PART 4

“I don’t know.”

The deputy looked at him for a long second. “You don’t know where your wife is?”

Nolan rubbed his forehead. “She didn’t want me telling people.”

“Then why did you tell her mother?”

“I was trying to calm her down.”

Tessa stood behind him. Her hands kept pulling at the cardigan cuffs. White flowers. Crooked stems. I watched her pick at one of them until the thread came loose.

Deputy Vance examined the lock. “Who put this on?”

“I did,” Nolan said.

“Why?”

“Tools were stolen from the neighborhood.”

“Are there tools inside?”

“Yes.”

“Anybody else have a key?”

Nolan looked at me. “No.”

The deputy asked him to step aside. Nolan refused.

“I need a warrant,” he said.

“You just said nobody was inside,” Deputy Vance answered.

“I said my wife wasn’t inside.”

The rain hit the metal roof hard enough that I almost missed the sound from the garage. Almost. It was a cough, then a voice so small I could barely hear it.

“Mom?”

I turned toward the door.

Nolan grabbed my arm.

“Don’t.”

Deputy Vance pulled him back. “Take your hand off her.”

Nolan let go, but his fingers had left a red mark above my elbow.

I walked to the door. “Rachel?”

“Mom.”

Her voice was weak. It sounded like she had been crying, but Rachel cried quietly. She always had. As a child, she would sit under the dining table with her knees against her chest and wait until her breathing settled. I used to crawl under there with her. I had not thought about that in years.

“Can you walk?” I asked.

“I think so.”

Nolan said, “She’s confused.”

Rachel answered from inside. “No, I’m not.”

Everything got quiet.

Not the rain. The people.

Deputy Vance called for the fire department because the door was reinforced from the inside. He asked Nolan where the key was. Nolan said he didn’t have one. The other officer found it in Nolan’s pocket.

That was the first time his face changed.

Not fear. Annoyance.

The firefighter cut through the lock while I stood beside the cruiser. I wanted to run to the door, but Deputy Vance held out his arm.

“Let them work.”

“I’m her mother.”

“I know.”

“I need to be there.”

“You’ll be there.”

The lock snapped at 11:03.

The door opened six inches, then stopped against a chair wedged behind it. The firefighter pushed harder. Wood scraped against concrete. A sour smell came out, not strong, but closed-in and stale.

Rachel was sitting on the floor near the back wall. Her wrists were tied in front of her with a phone charger cord. She wore gray sweatpants, no shoes, and one of Nolan’s old T-shirts. There was a plastic bottle beside her, empty.

I made one step.

“Mom, don’t look at me like that.”

I stopped.

“I’m not,” I said.

“You are.”

“I’m looking at you because I found you.”

Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. Then Deputy Vance crouched beside her and cut the cord. Rachel tried to stand. Her legs gave way, so I reached for her, and she leaned into me hard enough to nearly knock me down.

She smelled like dust, sweat, and the lemon soap I had bought them for Christmas.

That detail is still with me.

The ambulance took her to the hospital in Mobile. Nolan went in the second cruiser. Tessa sat in the back of the first one and kept her eyes on the floor.

At the hospital, a nurse asked me if I was Rachel’s mother. I said yes. Then she asked if I had legal authority to speak for her. I said no. Rachel was awake, so the nurse went to ask her.

“Mom can stay,” Rachel said.

That was all.

The doctor told us Rachel had been locked in the garage for six days. She had a bruised shoulder, cuts on one wrist, and dehydration. Nolan had given her water twice, maybe three times. He had taken her phone, but she had found an empty bottle and used it to make the knocks.

“Why didn’t you scream?” I asked.

She looked at me. “I did.”

“What?”

“The first day.”

I waited.

“He told me nobody would hear me.”

I had to look away.

Nolan had told Rachel that I was angry with her for leaving. He had told her I had called her office and her friends because I wanted to punish her. He said I would come to the house and make a scene. He said if she stayed quiet, he would let her out when she apologized.

“Did you apologize?” I asked.

She looked at the blanket. “A few times.”

I wanted to tell her she should have fought him. I wanted to tell her she should have called me sooner. I wanted to tell her I had warned her.

I said none of those things.

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART…