Chapter 82
Kirsten
Hi everyone, my name’s Ryan and this is my first TikTok. I cleared four three at high jump today. Oh, and I’ve just sent Dylan Dope a message with the name of Coco’s YouTube channel #findMaple
I collect the bottle from the pantry and place it on the kitchen countertop. Then I reach for a glass and pour a generous measure. The wine’s blood-red color provides a satisfying contrast in my white kitchen, a visual fuck you to the world.
I have held on to my biggest secret for over fifteen years to protect my daughter, and in one argument, Garrett has ruined everything. And now Maple’s gone, either by choice to punish us, or taken by force because she was vulnerable.
Either way, it’s his fault. So I’m done with caring what my husband thinks of me.
I take a long gulp, then brace myself as he walks into the room.
‘The twins are asleep, finally,’ he says, then his words dry up as he sees my glass. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Numbing the pain,’ I say, taking another mouthful.
‘Drinking alcohol is a sin,’ he reminds me. ‘You know that.’
‘And you lost your right to judge me when you told our children our darkest secret.’
He flinches, and I celebrate the moment by finishing my glass. Then quickly pouring another.
‘I stood by you when I had no reason to,’ he says through gritted teeth. ‘My ex-girlfriend, pregnant with another man’s child. Not many would take you in, but I did. And I have been a devoted husband to you, and father to Maple, ever since.’
‘Devoted? What have you done, Garrett? Because I’m the one who’s raised this family. Raised the kids, raised our finances, raised us up to be better.’
‘Better than what?’ he throws back.
There’s silence while I finish my second glass, pour a third.
Then he finally speaks. ‘Even now, with Maple gone, the twins traumatized, everyone on social media bitching about us, you still have no regrets, do you?’
‘Oh, I have a few,’ I say. I mean getting pregnant at the wrong time, settling for Garrett, giving him enough rope to hang us both.
But the image that springs up alongside those words is something different.
It’s Blake’s message – Could you possibly send some photos of Maple growing up? Unfiltered, natural.
I shake the image away and wonder if one bottle is going to be enough.
‘And you lied to the police about that freak with the chocolates,’ Garrett goes on. ‘Maple was petrified of him; it was you who convinced her it was nothing.’
‘Maple is a child. Children get scared of lots of things that won’t hurt them.
It’s our job to educate them on what’s dangerous, and what’s not.
’ I like how confident I sound; how solid my argument is.
I’m not stupid, I know this is the alcohol working its magic.
But I don’t care. It’s been a shitty day, and it’s good to feel in control again.
‘And how do you know the man wasn’t dangerous?
’ Garrett asks. ‘Or the thousands of other sick men who watch Maple’s content?
’ He shakes his head in disgust, even though he’s a fucking hypocrite because it wasn’t me who tried to bribe Maple back online with dirty sodas.
‘Do you know who I spoke to this afternoon?’ he asks.
‘No, I don’t know. God?’
‘The Uber driver who picked Maple up. I figured I wasn’t going to wait for the police to do it, so I bounced between a dozen chatbots until I found him.
And he admitted that he didn’t drop Maple home.
That she demanded to get out of his car only a couple of minutes into the journey.
So she was out there, alone, in the dark.
A fourteen-year-old girl who two million strangers think they know, who have seen her bedroom countless times.
Does that make you feel differently? Do you regret making her famous now? ’
Dammit, those messages are back behind my eyes.
Blake blowing hot and cold, manipulating me into giving away too much of Maple.
I shake my head. My glass is empty again too, so I reach for the bottle.
But when I pour, I just get sediment. Tears burn my eyes.
Am I missing Maple or mourning the empty wine bottle?
I drop my face into my hands, and suddenly I’m crying. Loud, ugly sobs.
Incredibly, Garrett reaches for me. And even more surprisingly, I let him.
And it feels good, resting my head against his broad, warm chest. Because I’m tired.
Tired of pretending life is always good; of repeating the mantra that Maple’s fine when she might well not be; of trying to believe that this isn’t my fault when everyone else thinks it is.
And tired of holding on to all this guilt about Blake when the truth is I was manipulated by him. I’m a victim too.
‘Do you think she might have been taken?’ Garrett whispers into my hair. ‘Because if she has, you’re right; it is my fault. For upsetting her, putting her at risk.’
‘I’m scared she might have been,’ I confess into Garrett’s sweater. ‘Because I’ve been tricked, I think, by this nasty liar. I thought it was a woman at first, but I’m not sure I think that now. And I sent him photos of Maple; he even wanted ones when she was little.’
I feel a coolness on my cheeks as Garrett steps away from me but I don’t hear the coolness in his voice. ‘Tell me more,’ he whispers.
‘His name’s Blake,’ I murmur. ‘He said he ran a modeling agency.’ I try to move closer again, but Garrett holds my arms, so I look into his eyes. ‘And why would I think any different? I mean, I guess the Telegram thing could have been a red flag,’ I mumble. ‘But he sounded so genuine.’
Garrett turns toward the window for a few seconds, but when he looks back at me, his eyes are soft again. ‘Can I see the messages?’
I stare at his outstretched hand. Has my imperfect husband finally become an ally? I open Telegram and slowly hand him my phone, instantly feeling its loss.
He smiles at me, hesitates a moment, then leaves the room. I listen to the soft clink of the study door closing.