I cross to Cameron’s closet, where half a dozen dresses have been pushed to the back. Mostly I see jeans and T-shirts, hoodies and plaid flannel. She likes black and gray and red, Converse low-tops, and high-necked raglan sweaters. Tomboy things. I reach for the hem of a red-checked shirt that looks worn and well loved. It’s so intimate, being here among her things. I have the strongest urge to apologize to her.

Emily has come up behind me and gathers one of Cameron’s sweaters into her arms, as if with enough warmth and attention she might bring it to life. “I’m trying to prepare myself for the worst, but it’s killing me. If someone’s hurt her, or—” She takes a gulping breath of air. “Do you think it could have been one of my fans? If it’s my fault I just don’t know how I’ll live with myself.”

“Let’s try not to go there,” I tell her. “If this is a gambit for your attention, more than likely there’d be a ransom note or some sort of message for you specifically.”

“That makes sense,” she says, seeming slightly reassured.

“There’s still a lot we don’t know, obviously. Let’s just try to take this one step at a time.”

“I keep thinking I’ll wake up,” Emily says, her voice full of knots. “That she’ll walk through the door and I’ll know it was all a nightmare.”

“I know,” I say quietly.

“What you were talking about before, the abandonment issues, I never really thought about that with Troy and me. Or maybe I did, and just pushed it all away.”

I nod to encourage her.

“I should have been more open with Cameron, should have talked to her more. When I was Cameron’s age, my father had an affair with someone from our country club in Bowling Green. In northern Ohio. That’s where I grew up.” She shakes her head, her eyes cloudy, full of unresolved feelings. “Everyone knew he was fooling around. It was horrible.”

“But your parents stayed married,” I guess aloud.

“My mother went off to a fat farm. When she came back we all pretended it had never happened. Six months of cottage cheese and peaches. My father gave her a sapphire tennis bracelet, but it slipped right off her wrist. She’d lost thirty pounds.”

“And then you ran to Hollywood,” I say. “You were how old then?”

“Nineteen.”

“But you never really forgave your father.” Again, I’m guessing, but would wager a lot on her answer. “What about your brother? Does he feel the same about your mom and dad?”

She drops the sleeve of Cameron’s cardigan and begins to finger a loose tortoiseshell button she’s noticed, frowning a little. “Drew has always taken care of Drew. He doesn’t look back. We never talk about those days.”