Chapter 11
Night Four
Julian
“What do you mean, she’s gone?” Sybil asked, suddenly on her feet.
It was sweet, Julian thought, but na?ve, that Sybil assumed she could tame a child who didn’t want to be tamed.
He suspected that both of Sybil’s kids were straight-down-the-middle children.
Kids who didn’t push curfew, and when they did, it was because they lost track of time sipping White Claws; kids who had private tutors for their SATs; kids who had private coaches for their club sports.
Julian hadn’t been a particularly good father since Robin died so he didn’t judge Sybil for any of that, but he’d always had an uncanny ability to size people up immediately.
It’s probably why he’d been recruited out of the University of Delaware; probably why his unit had been so bereft when he retired.
He’d been the best bloodhound of all of them.
But without Robin to balance him, he found himself obsessing, spiraling over a botched case, and then one mundane day, his heart seized while having his morning coffee at his desk, and the doctors all told him he was lucky to be alive.
Simone had just graduated college and moved back home for two weeks to mind him and refused to leave until he called his boss and quit.
He knew Robin would want Simone to start her adult life in peace, so he did.
He still had the passive income from the candy store, and for a while, he accepted it.
Like the universe had handed down its decision, and the least he could do was respect it.
Until that period passed, and he found himself running through all the loose ends, all the work he still hadn’t completed.
“Third door on the left is empty. I checked the other rooms too.” He looked at Zeke. “Did you spook her?”
“What? No!” Zeke yelped.
“Well, she obviously hasn’t gone, like run away,” Sybil said. “Let’s not be dramatic. Wait, Julian, are you implying that she’s run away?”
Zeke pushed his chair back, and they strode down the hall as if Julian had maybe just overlooked Betty, as if she were hiding under the bed.
He wanted to tell them that he was a professional, but it was easier, better, if they thought he was just a candy store owner, so he said nothing.
He already knew enough about Sybil to assess that she would get her nose bent out of shape if she knew about his past employment.
Betty’s room, as Julian had told them, was empty. The bed untouched, the white towels folded atop the mid-century modern bureau.
“Maybe she’s just at her old place,” Zeke said. “Getting some stuff.”
“At eleven o’clock at night?” Sybil asked. Her brow was furrowed in genuine worry.
“Well, we’re awake,” Zeke said. “Also, she is an adult.”
“We’re always awake,” Sybil replied. “It’s just odd, that she wouldn’t say anything. I’ll text her.”
“She’s fine, I’m sure she’s fine,” Zeke said, and Julian thought it was pretty incredible, this golden boy’s rosy view of the world. He hadn’t seen what Julian had; he didn’t know what Julian knew.
“So you’re not worried?” Sybil looked toward Zeke. “It’s a little weird, isn’t it?”
“We don’t really know her that well. I don’t want her to feel like I’m monitoring her. Also, no, I don’t think it’s weird that she, an adult, left the apartment without issuing an all-points bulletin,” Zeke said.
“And you didn’t do something to scare her?” Julian asked.
“What? Julian, I think you have the wrong impression of me.”
“What impression do I have of you?” Julian felt a little acceleration of his heart rate. This was just like an interrogation, only Zeke wasn’t aware. It had been so long since he’d felt that invigorating thrum.
“Like I’m like some idiotic lecherous jock.”
“I don’t think you’re lecherous,” Julian said.
“Just the dumb jock.”
“Come on, you guys,” Sybil said. “Let’s focus on being positive.”
They’d retreated to the kitchen, Zeke pulling the plastic wrap off the platters.
How many people did he expect to feed? Julian wondered.
Everything about Zeke was almost cartoonish—this apartment, for one.
The ceilings were nearly two stories high; the kitchen was expansive enough to be a subway stop; the living room was goddamn palatial, like Zeke was Louis XIV and required his own personal Versailles.
“Honestly, Jules,” Zeke said, as if Julian had ever told him that he had a nickname (he did not), as if they were old friends (they were not).
“My entire life has always been about my game. I just want to help Betty out. Keep each other company, I swear. I have the room, and it feels like good karma.”
Sybil looked up from her phone, the whoosh of her text going off into the void. She nudged her head at his soft cast. “I texted her.”
From Betty’s bedroom they could hear the very distant ding of a text being received.
“Shit,” Sybil said. “She left her phone. Okay, now maybe I can be worried?”
“She wasn’t kidnapped from the apartment,” Zeke said. “Like, she wasn’t taken against her will and left her phone behind.”
Sybil sighed. “You’re right. You’re right. I really need to cut off those podcasts.”
“Come on,” Zeke said. “Please, let’s eat.”
He put three different types of sandwiches on a plate and passed it to Julian.
Julian wasn’t hungry, but he knew that he needed to be collegial, so he nodded a thank-you and rolled up his sleeves, a habit from boyhood when he had to tuck a napkin in.
Zeke gestured to the table, and Julian was relieved to sit.
His ankles were swollen, he’d forgotten his compression socks, and he needed a break.
He was good at stony-faced but must have winced as he sat down.
“You okay?” Sybil asked.
“Just tweaked something. The price of being sixty, I guess.”
Sybil gave him a long stare like she was used to seeing through liars, but maybe he was imagining that, because right then, the front door unlatched in the foyer, and then squeaked open and slammed shut, and Sybil jumped from her seat, her demeanor changing entirely.
She rushed into the other room, with Zeke and Julian trailing.
To Julian’s great surprise, Betty had returned.
He watched her from across the foyer, his hackles rising, his eyes narrowing.
She was back; hadn’t gone or at least hadn’t fled.
If he didn’t see it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it, because Julian, in a moment of rarity, had gotten the facts wrong.
And Julian knew, deep in his bones, that he never got anything wrong. At least nothing like this.