Chapter 2 #2
Suzannah and my brother had been married for eight years.
Tommy had surprised everyone by coming home after his first year at Florida Atlantic University with a fiancée.
He’d never dated anyone before her, struggling with girls his entire adolescence.
At the time, I thought it had to do with his resemblance to his older, more confident brother.
Girls were disappointed after they expected Will 2.
0 and instead ended up talking to a quieter, more guarded, nervous version.
When Will was then arrested, it did nothing to help Tommy’s prospects.
But Suzannah? She loved him for who he was.
And they complemented each other. She wanted to be a stay-at-home mom and Tommy’s reliable mechanical engineering job made more than enough money to let her do it.
I headed toward her, desperate for a reprieve from the memories that seemed to be spinning around me.
I was stopped midstep as my father entered the room.
He’d put on quite a bit of weight since I’d seen him last. It had to have been a year or so ago.
Right when the book came out. He’d come to only one event, a signing in Fort Lauderdale, and just to tell me he wouldn’t be supporting it.
It hurt but he was kind about it all. Which was better than Mom, who had called me screeching when she first learned about the novel three years ago.
I hadn’t seen her in person in the years since.
“Oh, Rosie.” My dad’s voice turned into a wail as he looked at me. He didn’t wait. His arms instantly enveloped Tommy and me in the same bear hug. I felt my dad shudder as he began to sob into my shoulder. He and Tommy were really two peas in a pod. “How can this be happening?”
I hadn’t been hugged by my father in years. It made me uncomfortable, and I stiffened. I wished again that we were doing this away from the prying eyes of the neighborhood.
I patted his head, feeling the grease that had collected in his hair. “It’s going to be fine,” I told him. “She’s got to be somewhere. We’ll find her.” The words fell flat, unconvincing.
My father wiped at his eyes and reached out to stroke my face. “It sure is good to see you, Rosie. It’s been a while.”
“I know, Dad.” It made me feel a little guilty, that we’d grown apart. But he never left this place, this tomb. No matter how many times I begged and pleaded him to move. He wanted to be here. And I didn’t.
“Rose!”
The R dragged out in her signature drawl. Somehow my mother always sounded louder than the average person, her Southern accent cutting through the air like a knife. It was charming when she was trying to woo; vicious when she felt scorned.
She approached me, her face scrunched up in anger. My father let out a deep sigh that rattled his chest, already sensing a need to intervene.
“Now, Lyla—” he started, his voice soft and scratchy from the crying. She ignored him.
“I never thought I’d see you step into this house willingly again,” she said.
“This isn’t willingly,” I reminded her, aware of how snarky it sounded.
I took a moment to look her over. My mother had also gotten older.
I’d seen Facebook photos: her in a white sundress posing in front of Tampa Bay; her triumphant in front of a massive house with a Sold sign.
But those apparently edited photos didn’t show the wrinkles around her eyes, the dullness of the hair that had been California Blonde my entire childhood.
Her lips were bigger now. Injections, I was sure, to counteract these other signs of ageing.
“I called you twice today and you sent them both to voicemail,” she accused coldly. “Do you have any idea how inconsiderate that is?”
“She was on a plane, Mom,” Tommy interjected.
“Don’t make excuses for her. You always do that.
She’s a grown woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.
” My mother waited for my response, shooting me a penetrating look, and I felt something rev up inside me.
My mommy issues ran deeper than I cared to admit.
I could sense the resentment bubbling, threatening to explode.
“Don’t you have other daughters to bother?” I asked her, sneering. “Surely they come running every time Mommie Dearest calls.”
My mother’s lip twitched. “Watch your mouth.”
“Lyla.” My father’s voice was a hiss, measured but angry. “This is not the time.”
“Where are Megan and Mallory?” I asked her, turning to look around for my half sisters, my nails digging into the leather strap on my shoulder. “I’m sure you’ve brought your favorites along.”
That made a vein in her neck throb. “What’s wrong with you?”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. My childhood mannerisms were creeping back with every minute I stood in this house. I was only a few minutes away from slamming a door and shouting, I hate you!
The twins were the product of an affair. My mother had somehow, accidentally, gotten pregnant at forty-four years old, while still married to my father. In fairness, their marriage had already been on life support by the time she’d met Steve, but still, it was the final nail in their coffin.
The thin silver bracelets on my mother’s arm clattered obnoxiously as she tossed her hands into the air. “You haven’t changed one bit. Still just as selfish as ever.” She scowled. “What kind of person doesn’t answer their mother’s calls when their sister is missing?”
My upper lip twitched. “What kind of person ignores their son’s calls?” I pressed, feeling myself grow more upset. “What kind of mother does that? If we’re going to start throwing around the morality card, Mom, let’s make sure we do it properly.”
My mother’s lip began to curl.
“All right, you know what? I think this is enough.” I felt my father push me gently toward the hallway, shielding my body from my mother’s. “Tommy, bring Rosie’s stuff to her room. Lyla, go find your husband.”
I watched my mother recoil at the word husband.
I supposed she’d probably never heard it come from my father before.
It sounded like a slur in his mouth. She brushed her bangs out of her eyes and took a deep breath, steadying herself before she turned and headed deeper into the room.
I could see Steve now by the back door, wearing a Back the Blue T-shirt, talking animatedly to an officer.
“What the actual fuck is he wearing?” I hissed.
“I guess he wanted to stick to the theme of the day,” Tommy said.
I rolled my eyes. “Doesn’t he know that sucking the police department’s dick isn’t going to find Hazel any faster?”
My father grimaced at my language, reminding me that I was in the presence of a parent. It had been a long time since I’d had to worry about that.
“Give me these.” Tommy reached for my bags, pulling them off my shoulder before disappearing down the unlit hallway toward my old room. I wanted to follow him, escape this scene, but my dad fastened his hand around the top of my arm.
“Come on, Rosie, there’s an officer who wants to talk to you.”
“Why do they want to talk to me?” I asked accusingly as my father led me through the house. I despised the cops in this town.
My father gave me a dirty look. “Relax. They’ve spoken to all of us. They’re trying to get any information that will help them find Hazel.”
I didn’t see how I could provide anything that my father or Tommy hadn’t already, but I knew I had to follow procedure. Still, I didn’t like the idea. I was easily riled up when someone asked me questions I wasn’t prepared for. That much had been obvious from my time on TMH earlier.
I let my father steer me over to the living room, where the bulk of the uniforms were congregated.
He stopped in front of a nondescript white man in a button-down shirt that strained against his stomach.
He’d clearly gone bald early, despite not being much more than fifty.
He was talking quietly with a younger man in a fitted suit.
“Detective Newbury?” my father said. “This is my daughter, Rose. She just got in from New York. You said you would like to speak to her.”
Detective Newbury eyed me up and down, the look on his face turning curious. Usually whenever men looked at me like this, it was because they were attracted to me, but this was something different. He wasn’t looking at my face or tits. He was looking at me with a smirk.
“Rose Dearling,” he said slowly. “The author.”
There it was. Detective Newbury was up-to-date on his investigation, and I immediately knew I wasn’t going to be treated like a worried sister when he questioned me.
I was already the villain of another story.
The Smiley’s Next Door had not been kind to the Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Office, pointing out every one of their ineptitudes and fumbles during Will’s case.
I hoped this wouldn’t now be Hazel’s price to pay.
“Best-selling author, actually,” I corrected him, my lips pursed. My father gave me a dirty look.
“Well,” Newbury continued, “how about we find a nice, quiet place to talk? We interviewed most of your family yesterday at the station, but we have a few questions for you as well. My partner here will be joining us.”
“I’m Detective Dominick Pullman,” the younger one said eagerly, thrusting out his hand.
Pullman looked like every guy I had gone to high school with.
He was in his late twenties, with an uninteresting face that could be described as attractive only because there was nothing inherently ugly about it.
His hair was short, probably the result of growing out that awful buzz cut men liked to get the moment they graduated the academy.
I didn’t know Pullman, but he was indistinguishable from every other cop who had talked to me eleven years ago. I doubted he could surprise me.
“You can use my office if you like,” my father said.
“Thank you, Mr. Dearling,” Detective Newbury said, nodding at me. “After you.”