“Yeah, and so what? I talked to Jenna, Steve.” Barbara could feel her temper rising. “I wanted to know why she was back. I wanted to make sure she understood.”

“Understood what?”

And he looked so worried. Unbelievable. Was he still this pathetic after all these years? It was infuriating. Barbara was so angry, her cheeks were burning. So angry that she could have spit—at Steve. How dare he sit there and make her explain herself when all she’d done was protect them.

“I asked her to leave us alone, Steve.” Barbara fluttered her eyelashes and smiled viciously. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. We’re a family, that’s what I said. A happy family. I told Jenna she couldn’t just come back here after all these years and ruin that.”

Steve was supposed to say that Jenna never could have done that anyway. He was supposed to tell Barbara that he loved her and the kids far too much for anyone to threaten what they had. Not even Jenna. But he didn’t say that. Steve was not a man who lied.

“Barbara, whatever happened, I’m sure you didn’t mean to—”

“‘Mean to’?” Barbara snapped. “‘Mean to’ what, Steve?”

“Barbara, please just tell me what happened.”

“Jenna happened, Steve. That’s what happened.” Barbara stood calmly. She took a breath, steadied herself. Because she wasn’t going to give him—to give Jenna—the satisfaction of getting upset. “If you want to know the truth, our nice talk inside the bar did turn a lot less nice in the parking lot. And you want to know why?”

“Yes, Barbara,” Steve said. “I want to know everything.”

“Jenna said she wasn’t agreeing to anything until she talked to you,” Barbara said. “She’s been here for months, trying to work up the courage. Pathetic.”

But that’s all Barbara was telling Steve. She wasn’t about to recount how Jenna had then started talking all this nonsense about what Steve had done the night Simon Barton died. Barbara hadn’t listened to her lies, because that’s what all of it was: lies. Barbara remembered that night—when she was still blissfully, stupidly unaware of just how many pregnancies never made it past week twelve. She’d been the one riding home in Steve’s truck after he spoke with the police. He told her all about what had happened with Simon. He’d been standing there when it happened. They’d been stupid and drunk and horsing around. To this day, Steve felt awful about it.

But the more Barbara didn’t listen, the more hysterical Jenna got in Blondie’s parking lot, shouting about how the necklace she was wearing was some kind of proof of something. Something about Steve. She just would not shut up. And so Barbara tried to make her. She hadn’t meant to rip the necklace off. She’d only meant to shake it, and Jenna.

It hadn’t hurt Jenna, no matter what she’d acted like. The necklace had snapped right off like a piece of string. Because it was cheap crap, just like Jenna. But Barbara wasn’t going to tell Steve that part, either. He didn’t deserve to know.

“And then what happened?” Steve asked, looking at Barbara like some kind of gap-mouthed spectator. “After she said she wanted to talk to me first?”

“And then, Steve, I reminded Jenna of what she is: a sparkly piece of trash. Something you pick up from the sidewalk because you think it’s worth something, but once you take a closer look, you realize: Nope, the garbage is actually the only place it will ever belong. Then I got into my car and went home to my children—to our children, Steve. Who the hell knows what happened to Jenna after that? That’s the thing about people like her, Steve. It’s the truth that lights the fuse.”

MOLLY

JUNE 17, 2013

Justin took the news pretty well. I’d thought he’d fight me when I said I wasn’t going back to Dr. Zomer. But he agreed that I really did seem better. It probably helped that I lied and told him that Dr. Zomer thought I was ready to “transition out of therapy.”

Besides, he’s been so distracted by all the interviews at Ridgedale. That’s academia for you—they practically want you to move in and start teaching before they’re willing to give you a job offer.

Maybe Dr. Zomer is right. Maybe being angry at Justin is better than blaming myself. But I have to believe there’s a better way. A better way to save myself than hating the man I love.

Molly

Steve was at a table near the back of the hospital cafeteria when I got there. It was mostly empty, too late for lunch, a little early for dinner. Steve sat motionless, staring down at a paper coffee cup gripped in his big hands. He was wearing a T-shirt and dark jeans, which should have made him look young, like he did the last time I’d seen him out of uniform. But he looked ancient, and sunken, as though his bones were liquefying.

“Hi,” I said when I made my way over to his table. I was bracing myself. The fact that I was willing to have this uncomfortable conversation did not mean I was looking forward to it.

Steve blinked up at me as though he had no idea who I was. When I’d called him after Sandy and I left the library, I hadn’t known about Hannah. But as soon as I heard the broken cadence in his voice, I guessed. I had wanted to tell him never mind, that our conversation could wait. But Jenna had already been missing three days. There was no telling how much time she had left.

“Molly, sorry,” Steve said, a hand drifting to his forehead. “I was a million miles away—remembering teaching Hannah to ride a bike, of all stupid things.” He motioned for me to sit. “She would stick out this little bit of her tongue when she was concentrating really hard. I spent half the time trying to be sure she didn’t accidentally bite it off.” He smiled sadly. “Simpler times.”

“How is she?” I asked as I sat down on the edge of the chair across from him. I wanted to be able to spring away quickly when things turned south.

“Off the record?”

“Of course,” I said, even though I could hear Erik’s voice in my head. No. Never. No special favors. Never off the record.

It hardly seemed to matter now. I wasn’t there as a reporter. I was there for Sandy.

“She was awake for a little bit, which the doctors say is encouraging,” Steve began. “She doesn’t have any memory of what happened down at the creek. But she remembers us and herself and the baby. Hannah says the cord was around the baby’s neck. I don’t think the baby ever had a chance.” He shook his head, wiped at his nose, and sniffled. “The ME’s official report will confirm that. I know it will. Hannah won’t say how the baby got down to the woods or why she was, well, in that condition. The father, maybe, I don’t know. I’m hoping we can get her to come around and tell us everything.”

I wanted there to be a way to tell him about Sandy’s fall from the bike, to give him that last piece of the puzzle. But I couldn’t, wouldn’t do that. “I’m sorry to have to bother you now,” I said. “If it could wait—”

He lifted a hand. “Honestly, it’s a relief to think about something else for a minute.”

I felt queasy. “Sandy Mendelson, Jenna’s daughter, came to me for help. She’s really worried about her mom.”

“I know,” he said without flinching. “She came to me, too. Poor kid. I’ve had officers out canvassing. I’ll be able to send out more, now that the baby—”

“Do you know where Jenna is, Steve?”

His face tensed, but only for a split second. He could tell there was something wrong in the way I’d asked the question. That I wasn’t just asking the chief of police for an update.

“Like I said, we’ll have more resources now.” He was still acting as though he didn’t personally know Jenna. As though she were any other missing person. “I’ve looked around some myself, seeing if I could pick up on her trail. No luck.”