Page 13 of The Lake of Lost Girls

A thousand images flitted through my brain, but nothing concrete. They were hazy, half-real, maybe half-imagined things. Things I had read. Things I had heard. It was hard to determine what I had made up and what were legitimate memories.

I scowled, irritated by the direction of our conversation. “That’s not what I agreed to.”

Ryan’s expression was full of uncertainty. “I know, but …”

“No, Ryan, there is nobuthere,” I interjected abruptly. It felt like he was playing games with me, and I was not in the mood. “You said you had information. You said that if I met you, that if I gave you a chance, then you would tell me what you knew. Was that just lip service? Because if so …”

“No, no, not lip service at all!” It was his turn to interrupt me this time. I scowled as I crossed my arms. “She hated Thin Mints Girl Scout cookies,” he said, looking at me through dark lashes. I scoffed, but he grinned. “I know, I know, everyone loves those things, but not Jess. At least, that’s what I was told,” he added quickly.

“I hate them, too,” I said, my voice cracking. I felt an adrenaline surge at the thought that Jess and I shared something so inane and silly. Yet it felt so important all at the sametime. “What else?” I asked, trying to keep the pleading out of my voice.

Ryan looked apologetic, yet firm. “Your turn.”

My scowl returned. “Again with the games.”

“It’s not a game, Lindsey. You give a little, I’ll give a little. It can be that easy.” He picked up his coffee and took another sip while I thought over his proposal.

Part of me didn’t want to share my sister with him. She belonged to me. I had held on to her so hard for so long, I didn’t know how to begin relinquishing my grip on her.

“It’s okay … start small. Even the tiniest details matter.” Ryan’s voice was hushed. I could barely hear him. We were practically alone in the tiny coffee shop. Just him and me.

And Jess.

“That’s not our deal,” I reminded him. “You’re supposed to be tellingmewhatyouknow about her. About her case.”

“And I will, Lindsey. I promise.” He promised but when I looked unconvinced, he caved. “Okay, listen, she liked peanut butter cookies and sweet coffee. She had a thing for Dave Matthews, she was obsessed with everything he sang. She hated the feel of her hair on the back of her neck and so she tied it up a lot. Does that satisfy you?”

My skin itched with the need to get up and go, yet something kept me glued to the seat. I felt a mixture of emotions well up inside of me. “I don’t know … I’m not sure …”

“It’s okay, try sharing a memory of her with me. Something tells me you need to.” Ryan put his hand over mine and squeezed. “As much as this is about you getting information, I think it will feel good to share it, too.”

“So you can put it in your article?” I challenged.

Ryan lifted his hands in surrender. “Off the record, remember.”

I stared down into my coffee. “What if I tell you I don’t remember her. Not really.”

“So tell me what youdoremember,” he repeated, without an ounce of judgment in his tone.

His words were like a form of hypnosis. And for some reason I found myself starting on the worst day. The most important day.

“Everything changed inthatmoment,” I admitted, staring down into my drink.

“Like what?”

“It was my sixth birthday when she vanished. There were no more birthday parties for me ever again, that’s for sure.” I snorted out my annoyance, but there was no conviction behind it. I had already done my grieving for birthday parties.

“That couldn’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t.” I looked up, my eyes meeting his. “Itisn’t.”

My childhood had ended the day Jess went missing.

“How do you live up to the memory of a missing person … you can’t.” I shrugged halfheartedly. Tears burned my eyes with barely contained bitterness. “I get it now, I do, but growing up with the ghost of her everywhere, despite my parents barely talking about her …” I stopped, not sure I could go on.

Ryan looked at me. “It’s like being haunted.” I drew back, startled at hearing my thoughts echoed back to me from his lips. His smile was grim. “It’s hard to escape the memory of someone who has become perfect through the very act of remembering them.” It was both the best and the worst thing he could say. Ryan briefly touched my hand. His fingers were warm and he withdrew them before I could react. “You’re more than the sister of a ghost, Lindsey, that I’m sure of.”

His words, so seemingly genuine, so heartfelt, were exactly what I needed to hear. It felt like someone was finally seeing me for the first time in my life. Seeing me as more than Jess’s little sister. As more than the last person to see a missing woman. And as I gradually thawed, I felt empowered to say the things I had, up until this moment, kept locked up tight. To say the guilty truth I’d always thought, but never said aloud.

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