Page 14 of The Lake of Lost Girls

“I wish they’d find her body and get it over with.” I lowered my eyes as the words escaped, the vicious conviction of that statement burning through me.

“You don’t wish she was out there somewhere?” Ryan asked, his expression darkening slightly. “That maybe she’ll come home one day?”

I glanced up sharply. “Of course I do. But after all these years, we have to be realistic. If Jess was out there, she’d let us know. I can’t imagine she’d let us think she was … dead … if she wasn’t.” My voice became shaky but I kept going. “But having confirmation that she’s not coming back, that we’ll never see her again, is exactly what my parents need. If we knew that she was really gone instead of clinging to some misguided hope, then we could move on with our lives instead of being stuck in place indefinitely.”

Ryan acted as if he got it. I was relieved that he didn’t seem to be judging me. Because for years I had been judging myself. Feeling guilty for wanting to know my sister was dead. And wondering what sort of person that made me.

Despite my wariness because he was a journalist, and our less than truthful beginning, I found myself opening up to him. A voice of warning yelled in the back of my mind, telling me that this was what reporters did. They lured you in with shared confidences and empathy. But I prided myself on being able to read people. It had served me well so far, and I didn’t feel like Ryan was putting on an act. He seemed sincere, and his concern felt honest.

Of course, that could be what he wanted me to think.

Because of this, I knew I needed to carry on. I realized this wasn’t all about Jess, but about me, too. About getting the things out that I had never given a voice to before.

I had never really processed what happened. The impact onme.I had never been able to talk about my memories, what few I had. Partly because my parents made it clear they couldn’t listen and partly because by sharing them, I had to acknowledge all the ways it had ruined my life. I had tried therapy a few times, but had never stuck with it. I knew it had to do with my fear of opening up and exposing all these ugly thoughts that I kept staunchly hidden away.

But Ryan, with his good-natured smile and compassion made the walls around me crumble, ever so slightly. I wantedto tell him the little things that I thoughtmightbe real. The memories thatmightbe mine. And I wanted to tell him for Jess.

And forme.

“I remember her smell,” I started—a little hesitant at first. Was I really doing this? Was I going to hand my memories over to this stranger? But I found once the floodgates had opened, I couldn’t stop myself. That was the danger in sharing. One recollection led to another, then another. And before I knew it I’d be slicing myself open and letting Ryan see all of me. I hoped I wasn’t making a huge mistake. But how could it be, when this was the closest I had felt to Jess since I was six years old? I hadn’t realized how much I missed that sisterly love, the bond that hadn’t quite disappeared the day she had. I had simply pushed it away to save myself the pain of feeling it.

Ryan’s smile was soft. Wistful even. But I wasn’t focused on him. I was back there … with my big sister.

“I remember sneaking into her room and spraying her jasmine perfume after she went to college so I could pretend she was still around.” I smiled. “Coffee, too. She always smelled like coffee.”

“She drank it practically nonstop,” he chuckled. “That’s what her friends said anyway.”

“That makes two of us.” I lifted my mug, feeling a thrill at discovering another connection.

“What else?” he urged gently, like he was reminiscing with me. Though, by now, I didn’t need the prompting. Once I had started, there was no going back. I wanted to unearth everything in my mind that belonged toher.

“Her laugh. I can hear it even now. I can’t quite see her face, though. I lost that as I grew up, but Icanhear her.” I closed my eyes briefly, transporting myself back to my earliest childhood and the memory of her laughter filling my ears and making me smile.

“This is great, Lindsey,” Ryan encouraged. “What do your parents say about her? What are their memories?”

The warmth I had been feeling dissipated almost instantly and a lonely darkness took its place.

“My parents rarely talk about her, at least not on purpose. Her name is only ever an accident these days.”

“Why? They’re her parents. Shouldn’t a father want to talk about his child?” He glowered, his voice hard. “A mother, too,” he added after a beat.

“Of course my parents love her. But it’s tough for them—particularly my dad.” I felt defensive of my parents. I didn’t want anyone, especially a stranger, to question their feelings toward Jess. They had been the subject of enough judgment and conjecture over the years. They were told they weren’t doing enough to find Jess. Or their grief was too over the top. That my dad was too angry—or, in some cases, not angry enough. There was no winning in the realm of public opinion, and as such, I had grown to be incredibly protective of them.

Who was Ryan McKay to question their devotion? Their anguish?

“I don’t get it.” Ryan’s expression had softened, but there was still an edge of tension.

“Losing Jess destroyed them. It destroyedhim,my father. And honestly, Ryan, it’s none of your business.”

Ryan immediately looked contrite and if he had other thoughts on the issue, he kept them to himself, and I was glad. I shouldn’t have to explain how learning to live without Jess had changed our family. Or why my parents acted the way they did. Everyone dealt with grief differently—there was no right or wrong way.

In our house, there was only one photo of Jess left on display—on my mom’s bedside table. It had been taken on the day of her high school graduation. Sometimes it sat upright so she could see it, but more often than not, it was facedown, or put away in a drawer. Eventually, it would come out again, but never for long. Jess’s smile played an endless game of hide and seek, and I had long given up looking for it.

Over the years, her photos had disappeared, just as she had. Gone without a trace. Her awards and trophies that had once been proudly displayed in our living room were packed away. Her life became relegated to boxes hidden in closets.

Her bedroom, however, was different. Mom had put her foot down. When Dad wanted to pack it up and turn it into a home office, she refused. It was one of the worst fights I’d ever heard them have.

Mom had gotten her way in the end. Jessica’s room became a shrine—untouched. Inside, it felt as though you were transported back to 1999. A time capsule to when my family had been whole.

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