TEN

MEREDITH

NOW

I raced through the house, trying to pick up the mess we’d made before we’d left. Everything was in disarray because we’d gone so quickly. We definitely weren’t prepared for guests. The guest room was cluttered with things we wanted to sell in our garage sale, but they’d been stacked in the corner for the last two years. Scott was carrying them out to the garage while I made up the bed. I’d left Abbi and Kate sitting awkwardly on the couch next to each other downstairs. Kate had started crying almost every time she had tried talking to Abbi, and it was crushing to watch.

Where did I put the new pillows I had bought a few months back? I’d gotten two on sale at Target. Where were they? I was so scatterbrained. None of us had gotten any sleep since yesterday. Scott had insisted on driving through the night, convinced getting to California and back home was the key to getting Kate stable. Marcos and the other officers hadn’t gotten anywhere with her for the last three days we’d spent in Montana. The doctors had diagnosed her with acute posttraumatic stress disorder with depressive features. Basically it meant she alternated between being agitated with fear and sobbing inconsolably. The goal was to help her feel safe by surrounding her with familiar things.

But I didn’t know how any of us were supposed to feel safe when two unmarked squad cars sat in front of our house, and a team of FBI agents and officers were setting up their office in our dining room. Were they planning on staying up all night? Where would I put them to sleep if they weren’t?

I gave up on finding the missing pillows and headed to our bedroom to grab the extra ones in my closet instead. The master bedroom had changed as much as the rest of the house. I hadn’t wanted to erase Kate from the house, but there was no way I could go to bed every night with the framed photo of the two of them exchanging rings on their wedding day staring back at me, or the one above the dresser with Kate’s naked body swollen in pregnancy and Scott behind her with his arms circled underneath her. Those were the first to go, followed by the rest of their professional wedding photos scattered around the house. I’d cleaned out her closet next because I needed a place for my clothes. We had packed her things in lined fabric boxes just like we’d filled her coffin with her violin, letters, and photos when we’d buried her. They’d been moved to the garage and hadn’t been touched in years.

Other things followed from there. We updated the kitchen almost immediately after I moved in. They’d been planning on doing it right before Kate went missing, so it was in desperate need of help by then. I talked Scott into gutting the entire thing, and I’d gotten the kitchen of my dreams. But what would Kate think of it? It was a far cry from her traditional, farmhouse-style kitchen.