep moving forward if I never got to see my little girl again.”
Edward glanced around the house. It was cozy and warm, and from his chair he could see into a large great room with a TV and two big, pillowy couches. There were toys on the floor and a collage of construction-paper artwork covering one wall, a cluster of family photos covering another. Besides Christopher and Becky, there were some of the little girl who had answered the door, and older photographs of another girl Edward assumed was Ren. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out immediately, hoping it might be her. Seeing it was his father, he silenced the call.
“I don’t understand, though,” Becky said. “If you dropped her off here, where did she end up?”
“I dropped her off a few doors down, yeah,” Edward said, wishing he’d put up more of a fight and insisted he go with her. “I only know what Ren told me, but Gloria seemed really controlling. If I had to guess, I think she was waiting and probably told Ren a good story that made her question whether she wanted to talk to you after all.”
His phone buzzed again, but he ignored it once more. This was the part he didn’t totally understand. Why would Ren come back to the hotel and leave his phone at the front desk? He could only assume that Ren had insisted, knowing it was expensive and he didn’t have the money to replace it before his interview. But why would Gloria agree? She must’ve been so convincing when getting Ren to leave with her that she wasn’t even worried a chance run-in with him would change Ren’s mind.
“Do you know where this homestead is?” Chris asked, pulling Edward from his thoughts. “It’s taking everything in me to not pack up tonight and go there.”
“I know generally. At least,” Edward said, “I know it’s in Idaho. I know they go to a farmers market in Latah. There’s a five-and-dime near them…. I think I could probably narrow it down based on some of the descriptions she gave me.”
Again, his phone vibrated in his pocket, three rapid pulses. Begrudgingly, he pulled it out to see texts from his father.
Answer your phone, Edward
Explain what the hell is going on
If you don’t answer this phone right now I’m canceling your cards and
He stopped reading and stood. “I’m sorry. I need to make an urgent call.”
Chris stood, too. “Is it her?”
“No, sorry, it’s my father. I’ll be right back.” Stepping out onto the porch, Edward pressed the contact for his dad. He picked up on the first ring.
“Edward, tell me where you are right now.”
He frowned, glancing down the block. “I’m in Georgia. It’s a long story.”
His father was incredulous. “Geor—? You know what? I don’t even care. But I would like you to explain to me why the financial office at Corona called to tell me there’s evidence that you’ve violated the terms of your scholarships and have one week to appeal your expulsion.”
His heart came to a violent, shuddering stop. “Violated? What evidence?”
“I don’t think they have it yet. Apparently, some girl caught you cheating. Her mother called the school.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, his stomach dropping. “Dad, this is absolutely not what you’re thinking.”
“Save the fiction, Edward. I don’t care what scheme you’ve got going or how you fix this, but that’s what you’re going to do. Straighten this mess out, because if you get expelled, I’m not pulling strings to get you back in. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” His heart lurched forward before tumbling over a beat, faster and faster, as his father’s words rolled around in his head.
Ren didn’t do this—Gloria did. He knew it. If Gloria kidnapped her own daughter twenty years ago, she wouldn’t leave anything to chance. This was a warning shot: Stay away from Ren and stay away from Christopher Koning, or you lose everything.
She didn’t know that Edward was already there, that he already knew who she was, and that he’d throw everything away in a heartbeat if it meant he’d get Ren out of her hands.