Page 90 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

“I got Shane’s cell number from Dana but it goes directly to voice mail just like Lily’s, so I’m guessing there’s no cell reception wherever they are. I haven’t been able to reach the Adamses by phone, either,” Clay says. “So I’m on my way to their house—they live up in Kill Devil Hills. Charlie Hatch in the sheriff’s department is reaching out to the Richmond police to ask them to be on the lookout. He’s requested what’s called an ATL, or Attempt to Locate, and promised to keep me posted. I also checked in with Kendra, but she hasn’t heard anything from Lily.”

Lauren and I exchange glances at the mention of her mother, but within seconds our eyes are back on the road. There’s little room in either of our brains for anything more than seeing where we’re going and beating back the fear about what we’ll find when we get there.

The car rattles crazily for a twenty-mile stretch between Maryland and DC. The wind’s so strong my hands hurt from gripping the steering wheel and my head throbs from trying to see through the rain.

“It’s bad enough flying in something designed to stay in the air,” Lauren whispers, her thoughts mirroring my own. “I’d be taking Xanax right now if I’d remembered to bring them.”

“The last thing we need right now is to relax. We need our wits about us.”

“Too late for that,” she says. “I’m starting to feel like this car. I don’t have any cylinders firing.”

It takes a few minutes to notice that the car is shimmyingless violently. I straighten and loosen my grip on the wheel slightly. “Do you feel that?”

“The wind,” Lauren says. “I think it’s starting to drop.”

I’m still peering through the windshield. For the first time I see moving shapes in the distance. “And the rain’s letting up some. Or am I imagining it?”

When I loosen my grip a little more, the car doesn’t careen into another lane. I exhale the breath I feel like I’ve been holding for hours.

For a few minutes we just breathe.

Lauren puts her hand on my arm. “I really do believe everything’s going to be okay. And being positive isn’t going to hurt or jinx anything. We’ll deal with whatever happens together.”

I draw in another less-shaky breath. “Thanks. I know. You’re right. It’s just...”

“Yeah.”

We both jump when the phone rings. “You’re on speaker, Clay,” Lauren says again. “What have you got?”

“The Adamses weren’t as receptive as they might have been. Their son told them he was going up to the family cabin on the Mattaponi River to fish with some of his friends, and they see no reason to believe otherwise despite the horrible weather. They confirmed that there’s no reception at the cabin or the area around it. I’m texting you the address right now.”

The address dings in to my phone. Lauren presses the screen a few times and Waze begins to reset itself as Clay continues, “I’ve just filled up the truck and I’m on 158. I look to be about two and a half to three hours away. Kendra and Jake may be ahead of me. They insisted on coming.”

“We’re under two hours now,” Lauren says. “So we should get there first.”

I press my foot down on the accelerator and the tin car jumps forward. For the first time since we picked it up I actually wish itcouldfly.

At last, we turn off Highway 360 and into an area that was once woods and farmland, but now contains pockets of civilization and new development. It’s three thirty in the afternoon. The rain is a steady drizzle that falls on us and splatters the narrow paved road that curves past the occasional mobile home or derelict barn or burned-out building. Even smaller roads appear to branch off and lead toward the river that we glimpse between trees and vines. Other roads are dirt driveways with mailboxes. Most of these have wooden signs with owner’s names carved into them nailed to a tree or fence post.

“There it is.” Lauren points to a crude sign that reads simplyADAMS #142and we turn onto a smaller, rutted road. The ground is soft and pockmarked with pools of rainwater. Tree limbs and branches litter the ground. One huge oak is split down one side from a lightning strike. The river has risen and sloshed over the bank, but it hasn’t reached the cabin.

The cabin sits in a clearing facing the river. It looks tired and worn, sagging from exhaustion. The gray sky doesn’t help. At first I’m afraid that no one’s there. But then I see a mud-spattered red pickup parked at the far edge of the clearing.

Light shines through several windows and there’s a flicker of what must be a television. There may not be cell reception here but at least there’s electricity. I don’t know what we’re going to find inside. If there was ever a party it’s over. If a group of guys came fishing they all fit inside that red truck. The only boat is an ancient canoe sitting upside down near the truck.

“How do you want to play this?” Lauren asks as we climb out of the car, our backs stiff and our legs cramped from the drive.

“Play what?”

“Do you think we should do good cop, bad cop? You can be the good cop if you want.”

“We’re here to get Lily and take her home. I’m just going tobe the mom cop. You can be the ‘auntie’ cop. If you need to have a role to play.”

I square my shoulders and we walk to the cabin and up the sagging steps to the sagging front porch. The fear and adrenaline that got me through the drive are jangling inside me, building inexorably. I need to know that Lily is okay.

With one last deep breath I rap on the front door, which has also seen better days. I’m about to knock again when footsteps thud across a wood floor. The door opens and a tall, lanky boy of about seventeen stares out at us. He’s got a halo of blond hair, wide-set blue eyes, and even, almost delicate, features. But his eyes are wary and the expression on his face is nowhere close to angelic. His body blocks the opening and the rest of the room from view. I feel Lauren shifting her weight onto the balls of her feet. Slowly she pulls something out of her pocket. I have to crane my neck to look the boy in the eye. I’m not tall enough to look over his shoulder.

“Shane?”

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