Page 11 of Girl Lost
Corbin nodded, making a note to interview both Ashley and Andre again. “Was Ashley doing most of the talking, or was Carlie equally involved in the conversation?”
“Ashley was telling Carlie that her parents never pay attention to her. Too busy with work, gone all day. Then when they get home, they work even more. Said they hole up in their office, don’t even bother making dinner anymore.”
“Did Carlie respond to that?”
“Hold your horses,” Marge grumbled. “I’m getting there. Ashley complained that the only time she sees her parents is when they’re fussin’ with Andre. Didn’t hear why Andre was always in trouble, though. Had to get food to the customers while it’s hot, you know.”
As if on cue, Marge launched into a complaint about how hard it was to keep the diner going. “Hard times, economy. People get mad when I raise the prices. And now, with that cop blocking the entrance and the closed sign up, I’ll be losing a whole day of wages.”
This place had been here forever. A staple of their small town. One he didn’t visit. There were too many memories for him here, and the thought of Marge struggling and closing down, it didn’t sit right. “I hear you, Marge. We’ll figure something out for the diner later. Let’s keep going.”
Marge took a deep breath. “Well, I was serving a customer. You know how it is. Missed bits and pieces. But I did hear Carlie tryin’to be supportive. Said she could relate because her parents were real pieces of work.”
The commissioner had pulled Corbin for this case to keep the details of his personal life private. Hadn’t wanted anyone to know about his wife’s struggles with mental health issues. The commissioner knew the dirty details of Corbin’s past and decided he could be trusted with his own.
Marge said, “And Carlie’s pretty sure her dad just plain hates her, wishes she’d been a boy so he could have a son to follow in his footsteps.”
Another thing Commissioner Tinch wouldn’t want the whole town hearing. Though he doubted it was true. According to her father, Carlie was smart and driven. A bit rebellious, maybe. Angry that her father wouldn’t let her get away with sneaking out or stealing her mother’s medications. “Did you believe Carlie?”
“Well now, I do hear a lot of how people talk around here.” Marge scratched her neck, then studied the underside of her fingernails. “I know that them teens have all their emotions runnin’ wild. Every little thing that don’t go their way, seems to them like they’re being tortured worse than them folks in Japanese POW camps. They have problems, but not real ones.” She paused, giving Corbin a knowing look. “Not like you and Luna.”
Corbin’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Luna’s name. They’d had problems, all right.
He remembered them sitting at their corner table, the same one where they’d shared their first milkshake, two straws, one glass, a nervous laugh bubbling up between them ...
Luna’s fingers shredded a napkin into long strips thatshe wrapped around her finger. “I missed my period. Itook a test.” Her eyes,fixed on the tabletop,refusedto meet his. “I’m pregnant.”
Pregnant. The word splinteredhis focus. Everything else drowning beneath the blooming terror. Hisfather’s face flashed before him,contorted in anger. Toomany times he’d seen that same expression in himself. The hot rush of rage when some punk looked atLuna the wrong way.The tightness in his chest,theclenched fists,the struggle to keep it all in check...
“What are we going to do,Corbin?”
Everythingwas slipping away. College plans,career dreams,his entire future—all of it shredding like the napkin in Luna’shands.
Eighteen. He was eighteen,and Luna sixteen. Too youngto be parents. They didn’t even have jobs. Toothers,he’d be just another statistic. Another deadbeat teendad. Another failure.
The clatter of dishes from the kitchen pierced through his spiraling thoughts. Marge talked on, her words barely registering. He had to push away the past and deal with the present.
But Luna’s words lingered.“What are we going to do?”
“You listening, boy?” Marge’s sharp tap on the table snapped him back to the present.
The seat creaked as he shifted. “Sorry, Marge. What did you say?”
Marge rolled her eyes. “I asked if I could smoke.”
“Here? You know about the no smoking laws, right?”
“You think I don’t know that?” Marge snapped. “I mean out back.”
“Oh, sure,” Corbin agreed, relieved to have a moment to collect his thoughts. He followed Marge out the back door into a small concrete area littered with cigarette butts. The heat hit him like a wall, and he tugged at his collar as Marge lit up.
He waited while she took her first long drag before he prompted, “You were talking about Carlie’s and Ashley’s problems with their parents.”
Marge blew out a stream of smoke. “Right. Well, like I said, I missed bits of it. But I remember Carlie saying something about how if she disappeared, her father would never even notice until he got a text that her grades had slipped.”
“And Ashley’s response?”
“Ashley said her parents wouldn’t notice either. But she got all morbid about it. Said if she slit her wrists, her parents would only complain about the bloody mess she’d made.”
