“Yes,” I said, making sure my request sounded professional. “I’m looking for one of your guests.” I figured I’d start small, then try to expand—to find out how long he’d been staying here.

“Name?” he asked, hands poised over his keyboard.

“Coleman,” I said, “C-O—”

His hands dropped, and his smile disappeared. “Let me stop you right there. I’ve already told the rest of you people this, we’re not giving out any information—”

“Olivia?”

I turned around and saw Nathan Coleman walk through the same doors I’d just passed through.

“Hi,” I said, trying to catch my bearings. This receptionist had been implying that others were asking after Sean Coleman—probably media. He would’ve had to hand over any details to the police, but they’d probably warned him not to talk to the press, as they had to me.

“Were you looking for me?” Nathan asked.

“Yes,” I said. And then, turning to the receptionist, “Looks like I found him.”

The man’s face fell, and for a second it seemed that neither of us had known there was a different Coleman currently staying at the hotel.

As I walked toward Nathan, sirens started up in the distance, coming closer. I tensed, imagining police cars pulling into this lot. Nathan turned, too, so we were both looking through the glass doors as the ambulance went by, continuing on. Toward the campgrounds and the mountains beyond.

“I forget sometimes that there are emergencies happening every day,” Nathan said. “That people everywhere are getting the worst news of their lives. Or the best. Makes me feel a little better to remember.”

Like it was all a cycle and we were just a small part of it. “Me, too,” I said, though I’d never thought about it that way.

“There’s a café here in the hotel, just around the corner. The coffee is adequate, but the beer is better. Want to head there?”

“Sure,” I said, following him down the hall. “I wasn’t sure if you would still be in town. How long are you staying?”

“As long as it takes,” he said, peering back at me. Nathan had purpose, and you could see it in every movement. It made him seem older, that he knew what he wanted. And right now he wanted the person who’d killed his father to pay. He implied that he would stay until then. I had no doubt he would make that happen.

“I wasn’t sure if you had people waiting for you back home,” I said. I didn’t notice a wedding ring on his hand, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a wife, or kids, or a serious girlfriend.

He slowed as we approached the counter. “Well, my dog will be pissed about it, I’m sure.” He gave me half a smile. “But my neighbor’s taking care of things. Luckily, I work for myself. I’m taking some time.”

I picked the same beer that Nathan ordered, not caring either way—I didn’t plan on drinking it—and followed him to an empty café table in the back corner. There were a few other people scattered around the room, but no one seemed to be paying attention.

“I need to tell you something,” I said as soon as we were seated. I needed to guide the conversation, control where it led. It was better to hear it from me.

“All right,” he said, taking a long sip.

“I found a letter from your father in my mailbox. I didn’t see it until today. I called the detective—she has it now.”

He didn’t answer at first, just watched me with an intensity that made me look away. “What did it say?” he finally asked.

“Just that he wanted to talk to me. I didn’t know who he was until I heard his name. But when the detective shared his identity with me, I did know, Nathan. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you from the start, but I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. I hadn’t seen him in twenty years, but he was there the night he died because of me.”

Then, as he silently listened, I told him everything. About who I was and how I’d changed my name, leaving it all behind me. How I hadn’t heard from Sean Coleman ever since, and hadn’t recognized him when I saw him. That I didn’t know why he’d come to see me after all this time.

When I finished talking, he didn’t change his expression or his body language. Didn’t push back or pull forward. “I remember when it happened. I was nine,” he said.

I tried to picture it, his family watching at home, seeing Sean on the news, holding me up. I’d never pictured the people beyond the screen. It was an event that bonded us all together, stretching further than we could see.

“Did he ever . . . talk about me?” I asked, breaking the silence.

“No, like I said, we weren’t close. It wasn’t something he liked to talk about. My parents got divorced not long after, and I lived with my mom in Lexington, mostly. I didn’t grow up in that area. Didn’t visit much. When I did, he didn’t mention it.” He took another sip. “Never did like the spotlight.”

The opposite of my mother, then.

Except both of us were next of kin to people we didn’t have much of a connection with anymore. I felt suddenly hollow that neither Sean Coleman nor my mother had someone closer willing to claim them.

“What about your mom? Were they still in contact?”

He let out a single bite of laughter. “No. No way. My mom remarried, got herself a whole new life, and never looked back. I’ve got three younger half siblings now, all in high school.”

“Must be nice,” I said. Even though he was estranged from his father, at least he had them close by.

“They’re all right,” he said with a grin. “Listen, I’m supposed to meet up with Detective Rigby soon. She called, said she’d be stopping by later. I wonder if this is what it’s about.”

“Probably,” I said, relieved that I’d run into him. Relieved that I could tell him first. “I should probably leave you be, then.” I stood, even though I’d barely touched the drink.

He stood, too, holding out his hand. Almost like he was offering to shake my hand, but instead he just clasped it in his grip. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for telling me.”

Of all the things people said when the truth of my past came out, this was the first time someone had reacted that way.

TRANSCRIPT OF 911 CALL FOR SERVICE

DATE: OCTOBER 17, 2000

TIME STAMP: 5:52 A.M.

DISPATCH: 911. What’s your emergency?

CALLER, UNKNOWN MALE: Uh, I think something’s happening next door.

D: Sir? What’s happening next door?

C: I don’t know. My neighbor is screaming. She’s screaming for her little girl. I think she’s missing. I don’t know, I was outside getting ready for work and she just came running out, screaming.

D: Can I get your name, please?

C: Stuart. Stuart Goss.

D: Mr. Goss, what is your location?

C: [ADDRESS REDACTED] I’m heading over there now. Laurel? Laurel, what’s going on? What happened?

CHAPTER 21

Wednesday, 4 a.m.

THE RINGING PHONE JARRED me from sleep, and my heart was racing in a panic—like I might find myself outside again, hearing a phone, standing over a body in the grass. I sat upright as it rang once more, the shadows of my bedroom furniture orienting me. The stuffy room; the door closed with a lock up high; the window latched shut. It was still so dark, no sign of morning.