Chapter Twenty-Six

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

A moment later, I hear Beth's frantic voice calling from downstairs.

As desperate as I am to communicate with Rose, I can't ignore her mother. I walk into the hallway and call back, "Rose is in her room. I just found her."

Beth must fly up the stairs because she arrives within seconds.

"Rose! We were so worried!" She throws her arms around her daughter. Rose doesn't melt into the embrace, but she appears to accept it.

"Were you up here the whole time?" Beth asks.

Rose nods. It's a version of the truth—Rose was technically upstairs—but she and I both know she wasn't solely in her room.

"I don't know how we missed you!" Beth's relief is visible as she reaches into her pocket for her phone. Her conversation is brief: "She's in her room… I have no idea… Okay."

Beth hangs up and turns to me.

"How did you find her?" Her tone sharpens midway through her question, turning accusatory. "You were the one who thought she was outside."

I tell a version of the truth, too. "I thought I saw movement in a window, so I came back to check."

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Rose looking at me. When I meet her gaze, she studies my face. I do the same in return. Her expression is stiff. It's as if the angry girl I glimpsed has drawn down an impenetrable shield, like a storefront owner yanking down a metal security grate.

I hear footsteps downstairs, then Harriet's voice. "Rose?"

Beth reaches out her hand to her daughter. "Come. I'm sure your dad and grandma want to lay eyes on you to make sure you're okay."

Rose shakes her head and gestures to her book.

"You can read in a little bit. It's hard for Grandma to walk up the stairs. Just come down for a minute."

Rose obediently stands up and takes her mother's hand.

Then Beth sends me a clear message. She walks into the hallway and waits for me to exit the bedroom. When I do, she closes the door behind us in a gesture that feels exaggerated.

"We value privacy in our home," Beth says, smiling tightly.

Beth obviously knows I went into Rose's room alone. Harriet must have told her.

I follow Beth and Rose downstairs, as aware of the delicate hoop of metal in my jeans pocket as I would be a sharp pebble in my shoe.

An hour later, I'm sitting across from Rose in a booth at a Waffle House, watching my young client pick up a dark purple crayon and begin the word-search puzzle on her paper place mat.

Getting her here was a near impossibility.

Beth told me Rose needed a quiet evening at home after the stress of the afternoon. When I pointed out that the adults were the only ones who had been stressed, Ian jumped in to protest that things were moving quickly for Rose, and she needed more time to get to know me. I replied that was precisely the point of our dinner.

Finally, after a fair amount of negotiation, I agreed to bring Rose home within ninety minutes. Even then, Harriet again stood by the front door like a sentry, telling Rose in a voice that sounded gruffer than usual that she was looking forward to working with Rose on her Chinese characters as soon as she returned. When we reached my car and I went to help Rose into the backseat, I noticed Harriet was still watching us.

Now I'm finally alone with my client.

It's time to start taking her measure.

"Rose, this menu is huge." I lift up the double-sided, laminated sheet. "Should we get one of everything?"

Rose doesn't lift her head. I study her face, noticing her eyelashes are the same fiery shade of red as her hair.

"I think I'll go for the Nutella waffles. If you've never had it, it's a delicious chocolate hazelnut spread."

Rose's crayon makes several heavy lines on the paper menu, crossing out letters in her puzzle.

The waitress swings by. "Have you ladies decided?"

"I'd love an iced tea." I think about what Ian told me about slipping Rose treats now and then. "How about a root beer, Rose?"

No reaction.

The waiter looks at Rose, then at me, the smile edging away from her face.

"We'll take a root beer," I say. "And could we have one Nutella waffle and one with fresh strawberries?"

"Would you like whipped cream with your waffles?" the waitress asks.

I shrug. "Why not?"

I spend the next few minutes employing different tactics to get Rose's attention. Her affect feels different from when I first met her. Before, she was remote. Now I can feel hostility emanating off her.

No matter what I do or say, I can't get her to look at me. She's bent over her place mat, thickening lines with her crayon until the letters are completely obliterated.

When our drinks and meals are delivered, Rose jerks her place mat out from beneath her waffle so she can continue working on the word search.

I cut a piece of my waffle and offer it to her. It's golden brown and crispy-looking, with melted Nutella dripping off it. "Want some?"

Rose looks up at me for the first time.

She seems to consider my offer, then reaches out her hand. But instead of accepting the piece I've cut for her, she sweeps her arm into her glass of root beer, sending its contents splashing onto the table and into my lap. The glass rolls off the table and crashes to the floor, shattering into a dozen pieces.

The shock of icy liquid makes me gasp and leap up.

A few nearby diners turn to look as the waitress runs over with a handful of napkins.

I mop myself off while the waitress bends down to soak up the puddle of soda on the floor. A busboy arrives a moment later with a broom and dustpan.

"Sorry for the mess," I tell them.

Rose is watching. I can't believe it when I glimpse her expression.

A small smile flits across her face.

A beat later my body coils as I realize Rose is surrounded by potential weapons—the shards of glass that hit the floor and the knife at her place setting.

Then I realize there's no way Rose could have gotten another glass dagger. She didn't move from her seat. And her dull silver knife with a slightly serrated blade is still resting on the table.

Of course, she has much sharper implements in her jewelry box. And Rose's coat has pockets. She could have brought something.

She's only a little girl. Harriet's words echo in my mind.

Rose is clearly troubled, but it's my own past and unresolved trauma that makes me feel so unsettled, I tell myself. My jeans are clinging to me, sticky and cold, and I'm glad that the hoop earring is in an inner pocket of my bag now.

I sit down across from Rose again and decide to address the issue head on. Rose may be young, but her intellect is sophisticated. And the truth is, I'm out of other options. "It's obvious you're angry with me, Rose. And maybe you don't completely trust me. But I hope you understand I'm trying to do what's best for you."

Rose puts down her crayon and lifts her head. She stares me directly in the eye.

Ashley's words spring into my mind: It's like she turned into a different kid.

Now it's happening again. The polite, shy girl I met only a few days ago has vanished.

Rose looks like she hates me. It's as if a switch has been flipped in her.

She shoves her paper placement toward me. Nearly all of the letters in the puzzle have been covered.

Only a few remain. They're scattered through the puzzle so it takes me a moment to make sense of them.

When I do, a vise squeezes my chest.

Rose has created her own message to me. It's similar to one Tina received a few days before she died.

The letters spell out GO AWAY .