“Levi . . .”
I pull her into my arms and hold her tightly. Everything’s so fucked up. I’m not sure it would be fair to ask anything of her even if she did remember. She’s been through too much. But amnesia? That complicates things even more. “I’ll give you anything else you want. But you can’t have my goodbye.”
Ellie
Tuesday, October 23rd
“Aunt Ellie, put your phone down and color with me,” Phoebe says. She’s spread out on the middle of my bedroom floor with a giant box of crayons and half a dozen coloring books. She plopped down here when she got home from school an hour ago and hasn’t shown any interest in leaving—not that I mind. The kid is awesome, from her skinned knees to the pink tips of her blond hair. She begged her mom to dye the ends last weekend. I may have done my part to convince my reluctant sister.
I toss my phone to the side and join her on the floor. Levi and Ava haven’t contacted me since they left town on Sunday morning, and while that’s what I asked of them, I keep checking my phone anyway. I didn’t realize how lonely I was in Dyer until I saw evidence of the friends I had in Jackson Harbor. I didn’t realize my life there was worth missing until I felt it when I looked at Levi.
“Color this one,” Phoebe says, sliding a Disney princess coloring book in front of me. “But make sure you only use pink and purple for their dresses. Last time, you used green on a dress, and I hate green. It’s a boy color.”
I roll my eyes bu
t obediently grab a pink crayon. “There’s no such thing as boy colors and girl colors. Just colors girls statistically like better, and colors boys statistically like better.”
She scowls at me. “Yeah, but that’s harder to say, and it pretty much means the same thing.”
I laugh. “Can’t argue with you there, kid.”
I start coloring. Phoebe is the cutest six-year-old I’ve ever met in my life, and she’s hands-down the best part of living at my mom’s house. She’s happy all the time, adores her family, and is so smart it blows my mind. I’m positive I wasn’t reading when I started kindergarten, but I’ve listened to this kid tackle literary classics like Junie B. Jones: Toothless Wonder. She makes me proud.
“Ellie, Detective Huxley is here. He’s from Jackson Harbor Police Department,” Mom calls up the stairs. “He wants to talk to you for a bit.”
Has something happened? Have they found Colton?
“Is he your boyfriend?” Phoebe asks.
“Nope. Just a nice man who’s looking out for me.” I grin at her, hoping she doesn’t see through my smile to my nerves. Taking my time to gather my courage, I return my crayon to the box, kiss my niece, and head for the stairs.
When I reach the landing by the front door, Mom is leading the Jackson Harbor detective into the house. Another detective took a report before I left the hospital in Chicago—not that I was much help—so I’m not sure why this guy is here now. Maybe they’ve found Colton and need to take my statement so they can prosecute him.
“Hello, Ellie.” The detective extends a hand, and I shake it. “Good to see you.” He has dark hair, intense eyes, and the kind of stiff posture I associate with law enforcement officers and military men.
“Nice to meet you.”
He blinks at me, then shakes his head. “I read the doctor’s reports, but . . . You don’t remember me at all?”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t.”
He shifts awkwardly, then pulls his badge from his back pocket and flashes it for me. “I’m Detective Ben Huxley, Jackson Harbor PD.”
“Welcome,” Mom says. “Please, come in.” She waves into the house and leads us to the dining room, where we all sit and share the awkward silence of strangers.
“I’ll be recording this conversation.” He positions a small black device in the center of the old table.
“Sure,” I say.
“Anything to help,” Mom adds.
“I bet you’re glad to be home,” the detective says to me.
I nod. “No one likes to be in the hospital.”
“It’s good to see you doing so well,” he says. “We were all so worried.”
I study his face, wondering if he means that or if it’s just a nice thing to say. He seems so sincere. “Were we . . . friends?” Engaged to an addict and friends with a cop? That doesn’t add up.