27. Laura

Another girl went missing this week. In a town this size, even one is too many. She's been deemed a runaway, but I think Brian had something to do with it. He sits across from me at the head of the table, shoveling a forkful of food into his mouth. I made ramen, mixed with chunks of thick-cut ham, scrambled eggs, and fried onions. It's cheap but everyone enjoys it. Brian smiles at me as he twists the fork in his bowl, entangling a wad of noodles between the tines. I don't feel so different than the ramen.

I force a smile back, as I look to my children. Michael and Beth sit on the right side of the table. Michael has already stained his shirt, the yellow-brown residue of egg mixed with caramelized onion. Usually, I'd have him take it off to soak and treat the stain right away, but I've learned you can't save everything. Beth has barely touched her food. She's been obsessed with diet and exercise ever since she got the full-ride scholarship from UW–Madison for track and field. I worry about her. I think she's doing too much, and I should say something, but how can I parent her after what I've done? My eyes go to Nicole, sitting on the left side of the table. She angrily eats her food, stabbing her fork through a chunk of ham. There's a chair between us because she's mad at me, a buffer to remind me that I am not currently inside the envelope of her love. She's upset that I won't let her run off and hang out with her friends. But they're not a good influence and she's too easily influenced. If I can keep my children close, I can keep them safe. I look back to Brian. Maybe I shouldn't keep the kids close. That means keeping them near him, the man I married... and the man I cannot trust.

"Can I be excused?" Beth asks.

Brian looks to me so that I can decide. Apparently now I get to have a choice in something. I glance at her plate. The food has only been pushed around to give the illusion she's eaten some of it. I consider telling her no and to eat more, that she needs fuel for her body to stay strong, but I don't have the energy.

"Yeah, clean your dish though," I say.

She stands, thanks no one in particular, and then makes an abrupt exit.

There's a knock at the door and before I can get up, Beth sprints toward it. She swings it open. Susan stands on the other side of the screen. I get to my feet and close the distance between the table and the entrance. A piece of my heart breaks off every time I lay eyes on her. I don't think I have much of it left. But she's different this time. Her hair is combed. There's a smidge of blush on her cheeks, and she's dressed in jeans and a thick cable-knit sweater rather than sweats or pajamas. She doesn't look angry or sad. She looks almost relieved. Emma Harper has been missing for nearly five months. Perhaps she's finally shifted into a new stage of grief.

"Hey, Susan," Brian greets her first.

I don't know how he's even able to look at her.

"Hi, Susan," I say, my gaze hovering right above her eyes.

Susan glances at the kids and then back at me. "Can I talk to you and Brian in private?"

I swallow hard and exchange a worried look with my husband, but he doesn't appear worried at all. Does she know? Does she suspect us?

We join her out on the porch, and I close the door so the kids can't hear. I've tried to shield them from this but it's nearly impossible. It happened in our own backyard, and so the tendrils of this ugly thing I've been keeping at bay don't have to reach far. I notice I'm holding my breath, so I exhale through my nose slowly and calmly.

"What's going on?" I ask, still not able to look her in the eyes.

"They arrested him."

"Who?" Brian asks.

"Charles Gallagher."

My eyes go wide, and gravity takes hold of my jaw.

"He confessed. He said he killed Emma." Her voice cracks and tears streak her blush-colored cheeks, stealing the pigment on their way down. "He said he threw her away in a dumpster in Janesville, behind the furniture store. We'll never be able to lay her to rest, but at least I know the person that took her from us will finally get the justice he deserves." Her cries turn to sobs, and I pull her in for a hug.

This time I don't have to lie, telling her it'll be okay or that we'll find Emma. I don't say a word. I just let her cry.

She's right about one thing though.

Emma isn't coming back.

But this isn't justice served. In my peripheral view, I can see Brian staring off in the distance, as though he's searching for how he should feel. I wonder if he's asking himself the same question as I am... What have we done?