“Bravo.”
“I can tell her I found her keys, but I didn’t realize at first that they belonged to her. I’ll return them, and then I’ll come up with some way to make it up to her—maybe I could take over her class field trip next week—that would give her the afternoon off.” She fiddled with the hem of her blouse. “Is that enough? Do I have to admit I took them on purpose?”
“I’ll leave that to you. But as well as you’ve been doing, I’d be remiss if I didn’t caution you against saying more than you need. You’re not even sure of your own motives for keeping the keys, so why go into a lot of detail with Celeste—unless you really believe it’s the only way to make things right?”
Dr. Baquero was leaving the choice to her. “You still think I’m cured?”
“I think you’re ready to handle life’s daily problems on your own. You need to trust yourself. But like I said, don’t expect to be perfect, because I guarantee none of us are. In truth, I suspect this keychain incident resulted partly from my releasing you from therapy last week—that you were testing me.”
Of course, that was probably why she took that pill, too. She was testing Dr. Baquero—and herself. “You think I’m too dependent on you.”
“I think you can stand on your own two feet. By the way, how did your aunt take the news when you told her you were moving out?”
Mia shifted on the couch. “I haven’t. She cried when I turned off location sharing on my phone last week, and then I couldn’t bring myself to upset her again after she made such a fuss about not knowing where I am every second of the day. After what I’ve told you, do you still think I’m ready to fly without you?”
“You already have your wings, Mia. All you have to do is keep spreading them. Like that book club you started. Keep that kind of thing up and you’ll be far too busy for weekly therapy.”
Mia frowned. She’d put a notice up in the break room at work inviting anyone who was interested to join a “classics” book club. The inaugural selection was to be Jane Eyre, and the first meeting was set for Friday after next—only so far, no one had signed up. “I hope so,” she said, deciding on optimism—there was still time for people to join.
Dr. Baquero rose and stuck out her hand. “You know, releasing you from treatment doesn’t end our relationship. You can call and schedule a booster session any time you like. If you need me, I’m still here. I’m truly sorry if I didn’t make that clear before.”
Mia stood, shifting her weight from one foot to another. She stared long and hard at her therapist’s hand before grasping it so tightly the poor woman nearly dislocated her elbow getting free.
But then, to her great surprise, Dr. Baquero went in for a hug.
On the way home, Mia held her head high, even hummed under her breath, all the while considering ways to return Celeste’s keys and make up for the inconvenience she’d caused. If Dr. Baquero believed in Mia, then she should believe in herself. She shouldn’t keep running to others to solve her problems.
When her phone buzzed in her hand, she looked at it right away, hoping it was Ruth Hudson texting to reschedule dinner, but then she noted the caller ID, and her toe caught on a paving stone.
Unknown number.
Her stomach instantly churned. Devastating thoughts played in her head: someone had seen her take Celeste’s keys. She was being fired from her job. She was never to approach Celeste or Jane again. She’d never make a real friend.
STOP.
No one knows you took those keys. You’ll give them back. Everything is going to be okay.
She took a calming breath, and then read the message:
Mia, I got your name from Jane Glasgow. This is Angelica Cooper—Celeste’s sister. Have you heard from her? Celeste is missing!
Three
Monday
Mia hesitated outside the wrought-iron gate leading into Pocket Park—an outdoor square adjacent to San Diego’s historic Gaslamp Museum. Since getting that text from Angelica Cooper, Mia had been in a complete tailspin, barely able to eat or sleep. Yesterday, the news had featured a story about Celeste and put out a call to anyone who might have seen her. Mia tried to convince herself there was nothing to fear, that on Monday she’d show up to work and find a beaming Celeste returned from some grand adventure. But this morning, when Mia arrived for work at the preschool, she found a note taped to the door:
Harbor Youth Academy will be closed today. Preschool hours will resume tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. Anyone wishing to volunteer in the search for Celeste Cooper should meet at Pocket Park. Authorities will be available throughout the day to assign duties.
When Mia’s mother had gone missing, the police had assumed she’d run off with a boyfriend, leaving her six-year-old daughter locked in a shed. Foul play had been considered but quickly and conveniently dismissed. The community hadn’t rallied around. No volunteer searches had been organized, and, to this day, Mia still died a little inside each time she saw someone who, from a distance, resembled her mother.
She didn’t know if her mother had abandoned her or become the tragic victim of a psychopath, and not knowing was paralyzing, because every step she took toward the truth had the potential to plunge her into total darkness. Sometimes, she prayed that her mother had left her alone to die, because that would mean she was still out there, somewhere—alive. But most of the time, she
