Carla touched Emily’s cheek. “And my granddaughter needs her mother’s family.”
She wasn’t looking at my daughter like a grandmother, but like a second chance.
***
One afternoon, Grant stopped me outside the grocery store.
“Emily should spend more weekends with us,” he said.
“She can visit. I have no problem with that.”
“She needs somewhere safe.”
“She needs her mother’s family. You know we need her.”
“She has her father’s home and love, Grant.”
His mouth tightened. “You’re tired, Ross. Anyone can see it.”
“Tired doesn’t mean unfit.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” he said, walking away.
“You’re tired, Ross. Anyone can see it.”
***
By October, I was too careful with Emily, and she was old enough to know it.
That Friday, she came downstairs in a blue sweater Abigail had bought her.
“Dad, don’t say no before I finish,” she said.
I looked up from the mug I was washing. “That depends on how expensive the sentence is.”
“The fall dance is tonight. Nora’s going. I want to go.”
“It’s raining, Em.”
“It’s always raining in October.”
“I’m not nervous, Emily. I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“Dad, don’t say no before I finish.”
“No. You’re trying to make sure nothing ever happens again.”
The kitchen went silent.
Nora sat there, looking like she wished she could disappear.
Emily’s voice softened. “You still look at me like I’m something else you can lose. Grandma and Grandpa would let me go.”
I should’ve stopped there.
“Grandma and Grandpa would let me go.”
Instead, I said the sentence that followed me for ten years.
“Then maybe go ask your grandparents if they know better than me.”
Emily’s face closed.
“Fine,” she said, grabbing her coat.
“Emily, wait.”
“No. You said it. I know I’m just another chore to you.”
She opened the door.
Emily’s face closed.
Nora jumped up. “Em, hold on. I’ll come with you.”
I rubbed my forehead. “Stay on the sidewalk. Let her cool down, then bring her back.”
Nora nodded. “I will, Mr. Ross.”
Twenty minutes passed.
Then 30.
I called Emily. There was no answer.
“I will, Mr. Ross.”
I called Nora. There was no answer.
When the knock came, I ran to the door.
Nora stood there alone, soaked and shaking, with mud on her sneakers and her lips blue.
“Where’s Emily?” I asked.
Nora stared past my shoulder.
“Nora. Where’s my daughter?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Where’s Emily?”
***
The police came within minutes. I gave them Emily’s photo, sweater color, and every street they might have taken.
A deputy questioned Nora while she shook under a blanket.
“Did Emily run?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did someone stop?”
Her eyes flicked down.
“Did someone stop?”
By midnight, neighbors searched with flashlights. I walked until my shoes filled with water.
At the police station, my brother, Ronald, grabbed my arm.
“Ross, that girl knows something.”
“She’s 12.”
“That girl came back without Emily.”
“Her name is Nora.”
“Your real daughter is missing. Stay away from this girl. I’m telling you, she’s trouble.”
“Ross, that girl knows something.”
I stepped closer. “Don’t ever say that to me again.”
By morning, Emily was gone. Grant and Carla joined the search, cried beside me for the local news, and told police they had been home all night.
So the town chose Nora to blame.
***
At school, kids moved away from Nora like blame could rub off. Women stopped talking when she passed.
Then someone painted “LIAR” across our mailbox.
