they seem,' she said.
'Not me.' I spread out my arms. 'I'm exactly what I seem.'
She started to respond, then caught herself and said, 'Yes, you are, Eric. You are exactly what you seem.'
Again, I felt the hint of an accusation of being flat, one-dimensional, by-the-book, dully transparent. I thought of my father, the mystery man, his unexplained absences from and abrupt returns to the family circle, his empty chair at the dining table, the vacant look in my mother's eyes when they inadvertently fell upon it. I drew my arms back in. 'And that's a good thing, right?' I asked.
'What's a good thing?' Meredith asked.
'Being what I seem,' I answered. 'Because otherwise you might be afraid of me.'
'Afraid?'
'That I might suddenly become someone else. A murderer or something. One of those guys who comes home from work one day and hacks his whole family to death.'
Meredith appeared faintly alarmed. 'Don't say things like that, Eric.' Her eyes darted away, then returned to me, sparkling darkly, as if the tables had been turned, and she had spotted the animal in me.
'I'm just making a point,' I told her. 'If people really weren't what they seemed, then we could never trust each other, and if that happened, the whole thing would fall apart, wouldn't it?'
She turned my question over in her mind and seemed to come to some conclusion about it, though she gave no hint of what the conclusion was. Instead, she rose, walked to the sink, and looked out across the grounds, her eyes darting from the picnic table to the grill before settling on the wooden bird feeder, which hung from a nearby pine. 'Winter's coming,' she said. 'I hate winter.'
This was not a sentiment she'd ever expressed before. 'Hate winter? I thought you loved winter. The fire, the coziness.'
She looked at me. 'You're right. I guess it's autumn I don't like.'
'Why?'
She returned her gaze to the window. Her right hand lifted, as if on its own, a pale bird rising until it came to rest at her throat. 'I don't know,' she said. 'Maybe just all those falling leaves.'
A few of those leaves had already fallen, I noticed, as I headed down the walkway to my car. They were large and yellow, with small brown spots that looked vaguely disturbing, like tiny cancers in the flesh of the leaf.
Which is probably why I thought of Jenny as I continued down the walkway that morning. I couldn't imagine the icy tremor that had surely coursed through my mother and father when the doctor had first diagnosed the tumor. Or maybe it had felt like a blade, slicing them open, spilling any hope of future happiness onto the tiled floor. Jenny, the bright one, the one with the most promise, was going to die, and so there would be no family photographs of her growing up, acting in the school play, graduating, going to college, marrying, having children of her own. That was what must have struck them at that instant, I decided, that the life they'd expected, both Jenny's and their own, had just exploded, leaving nothing but acrid smoke behind.
I'd reached the car and was about to get in when I saw Meredith open the front door, her arm outstretched, waving me back toward the house.
'What is it?' I called.
She said nothing, but continued to wave, so I closed the door and returned to the house.
'It's Vince Giordano,' she said, nodding toward the kitchen phone.
I looked at her quizzically, then went to the phone. 'Hey, Vince,' I said.
'Eric,' Vince said starkly. 'Listen, I didn't want to upset Meredith, but I have to know if you ... if you've seen Keith this morning.'
'No, I haven't. He usually sleeps late on Saturday morning.'
'But he's home? He came home last night?'
'Yes, he did.'
'Do you know when that was?'
Suddenly, I felt my answer assume unexpected weight. 'Around midnight, I think.'
There was a brief silence, then Vince said, 'Amy's missing.'
I waited for Vince to finish the sentence, tell me what Amy was missing, a ring, a watch, something Keith could help her find.
'She wasn't in her room this morning,' Vince added. 'We waited for her to get up and come down, but she never did. So we went up to look ... and she was ... gone.'
I would later remember Vince's words not so much as words, but as a distant tolling, accompanied by a palpable change in the weight of the air around me.
'We've looked everywhere,' Vince added. 'All over the house. The neighborhood. We can't find her anywhere, and so I thought maybe ... Keith...'
'I'll get him up,' I said quickly. 'I'll call you right back'
'Thanks,' Vince said softly. 'Thank you.'
I hung up and glanced toward Meredith. She read the expression on my face and looked suddenly troubled.
'It's Amy,' I told her. 'They can't find her. She wasn't in her room this morning. They've looked everywhere, but so far, nothing.'
'Oh, no,' Meredith whispered.
'We have to talk to Keith.'
We walked upstairs together. I tapped at Keiths door. No answer. I tapped again. 'Keith?'
There was still no answer and so I tried the door. As always, it was locked. I tapped again, this time much more loudly. 'Keith, get up. This is important.'
I heard a low moan, then the pad of Keiths feet as he walked to the door. 'What is it?' he groaned without opening it.
'It's about Amy Giordano,' I said. 'Her father just called. They can't find her.'
The door opened slightly and a watery eye seemed to swim toward me like a small blue fish through the murky water of an aquarium.
'Can't find her?' Keith asked.
'That's what I said.'
Meredith pressed near the door. 'Get dressed and come downstairs, Keith,' she said. Her voice was quite stern, like a teacher's. 'Hurry up.'
We walked back downstairs and sat at the kitchen table and waited for Keith to come join us.
'Maybe she just went for a walk,' I said.
Meredith looked at me worriedly. 'If something happened to Amy, Keith would be the one they'd suspect.'
'Meredith, there's no point in—'
'Maybe we should call Leo.'
'Leo? No. Keith doesn't need a lawyer.'
'Yes, but—'
'Meredith, all we're going to do is ask Keith a few questions. When he last saw Amy. If she seemed okay. Then I'm going to call Vince and tell him what Keith said.' I looked at her pointedly. 'Okay?'
She nodded tensely. 'Yes, fine.'
Keith slouched down the stairs, still drowsy, scratching his head. 'Now ... what did you say about Amy?' he asked, as he slumped down in a chair at the kitchen table.
'She's missing,' I told him.
Keith rubbed his eyes with his fists. 'That's crazy,' he said, with a light, dismissive grunt.
Meredith leaned forward, her voice measured. 'This is serious, Keith. Where was Amy when you left the Giordanos' house last night?'
'In her bedroom,' Keith answered, still drowsy, but now coming a bit more to life. 'I read her a story. Then I
