Page 22 of Find Me

“And? What am I missing?” Clearly the announcement was a letdown.

“That was when I was in St. Barts.”

“So damn bougie,” he said, shaking his head in mock judgment. “Plus you went off-season, which is just kind of sad.”

“There’s some truth there, but focus. That was the night I texted you—when I woke up thinking about Dad, about when we went to the hospital.”

She waited for him to make the connection. She wasn’t going to say it out loud.

“Jesus, Ellie. You sound like Mom or something. That’s crazy.”

“I know. But seriously, I hadn’t had a nightmare like that in... probably at least a year.”

“So, you think... what? Dad was sending you a message? If he could do that, why doesn’t he just pick up the phone and tell us what happened that night? Or what? It was this woman Hope, reaching out to you from the beyond? Waking you up so you’d somehow figure out that her disappearance had something to do with Dad?”

“Come on, Jess. You’re being really harsh right now.”

“That’s rich, Ellie. How many times have you torn me a new one when I was being a dumb-ass?”

“Great. First I’m crazy. Now I’m stupid.”

He took a deep breath, which was usually more her style than his. “What I think is that you’re grasping at straws to search for some kind of sign from the universe that justifies jumping right back into that spiral you were lost in. Not because it’s logical. Or rational. Or smart. But because it’s exactly what you want to do, regardless of what anyone tells you.”

16

Monday, June 21, 7:20 p.m.

Lindsay felt sets of eyes on her as she tucked another flyer onto yet another car windshield in the Atlantic Beach parking lot. She gave a friendly wave to the wary family walking past, beach chairs beneath their arms, towing umbrellas and a cooler.

“Don’t mind me,” she said. “Just an informational bulletin.”

Once they were out of earshot, she muttered her true feelings beneath her breath.Nothing to see here. Just a human being who might be kidnapped or murdered. But have a great time at the beach.

Scott pulled her into a quick hug and kissed the top of her head. “We’re pretty much done with all the copies we printed at Staples. That was our goal for the day.”

They had also finally found a neighbor on Hope’s street who had a cell phone number for the cottage owner, who promised to call her handyman so Lindsay could finally get inside.

“But the sun’s still up. We might have time to go back and run more.”

“I’m worried about you, babe. It’s hot out, and you haven’t eaten anything all day, or had any water. You’re running on empty.”

“Let me just finish the cars in the overflow lot for now.”

Lindsay had a sudden flashback to the day she was helping Hope move. “I know this feels drastic,” Hope had said, “but once I’m gone, it will be as if I were never here. Not that I know from experience, but I was reading about change as a source of stress. Whether change is positive or negative—a marriage or a divorce, the birth of a child or a death in the family—all change is a form of trauma. But it’s only a stressor until it no longer feels like change. Until it’s no longer a difference from the status quo. Once the change is over, it’s just a new normal.”

Had Hope been trying to tell her something? Was she already planning to disappear? She shook the possibility from her mind, knowing that other people’s doubts were slowly affecting her judgment. Lindsay didn’t want Hope’s absence to be the new normal. Scott may have had a point about her current state. She was exhausted and running out of... well, hope.

“You okay?” Scott asked. “You spaced out for a couple of seconds there.”

“No, I’m good. You’re right. Let’s get something to eat.” She reached into her purse and handed him her keys. They had taken her car from the city, but she was always happy to let someone else drive.

They were almost to the Audi when a black Dodge Charger pulled into the parking lot, slowing as it approached them. The driver’s tinted window rolled down, and she recognized Carter Decker.

“Someone called in a complaint about leaflets littering the beach.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Fine. Write me a ticket then.”

“Hey, it’s nothing like that, okay? The only reason I even heard about the complaint was it’s yet another ‘summer people are fucking assholes’ stories making the rounds in the department. When I heard it was a missing person flyer for Hope, I figured I’d find you here. Email me the PDF, and I’ll have some of our high school volunteers post some more of them around town tonight, okay?”

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