Page 17 of The Missing Half

With Thomas in her arms, Lauren scans the crowd, a bright, expectant smile on her face. But when her eyes land on me, it falls. She turns to touch a man’s shoulder—her husband, Matthew—then slowly makes her way over.

“Nic!” She’s plastered a friendly smile back on, but I can see through it. She’s not happy to see me. “I’m so happy to see you! It’s been ages. Are you a new member here?” She knows I’m not. She knows why I am here.

“Just visiting,” I say. “This is my friend Jenna.”

“Hi,” Lauren says. Her voice has a put-upon sweetness that chafes my skin. It was obvious from her Facebook profile that she’d turned into somebody else over the years, but seeing it in person is disorienting. “I’d shake your hand, but as you can see”—she nods at her arm wrapped around Thomas—“mine are full.”

Matthew walks up to us, holding their daughter Beth Anne’s hand. “This is my husband, Matthew,” Lauren says, then introduces us. She doesn’t tell him how she knows me. “And this is Beth Anne.”

As Jenna and I shake hands with Matthew, Beth Anne starts to pepper him with questions and the two of them retreat a few steps away to talk. An awkward silence falls over the three of us that neither Jenna nor I try to fill. I’m hoping Lauren will take the bait, and she does.

“Listen, Nic,” she says, sounding somehow embarrassed, apologetic, and defensive all at once. “I’m sorry about not responding to your messages. I kept meaning to, but with two little ones running around, things can be chaotic.”

“That’s all right,” I say. “But since we’re both here, I’d love to talk to you now.”

“Oh!” Her eyes widen, and I can see her Midwestern mannersbattling her desire to get away from us. I just don’t understand why that desire is so strong. If I can stand here and talk about my own sister going missing, why can’t she? “You know, I’m so sorry, but we’ve got to get home to feed Thomas, and then there’s nap time. I’m not sure if you have kids”—she says this in a way that makes it clear she knows I don’t—“but if you get their schedule off by, like, a minute, the entire train can fall off the rails.”

“It won’t take long,” I say. “Promise. I have to get to work in a bit, so it’ll be few minutes, tops.”

Still, she hesitates.

“Lauren, please.” I think back to that first night outside Funland, to how Jenna lied to get me to talk. While it infuriated me then, now that I’m standing in front of a source of potentially new information, I understand. “She was my sister.”

Lauren stares at me for a moment, then lets out a breath. “I’m sorry. Of course. Sometimes, I just get wrapped up in parenting and…Anyway, I really don’t have too long, but I’ll help if I can.” She turns to Matthew, who’s now got Beth Anne on his shoulders. “Honey? I’m gonna catch up with Nic for a minute, okay? I’m fine with Thomas, but maybe the two of you could go to the playground for a bit?”

“Sure,” Matthew says as Beth Anne shrieks with delight. “It was nice meeting you.”

He walks off and Lauren turns back to us with a resigned-looking smile. “So.” She shifts Thomas to her other hip. “What do you wanna know?”

Jenna and I look at each other. I told her I wanted to take the lead, but I don’t really know where to start. “Well,” she jumps in. “You spoke to the police after Kasey went missing, right?”

“I’m sorry.” Lauren flicks her eyes briefly to Jenna’s satin dress. “What was your name again?” By her sweetly acerbic tone, it’s clear the real question is: Who the fuck are you? It’s weird. Kasey and I used to make fun of those people. Phony, we called them. Now her best friend is one of them.

“This is Jenna Connor,” I say. “Her sister was Jules Connor, the other girl who went missing from the side of the road.”

“Oh. Oh, I’m—” Lauren shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“That’s okay,” Jenna says.

“Um, but yes, to answer your question, I did speak to the police.”

“Do you remember who you talked to?”

“Some detective. He came over to my house. What was his name?” She clicks her tongue.

“Wyler?” I say.

“Yes. That was it. Detective Wyler.”

Jenna looks to me so I can take over, giving me an encouraging nod.

“Right,” I say. “So, that summer, you and Kasey—you basically saw each other every day, right?”

“Well, when I was working at the record store, we did.”

“What d’you mean by ‘when’?”

“I worked with Kasey at Rosie’s Records, the record store on Grape Road?”

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