I nodded at the knowledge I was British but had lived in Maine for years, instinctively certain Maya was telling the truth, not a doubt in my empty mind. No wonder I’d recognized the number plate on the trailer and figured it was home. “But I left? When?”

“Two years ago.”

“Where did I go?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why did I leave?”

“I don’t know that, either.” She glanced at the house again, and somehow, this time I wasn’t quite sure I believed her.

8

MAYA

I couldn’t believe Ash was here, or that the girl from the gas station had actually called. I’d found him. I’d finally found him. Ash was home.

When he’d first phoned me, I’d been asleep on the sofa, felt groggy when I’d answered my cell, but as soon as he’d said “hello” there had been no doubt it was Ash. I’d have recognized his voice if he’d whispered the single word from ten miles away in a hurricane.

Ash hadn’t used his old cell to make the call, and I knew this because he’d left it on the kitchen table the day he’d walked out, along with a scribbled note saying, Take care of yourself, Maya, on the back of a receipt from the hardware store, and an envelope with over a grand inside. Ash had never been officially declared missing by the police. As he’d taken a suitcase full of clothes, his wallet, his truck, and there was no evidence of foul play or anything suspicious about his departure, I was told there was nothing they could do. That hasn’t stopped me from searching as often and desperately as I could without ever finding anything. And now, two years later, he’d contacted me.

After we’d been disconnected, I’d frantically dialed back the number he’d called from, listened to the line ring and ring on the other end. When it stopped, I’d tried again, and a third time, but it remained unanswered until, finally, someone picked up. It wasn’t a man I recognized, and when he’d told me he was standing at a pay phone in Falmouth, and had given me the address, I’d jumped in my car, breaking every traffic law to get there. Except I hadn’t found Ash. I’d walked around the gas station, shouting his name, harassing passersby with photos on my phone I thrust into their faces, demanding have you seen this man, before doing the same with the store clerk, who shrugged and said she hadn’t seen him, either.

“My shift just started but trust me,” she added with a smirk, looking at the photo of Ash far longer than she needed to, “I’d remember a guy like him.”

“Will you call me if he comes here? Right away? I’ll give you my name and number.”