Chapter 67
Sixty-Seven
E mmy and I play in the colorful autumn leaves, raking them into a big pile before running and jumping in, both of us shrieking with laughter. Leaf confetti sticks to our hair and clothes—and in Emmy’s case, sometimes catches in the sparkling tiara secured to her crown with combs.
Emmy considers herself a princess—with vast costumes, tiaras, wands, and attitude to back it up. You won’t find me arguing. Right now, she’s the princess of the forest, framed by the glorious ruby, auburn, and golden hues of nature’s palette as she lies flat on her back.
Hemi circles us, barking animatedly. He wants to be part of the fun but refuses to step one paw in the pile. Butch tried taking him over to the restoration shop, where he’s attempting to catch up on the backlog of work, but Hemi seemed hell-bent on staying with us.
Emmy’s shushing the dog when my stomach roils with a sudden, sharp distress. I blow out a harsh breath.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I say.
“And I’m thirsty,” Emmy adds.
I stand, offer my hand, and hoist her up. She runs toward the house as I wade out of the pile. “Brush off before you go in,” I yell just as another twinge hits my gut.
When I get to the door, I hastily add my detritus to hers, another cramp hammering my insides as I hurry to the restroom. What the hell?
Awarded a moment of reprieve—even though my guts are tight as a drum—I flip through the magazines stuffed in a basket: Reader’s Digest, Car Collector, Muscle Car Review, and Cosmo .
Emmy’s footsteps thunder down the hall and stop by the door. “I’m going to see Daddy. M’kay? Bye!”
“Wait!” Sudden pain doubles me over, and I break out in a cold sweat. “Em?” I croak, trying to breathe through it. “Emmy!”
She doesn’t answer, already gone.
Damn it.
The next assault strikes, this one bringing a wave of nausea. What is happening to me? I need to catch Emmy. But my body has other plans, hitting me with spasm after spasm.
Hemi barks outside and my head jerks toward the sound. His barks turn insistent. Unrelenting. Alarm shrieks in my head, but I can’t hear anything but the dog. What’s going on?
A fresh cramp hits. Goosebumps skitter across my flesh. My vision darkens at the corners, head woozy, and I slump forward. Bile edges up my throat, and I pant through the attack.
Hemi howls.
Oh god, I’m going to hurl. I scramble to my knees and retch into the toilet, trapped in my own personal hell. My stomach empties, and I’m at the mercy of biology, just here for the revolting ride.
It takes several offensive minutes and when I think—hope—it’s over, I rest my forehead against the cool porcelain of the upended seat and get my bearings.
The dog has fallen silent .
I pray Emmy’s alright. And that I am too.
I’m weak but need to pull myself together and find her. I splash cold water on my face then hasten on unsteady legs to the front door. Flinging it open, I lurch onto the porch, sweating head to toe.
Hemi stares down the driveway, growling menacingly at a faint cloud of dust hanging in the air. That’s when my eyes catch on something sparkling near his feet.
Emmy’s tiara.
“Emmy!” I scream, eyeballing the empty drive. There’s no answer.
I glance down the path, debating whether to take it, but stagger inside to the phone instead and call the shop. “Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.”
I slam the receiver down. What should I do? Nausea rears again and I pant through it, then try calling again. “Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.”
“Hamiltons.” It’s Butch.
Thank God . “It’s me. Is Emmy there?”
“No. Why?”
“We were playing, then she told me she was going to see you?—”
“When,” he snaps.
My pulse throbs, my nerve endings crackling like popcorn kernels in hot oil. “Maybe ten minutes ago. I was stuck in the bathroom?—”
“And she just left?”
“Yes, before I could stop her. Hemi started barking like crazy, and when I finally got outside, he was howling at the driveway and there was dust like a car was here, and…” I sob, “I found her tiara on the ground.”
“Stay there. I’ll see if she’s here somewhere. If not, I’m coming to you.” He hangs up without another word.
“Please, please, please be alright,” I chant.
I will never forgive myself if something happens to her.
My head swims with doomsday visions, and I gulp deep breaths.
Losing my cool won’t help anything. Maybe she’s just at her grandparents’.
Maybe she’s on the path collecting rocks.
Maybe she climbed into one of the vehicles to play race car driver.
Or maybe something terrible has happened.
Bile rises and I run to the bathroom—and retch again.
“Jacqui!” Butch yells as he bursts through the front door, boots thudding against the hardwood floors.
“In here,” I say weakly. I’m slumped on the floor, scared to stray too far from the commode.
He looms in the open doorway, his gaze flitting over me, frantically taking in the scene. “Is Emmy back?” He’s breathing hard.
“No. Oh my god. You didn’t find her?”
“No! Tell me everything that happened. And what’s…are you ill?”
I nod. “I think it’s food poisoning.”
He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his fingers into his temples. “Fuck! What the hell happened over here?”
My eyes well. “We…we were playing in the leaves. I felt sick to my stomach, so I came inside to use the bathroom, and Emmy came with me to get a glass of water.”
“So how the fuck did she disappear?” he yells, and I flinch.
Everything is loud and bright and horrible. Tears slip down my cheeks. “When I was in here, she told me she was going to see you?—”
“And you didn’t think to stop her? To tell her to wait for you?” he demands.
“I tried. Butch, I tried, but she left. She didn’t wait for an answer. She just?—”
His arms cross, eyes steely and forbidding. “Disappeared, Jacqui. That’s what she did. She walked outside, and now she’s gone.”
My sobs intensify. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t…” My words trail off. They’re meaningless.
I see a flash of anger, pity, sorrow. Maybe regret. “I’m calling the police,” he says as he strides away.
My head falls into my hands, muffling my heaving sobs. Panic and remorse twist my guts anew. A cavern of despair forms, one that seems black, cold, and bottomless.
Police arrive to investigate, take statements, and determine the next course of action. It’s been one hour since Emmy disappeared. One hour for Butch and his parents to conduct a cursory, property-wide search. One hour to for me to become wracked with fear, grief, and self-loathing.
I can’t stand to witness Butch’s stark anguish.
I can’t stop blaming myself.
I can’t help but think of my sister, drowned before we could even develop a friendship. Drowning my entire family in the process.
Now I’m drowning too.
The obvious suspect is Darlene. A stranger could also have forced Emmy into a car and driven away, the irony being that Emmy’s biological mother is a stranger to her.
At minimum, Darlene remains a person of interest and police issue an all-points bulletin for her 1970 pale yellow Plymouth Valiant, which Butch describes in detail.
He doesn’t remember the full license plate number but provides a partial, and the state: Illinois.
Butch excels under pressure: giving officers a recent school picture of Emmy, answering every question from her age, eye color, and height to the birthmark above her right elbow. We describe what clothes she wore, the brand of sneakers.
I provide a comprehensive statement, explaining how a violent gastrointestinal attack prevented me from going after Emmy or witnessing what caused her disappearance.
The officer seemed concerned, said I looked white as a sheet.
I’m still shaky and weak and can barely keep water down but I’m not thinking about me. Only Emmy—and Butch.
A search ensues. The sergeant, a personal family friend, explains most missing kids are off playing somewhere or they’ve wandered over to a friend’s or neighbor’s house. But we know, the way you sometimes do at the bone-deep level, that Emmy is not playing, hiding or lost.
She was taken.
Family, friends, and neighbors arrive to look for her across the massive acreage where the Hamiltons live and canvass the entire neighborhood.
The community grapevine works its magic, spreading the word and putting everyone on alert.
The Hamiltons are well known and respected in these parts, and one of their own has gone missing.
The whole town rallies, doing whatever they can to aid in the search.
Even mired in numbing heartache, I’m awed.
But as the sun sets on this horrific day, Emmy remains missing.
Neighbors drop off food and flashlights.
No one can bring themselves to stop searching. To admit defeat. To do…nothing.
The search is more for us now.
Even weak and nauseous, I continue walking, looking, hoping. The image of her tiara sticks like a thorn in my mind. Emmy would never leave that behind. Was there a struggle? Did Darlene harm her? Is she hurting her now?
Eventually, with heavy limbs and even heavier hearts, we trudge home. People are exhausted—mentally and physically. It’s in the hands of law enforcement now. Between the new computer technology at their disposal and the APB they issued, we pray the police locate Emmy quickly.
Butch and I haven’t spoken in hours. There isn’t anything to say. I’m devoid of comforting words. None can or will fix this anyway.
I’m waiting for him to break things off for good, to demand I leave. At the very least, to blame my incompetence, rail about my inability to do the most important task at hand—safeguard his child.
A real mother would do that.