Laura turns around. Just like that, the strange, worldly creature with the appearance of a little girl is gone, and in its place is a typical, petulant child. Michelle is frowning, puffing her lips.
“You’re supposed to be the babysitter. Aren’t you going to make me dinner?”
“Fine,” Laura says, regaining control of her voice. “I’ll go downstairs and fix you something.”
Truth is that she can’t get away from this room quickly enough. She thunders down the stairs, races through the living room, and finally shuts the kitchen door behind her. Her heart is thudding dully.
It’s impossible. Impossible. If Michelle had seen them, she would have told someone, and Laura would never have been allowed in this house. She can’t have seen it.
Food, Laura reminds herself. She has to fix a snack for the little brat. She rummages through the fridge, the best-stocked fridge she’s ever seen, but she forgets to be impressed, barely even paying attention to all these unthinkable riches. She plucks out butter, cheese, and pink ham slices. Everything she’s doing is on autopilot. She just needs to get through tonight, she reminds herself. Then Marie will come back and pay her, and she can get out of this town forever.
Once she assembles what she hopes is a suitable sandwich, she cuts the crusts off like she’s seen people do on TV. At home, it would never occur to Laura to cut off and throw away perfectly good bread. There. When all that is done, she’s about to call out to Michelle when she notices her own untouched glass of milk sitting right there on the counter where she left it.
She already hears the pitter-patter of Michelle’s light steps in the living room, growing closer. Before Michelle can come in, Laura picks up the glass, milk sloshing over the edge and running over her hand.
Before Michelle has a chance to see her, Laura dumps the glass into the sink.
THIRTY-TWO
2017
“Bar Marly, bonjour.”
“Charles.” I’m breathless. “Hi. It’s—”
“Stephie!” How he recognizes my voice after all these years, I have no idea. “My, it’s been such a long time! How are you?”
“I’m good.” I’m not good, not even close. “Charles, I was wondering—”
“If you’re looking for Laura, I’m afraid I have to disappoint you. Your mom’s not here. As a matter of fact, I haven’t seen her in quite a while. She’s doing all right, isn’t she?”
My voice trembles. “Yes. But I have to find her.”
“Well, if I see her, I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”
I thank him, hang up, and hand the phone back to Luc. He looks at me, sympathetic, from the driver’s seat.
“Are you absolutely sure that’s what it is?” he asks. “Not just a checkup or something?”
Part of me wants to cling to the possibility, but Laura isn’t one for checkups, and besides, this would be the second message in as many days. Outwardly, I shrug.
“Any chance she’s at the hospital right now?”
“Maybe.” Something tells me Laura isn’t at the hospital.
“What exactly did you fight about?”
That’s the last thing I feel like discussing. I consider coming up with a lie, but I guess my lingering silence says it all because Luc makes a sad grimace and speaks up before I can.
“About Michelle, huh.”
“You could say that.”
He turns onto Main Street and slows down the truck. I crane my neck to see even though I know I won’t find her here. It’s been a couple of hours, and we haven’t found a trace of Laura at any of her usual haunts. No sign of the car, either.
“If you’re really worried, maybe we should call my dad,” Luc suggests, although I don’t hear much enthusiasm in his voice.
“Why? What’s your dad going to do?”
“Well, if you think Laura might be a danger to herself, then it’s a matter for the police to deal with.”
“My God,” I snap. “A danger to herself? Where did you learn words like these?” He looks vaguely vexed, which only fires me up. “Laura isn’t a danger to herself. If there’s one thing I know about Laura, it’s that her preservation instinct is as sharp as ever. Maybe the sharpest thing about her.”
“Yet here you are, worried enough that you called me.”
“Laura isn’t going to kill herself,” I say. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”
What am I worried about, exactly? I struggle to put it into words. “And I only called you because I have no car and my foot is out of commission.”
Luc heaves a sigh. He’s wearing the Metallica T-shirt under his flannel again. I don’t know why I notice it.
“Maybe we should call my dad after all?” he asks hopefully.
“And tell him what?”
“No need to tell him anything. Not like we need to tell him we think Laura might drive her car off a cliff or something. We can just ask him to be on the lookout. He’ll do it if I ask.”
It seems like I have no choice. We’ve run out of places to check, and it looks like alerting the police sure wouldn’t hurt. Luc calls his dad, who doesn’t pick up, so Luc leaves a message.
