You Believers (16 page)

“Katy always wanted a brick house,” Livy said, “ever since she was a girl.”

“I know,” Billy said. “We have a joke. Our nice brick house can keep the wolf out.” Billy opened the door. “We ought to get inside. Maybe there’s a message.”

Livy followed him across the porch, lush with hanging baskets of ferns, pots of all kinds of plants that Livy should have known but couldn’t name. Billy stepped inside while Livy stood at the threshold, breathing the scent of Katy in the air. No perfume, just Katy, the scent of her life: candles, old books, stripped wood, and paint. Livy walked into the living room. The walls were painted green. Tobago Green, Katy had told her when she chose the paint. Like the Caribbean. “Artsy,” Livy had called it. Bare floors, green walls, plain white muslin over the windows, and objects most would call junk scattered around the room. A blue mason jar filled with wildflowers going limp. Rocks and odd pieces of wood on the mantel. An old tricycle in the corner.

The room felt abandoned, like a set where a drama would begin as soon as the actors arrived. Livy sank into a chair. Billy stood over the answering machine, his face blank, body frozen as if waiting for a cue. But there were no messages.

“There has to be something,” Livy said, standing, heading toward the bedroom. “She didn’t pack anything? No note?”

“Just this: ‘Be back when I can.’” Billy pulled the crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.

Livy read the note, eyes moving over every curve of the letters. “So she’ll be back,” Livy said. “She just had other things do to. Wasn’t sure how long it would take.”

Billy studied the note. “Most times she writes, ‘Be back soon.’”

Livy felt a hardening in her chest, as if the breath that went in stayed there, solidified. If she exhaled, she would collapse. “Katy never lies,” Livy said.

“Sure she does.” Billy took the note, spread it out on the coffee table. He studied it as if maybe he’d overlooked something. “We all lie sometimes.” Billy glanced up at her. “I mean—” He shook his head. “Oh, hell, I don’t know. Just because you leave a note—”

She turned away. “I’m going to look through her things in her bedroom.” She paused, looked back at him. “I mean your bedroom. Do you mind?”

Billy sighed, sat on the floor, his back resting against the couch. “Have at it, Livy. I’ve gone through everything. Even looked in the trash. She dyed her hair before she left. There was a box of dye in the bathroom, those plastic gloves. But she left all her lotions and creams. She wouldn’t go anywhere without those lotions and creams. You know how she is.”

“I know my daughter.” She couldn’t control the fury in her voice. “I’m sorry, Billy,” she said softly as she headed for the hallway.

Livy stood in the doorway and looked over the bedroom. She saw no signs of a fight. This was Katy’s room. Books, candles, perfumes, and creams. Jeans and t-shirts piled up on a chair. The bedroom reflected the private Katy. The messy Katy, the one who shoved coupons in books as bookmarks, the one who kicked socks and shoes under the bed, tossed her clothes into drawers, mashed them down to get the drawer shut. There were two Katys at least. The smiling Katy who won homecoming queen. And the other Katy, the troubled Katy who Livy tried to pretend she didn’t see. The Katy whose habit of thoughts always turned to sorrow, the Katy who was always wishing for her daddy’s love, for everyone’s love. The Katy who craved a strong brick house to keep her safe from the wolf.

Livy’s gaze moved over the crystals hung in the windows, the guardian-angel print over the bed, a silly thing Katy had kept from her childhood, the shamrock plant growing by the window, the little gold cross hanging on a chain over the vanity mirror. Katy collected good-luck charms: a cross, a shamrock, a crystal, even an eye of Fatima—something she’d gotten from a Muslim friend. It was meant to be a necklace, but Katy kept it on a piece of fishing twine and hung it on the wall. The eye of Fatima was supposed to ward off evil. Livy looked at the eye staring out from a setting of blue stone and silver filigree. The eye just looked back. It seemed to her they should at least put some kind of expression of love in the thing. Livy fingered the cross hanging on her neck; she’d slipped it on just before she’d left for the airport. For luck, she had thought at the time. She told herself that before the night was over, she should at least try to pray.

Livy walked past the clothes, the shoes, the books scattered on the floor. Livy sat on the bed and saw the journal on the bedside table. Katy had kept journals since she was a teenager. Livy had sneaked a peek once, regretted it. She had read about her daughter having sex with her boyfriend, saw that her daughter didn’t really like the sex but liked the smell and strength of the guy. She could see the soft, curving letters in that diary, the kind of writing used on valentines. Her daughter had wanted a man like a woman and written like a little girl. Livy clutched the journal to her chest. She closed her eyes, sank into the loss she felt coming, then fought it with the words almost shouting inside:
Don’t think the worst things. Katy will come home
! She straightened, opened her eyes, and saw her own reflection in the mirror across the room. She could see Katy there. Livy opened the journal, flipped through pages, saw Katy’s scrawl, still the handwriting of a girl.

She wasn’t ready to take in words yet. She let her gaze slide over
the letters, fragments, doodles of hearts, questions marks, flowers and vines curling between patches of words. Some pages were filled solid, as if Katy couldn’t keep up with the flow of thoughts spilling faster that her hands could catch.

Billy stood in the doorway. “That’s not her journal, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“I’m sorry,” Livy said. “I was just seeing if there was a clue.”

“She called that one her scrapbook. It’s a collection of words, lines, stuff she liked and wanted to remember.” He sat beside her, took the book, flipped to a page, read, “‘Be not afeard, the isle is full of noises sounds and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not.’ That’s Shakespeare. It sounds prettier when she reads it.”

Livy reached to open the bedside drawer. “Well, there must be a journal around here somewhere. She’s always kept one.”

Billy took a firm but gentle hold on her wrist. “That’s private.”

“I’m sorry.” She sat with her hands folded in her lap. She probably didn’t want to see what was in the drawer of the bedside table. She stood. “So you didn’t find a journal.” He shook his head. She could tell by the way he dropped his head that he was lying. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

He sighed. “Yeah, there was a journal. But it’s private, and you’ve got to give her that.”

“Okay,” she said.

He kept his eye on the rug. “It’s nothing you’d find helpful. Lots of doodles, and leaves, and hearts, and tears. And Frank. Lots of stuff about Frank. I know she wants me because I have a house and a job. And, well, she knows the way I feel. I’ll love her no matter what she does. Wish it didn’t work like that some times.” He shrugged and sat at the foot of the bed. “We all know she has a weakness for the bad boys.”

Livy patted his arm, but he moved away. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Billy stared at the floor. “I’m not mentioned at all. Just Frank. A few things about Dan, that decorator she worked for. And Gator, this homeless guy she liked to take care of. Personal stuff.” He sighed. “There was a name I didn’t know. Randy. You know anything about Randy?”

Livy could see him squeezing back tears. “No. But you know how she makes friends wherever he goes.”

“She was sad a lot, Livy. Do people just write in journals when they’re feeling sad? Because there wasn’t a word about being happy. Just sad and hurt all the time. I thought I’d be the one to make her happy.” He glanced up. She saw the pain in his face, reached for his hand. He stood and went to the closet and stared at the clothes hanging there. He shook his head. “I couldn’t read all of it. It’s Katy’s thoughts, just her thoughts, you know. If people knew our private thoughts, we’d all be locked in the nuthouse or jail.”

“She always had a problem with depression. I told her the best way out of depression was to do something for someone else. And their happiness, it rubs off.”

He looked back at her, went toward the window, looked out. “She does help people. And that helps some.” Billy shook his head. “I can’t make her happy.”

“No one can make anyone happy. I’ve tried.” Livy stepped past Billy and headed for the kitchen. “Happy? We have to do that on our own.”

She felt Billy following her down the hall like a stray pup. “Katy was always thinking too much, and if you think too much, it’s hard to be happy. I told her that.” She turned to Billy. “Tell me about Dan?”

Billy opened the back door, lit another cigarette. “Her boss. He likes her.”

“Everyone likes Katy. I thought her boss’s name was Pete.”

“That’s at the bar. Dan’s the decorator. Katy was working for him, painting, hanging wallpaper. You knew about that.”

“What’s she say about him?”

“Something about a door.” Billy nodded. “She was working at this house. Left with the back door open. Wide open. You know how Katy could be. Forgetful sometimes. Well, the lady who owned the house got real pissed, said she didn’t want Katy in the house again.” Billy stepped onto the back porch, blew smoke to the darkness. “So she messed up. Big deal.” Billy moved into the backyard, sat in a glider, rocked with his feet, and looked up through the trees. “Lately, I don’t know. She’s been distracted. Leaves the coffee pot on. Lets the truck run out of gas. Goes off to do something and comes back wondering what it was she was supposed to do.”

Livy sat beside him. “Billy, maybe she ran out of gas. That gas gauge hasn’t worked for years. Did you report her truck missing?”

“Of course I did. I talked to the cops.” He looked up into the night. “But there’s a lot of country out there. And you know how she likes to drive. She calls me when she runs out of gas.”

“But she hasn’t called.” Livy’s voice rose to a childish whine.

“That’s because she left her cell phone on the porch. I thought I told you that. I found it on that table where she keeps all those plants.” Billy squinted at the burning tip of his cigarette. “Come on, now, Livy. You’re thinking the worst possible thing. Gotta be positive.” He gave a hard laugh. “Like maybe she just ran off with some man. Not Frank, though. Maybe there was some new man. Randy.”

“She’s going to marry you in a month,” Livy said. “Who’s Randy?”

“Nobody.” Billy shrugged. “Girls do all kinds of things,” Billy said, standing. “I’m going inside for a beer. You want one?’

“No,” Livy said, then, “Yes, a beer, Billy. I’ll have a beer.”

He nodded, headed in the back door.

Livy sat for a moment surrounded by the night, the wind in the trees, and the heaps of brick. Her eyes locked on the yellow light from a neighbor’s kitchen window. As she stared, it seemed to be receding, darkness seeping into the distance between her and the house, between her and Katy, between her and everything she knew. She jumped up and ran for the back door, wanting the light of the kitchen, wanting anything but to be left out there alone.

Inside, she saw Billy leaning against the counter holding an empty picture frame.

“Where the picture?” Livy said. Billy tossed the frame onto the counter, reached into the refrigerator, and grabbed two beers. “I gave it to the lady at REV.” He handed a beer to Livy, took the other, and stood by the window.

“REV?” Livy said.

“Rescue Effort Volunteers. They help people. When the cops were being dicks, I called REV.” Billy gazed out the window. “They do things cops don’t. Start work on the search while cops are still sitting back thinking about it, eating doughnuts and staring at computer screens.” Billy shrugged. “Shelby said somebody goes missing, you gotta get right to work on the search. Every minute, every hour counts.”

“Stop,” Livy said. She didn’t want to think about minutes, hours, days, what might be happening to her girl. She grabbed the beer he set out for her. Blue Moon. Katy liked it with an orange slice. She took some hard swallows, wanted to chug the whole thing the way she’d seen boys do. “Who’s Shelby?”

“This lady—she runs REV. Some kick-ass woman. I heard about her at the bar. Used to be a bartender out at Wrightsville Beach. She’s little but tough. Looks like some kind of biker chick. I wouldn’t mess with her.” Billy reached into his pocket, gave Livy the business card. She studied the words:
Rescue Effort Volunteers
and a cartoon
kind of logo with a muscular arm flexed around a heart. Livy gave him back the card.

Billy studied it as if it held an answer. “They take missing people seriously. This Shelby, she showed up the day I called. Walks right in, asks for pictures, any information I had.”

“Did you give her the journal?”

“Yeah,” he said.

She studied him for a lie, couldn’t be sure.

“Shelby wanted a really good picture for the flyer. She wanted something that would make people really want to keep an eye out. She looked at about everything we have before she picked that one to make a flyer.” Billy pointed his beer bottle at the empty frame. “She said that was the best one.”

Livy sipped her beer. “I don’t want to see Katy’s face on a missing-person sign.”

“Me neither.” Billy finished his beer. “But you gotta do it. Shelby said no effort toward saving someone is wasted.” He shrugged and headed to the living room.

“Please don’t do that, Billy.”

“What?”

“That.” Livy gave a quick raise and drop of her shoulders. “It’s so, so . . .” She couldn’t find the words. He turned for the living room, and she followed. He paced the room like a cat in a cage, and she, suddenly exhausted, dropped to the couch. There was the sound of a car door slamming shut outside.

Billy pulled back the curtains of the window, looked out. “Cop,” he said.

Livy put her beer on the floor and braced herself as Billy opened the door. “Have you found her?”

A man in a sports jacket gave them a blank stare.

“Have you found her?” Livy asked. She stood, went to him,
could read nothing in his little gray eyes, but she did see the badge fixed on his belt. “If you have some kind of information, I’d like to know.” Livy hardened herself. She didn’t like this man. She stepped back. The words came weakly. “Come in.”