Page 12 of We Are All Guilty Here

“Dad—”

His impassive expression stopped her. Emmy smoothed her lips together. They occasionally did this when they were alone in cars, just the two of them, the people who never talked to anybody would talk to each other.

“I fucked up.” Emmy had never said that word in front of her father, but anguish had pushed it out of her mouth. “I knew Madison wanted to talk to me. I could tell that something was wrong—knew it in my gut—but I was all in my head about Jonah and I wanted to be alone and I—I fucked up. I had Madison right there, close enough to touch, and she was finally ready to ask for my help, but instead of helping her, I hid in the fucking shitbox and now she’s gone.”

Gerald lifted up in the seat so he could retrieve his handkerchief from his back pocket. The cotton was damp from the heat, but Emmy used it to wipe her nose.

He asked, “Does Hannah know?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know how I’m gonna tell her.”

“It’ll eat away at you like poison until you do.”

Emmy folded the handkerchief to find a fresh corner. “You called my name when I was walking through the crowd. It had to be around the same time Hugo drove onto the field and hit Madison’s bike. How did you know?”

He shrugged. “Got the tickle.”

“I felt it.” She looked down at her hands, felt the memory of holding onto Madison’s hand under the oak tree. “Not then, but earlier. I felt it with Madison, that something was wrong, but I ignored it.”

“Mistakes can give you a reason to forgive.”

“To forgive yourself or other people?” Emmy asked. “Or for people to forgive you?”

“Any.” He shrugged again. “All.”

She missed his meaning on purpose. “You’ve never made a mistake in your life.”

“Got the big ones out of the way early on,” he said. “Used to be too rigid. Always saw things in black and white. I turned some people out of my life. Shouldn’t have done that. Can’t change what happened. Too late to apologize. Had to teach myself never to do it again. Had to learn how to forgive.”

She looked at her father’s chiseled face. Tommy had talked about how different their parents were before Emmy was born, but she had never known her father to be anything but patient and understanding. “I can’t imagine you being that way.”

“I’m glad.”

Emmy looked out the window. Virgil was walking down the driveway in a T-shirt and jeans. He was holding his handkerchief to his forearm as though he’d injured himself. He shook his head to let them know there was no sign of the girls.

Gerald patted Emmy’s hand before opening the car door. She held back a moment, checking the messages on her phone. Nothing from Hannah, but her mother had let her know that Jonah had dropped off Cole. Emmy’s relief was clouded with even more guilt, because it felt wrong that she knew her child was safe and Hannah did not.

She got out of the car and was hit by the suffocating heat. Her sweaty uniform had dried in the air conditioning. The stiff collar chafed her neck. Virgil wasn’t doing much better. He winced as he lifted the handkerchief on his arm to look at the deep scratches. He was supposed to have the night off, but he looked far from rested. Virgil had told her in January that he was planning on coasting into retirement at the end of the year. Thetwo bikes at the park had put an end to his peaceful dream. His lined face had an ashen look. His brow was even more furrowed than usual. Emmy looked up the driveway to the Bakers’ house. The garage door was open. A dark-colored Jetta was parked on one side. The other side was empty.

“Cut my arm on a damn wild rose bush trying to look through the kitchen window.” Virgil’s tone was somber as he glanced back toward the house. “Family’s not home, but I reached Felix Baker on his cell phone. I told him what’s going on. They haven’t heard from Cheyenne since they left the house around three. Thought she was at the park with Madison. They should be here any minute.”

Emmy felt the weight of his words. She had been so focused on Madison that she’d treated Cheyenne almost as an afterthought. The Bakers had to be terrified. She couldn’t imagine what that drive home must feel like.

Her father knew. As did her mother. Twice in their lives, they had gotten a phone call telling them that one of their children was dead. First Henry. Then later, Martha. Both lost in terrible accidents. Emmy had no idea how they had managed to carry on. She couldn’t breathe if she let herself think even for a second about losing Cole.

“Okay,” Gerald said. “What do we know?”

Emmy was glad for the question, because it gave her facts to concentrate on. “Eighty-five minutes elapsed between the last time I saw Madison and when Hugo ran over her bike. Cheyenne’s bike was found secluded in the trees along with Madison’s crushed iPhone and a significant amount of blood. Tire tracks indicate the vehicle used to take away both girls is a sedan.”

Virgil supplied, “Cheyenne Baker was last seen at the family home around three this afternoon when her father, Felix; mother, Ruth; and ten-year-old sister, Pamela, departed in their blue Honda Odyssey minivan to watch the show at the Flint River basin. Cheyenne was supposed to ride her bike to the park and watch the fireworks with Madison, then return home directly after. No one reported seeing Cheyenne at the park. She has a cell phone, but she’s not answering. Her parents don’t have it tracked. They expected her to be home when they got here.”

Gerald asked, “What do wethinkwe know?”

Emmy went first again. “After I saw Madison, she must have gotten her bike. She would’ve pushed it up the stairs to the parking lot. Maybe she was going to cut across the field to get to Long Street. I think she went looking for Cheyenne. She was agitated when I saw her. I think Cheyenne was supposed to meet her at a set time, but she was late.”

“What time?” Gerald asked.

Emmy plotted the route in her head. “On the backroads, it would take Cheyenne twenty minutes, tops, to bike from here to the park. That would put her at a three thirty arrival. When I saw Madison around eight thirty, she seemed worried, but she wasn’t panicked like you’d expect if Cheyenne was running five hours late.”

---