“Good point,” he replied.
Jamie had been one of the few people who stayed in touch after high school. We’d bonded over shared history more than proximity, mutual memories that didn’t need explaining.
“Did you tell your mom where you’re working?” he asked.
“Of course. I don’t hide anything from her,” I said.
“And she didn’t lose it?” he chuckled.
“She’s acting like she’s holding it together. She knows I need to do this. It’s been six years. I need answers,” I explained.
“I know,” he said solemnly. “But it’s going to be hard.”
I tightened my grip on the wheel. “I’m okay.”
He didn’t push. Jamie never did, and I didn’t open up either. Obviously it was hard returning to the town where I last saw my best friend.
“You’re working at the Thorne orchard, right? The place is called Maple Valley.”
“That’s the one,” I chimed.
He hesitated. “You know that land belongs to the police director.”
“I know,” I said.
“And you’re still going?” he asked with surprise.
“Yes.” I tried to hide the exasperation from my tone. “I did my research.”
Another pause. “Of course you did. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“I’m banking on it,” I replied. “This whole situation with Sophie has consumed me.”
He sighed. “I know, you haven’t been the same since it happened. It would be nice to have the old Claire back.”
“Jamie,” I swallowed hard. His words had caught me off guard. I knew my family and old friends worried about me but they tried to hide it and did a pretty darn good job. I thought about Sophie. About six years of unanswered questions. About files that went nowhere because there was nothing solid to chase.
“I think being there will be good for me. And maybe I’ll find answers. Maybe I can finally bring Sophie peace,” my voice trailed.
“Maybe,” he said sounding worried.
“There must be a reason why her disappearance stayed buried,” I said cryptically.
Jamie didn’t say anything for a moment. “Call me if it gets heavy,” he finally said.
“I will.” Most of my friends found it eerie the way I spoke about Sophie’s disappearance. I knew they were sad to lose her and considered it a tragedy but it also seemed they were happy to move on. It was me who had a hard time letting go.
I hung up just as the orchard came into view, rows of trees stretching back into the distance, neat and orderly, the land open in a way that felt deliberate. I slowed, scanning for a sign, a building, anything that said this is where you’re supposed to go. I’d barely cut the engine when someone stepped out from between the trees. I slammed on the brakes out of instinct, gravel spraying as the car jerked to a stop. He didn’t move. Just stood there in the middle of the orchard road, hands on his hips, watching my hood stop far too close to his legs.
I rolled down the window. “Are you serious?”
He glanced at my tires, then back at me. Calm. Annoyingly calm.
“You always drive like that on private property?” he asked, his voice deep and gravelly.
“I didn’t see you,” I snapped. “There’s a curve. And no sign. And you’re standing in the middle of the road.”
“Looks like a road,” he said. “Walks like a road.”