The Lost and the Found (30 page)

Sadie put a hand on my arm. “It's okay. I know what I'm doing. Everything will be fine.”

There were so many questions I hadn't thought to ask about Laurel, and this was my last chance. But if I started down that path, I'd probably never stop. The more Sadie told me, the more I wanted to know. I would
never
know enough about my sister, about how she lived. And how she died.

There was one question I could ask, though. Something I needed to know before she left. A selfish question. Silly, really, given everything that's happened since. But I asked it anyway as Sadie was shouldering the backpack, testing the weight. “Why did you kiss Thomas?”

Sadie stopped and stared at the wall for a second, as if the answer might be written there. But then she looked at me. “I needed you to hate me.” I clearly had no idea what she was talking about, so she elaborated. “I knew I needed to leave before the police came over. But I couldn't make myself actually do it. I…I like it here. A lot. I thought it would be easier if you pushed me away. I was right.” She smiled ruefully. “You should probably know that he didn't kiss me back.”

I thought about that for a second. It made a weird sort of sense. But there was something bothering me, like a pebble in my shoe. “How did you know I was going to walk in and see you two?”

She gave me this strange look, like she knew I'd caught her. “Okay, maybe there were two reasons. I wanted to see what it felt like. With someone…someone who wasn't Smith.”

There was nothing I could say to that. Not one single thing.

I'm not sure who initiated the hug. Maybe me, maybe her. Or maybe we both had the same idea at the same time. It didn't feel strange to be hugging her. It didn't feel like hugging a stranger. And when it came down to it, I really didn't want to let go. She was the first to pull away.

“I'm sorry. About everything. I never meant to hurt anyone. I hope you know that.” There were tears in her eyes. In mine, too.

I nodded. “You…you take care, okay?”

“I will.”

She walked over to the door, then turned. We looked at each other in silence for a moment or two. If everything went according to plan, I would never see her again. She smiled sadly, and it made me wish for things I could never explain, even to myself. She spoke softly. “You know something? I liked being your sister, even for a little while.”

She closed the door behind her. I listened for her footsteps on the stairs, but I heard nothing. I went over to the window and watched her walk down the street. She didn't look back.

“I liked being your sister, too,” I whispered.

I
f saying good-bye to Sadie was hard, watching my mom read the letter was worse. I thought she would never stop crying.

“Did you know about this?” she said, holding my shoulders and shaking me. I didn't break.

“No, I swear. I had no idea.” Mom phoned Dad, and he arrived within twenty minutes, face still creased from sleep. He didn't cry. He was too stunned, I think.

I watched as they read the letter again, heads close together. I had to remember to ask to read it myself. I wasn't supposed to know every word by heart.

Dear Mom, Dad, and Faith,

I have to go away for a while. I'm sorry. I know this won't be easy for you to understand, but I need you to know that it's the right thing for me. It's what I want. I need some time to find out who I am and what I want to do with my life. I need to be alone. I'm sorry I can't explain it better than that.

Please don't blame yourselves. Coming home to you was better than I could have ever dreamed. You are the best family in the world. I am so lucky to have you in my life.

I'm excited about the future. About going to new places and making new friends. Meeting people who have never heard of Laurel Logan. A fresh start. I want to see if I can stand on my own two feet. I'm sure you can understand that.

Please, PLEASE don't come looking for me. I beg you. I need to do this, and I need to do it without your help.

I'm not sure how long I'll be gone. But I will come back to you, one day. I love you all.

Laurel

Reading it again, over the shoulder of my sobbing mother and frozen father, it didn't seem good enough. Not even close. I should have said more, really laid it on thick. It was too short, too stilted.

I'm not sure my acting was up to much. I didn't even manage to cry.

“How could she do this to us? I don't understand.” Mom fell into Dad's arms. He murmured words of comfort. I took the letter, stared at it just for something to do.

Mom pulled away. “I can't lose her again, John. I…I just can't. We need to phone the police. She can't have gone far. Let me find that…Where's that number again?” She opened the kitchen drawer where all the takeout menus and random scraps of paper are stored.

“Stop,” said Dad, but Mom didn't listen, so he had to go over and close the drawer and take her hands in his. “
Stop.
We have to…” He swallowed hard. “I don't like it any more than you do, but we have to let her do this. She's nineteen, Olivia. She's an
adult.
This isn't about us. It's about what's best for Laurel.”

“And you think what's best for her is being out there all by herself?” Mom shouted. Her face was red and wet with tears that she didn't even bother to wipe away. “Anything could happen!”

“You mean something worse than what's already happened?” Dad said quietly.

That's what did it, I think. She didn't come around to the idea right away, but she at least started to listen. I put the kettle on, trying to ignore the mug with Laurel's name on it when I opened the cupboard.

We sat around the kitchen table, talking things through. Mom had the idea of calling Laurel and begging her to come home. Dad didn't object. Mom was the only one who was surprised when we heard the phone ringing upstairs.

Three hours later, my parents had both agreed to abide by Laurel's wishes. “We owe it to her,” said Dad. “She'll come back when she's ready. And we'll be here waiting, ready to welcome her back with open arms. That's all we can do.” He didn't sound convincing—or convinced—but it was a start.

I was the first one to mention the press. Sadie and I had talked about it. Even if Mom and Dad decided not to look for her, the media would be all over it in a matter of days. There would be no escape. So we decided that it would be best to preempt the problem. Release a statement saying Laurel was abroad, maybe seeking long-term treatment for some medical problem or other. And that's exactly what we did.

The story died down much quicker than I'd expected. Without her here, there were no photos to accompany the articles. People aren't as interested when there aren't any pictures. Yesterday I did my usual trawl of the Internet, looking for any mentions of Laurel Logan. For the first time, there was nothing. Not even a single random conspiracy-theory blog post. I sat back and smiled. We'd done it.

Things haven't been easy, especially with Mom. She barely left the house for the first couple of weeks. She's been letting the phone ring, saying she doesn't want to speak to anyone. The book editor, Zara, has left seven messages for her already. Who knows what's going to happen with the book deal. Perhaps we'll have to pay the money back, or maybe they'll still want to publish the book, even though “Laurel” is gone.

Mom kept on asking me what she did wrong; she still doesn't really accept my answer of “nothing.” I think she'll be okay, though, in time. She's going out for drinks with her friend Sita tonight. That's got to be a good sign, right?

Dad seems to be coping better. He's really busy at work; he says it helps keep his mind off things.

We had dinner together on Sunday—Mom, Dad, Michel, and me. It was Mom's idea. She thinks we should do it every week. I think she's hoping that doing lots of family things together will make Laurel come home sooner, as if she'll somehow
know,
wherever she is.

Dad and Michel came over early. Dad read the papers, while Mom fussed around in the kitchen, worrying that she hadn't bought a big enough piece of beef. Michel insisted on peeling the potatoes. “You go and put your feet up, Olivia,” he said. Mom smiled and thanked him, and both the smile and the thanks were genuine—for the first time ever, I think. I was about to go and sit down, too, but Michel asked me to stick around and keep him company.

I hadn't been alone with him since she left. I've been avoiding Martha, too, as best I can. The urge to talk—to tell someone the truth—has been so strong at times that it's almost overwhelmed me.

I see Thomas at school. I spied him sitting in the courtyard with Martha the other day. He hasn't tried to speak to me, not even once. I thought he might have tried harder to fight for our relationship, but it seems like he's given up. I can't help thinking it's a bit odd, especially if Sadie told the truth about him doing nothing wrong. The weird thing is, I don't miss him. Not even a little bit. We should never have even been together in the first place; it feels right, being alone.

“So how are you doing? It's been a crazy couple of months,
hein
?” said Michel, rinsing the potatoes under the tap.

“I'm okay.” Keep it simple. First rule of lying.

“Really? You don't look okay. You look like you haven't slept in a month.”

I laughed and elbowed him. “Jeez, thanks, Michel! You know you should never, ever tell a girl she looks tired, don't you?”

Michel didn't laugh. He didn't even look at me. He just started peeling the potatoes. I stood next to him, ready to cut them into perfect-sized chunks. After a while, he spoke, so quietly I had to lean in to hear him. “There's something I want you to know. I hope you know it already, but I'm going to say it anyway. There are some things in life that are too big to deal with on your own. You might think you can cope by yourself, but a thing like that can…eat away at you. It can poison you. A burden like that, it's too heavy for one person. So if there's ever anything you wanted to talk to me about—
anything
—you need to know that I'm here. You can trust me.”

I listened and watched his profile as he concentrated on the potatoes. What was he talking about? He couldn't possibly know. Sadie and I had been so careful. “Um…thanks. Everything's fine, though. Really.”

Then he turned to me. His eyes locked on mine. He started talking in a faux-casual voice as if this was a perfectly normal conversation after all. “Did you know that cuckoos don't have nests of their own?” I shook my head, thinking he had well and truly lost the plot. “They lay their eggs in another bird's nest and then leave. The other bird has no idea, because the eggs are camouflaged to look the same as
its
eggs. So it ends up caring for the cuckoo's eggs along with its own. The poor bird is none the wiser, even after the eggs hatch.”

My heart was slamming in my chest, my mouth bone dry. He knew. Somehow, he
knew.
I looked toward the door; it was still shut. “What are you…I don't understand. What are you saying?”

Michel shrugged in that impossible French way of his. “Nothing. I'm saying nothing. It's just interesting, that's all. Some people, they think that this makes the cuckoo evil.”

“What do you think?”

Another Gallic shrug. “Me? I think it's a survivor. What's that phrase?
La fin justifie les moyens.
The end…”

“Justifies the means,” I finished the sentence for him.

So Michel knows the truth—part of it at least. There's no way he could possibly know what really happened to Laurel; maybe he suspects that she died years ago. I should probably be panicking that he might say something to Dad, but I'm not. I think if he were going to do that, he would have done it already. Maybe he has his reasons for staying quiet, just like I do.

I've slept better since that night, which surely can't be a coincidence. Maybe Michel was right about sharing the burden. Still, I have no intention of ever actually talking to him about it. Because he must never be allowed to know the whole story.

I made a promise, one that I intend to keep for the rest of my life.

The phone rang this morning, just as I was leaving the house. A flash of hot panic when I heard Mom say, “Hi, Natalie.” I slammed the front door shut so Mom would think I'd left. I stayed in the hall. I needed to hear this. Why was Sergeant Dawkins calling Mom? Maybe there had been another sighting of “Smith”; there have been a lot of those recently. I bet there's some poor guy out there who looks
exactly
like the description Sadie gave the police. I just hope he doesn't get arrested.

I crept closer to the living room door. “Any news?” There was a pause as Mom listened. “But there must be something! Someone must have seen her, surely! She can't have just disappeared off the face of the planet.”

I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall. Took a deep breath. I should have known. It was too good to be true that she would just accept Laurel disappearing again. That she wouldn't try to find her.
Fuck.

I get on a bus going in the opposite direction from school. I spend the whole trip hoping and praying that Sadie is better at hiding than the police are at seeking.

I walk down the country lanes in the rain. I forgot to bring an umbrella.

Barnaby the Bear is sodden. I pick him up and hold him close.

I kneel on the ground next to the grave, and I talk. I thought it might feel silly, doing this, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world. I tell Laurel about Mom and Dad and Michel. I only talk about the good things, the happy things—the things I would want someone to tell me if I'd been away from my family for years and years.

I tell her I'm sorry. I tell her we did everything we could to find her. I tell her we never gave up hope.

I tell her I'm not sure I've done the right thing. I ask her what she would have done in my position, and I actually stop and listen as if I'm expecting an answer.

I tell her I'm proud of her, for being so brave all those years when she must have been so very, very scared. I'm proud of her for befriending Sadie, for being there for her when no one else was.

I tell her that I love her.

There's nothing left to say after that. I'll be back—in a week or a month. Whenever the urge to tell someone gets too much for me, I'll come here and talk to my sister. She's the only one who understands. That's one thing I'm absolutely sure about. Some people might find it hard to accept why I've done what I've done. They might think it's unforgivable, that my parents deserve to know what happened to Laurel.