Page 3 of Good Half Gone

“I was hysterical by the time they put me in the cruiser to take me to the station. Being in the back of that car after just seeing Piper get kidnapped—it was like I could feel her panic. Her need to get away. They drove me to the station…” I pause to remember the order of how things happened.

“They let me call my grandmother, and then they put me in a room alone to wait. It was horrible—all the waiting. Every minute of that day felt like ten hours.”

“Trauma often feels that way.”

“It certainly does,” I say. “Have you ever been in a situation that makes you feel that way—like every minute is an hour?” I lean forward, wanting a real answer. Seconds tick by as he considers me from behind his desk. Therapists don’t like to answer questions. I find it hypocritical. I try to ask as many as I can just to make it fair.

He leans his chin on a hairy fist and assures me again that most people feel similar in situations such as mine.

I yawn and check the time on my phone.

I was still in a state of shock when the detectives came in to take my statement that day. The man introduced himself as Detective Audrain without looking at me. The woman—in her early twenties and named Poley—was the object of his attention. I’d caught them on the end of a story or joke they were still recovering from before they walked in the room. They spent the first ten minutes of the interview half laughing, half listening. I hadn’t understood the dynamic when I was a fifteen-year-old girl. The story of their affair only came out three years later; the scandal forced Audrain into early retirement.

My ankle looked like rotted fruit—bloated purple and oozing blood beneath the cuff of my jeans. I was surprised that it didn’t hurt—it didn’t feel like anything. The hurt was in my chest, crushing my lungs.

“They didn’t believe me. Kind of blew me off and insinuated Piper went with those guys of her own volition. Just like the other two cops.”

A knot forms behind my breastbone and floats up to my throat, lodging. I swallow but can’t get it down. There were so many things that went wrong that day.

Audrain would give Poley a look like,You’re up!and she’d smile at him and bat me another question. If she asked me a question he was impressed by, he’d nod in appreciation.

“I told them over and over that she didn’t get into the car; she was forced into the car. They’d wanted to know how we knew the men. What they looked like. What Piper was wearing. I was trying to answer their questions, but I felt weird, like my thoughts were thick. Eventually they came to the unanimous decision that I was in shock.”

I remember Poley leaving the room and coming back with a doughnut, four chocolate Kisses, and a bottle of Dr. Pepper.She lined them up in front of me one after the other—plunk,plunk,plunk. I wanted to throw up when I saw the scrounged picnic, but my hand mindlessly began unwrapping the Kisses.

Poley eyed my green face and said to Audrain, “Hey, screw off that cap for her, won’t you?”

I’d taken a sip of soda to wash away the chocolate sticking to the roof of my mouth, and that’s when I remembered. “It was the soda!” I’d cried out.

And then Gran walked in and I’d dissolved against her, crying so hard my words wouldn’t come out. She cradled me in her arms, and I folded up in shame against her pink sweater. I’d lost my sister. Gran told me to take care of her, and now she was gone.

He’s listening hard. I have his attention. The novelty of being an adult is that you can pay for what you didn’t get as a child. I get high on therapy, the nurture drug.

“Time’s up.”

He startles. “What?”

I point to the clock—his clock. “Our session is over.”

He looks momentarily lost, and then he sits up straighter in his chair. I’m a pretty good storyteller after all these years.

Setting down his pen, he frowns. “It’s my job to say when time is up.”

I nod.Of course, of course.Men like to feel that they are in control. I wonder who has more issues: me or him.

I gather up my things. “See you next week,” I call over my shoulder. I don’t wait for him to respond.

I navigate my beater out of the almost empty strip mall and head south on 405. It’s a pretty okay day; the October sky is still bright and blue, but that will be short-lived. In two weeks, the cloud cover will blanket the sky in dismal shades of gray.Gray, gray, every day, my sister used to sing.It’s not that I don’t like gray, it’s just not my best color…

Memories of Piper should make me smile but they hurt instead. Once I start thinking about her, I can’t stop. Piper’s case is so cold it has freezer burn. I turn up the volume on the radio to drown out my thoughts; Lana Del Rey reminds me that I’m born to die.

I pull into my grandmother’s driveway around six. The garage door is in front of me, plump azalea bushes springing from either side. I need to trim those back soon.

The house is cute as a button: white with black trim and a black front door. I grab my bag from the backseat as the engine putters out. I don’t know who’s more broke, me or my car.

Three years after Piper went missing, Gran’s aunt, a widow with no children, died and left her house to Gran—a nice surprise after all the sadness. The house, which is located in an upscale neighborhood in Seattle, is just a short drive to where she works at the Seattle Public Library. Cal and I have lived with her on and off over the years. I tried to live on my own twice and failed miserably when I couldn’t keep up with Seattle’s rent crisis. Gran was gracious enough to offer her spare bedrooms for free until I completed my work-study, so Cal and I packed up our little apartment and moved in with her three months back.

Walking the path around the side of the house and to the front door, I feel the peace of being in a safe place. Everything is quaint and pretty, not like the apartment we lived in when it happened nine years ago.

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