Chapter Thirty-Four
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I tell Amity I need to shower before we go to Tracy’s flat. Under the rush of water, I let the tears come. I don’t like crying like this, but I can’t help myself, overwhelmed by memories.
I must have been eleven, maybe twelve, and my mother and I were walking in a park near my grandmother’s house.
When my mother stopped to talk to a man carrying a baby on his shoulders, I ran ahead and climbed into the hollow of an old sycamore tree.
The trunk was huge but scooped out like a cave with two openings.
I think it had been hit by lightning. I crouched into a little ball in the darkest space, between the openings, hidden from view.
My mother didn’t notice that I was gone and kept chatting with the man.
I waited without moving for what seemed like an eternity.
Finally, she started calling my name. She sounded playful at first, but then her tone changed.
I could tell she was annoyed and, after a few more minutes, angry and afraid.
I’m ashamed to remember how long I stayed there, silent, giving my mother a real scare.
The truth was, I liked hearing how frantic she sounded.
From inside the tree, I had my mother’s undivided attention.
I felt sure of her love. For once, I was the one who’d disappeared and she was left thinking about me.
Back downstairs, I’m too tired to talk. Amity and Wyatt want to stop by Bert’s store on the way to Tracy’s flat so we can question him about his alibi. I’m fine with following their lead.
Bert’s outside having a cigarette when we walk up to the store.
“We talked to your daughter,” Wyatt says. “She says she hasn’t spoken to you in weeks.”
Bert drops his cigarette onto the pavement and grinds it with his foot.
“All right. I was at the pub in the next town over, meeting someone.”
“Anyone in particular?” Wyatt says.
“Sassygirl442.”
“Pardon?” Amity says.
“I met her online. It was our first IRL. In real life.”
Men his age shouldn’t try to keep up with the times, I think, until I remember that he’s talking according to a script.
“Why did you lie about this?” Amity’s voice is so soothing. She would make an excellent therapist.
“I didn’t want anyone to know I’m doing this kind of dating. Like I’m some kind of loser who can’t meet women any other way.”
“Have you gone on many online dates?” Amity motions for me to take out my phone, whispers to me to open a picture of my mother.
“A few,” Bert. “What’s that got to do with the case?”
“Nothing, honestly,” Amity says sweetly. “This is another matter entirely.”
She holds out my phone to him, displaying a picture I took during my last visit to my mother in Gainesville. She’s in a string bikini, her hair swept into a ponytail, standing by the Ichetucknee River. She made me take a lot of pictures that day, probably because she knew she looked good.
“Bert, if your real name is Bert, have you encountered this woman online?”
“Did something happen to her?” Bert asks.
“You recognize her?” Amity says.
I don’t dare tell him the truth.
“I feel like I might have seen her,” Bert says. “Do you have any other photos?”
I take the phone and look through my photos until I find another one, the kind my mom might pick for a dating profile. Here’s one she sent me from a fundraiser to save the manatees. Her hair looks lush, and her lips are bright red. Her smile is appealingly mischievous.
“Oh yeah, I FaceTimed with her for a while.”
“You did? When was this?” I ask.
If he says last month, we’ll know it’s a mistake.
“It’s been a while, maybe it was last summer. She was funny and very curious. Had a lot of questions. Wanted my whole life story. She said she was thinking of coming to England.”
Bert is not a bad-looking guy, and he’s about my mother’s age. But would she come all the way to Willowthrop to meet him? It seems like a stretch. Maybe she was just looking for information about the village. But again, why?
“What happened?” Amity asks.
“Never heard from her again. What do the young people say? She ghosted me.”