The long way back, p.10
The Long Way Back, page 10
“What’s his name?” Charlie finally manages.
Peter still looks uneasy. “I don’t know.”
“How long have they been dating?”
“A couple months? Look, Charlie, I really don’t know. I don’t pay too much attention to the love lives of the kids who work for me. But I also can’t help but overhear conversations in the kitchen. Eva was definitely seeing someone.”
Charlie’s heart is a fist in her chest, clenched and aching. “Do you know anything at all about him? What he looks like? Where he lives? Does he go to Landing High?”
Peter is already shaking his head. “I can’t tell you anything. I never saw her with him and she never talked to me directly about him. You could try Lennon. I think she and Eva were pretty tight. They worked a lot of shifts together and liked to talk.”
Lennon is a name that Charlie has never heard before, but she leaves with a scrap of paper printed with the girl’s cell phone number. In the alley, she leans against the cool bricks and swallows huge mouthfuls of air until her breaths turn into sobs. She’s alone on the gravel drive with the dumpsters and the weeds, and she finally lets go, crying until there are no tears left.
Beyond a work buddy, Eva has no real friends. Of that, Charlie feels absolutely certain. If her daughter had to make up meetings with Piper and pretend that the popular blonde was her bestie, it has to be the closet, most meaningful connection Eva has—even if it’s just an illusion.
But, Eva does have a boyfriend. A secret boyfriend that she talked to her coworkers about and never once mentioned to her mother. They’d been together for months. Months? Who was this boy? And why didn’t Eva think she could tell Charlie about him?
The road hadn’t ruined everything. Roots had. They should have never come to Landing.
Charlie wants to throw things, to punch the brick wall—even if it is the only thing holding her up—or yank the cheerful sapling growing beside her out of the ground. She wants to break something, just to feel it crumble in her hands, because the destruction inside of her feels so terrible and absolute. Charlie fears that even finding Eva healthy and whole won’t mend what has been torn. Of course, she’d give everything she has and ravage the world itself to make sure her daughter is still safely in it somewhere. But she knows in her soul that nothing will ever be the same.
God, being a mother is agony, Charlie thinks. Bittersweet and aching and inexpressibly beautiful. And hard. Never mind the raw indignity of pregnancy and birth, from the moment Eva’s tiny fingers curled around the very tip of her thumb—the nails translucent and tiny as a grain of rice—Charlie was no longer her own person but wholly her daughter’s. It was as if she existed for the sole purpose of being Eva’s sun, the center of her universe and the axis she would spend her life orbiting around. But that was never true. From almost that very first spark of contact, Eva has been slowly slipping away. In that brightly lit delivery room, her diminutive hand held her mother’s for a second, two, and then she broke the connection, flung her skinny arms overhead, and screamed.
Motherhood is push and pull, back and forth, I love you even when you disobey, walk away, keep secrets. Maybe especially then, Charlie thinks, because I know you. I know you like I know the rhythms of my own body. A mother doesn’t have to think about it, the innate knowledge of her child in the world is a part of who she is. Until it isn’t. Until one day you wake up and there’s an entire cosmos contained in your child’s eyes, a galaxy you do not have a map to.
They should be together, the Sutton Girls, on the road. None of this would be happening if they were in the Adirondacks, watching the mist evaporate in the morning sun. Or the Poconos, Cumberland Island, Havasupai.
Charlie dries her tears with the sleeves of her sweater, readjusts her baseball cap, and steps out of the alley. Keeping her head down, she hurries past the large side windows of Mugs, digging for the keys to Mack’s truck in her pocket as she goes. She doesn’t want to see anyone else—to bump into one of Eva’s coworkers or some random acquaintance who might tell her more things she doesn’t want to hear.
Charlie is so intent on getting in the truck and going home, that she doesn’t realize a crowd has formed on the sidewalk until she nearly bowls over a little boy clutching his mother’s hand. At least thirty people have gathered, and no one notices her because their attention is all focused on a woman at the heart of the small mob. Charlie falters, trying to make sense of the spectacle before her. It’s only when she sees that there’s a CNN field van parked by the curb that everything clicks into place.
“I’m standing in front of Mugs Cafe, a busy diner and beloved community fixture in Landing, Minnesota,” an attractive woman with a neat chignon and a dove-gray suit says into a microphone. “Mugs is also the place where high school senior Evangeline Sutton works part-time as a waitress. Many people—especially in the hiking and outdoors community—are familiar with Evangeline as the titular Eva of the popular Instagram account Eva Explores. Eva and her mother, Charlie, spent two and a half years crisscrossing the continent and sharing their adventures as well-known Instagram influencers. But now, it seems that Eva is missing.”
Charlie’s ears begin to ring, and she can’t hear the rest of what the reporter with the perfect hair is saying. She has to get out of here, now, before someone realizes that Eva’s mother is only feet away from where a live broadcast is being filmed. She can’t explain why she’s here, not in a way that would make sense. How could she let this happen? How could she let any of this happen?
Tripping over her own two feet, Charlie tries to back away without causing a scene. But it’s too late. Someone has already turned and realized that she’s lurking at the edge of the crowd, and a swell of whispers ripples toward her. When the reporter turns her head a fraction of an inch and they make eye contact, Charlie knows she’s in trouble. She tries to flee, but not before the reporter points and a husky cameraman swings the slick camcorder her way.
“Charlotte Sutton!” the reporter calls. “Do you know where Eva is? Is it true that she went missing on Lake Superior? Where are the police focusing their investigation? Have any persons of interest been named?”
By the time Charlie rounds the corner of the building, the whispers have grown to shouts. She’s not sure if they’re yelling at her or the reporter, but she doesn’t intend to stay and find out. Sprinting down the block, she doesn’t pause to look back or check if they’re following. She’s fast, and they can’t move easily—not with the van and the equipment and the press of the crowd.
But when she turns down a side street, there’s a car at her heels. For a moment she thinks about trying to outrun it, zigzagging through backyards and over fences, but that’s insane. She’s not a criminal. Just a mom who wants her daughter back.
Charlie slows and glances at the car. The tinted window is already rolling down.
“Get in, Charlie,” Agent Turner says from the passenger seat.
Detective James is behind the wheel, and for a moment Charlie wavers. But then someone hits the locks and she can hear the invitation in the snick of metal. It’s a tempting getaway. Somewhere behind her there is a reporter and a camera rolling, a group of people who may or may not think that she had something to do with her daughter’s disappearance. She’s not sure what to do with James and Turner, but they’re better than what’s waiting for her back at Mugs.
Swinging open the back door, Charlie slides in. Almost immediately, Detective James pulls away, tires squealing.
It’s quiet for a minute in the temperature-controlled hush of the dark sedan. But then Agent Turner slings his arm over the seat back and levels a stony look at her. “Where have you been?”
Charlie’s too numb to respond. She’s breathing heavy, and her head is pounding from tears and hunger. She can’t even meet his gaze.
“Fine. You can tell us about your field trip later. But now we need to talk.” Agent Turner sounds much colder than he did just a few hours ago. “We’ve found something.”
INSTAGRAM POST #500
Not only does today mark our one-year anniversary on the road, it also commemorates our five hundredth post! We still can’t believe that this is our life, and that you are our traveling buddies and sweet community. Thank you, thank you for following us this far—we wouldn’t be here without you. And where exactly is here? Can you guess? Our favorite Little Mermaid has always loved orcas, and since our passports came through and it’s orca season in British Columbia, we hightailed it north for some super, natural BC vibes (yes, that’s their provincial slogan, and you’d better believe we got it on a bumper sticker). We hopped on a BC Ferry in Horseshoe Bay (just north of Vancouver on the Sea to Sky Highway—highly recommended) and spent a few nights in stunning Victoria (more on that soon). Then, we took a smaller ferry to a secluded little island. No hookups, so Sebastian couldn’t come, but do you see what we saw? We are in awe. From the bottom of our hearts: Thank you. #supernaturalbc #hellobc #orcas #evaexplores
Always take the long way back,
Charlie & Eva
[IMAGE CONTENTS: A bright orange kayak cuts through glacier-blue water. A girl with long, dark hair curling over her shoulders holds a yellow oar across her lap. She’s grinning from ear to ear. On both sides of the kayak, the sleek black-and-white bodies of orcas arc out of the water.]
British Columbia was extraordinary. From the moment they crossed the border at the iconic Peace Arch between Blaine, Washington, and Surrey, BC, Charlie and Eva felt a unique connection to the province, the people, and most important, the place. Maybe it was because the geography reminded them of Minnesota: trees and rocky beaches and brooding skies. Or maybe they just liked the casual air, the way everyone seemed laid-back and outdoorsy—their favorite vibe. They considered staying through the end of September, or at least until it got rainy and miserable, as the locals were quick to assure them it would. But that was before everything went to hell.
Old grove forests, rugged coastline, and the charming buzz of seaplanes overhead punctuated their stay on Vancouver Island, and Charlie took notes on her phone as their neighbors in the campground encouraged them to check out Pipers Lagoon, Pacific Rim National Park Reserve, and Tofino on the far side of the island. They would have done it all if Charlie hadn’t received a message on their third night from a kayaking outfitter promising an unforgettable orca tour in exchange for some positive press.
How do you know we’re in Victoria?
Charlie messaged back. She didn’t want to be standoffish, but the last thing they had posted was a picture in the sand dunes of Wisconsin taken over a week ago. No one should have been able to suss out where they’d gone next.
Don’t mean to be a creeper, but I’m friends with one of the groundskeepers at the campground where you’re staying. She recognized your Airstream.
—Jett
Charlie clicked through to the Instagram profile. Majestic Island Sea Kayaking was a legit company with what seemed like a good track record. They had a thousand followers and a handful of great pictures, including one of five grinning twentysomethings with tattoos and longish hair pulled back from their faces with leather bands. They seemed wholesome and fun-loving, and since seeing orcas was the point of their Canadian sojourn, Charlie accepted.
Charlie and Eva loaded their backpacks, dragged the tent out of storage, and left Scout with the camp manager for their twenty-four-hour excursion. They had to take a little walk-on ferry that was more private boat than public transit, and that wove between a scattering of smaller islands en route to their final destination: a spit of land with a sharp cliff jutting out of the sea on one side and a dense, evergreen forest on the other. A lacy mist hovered just above the water when they pulled up to the only dock, and as they stepped through the damp clouds and onto the mossy boards, Charlie felt like they had sailed straight into a thin place. It was timeless here, sacred somehow, and she wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised to see a longboat appear out of the fog carrying a First Nations hunting party from another age.
“Welcome! Bienvenue! Willkommen!” One of the guys from the Instagram photo greeted them with warm handshakes and bad pronunciation, and escorted them to the coarse sand beach at the end of the dock. He had blond curls, sinewy muscles, and cheekbones that could cut glass, and Charlie sensed Eva melt a little beside her. Never mind that he was clearly closer to thirty than twenty. “I’m Jett,” he said, giving them a dimpled smile, “and I already know that you’re Charlie and Eva.”
Jett, yeah right, Charlie thought, but she smiled back and let him give them the tour—though calling it a tour was a bit generous. There was a rack for a half dozen worse-for-wear kayaks, a pair of cedar pit toilets, and a hard-packed dirt path that led to a small clearing with a handful of walk-in, self-registration campsites.
“I’ve taken the liberty of registering you and setting you up in the primo site,” Jett said, reaching for Eva’s hiking pack and slinging it over one shoulder. “Rico and I will get you all settled if you’d like to take a little time to explore the island. The view from the north side is breathtaking. You can practically see all the way to Alaska.”
“We’ll set up our own site, thanks,” Charlie told him, a blister of unease bubbling just below the surface. Something didn’t feel right, and she couldn’t decide if it was the fact that they seemed to be completely alone on an isolated sliver of land with two strangers, or if it was simply the mysterious island itself. She hadn’t expected it to be quite so desolate.
“Suit yourself,” Jett said, shrugging. “The boat comes back in twenty-four hours, and in the meantime, Majestic Island is our playground. We’ll kayak in the morning, and tonight we’ll feast on sockeye salmon and Okanagan peaches.”
“It’s just us?” Charlie asked, looking around the empty clearing and realizing that there were only two small pup tents set up: presumably one for Jett and one for Rico. “I figured we’d be a part of a group.”
“We wanted to give you the royal treatment.” Jett smirked as if this was something truly special and not at all alarming. “It gets cold here early, so you can get set up and we’ll start a fire soon.”
It was cold already, and Charlie zipped her fleece all the way to her chin to ward off the chill. Beside her, Eva’s cheeks were pink, her eyes a little wide and glazed. Charlie watched her for a moment, worried about Jett and the yet-to-be-seen Rico. But then Eva swallowed hard, and Charlie knew in the way that only a mother can—Eva wasn’t lovesick, she was just plain sick.
“You okay?” she asked when Jett took off to help Rico with some unexplained task. Their guides had already swept a spot for their tent, and Charlie unrolled it with a snap of her wrists.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, are you feeling okay? You look a little off.” Charlie straightened up and shoved back her sleeve so she could lay the soft plane of her inner arm against Eva’s neck. The girl shivered. “You’re warm. Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”
“I was fine this morning,” Eva murmured. “It came on fast.”
“I have ibuprofen in my pack. I’ll get set up here and then you can rest for a while. We can skip kayaking tomorrow and head straight back. Maybe they can call the boat or—”
“I’m fine,” Eva cut in, forcing a smile. “It’ll be fine. We came here to see orcas, and that’s what we’re going to do. I just need to sleep.”
But a good night’s sleep turned out to be tricker than they’d imagined. The temperature dropped much quicker than expected, and they huddled in their tent while Jett struggled to get the fire started. When the logs finally caught, they belched smoke that clung to the low-hanging tree limbs and wreathed their tents in a thick gloom that made them cough and sputter. And dinner turned out to be cold smoked salmon and bruised peaches from a brown paper bag that Rico had to excavate from the depths of his tent. It was almost comical, how inept their guides seemed to be, and how slapdash the entire experience was. Charlie figured they’d laugh about it someday, but when deep dark descended on their tiny camp and the fire smoldered to embers, everything changed.
It was the flash of something bright and glassy in Rico’s hand, the way Jett gave Charlie a look over the orange coals and then motioned for her to come. Eva had crawled into the tent hours ago, achy and feverish, incapable of stomaching even a nibble of their cold meal. But Charlie felt too vulnerable to turn her back on the men and sat sentry in an old lawn chair between their guides and the door of their compact three-person tent.
“Come on,” Jett whispered when she didn’t budge from her post. “There’s a pod that frequents the far side of the island. Sometimes they hunt at night.”
Charlie didn’t like the idea of hiking in the dark any more than the thought of leaving Eva alone—and sick—on an uninhabited island. “I need to stay with her,” she said, hooking her thumb over her shoulder at their tent.
“Nah, she’ll be fine. We won’t be long.”
Rico materialized from the shadows and tipped Charlie out of her lawn chair with a laugh. He was heavier than his counterpart, and though his face was round and happy, the sound of his giggle set her teeth on edge. But because the two men were their only hope of getting off the island, and because she didn’t trust them enough to let them out of her sight, Charlie gave them a tight smile and fell into step behind Rico while Jett took up the rear.
The path to the other side of the island wove through dense trees and over smooth rock faces that were slick with lichen. When Charlie slipped, Jett was there to right her, his hands low on her hips in a touch that was far too casual, too familiar to make her think he was just being nice. Dread puddled in her stomach. In her thirty-some years, Charlie had been pushed up against brick walls and bathroom stalls, kissed and groped and held close against her will. She knew all too well how these things could twist into something ugly and out of control, how afterward she might wake in the morning with bruises on her wrists and scrapes in places that fingernails and belt buckles had raked across. Charlie never suffered the indignity of a 911 call or a rape kit on a cold gurney beneath glaring ER lights. But she was a woman, and all too aware of how Jett was taller, Rico bigger. They always were. They could take little bites of her and no one would ever have to know.
