Shit. Maybe I should call the lawyer. Or at least Robert. I decide to wait until I know the charges, but Hannah’s incessant speculation about Gene’s crime makes me wonder if that’s wise.
By the time I find parking I’m wound so taut with worry that I snap at Hannah to stay in the car. I don’t need her endless snarking commentary accompanying me inside. But, of course, she doesn’t listen and follows me in.
The deputy behind the bulletproof window in reception tells us to wait and so we do, sitting down on a row of bolted-together plastic chairs, opposite a board papered with Most Wanted and Missing posters. How can so many children be missing? Where do they all go? I turn my attention away from all those sad little faces and glance at Hannah.
She’s on her phone, texting. I’ve no idea who. She’s always on her phone, texting, posting, taking selfies. The narcissism of her generation never fails to shock me. June seems to have grown up with a more sensible and objective view of social media, refusing so far to dip her toe into a world she considers superficial and vain.
Hannah is the opposite. She’s always been conscious of the way she looks. Even when she was seven years old she had to have the right sneakers, the right hair ties, and the right backpack for school. At fifteen she started her own YouTube channel, giving makeup tutorials, teaching people to apply the perfect cat eye and how to contour. When she went to college she shut it down, obviously realizing that a future as a Kardashian wasn’t on the cards. She still posts to Instagram, and I’m secretly quite glad because unlike June, who tells me everything, Hannah has always kept the lid on her private life. Her posts are the only window I have into her life in New York. Recently, though, her Instagram has become less fish pout-y and more Proust-y. She doesn’t post selfies so much as obscure quotes about life that veer from the clichéd to the confounding, as though she’s pulling them from poorly written fortune cookies. Maybe that’s it. Maybe she’s being ironic. It’s so hard to tell with Hannah. Her beauty hides a brilliant mind, but you’d never know because she disguises it so well.
I pull out my own phone and contemplate calling Robert to tell him about Gene. But he’s at June’s basketball game and I don’t want to take him away. He and June rarely spend time together as it is.
A shadow falls over me as I sit there figuring out what to do, and I look up at the sound of my name.
‘Ava?’
There’s a man standing in front of me. ‘Nate?’ I stammer, astonished. I get to my feet unsteadily. Oh my God. Nate Carmichael. It is him. I stare at him in wonder and he stares right back at me, grinning.
‘It is you,’ he says, his gaze falling the length of me, taking me in. ‘You haven’t changed at all.’
A rush of blood to my face feels like a menopausal hot flush. ‘Neither have you,’ I mumble, self-conscious and wishing to God I’d put on more makeup or looked in the mirror before I came in here.
I’m not lying or being polite like he is. He’s taller and broader than I remember, that’s all, but he’s lost none of his rugged athlete’s build or good looks. The only other change I can see are the crows’ feet scored around his eyes, which suit him far more than they do me. I run a hand through my hair, wishing I’d washed it, and that I’d worn something less frumpy than these old leggings. I flush some more under his scrutiny, aware that I’m at least twenty pounds heavier than I was at eighteen. But Nate shakes his head and smiles at me. ‘You look great.’
‘Thanks,’ I mumble, feeling like I’m still that shy, bookish teenage girl being chatted up by the best-looking boy I’d ever seen. I’d forgotten how his smiles and the piercing blue of his gaze used to launch butterflies in my stomach.
Nate’s smile becomes a frown. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asks.
‘What are you doing here?’ I say at the same time, taking in the uniform he’s wearing in a confused daze. Nate’s the last person I’d have imagined becoming a Sheriff.
‘I work here,’ he says, grinning, and revealing a dimple in his right cheek that I’d clean forgotten about. ‘I was in Long Beach for ten years, just moved back to Ventura six months ago.’
I nod politely, my eyes automatically flicking to his left hand to check for a wedding ring, before scolding myself for being so damn obvious. There is no ring.
‘Of all the places in all the towns . . .’ Nate continues. The spark in his eyes triggers something inside me. I’m tongue-tied just looking at him.
‘This your daughter?’ Nate asks, glancing in Hannah’s direction.
I nod, flustered. She’s staring up at us both, frowning. ‘This is my eldest, Hannah,’ I stammer.
Hannah stands up slowly and shakes Nate’s hand.
‘Nice to meet you,’ Nate says. ‘You look just like your mother.’
Hannah scowls, clearly not taking it as a compliment. Thanks, thanks so much.
‘Your mom and I knew each other when we were your age,’ Nate explains, his eyes settling back on me in a way that makes my pulse pound loudly in my ears.
‘Nate was high school football champion,’ I say, trying to pull myself together.
‘And your mom was the girl everyone wanted to date,’ Nate adds with a smirk.
He’s lying about that, trying to pay me a compliment, but my cheeks heat anyway at the flattery.
‘And I was the lucky one she said yes to,’ Nate continues blithely on.
Hannah’s jaw drops and she looks at me open-mouthed as a fish before turning her attention back to Nate. ‘You guys dated?’ she asks, wrinkling her nose at the
