Chapter 8
EIGHT
Back at the apartment after a quick stop at Salt & Sand Fine Foods, I step into the kitchen and find Gabriel and Scarlett talking in low voices on the kitchen balcony. They must not have heard the key turning in the lock because they both look startled to see me.
“What were you talking about?” I ask, but neither says a word, so I let it go. “I got groceries. I’m making lasagna for lunch. I’ll use those fresh tomatoes I got yesterday at the market.”
Still nothing.
“Come on, I know you were talking about me,” I press, putting the grocery bag down a bit harder than I meant to.
Scarlett comes and gently guides me into a chair. Coco circles once and settles against my ankle, warm and steady.
“Judy, I’m sorry.” Scarlett’s voice wobbles as if she’s been rehearsing but still can’t get it right. “I couldn’t get into the camp either. When I made a stink, they threatened to call the cops.” She picks at her thumbnail, a nervous habit she picked up after Sadie disappeared.
“Okay.” I shoot to my feet. “Then we’ll find another way. Gabriel, you have connections, right? Can’t you pull some strings? I just need to get in there, to speak to the director and maybe the staff.”
“You know it’s not that simple. And the camp staff was already interviewed,” Gabriel replies.
“But maybe they have new information to share that they forgot to tell the cops. Something Sadie did or said before she disappeared that could help us figure out where she is.”
“Judy, I can’t just—”
“Fine, then don’t,” I snap. “If there’s a way, I’ll figure it out myself.”
Scarlett rises to her feet. “I’ll leave you two to talk.” She edges toward the door. “I have an appointment.”
“Where? Who are you meeting?” I call after her.
“Someone from the gym,” she answers without turning. “I’ll be back in about an hour. Maybe I’ll bring dessert.”
I can’t help wondering if she started dating again. I hope so. She deserves to be happy.
Once she’s gone, Gabriel steps forward, takes my hands, and kisses my palms. We stand in the quiet kitchen, so close yet miles apart. His sandalwood cologne, once a comfort, now only reminds me how distant we’ve become.
“Babe, I know this is hard to accept. It is for me too. But I think we should do the funeral tomorrow evening instead of Sunday, and go back home sooner. I think being here is bringing up too much pain.” He tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear.
“I asked Scarlett to pick up roses on her way back… thought it’d be too much for you today. ”
“Tomorrow? How could you decide that without me? I was… am… her mother and you decided to just accept that she’s dead even though you know I feel differently now? Why are you making plans behind my back?”
“That’s not what I’m doing.” He runs a hand through his hair. “We came here to say goodbye to our daughter.” He pinches his nose and exhales. “I’m trying to protect you… us.”
“I never wanted this funeral.” My voice cracks as I swipe a tear away. “You and Scarlett pushed for it, and I gave in even though deep down”—I press my palm against my chest—“deep down I feel she’s still out there.”
When, two months ago, Scarlett suggested we needed closure, and that a funeral for Sadie might help, I resisted for a long time. Eventually, they convinced me. Now I regret ever agreeing to it.
Gabriel takes me by the shoulders. “Honey, we need to move on, to—”
The sound of glass exploding somewhere in the house cuts him off mid-sentence, and Coco barks sharply. She skids across the hardwood as she races from the kitchen toward whatever caused the crash.
Gabriel and I freeze, staring at each other before snapping into action.
My bare feet slap against the floor as I race toward the guest bathroom. Behind me, Gabriel’s heavier footsteps thunder down the hall.
“Judy!” His voice cracks from Sadie’s room only moments later.
My body is stiff as I walk through the door with a cardboard sign that reads welcome to the mermaid room, in Sadie’s handwriting.
The moment I step over the threshold, the midday sun catches on something glittering across the peach carpet, hundreds of glass fragments winking like stars. A fist-sized rock lies in the center.
A breeze comes through the jagged hole where the glass used to be, carrying the clear scent of salt and sunscreen into the room.
My throat closes as I crouch down, fingers hovering over the red letters on the stone that smell faintly of what I think is nail polish.
STOP.