Chapters (57)
- Books by Gregg Olsen
- Dedication
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Hear More from Gregg
- Books by Gregg Olsen
- A Letter from Gregg
- Acknowledgements
I take the food home and study it carefully before I eat. I’m not super handy with chopsticks, yet somehow I think I can avoid food poisoning if I use chopsticks instead of a fork. Like a fork would tell the Walnut Chicken that I deserved to get sick.
That might not make sense to anyone, yet it does to me.
The tapes beckon as I pour the chardonnay that I hadn’t bothered to chill in the refrigerator. It’s bad, but I drink it anyway. As I sip, I lie to myself as I eat that I don’t need the drama of my own, younger life. Since I started listening to the tapes, images of my brother, mom, father have been coming back to me.
Especially my dad. My real dad. He’s the reason that I’m somewhat screwed up when it comes to love and the trust that’s needed to make it flourish. I don’t save Dan Anderson’s number in my phone. I delete his voice message after listening to it one more time.
I push PLAY on the next tape, and I’m instantly back with my little brother, trying to keep us safe.
Dr. Albright’s soothing voice recounts the date and the time. She asks me to continue, but I don’t answer. The tape hisses for what seems like a very long time.
Dr. A: Go on Rylee, you can do this.
Her voice soothes.
Leads.
I knew she wanted to help me.
Me: What if I don’t want to?
Dr. A: There isn’t a choice. We can’t free you from the past, without acknowledging it. Go on. Tell me about what happened after you got off the boat.
Me: I needed to look like Mom in order to get into the safe deposit. I had her ID and my hair was pretty much Mom-ready. I needed clothes though. I dragged Hayden to the Lost and Found office in the ferry terminal at Seattle’s Colman Dock, where I told the attendant that our mom had lost her jacket. I grabbed a bag. I still have it. It’s black leather with a fake Chanel clasp. Oh… I managed to find a white silk scarf and a pair of vintage Foster Grant sunglasses.
* * *
The clerk, a young man with an X-Acto blade-sharp nose and unibrow, looks over my ID and compares it with the signature card that he pulls from a file cabinet behind him. It seems like a very, very long time, but it was probably only a second. His hair is blond—golden, really. I wonder if my hair looks as bad as his.
“This doesn’t look like you,” he says curtly.