Page 23 of The Thinnest Air
Sick.
“Understandable,” Connie says, wincing. “How are you dealing with everything?”
“One day at a time,” he replies without pause. “That’s all I can do. I stay in contact with the police. My phone is on me at all times in case she calls. We’re doing everything we can to find her.”
“Do the police have any leads?” she asks.
He hesitates again—a dramatic pause? “No, Connie. They don’t. And that’s why we agreed to do this interview. Someone out there knows something.”
Connie turns to the camera. “I understand there’s a dedicated tip line, is that correct? And you’re offering a reward? One hundred thousand dollars for the safe return of Meredith?”
Andrew begins to speak, but Mom cuts him off.
“Yes to both,” she answers. God forbid she doesn’t get equal screen time. “And the tip line is manned day and night. Someone will always answer. And they can call the Glacier Park Police Department as well. They’ll put them through to someone immediately.”
Andrew squeezes Mom’s hand, whispering a quiet, “Thank you.”
“Greer,” Connie says, somehow knowing my name, “as Meredith’s older sister, how are you handling all this?”
I hate her stupid, trite question. What does she expect? How am I supposed to answer this?
“Greer.”My mother whips around, visually nudging me to answer.
“How the hell do you think I’m holding up?” I want to reply to Connie’s question with one of my own.
“How about instead of asking ushowwe’re doing, ask uswhatwe’re doing to find Meredith?” I ask.
Connie’s eyes flit from mine to Andrew’s, then to my mother’s.
“Greer, you may excuse yourself from this interview,” Mom says.
Apparently I’m fourteen, and she’s Mother of the Year.
Without saying a word, I leave the living room with the intention of locking myself up in the guest room—not because she told me to, but because I can’t stand being a part of this circus.
And I need to think.
I don’t need to be sitting on a sofa with millions of eyes on me. I’ll leave that to them.
My sister will know I’m trying my hardest to find her. I shouldn’t have to shed a forced tear on national television and subject myself to public scrutiny to prove that.
Our heartbreak is not entertainment, and I won’t be distraught on national television so Connie Mayweather’s show can get ratings.
I utter a silent apology to my sister as I head for the stairs. TV interview or not, I’m still going to find her.
“Greer.” Ronan stands in the entryway of the Price manse.
I’d act surprised, but I suspect I’m going to be seeing a lot of him from now on.
“Hey.” His lips pull back for a second, revealing his straight pearly teeth. “Been trying to get hold of Andrew for the past hour. He isn’t answering.”
I huff. So much for Andrew keeping his phone on him at all times in case Meredith calls.
“He’s making his national television debut with Connie Mayweather.” I nod toward the living room. “Camera makeup, Armani suit, the works.”
Ronan doesn’t find any of this humorous. His hands on his hips, he watches from the foyer, observing Andrew with quiet tenacity.
“If he wasn’t so obsessed with my sister and she wasn’t so damn in love with him, I’d be making damn sure your fingers were pointed in his direction right now.” I keep my voice low.
