Page 75 of The Thinnest Air
“Yes,” I say, picking at a loose thread on Harris’s sofa. “It has.”
“I’m so sorry to hear about the situation with your sister,” Deborah says. “I’ve been watching the news every day, trying to stay on top of the story, but unfortunately there doesn’t seem to be much to stay on top of lately.”
Thanks for the reminder.
“Do you know where Harris is?” I cut to the chase.
I’m met with silence. She knows something; I know she does.
“I need to find him,” I say. “He’s not answering his phone, and Jake at Steam says he hasn’t heard from him in days. I’d been speaking to him on the phone almost every day while I was gone, and he led me to believe he was still in New York running the stores ... but he lied to me, Deborah. And I need to find him. I need to know why he lied.”
She exhales. “Oh, Greer. I ... I don’t want to get involved.”
“Deborah.”I say her name with force and grit. “I know you talk every day. Where is he?”
“Yes,” she says. “We speak often, but not every day. We spoke a few days ago, matter of fact. I guess I just assumed he was at home.”
Massaging my temple, I draw in a breath of stale apartment air and let it go. “Do you have any idea where he might be? Any idea at all?”
“I wouldn’t even begin to know where he’d run off to.” She speaks of him like he’s some playful, elfin child.
“If he did something ...,” I say, voice trembling. Heat creeps up my neck, blooming to my ears. Never once did the notion that Harris had anything to do with Meredith’s disappearance cross my mind. Until now it had been an absolute impossibility. Anyway, I don’t know if he’s with my sister. All I know is he’s gone and she’s gone, and there are no such things as coincidences. “If he had anything to do with my sister’s disappearance and you’re withholding information that could lead to her, you’re going—”
“My son wouldnevercause harm to a woman.” Deborah’s voice is raised, drenched in a shrill tone she’s never taken with me. “To even suggest that, Greer, is just ...”
“Fine,” I say. “If you’re so convinced he didn’t do anything wrong, then tell me where to look for him.”
She pauses, mulling over her answer, perhaps, and then she exhales. “There’s our family cabin in Vermont.”
I remember.
The first year we dated, he was trying to impress me with his survivalist skills, and we road-tripped it to Rushing, Vermont, where his family owned a basic cabin that had been in the family for generations. It had running water and indoor plumbing, a fireplace, but no AC. The house was seldom used, smelled like mildew, and was nestled on a mosquito-infested lake, but we had a blast.
Then again, we were in love. We would’ve had the time of our lives anywhere.
“You think he went there?” I ask.
“A few months ago, he was asking if anyone was going to be using the cabin this month. He was itching for a vacation, said he’d been working too much and wanted to disconnect,” she says. “Now that I think about it, I told him it was all his, and he said he’d get back to me, but he never did. I just assumed he changed his mind.”
“If you hear from him, Deborah, you need to let me know,” I say. “It’s very important.”
“Will do,” she says, but I don’t trust her.
I’d tell her my sister’s life is on the line, but she’d probably laugh. Her perfect, God’s-gift son, a born and bred feminist, would never so much as lay a hand on the finer sex, she’d say.
“What’s the address to the cabin?” I ask before I let her go.
She hesitates before exhaling. “Seventy-three Goodwin Road in Rossford Township, but I can assure you he isn’t there.”
“Then where is he?”
“Like I said, Greer, I don’t know. But I doubt he’s at the cabin. He would’ve said something.”
“Please let me know if you hear from him.” Ending the call, I type the address into my phone before I forget it; I save it before dialing Ronan. Ronan and Harris are complete strangers. If Harris is involved in this, if he ran off with my sister, I need someone to help track them down, someone as desperate as I am to find her. Someone who can make sense of all this because I’m sick with confusion.
“So what do you think?” I ask Ronan after word vomiting every minute detail of the last two hours of my life.
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” he says, breaking his silence. “And for the love of God, don’t go out there alone. Wait for me.”
