She's Not There (13 page)

“Well, December's an especially hard time of year.”

December,
Caroline repeated silently, thinking ahead to Christmas. Was it possible it was Christmas already? She'd spent last Christmas in Mexico, miserable and alone, waiting for some word of their daughter. She'd begged Hunter to come back down; he'd begged her to come home. Michelle needed her, he said repeatedly.
He
needed her. But how could she leave? How could she go anywhere without her baby? No, she'd told him. She couldn't—
wouldn't
—go anywhere until Samantha was safely back in her arms.

But after two months of rude police questions and no answers, of lost opportunities and leads that went nowhere, of increasingly pointed accusations and decreasing results, she'd finally given up and returned to San Diego, alone and defeated. Except she wasn't really alone. Reporters were always lurking. People were always staring. Judging her. Finding her guilty.

“I was thinking maybe we should put up some decorations this Christmas,” Hunter said. “Michelle's been asking about a tree.”

Caroline tried to process what he was suggesting. The holiday season was upon them. Her mother had insisted on holding her usual Thanksgiving dinner, although it had proved to be a muted affair, none of the participants particularly thankful. Steve and Becky barely looked at each other, let alone spoke. Caroline and Hunter had little appetite for turkey and even less for each other. Their eleventh anniversary had come and gone without so much as a congratulatory kiss. And now here he was, talking about decorating Christmas trees as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be discussing such things, as if it was time to put away their grief, accept what had happened, and get on with their lives.

She lowered her head. She was being unfair and she knew it. Someone had to be practical; someone had to take care of the business of day-to-day living. Someone had to worry about Michelle, make sure her needs weren't forgotten. The child had every right to enjoy the glittery trappings of Christmas. Hunter was right to want to provide her with that opportunity. Caroline knew she should be grateful. He'd been so attentive to Michelle these past months, so patient, never raising his voice or losing his temper, as if trying to atone for his earlier lapses as a father.

She watched a sudden flash of worry shoot through his eyes. “What?” she asked. “What is it?”

Hunter pushed some hair away from his forehead, a signal that he was about to impart some information he considered important. “Listen. I have to tell you something and I need you to stay calm,” he began.

Caroline felt her heart rate quicken. Was he about to come clean about where he'd been tonight, about the affair she suspected he'd been having? She was almost certain there'd been more than one such affair in the last year. She wondered how many times he'd betrayed her since her return from Mexico. But she wasn't sure she had the strength to deal with his honesty now.

“I spoke to Detective Ramos this morning,” he said, catching her by surprise.

“This morning? Why didn't you tell me?”

“I'm telling you now.”

“You called him?”

“He called me.”

“What? Why? Have they found…?”

“No.”

“For God's sake, Hunter. Spit it out. What did the man say?”

“Apparently a member of the hotel staff was arrested yesterday for molesting his niece.”

The words hit Caroline with the force of a well-placed punch to the stomach. She doubled over, the air rushing out of her lungs as she gathered her arms around her, her body rocking back and forth. “What do you mean, ‘molested'?” she asked when she was able to straighten up and find her voice.

“What do you think I mean?”

“He raped her?”

“He ‘interfered with her' is how Detective Ramos put it.”

“And they think he might have ‘interfered with' Samantha?”

“They don't know. They're still questioning him. So far, he's denied any knowledge of what happened to Samantha.”

“Well, of course he'd deny it. But he was working at the hotel at the time she disappeared?”

“Yes.”

“And nobody knew they had a child molester on the payroll?”

“How could they? He had no record. He'd never been charged with anything.”

“But there's no question he molested his niece.”

“Apparently not.”

“Oh, God, Hunter. Do you think it's possible? Do you think…?”

“I don't think anything until all the facts are in.”

Caroline jumped to her feet. Damn him for thinking like a lawyer. “We need to go down there.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We have to see this man. We have to confront him.”

“They're not going to let us see him, Caroline. They're not going to let us talk to him. They're not going to let us anywhere near him.”

“I don't care. I'm going down there.”

“You're not going anywhere. This is exactly why I didn't tell you earlier. You're panicking, being irrational.”

“So what are you suggesting? That we just sit here and do nothing?”

“There's nothing we
can
do. Detective Ramos promised to keep us informed.”

“How reassuring.” Caroline buried her face in the palms of her hands.

“Come to bed,” Hunter urged after several minutes had passed.

Caroline shook her head, refusing to look at him. She was trying not to resent his composure, his skill at rationalizing and compartmentalizing, his resolve to stay calm and focused, to not let his emotions get the better of his common sense. How she envied his ability to throw himself into his work, to take refuge in a string of meaningless affairs. How she hated him for it.

Hunter waited another minute before reaching over and switching off the lamp. Caroline felt his arm as it brushed against her shoulder, but didn't open her eyes until she was certain he'd left, taking the sweet, soapy scent of his most recent betrayal with him.

“O
kay. This morning I'd like to talk about some of the ways we can use mathematics in our daily lives,” Caroline said, trying to generate a modicum of enthusiasm in her class of twenty-three tenth-grade students. The students, an almost equal mix of boys and girls, stared back at her, one face blanker than the next. “Now, I know that some of you don't think you'll have any use for algebra, or trigonometry, or geometry, or any kind of math at all, for that matter,” she continued, thinking of Michelle's frequent pronouncements, “but, in fact, we use some form of math to solve problems every day. And if we don't, we should.” She looked up and down the five rows of desks, hoping to catch at least one nod of confirmation, one glimmer of interest in a pair of glazed eyes, but finding none. “Let's take astronomy. An astronomer needs to apply the concepts of algebra and trigonometry in order to determine the distance from one planet to another, or to measure the distance between stars. Or a surveyor,” she continued, realizing there probably weren't a lot of potential astronomers in the room. “A surveyor needs to determine precise locations and measurement of points, elevations, and areas for such things as mapmaking and land division.” Another unlikely prospect. “Or on a simpler level, say we want to determine the height of a tall building or tree. We can do that by knowing the distance from us to the base of the building or tree. Everyone with me so far? Anyone?”

No one raised a hand.

“Okay, let's tackle a specific problem.”

“Let's not,” a male voice said from the back of the room. Joey Prescott, class cutup. Medium height, shaggy-haired, more muscles than brains.

“Okay, Joey,” Caroline said, “suppose your mother wants to buy broadloom for a room that's twelve feet long and ten feet wide.”

“What's broadloom?” Joey asked.

Caroline smiled. “Wall-to-wall carpeting.”

“My mother doesn't like wall-to-wall carpeting. She likes hardwood.”

There were a few chuckles from the front of the class and one outright guffaw from the back. Caroline knew the laugh well: Zack Appleby, court jester to Joey's clown. “Zack,” she said, staring the freckle-faced boy down, “how does
your
mother feel about broadloom?”

Zack stared back at her as if he'd never seen her before in his life. “Huh?”

“Come on, people. Did you all eat too much turkey last week?”

A hand shot up from the third seat of the second row.

Thank God,
Caroline thought. At least someone was making an effort. “Fiona?”

“What was the question?” Fiona asked.

Caroline bit down on her bottom lip. “Your mother wants to buy broadloom for a room that's twenty feet long and ten feet wide.”

“Her mother, too?” Joey shouted out. “Hope they have enough in stock.”

More laughter. Even Caroline found herself chuckling. “The broadloom costs fourteen dollars and ninety-five cents a square foot,” she continued, shifting her gaze from Fiona to the girl beside her, who was chomping aggressively on a strand of long blond hair. “Daphne, can you tell us how to determine the total cost of the carpet?”

Daphne shrugged and continued chomping.

You can do this,
Caroline encouraged her silently.
All you have to do is try. I can help you, if you'll let me.

She'd resumed teaching twelve years ago, following her divorce. It had taken two years after Samantha's disappearance for her marriage to finally limp across the finish line and another year after that to find a school principal brave enough to hire her. Unfortunately, the principal hadn't proved brave enough to keep her on, asking her to resign two years later, following the suicide of one of her students. Not that he blamed her, he'd explained repeatedly. He knew the boy's death wasn't her fault. But if word were to get out that a student in one of her classes had killed himself…if parents were to find out…if reporters were to get wind of it…with her history…

Not to worry, she'd told him, leaving without protest.

The following year she'd been hired to teach math at a high school in Golden Hill. She was asked to leave five years later, when the story of the boy's suicide did indeed make the news. Two years later, she'd found a position at Jarvis Collegiate, a medium-sized, under-achieving high school located in East San Diego, and she'd been teaching there ever since, although with all the recent publicity, with every sordid detail of her life having been dredged up yet again, she didn't know how long it would be before she was once again asked to quietly resign.

Could she survive another devastating blow? Teaching was the one thing keeping her sane, the one area of her life where she felt any real satisfaction. And she was
good
at it. No—better than good. She had a genuine gift, a way of reaching even the most recalcitrant of pupils.

Not all of them,
she reminded herself.

“You have to know how much carpet you need, right?” Caroline continued, breaking free of such disquieting thoughts. “So the first thing you have to figure out is the total area of the room.” She wrote on the chalkboard behind her:

Area = length × width

= 20 × 10

= 200 square feet

Underneath that she wrote,

Cost = $14.95/sq. foot

“So, the total cost would be the area in square feet multiplied by the cost per square foot. Are you with me?”

Again, no response, no raised hand.

She pointed to the equation on the board. “Twenty times ten equals two hundred. Two hundred multiplied by fourteen ninety-five is…?”

“Two thousand, nine hundred and ninety dollars,” Rob Kearny shouted.

“Correct. Very good, Rob.”

The boy proudly held his smartphone above his head.

“You're not supposed to have those turned on in class,” Caroline reminded him, her elation short-lived.

“How else are you supposed to figure out the answer?”

“You might try using your head.”

“Give head for Christmas,” Joey Prescott exclaimed, and the rest of the class laughed uproariously.

Caroline suppressed a smile. “All right, class. Settle down. Is any of this making any sense at all? Does anybody have any questions?”

Addison Snider raised her hand.

“Addison?”

“Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?”

The room suddenly stilled, waiting for Caroline's response.

“It was very nice. Thank you. But I was referring to the lesson.”

Caroline sensed movement from the far side of the room, saw Vicki Garner dropping something onto the desk of the girl behind her. “What's that? What did Vicki just hand you, Stephanie?”

“Nothing,” Stephanie said, although her thin face said otherwise.

“Can I see it, please?”

Stephanie looked to the floor as she rose from her seat, extending the newspaper clipping in her hand toward Caroline.

Caroline knew even before she saw her daughter's sweet face staring up at her what she was holding. She set the article on her desk. She'd been expecting something like this. “Okay. You've seen the news and you obviously have a lot of questions, so let's get to them. What do you want to know?”

Silence. Clearly the class was as surprised by her direct question as she was for having asked it.

“Do you think you'll ever find your daughter?” Vicki asked quietly.

“I don't know. I hope so.”

I think my real name is Samantha.

Daphne's hand shot into the air. “What do you think happened to her?”

“I think someone took her.”

“Why?”

“I don't know.”

“Do you think she's still alive?”

I think I'm your daughter.

“I don't know. I hope so,” she repeated.

“What about that boy?” Joey asked from the back of the room. “The one who killed himself.”

“What about him?”

“Did he really kill himself because of you?”

A wave of low murmurs rippled through the class. “Shut up, Joey,” someone said.

Caroline struggled to stay calm, to keep her voice level. “No, it's not true.”

“So what happened?”

Caroline took a deep breath, and then another. “He was one of my students. He was failing. Not just my class. All his classes.”
I can't do this,
she thought, looking toward the clock on the wall, silently appealing to the bell to ring and rescue her. But it was only five minutes after ten. There were fifteen minutes left before the period ended. “He had a history of depression. I tried to help him, but…”

“How'd he do it?”

“He hanged himself.”

The muttering got louder, spilling from one mouth to the next like a series of collapsing dominoes.

“Gross,” Stephanie whispered.

“It wasn't your fault,” Vicki said.

“You're a great teacher,” Daphne added. “If you couldn't help him, no one could.”

Caroline's eyes filled with tears.

“It's not fair they blamed you,” Joey Prescott said.

Caroline sank into the chair behind her desk, her body limp with gratitude, her heart full of love for these children who'd somehow managed to survive into their teens relatively unscathed. For all their bravado, they were still naïve enough to believe that life was supposed to be fair.

“Okay, so in one basket we have four heads of cauliflower and five heads of lettuce costing eight forty, and in the other we have six heads of cauliflower and two heads of lettuce costing eight twenty, and our problem is to determine the price of one head of cauliflower and one head of lettuce. What do we do first?”

“Buy hot dogs,” someone shouted out.

“Let
x
represent the cost of one head of cauliflower,” Caroline said, ignoring the interruption and scribbling the information on the chalkboard.
If it's a quarter to two in the afternoon and there are five more minutes till the end of class and two more classes till the end of the day…

“And let
y
represent the cost of one head of lettuce,” Jason Campbell volunteered.

“Very good. Thank you, Jason.”

The wall phone behind her desk rang, signaling a call from the office. Caroline excused herself to answer it.

“Did you hear—Joey Prescott asked her about that kid who killed himself?” someone whispered as she was turning her back.

“You're shitting me. What did she say?”

Caroline ignored the voices and picked up the phone. “Yes?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” said the voice on the other end. “You have an emergency call.”

Caroline hung up the phone. “If you'll excuse me,” she said, leaving the room without explanation.

“Where's she going?”

“Maybe someone else offed himself.”

She hurried down the long, stale-smelling corridor toward the main office, running through a list of potential emergencies, some far-fetched, others all too possible: Michelle had been arrested again, this time for driving drunk on the freeway; Caroline's mother had suffered a stroke; her brother had been shot by one of his gambling buddies when he couldn't make good on a bet; another of her students had indeed “offed” himself.

The secretary was waiting, an anxious look on her hawklike face when Caroline burst into the office. Caroline took the phone from the woman's outstretched hand. “She wouldn't give me her name,” she said as Caroline lifted the phone to her ear.

If Michelle is five feet nine inches tall, weighs one hundred and eight pounds, drinks five times the amount of what she eats, has four unpaid parking tickets and one arrest for driving under the influence, how many more chances does she get to screw up her life?

“Hello?”

“It's Lili.”

The room lurched to one side. The soft buzz of the overhead recessed lighting grew loud and insistent, like a nest of angry bees. “How did you find me?”