The Reappearance of Rachel Price

Rachel staggered back, staring down at the ring between them.

“Bel,” she said calmly, though her eyes betrayed her. “I can explain.”

“No!” Bel shouted. “No more lies!”

“I don’t want to lie to you,” Rachel said, hands up, unarmed.

“Then don’t. What have you done to Dad? Where is he?!”

“I don’t know,” Rachel said, but Bel knew that trick all too well, blowing up Rachel’s wall so there was nothing for her to hide behind.

“You have his ring. Did you kill him, Rachel? Mom, did you kill him?”

Rachel didn’t say anything, couldn’t lie quick enough.

“He was the only one who’d never leave me.” Voice scratchy and raw as tears finally broke, rib cage empty, her heart dropping all the way, she might never get it back. “Everyone always leaves. He was the only one I had and you’ve taken him from me.”

Rachel’s eyes filled too, watching Bel split herself open. “Bel, listen—”

“No, I’m not listening to you, you’re a liar!”

“Bel.”

“Phillip Alves didn’t take you, did he?!” She wiped the tears, rebuilding the barricade, gritting her teeth. “You’d never even seen him before last night, had you?”

Rachel swallowed.

“Say it!” Bel roared.

“No.” Rachel hugged her chest, shielding it. But they were only arms and Bel could break through those. “But he tried to hurt you. I panicked. It wasn’t part of the plan, I just wanted to protect you, keep him away from you. No one touches my daughter.”

“So there is a plan?” Bel said, catching on that, holding on with both hands. “There’s always been a plan, hasn’t there? Phillip Alves didn’t take you, because no one took you. Where were you all this time?”

“Bel, I can’t—”

“Tell me where you were!” Another land mine. “You weren’t locked in a basement, so where were you?!”

“I can’t tell you!” Rachel said, Bel’s explosion setting off hers, eyes broken open. “I wouldn’t do that to you!”

“You’ve done far worse!” Bel shouted back, louder. “You left me behind in the backseat of your car! I was just a baby!”

Rachel’s head shuddered side to side, shaking free her tears. “No, Bel. I would never leave y—”

“Don’t lie!” Bel pointed at her, stabbing the air. “You borrowed three thousand dollars from Julian Tripp days before you disappeared. You chose to go!”

Rachel stepped back, the blow hitting her right in the chest, hands pressed to the wound. “No, no, that’s not—”

“Yes, you did!” Bel closed in on her. “You knew you couldn’t withdraw it yourself, because everyone would know you’d planned to run away, so you took it from Mr. Tripp. You left me! Where did you go? Did you go to Jeff’s friend Bob in Vermont for a new identity? Is that how you hid, how you knew to make it look like Dad had done the same? Why did you leave? Tell me the truth!”

Rachel winced at every shot, shrinking, eyes fast and desperate. “No, no, Bel. Please.”

“Stop saying no, tell me where you were!”

“I can’t!” Rachel shouted, coming back stronger, closing the distance. “I can’t tell you the truth! I wouldn’t do that to you. It’s my job to protect you. I can do this on my own. I was on my own for a very long time, I know how it works.”

Too entrenched, Bel couldn’t move her, not even by falling apart in front of her.

“Please, Mom! Tell me where Dad is. What did you do to him?”

Rachel said nothing, shook her head instead. She didn’t care, caring wasn’t part of the plan.

“It’s my fault,” Bel cried. “I knew from the start you were lying. I should have tried harder to prove it before you got to Dad. Now he’s gone and it’s my fault.”

Rachel’s eyes flashed, simmering with new tears. “Nothing is your fault, Bel. Do you hear me? Not one thing. Listen to me. I had fifteen years to imagine who you would grow up to be, and you’re more perfect than any version I could think up.” Tears pooled at the crack in her lips. “Nothing is your fault, it’s everyone else, and I will protect you from them.”

But Bel saw between the tears. She tilted her chin up, sharpened it to a point. “It was sixteen years you were locked up, Rachel. Not fifteen. You’ve lost count of your own lies.”

Rachel’s breath shuddered in her chest. “I’m sorry,” she said.

And that tripped another one. “No you’re not!” Bel shouted; fight left in her still. She kicked out at the armchair and it jumped back, screeching against the floor. “If you were sorry you would tell me the truth. Tell me!”

“No.” Rachel’s voice cracked.

Bel gave up. But if she was going down, then Rachel was going down with her. Her breath hitched as it built within her.

“I wish you’d stayed disappeared!” she screamed, the words clawing at her throat. “I wish you’d never come back!”

The doorbell went, trilling through the house.

Rachel wiped her face, her eyes dulled, like something had broken behind them.

“Bel, sweetheart,” she said softly, voice worn thin. “Should I tell everyone to come back another day? We don’t have to do this now.”

“No.” Bel caught her own tears on her sleeve, face stinging and raw. “No. I don’t want to be alone in this house with you ever again.”

She left Rachel behind, heading for the front door, pulled it open.

Sherry was standing there, holding a plate with a home-baked cake. Rough blue icing spelled the words: Happy 85th Birthday! Carter was behind her on the steps, Jeff on the path.

“Everything OK in here?” Sherry said, eyes wide and probing. They must have heard the shouting, must be able to read it all over Bel’s face. Carter definitely could, eyebrows drawn, a small nod, asking if Bel was OK in their own secret way.

“Yes, fine,” Bel said, but another voice had said it too. Rachel, standing right behind her. Speaking together, both liars now.

It didn’t faze Rachel. “Come in,” she said.

Everyone had arrived now, Grandpa tucked in at the head of the table, Yordan beside. They were in the kitchen, the table extended to seat eight. But there weren’t eight of them, because Dad was missing. No one had even mentioned him.

Rachel served out the mac and cheese, squelching as it hit the plates, long sinews of cheese clinging to the spoon.

“There you go, Bel, sweetie.” She handed her plate back, hand tracing over Bel’s shoulder before she moved on.

Bel didn’t understand that, or the softness in her voice. Shouldn’t she be angry? Bel had just said the worst thing imaginable to her, both of them at opposite ends of rock bottom, and yet here Rachel was, soft and kind.

Rachel must be a better liar than she’d thought. She admitted it, she’d lied about Phillip Alves, which meant everything else she’d ever said was on the table too, everything about her disappearance and reappearance. Bel asked her for the truth, gave her a final chance, and Rachel had refused. They couldn’t ever come back from that, couldn’t pretend anymore, couldn’t play house or mother and daughter. So whatever happened tonight, this was a last supper, an ending of some kind.

“So it was Phillip Alves all along?” Sherry asked, fork raised. “I knew he was crazy when he came into our house pretending to be a cop. Asked all kinds of bizarre questions about you. And all that time, he knew exactly what happened to you, because you were in his basement. Sicko. I knew it all along, I swear, had a feeling.”

Jeff coughed, eyes shifting from Sherry to Rachel.

“You must be relieved it’s finally over?” Sherry asked. “You too, Bel. That must have been scary last night.”

“Yes,” Bel and Rachel said together, again, and that had to stop.

“It’s good to finally know the whole truth.” Bel frowned at Rachel, who had taken the seat across from her. Rachel met her eyes.

“It is,” Sherry agreed.

Jeff coughed again, knocking his fist against his chest. “Maybe we should talk about something a bit lighter. Meant to be a celebration. Happy birthday, Dad.” Jeff raised his beer, took a large glug of it, swallowing four times.

Grandpa didn’t notice, spooning macaroni into his mouth, one tiny tube at a time.

Carter was eating just as slowly, twirling her fork, goring bits of pasta, then letting them go. Maybe the other half of the Prices had an argument before this meal too; Carter too quiet, Uncle Jeff too fidgety, finishing off his first beer already.

Sherry was oblivious, or better at hiding it.

“It’s just good to know that things can go back to normal.” Sherry gave her husband a pointed look, eyes drifting to the empty beer. “Sorry we were a couple minutes late, by the way. It was this one.” She pointed her fork at Carter. “Doing science homework. At her computer looking at graphs instead of getting ready. Got annoyed at me for dragging her away. I just said: You don’t need biology to be a dancer, but you do need to learn to be on time.”

“That’s more than OK.” Rachel answered to Carter, not Sherry. “I’m bad at keeping time too.”

Maybe that was the first true thing Rachel had said. She was bad at time; twice she’d accidentally said fifteen years when she should have said sixteen.

“Yes,” Sherry cut in again. “Weren’t you late for your own wedding?”

Rachel glanced down at her plate. Not a lot of appetite at this table. “Only ten minutes.”

It was a good thing Sherry was here to steer the conversation, steer the family. Dad normally did that, when he was here. No one had brought him up still, the eighth empty space, his wedding ring tucked in the pocket of Bel’s jeans.

“You finished, Bel?” Rachel asked, eyes glittering in a way that wasn’t easy to fake.

“S-sure.” Even though Bel had hardly touched her food either.

She didn’t understand, how Rachel was being nice to her. Was it just a show, for everyone else here? Bel had said the cruelest thing to her, to cut her as deep as she could, a fatal blow. And Rachel hadn’t left, even though she knew she was caught, even though Bel had all but wished her dead. She was still here.

Bel rubbed her cried-out eyes. She’d never had an argument like that with Dad, not once her whole life. He would threaten to leave the house at the first sign of raised voices, to go for a drive. Bel never wanted him to leave, so she relented, she always gave in. It worked every time. They had never shouted at each other across the room like that, never had to work anything through. But now Bel wasn’t sure; was that a good thing or not? Had it felt good to scream at the top of her lungs, her deepest, darkest feelings, to share them with someone?

“We actually have two birthday cakes, thanks, Sherry.” Rachel nodded at her.

“Mine’s low-cal,” Sherry announced to the table, eyes lingering on Carter. Carter fiddled with her tights, pulling the material out, letting it fling back against her knees.

“Before we get to cake,” Rachel said, taking charge, wrestling it from Sherry, “I thought we could do gifts.”

Sherry sniffed. “That’s fine. We normally do gifts after cake, but you wouldn’t know that; missed a few birthdays.” An amused exhale of breath.

Rachel ignored her, disappearing into the living room for a few moments. She came back with a present wrapped in blue-and-white-striped paper, in the shape of a hardcover book. A red ribbon tied around it.

“This is from me and Bel, Pat,” she said, leaning over Grandpa to hand him the gift. Did she do that because she knew Bel hadn’t had time to get him a gift? Was she being nice or was she picking up the fight somehow? “Happy birthday.”

“R-Rachel?” Grandpa looked up at her.

“Yes,” she replied with a sideways smile.

“Charlie’s girlfriend.”

“That’s right, Pat,” Sherry cut in. “Well done.”

“Let me help,” Yordan said, removing the ribbon for Grandpa.

“I’ve got it, Charlie.” Grandpa snatched it back.

He pulled at the corners with his bony, spotted fingers, ripped the paper off.

“A book.” He spun it in his hands and Bel recognized the green cover before she even saw the title. The Memory Thief. One of her favorite books, one Grandpa used to read to her when she was little.

Sherry leaned into Jeff. “A little insensitive,” she whispered, loud enough that Bel and Carter could hear. “Giving the man with dementia a book called The Memory Thief.”

“I thought you’d like it,” Rachel said loudly, retaking her seat. “Ms. Nelson at the bookstore recommended it.”

But Bel’s mind snagged on something else, dragging it to the surface. Rachel snooping in Bel’s bedroom, flicking through her copy of this exact book. Bel caught her. Rachel said it was one of her favorites, and Bel hadn’t wanted to admit it was one of hers too. Rachel asked if anyone had given her this book, which—now she thought about it—had been a strange thing to ask. But everything about Rachel was strange in those early days. Bel told her that Grandpa used to read it to her as a kid, that she bought her own copy a few years ago. So Rachel knew Grandpa already had this book, sitting on his shelves at home, Bel had told her so. Did she forget?

“That’s very thoughtful of Rachel, isn’t it, Pat?” Yordan said. “I can read this to you at home.”

Grandpa let the book slip out of his hands, like it was gone from his head already. He glanced at Yordan, then over to Jeff.

“Charlie?” he said, an edge to his voice, almost accusatory.

“Charlie’s not here, Dad.” Jeff shifted. “Remember? Charlie went on a little trip. He’ll be back soon.”

Dad’s wedding ring burned a hole in Bel’s pocket, searing her skin. A secret she didn’t share but it felt like her burden now too. That maybe Dad was never coming back. A black hole where her heart used to be.

“You think he’s coming back?” Bel asked Jeff, watching Rachel’s reaction.

Her eyes were empty.

“Of course he’s coming back.” Jeff’s eyes widened, pupils large: from the beer or from their attention? “He’s the center of this family, always has been. Holds us all together.”

The heart, you might say: Ramsey was wrong about that. It wasn’t Bel, it was Dad. Wasn’t it?

“But you know,” Jeff continued. “With Rachel coming back—sorry, Rachel—there was obviously a lot of stress, and media attention again, and I think he just needed to get away.”

“All the way to Canada? Without his passport?” Bel pressed, gaze switching between him and Rachel.

“Well, if the cops think he took off to Canada, I can’t say it’s out of character.” Jeff finished off his second beer. “Charlie can be spontaneous sometimes. Drove me crazy. You know he left for Costa Rica when he was twenty without telling anyone, no contact for six weeks? Skipped out on his job at the logging yard when things were already bad. Dad was furious.” Jeff nodded in Grandpa’s direction. “I mean, he proposed to you, Rachel, after what, three months?”

Rachel nodded, no change in her face.

“So I’m saying, Charlie sometimes just does things, especially when feelings are involved. His way of coping. I mean, there was the Taco Bell woman, a couple weeks after Ellen left him. You’d think that was out of character, but he was obviously hurting. It’s the same when Rachel returned. A lot of strong, confusing emotions. I think he’ll be back this weekend; two weeks away feels right. Something else to celebrate.” He raised his beer bottle.

But Bel couldn’t cheers to that, three words circling in her head, something Jeff just said.

“What Taco Bell woman?”

Jeff’s face flushed, putting down his bottle with a dull thud. “Probably not something you want to hear, Bel.”

“I do want to hear it.” She needed to hear it, the knot spiraling, feeding on her near-empty stomach. “What Taco Bell woman?”

“I don’t—”

“Uncle Jeff.” Bel bared her teeth.

Jeff ran an awkward hand through his hair. “Just that Charlie was in line at Taco Bell. North Conway, I think he said. It was a couple weeks after Ellen left him. He got talking to a woman in line and—sorry, Rachel—they went to a motel down the road and, you know.”

Bel didn’t know; she could guess. But there was something more, something bigger, her heart hammering, waiting for her to find it. Taco Bell, North Conway, two weeks after Dad’s girlfriend Ellen left them, because Bel made her, pushed her away. Wait. That was it. The trip to Story Land for her twelfth birthday. That photo of her and Dad. They stopped at Taco Bell on the way home, and …

The knot twisted, leaving a knife-shaped hole, Bel bleeding around it.

Dad had lied to her.

All this time.

Bel said it was three hours, enough time to piss herself twice, sobbing in the backseat like the world had ended, because part of it had. But Dad told her it had been only fifteen minutes—max—that she was just being silly. Bel had believed him, she’d rewritten the memory in her head, turned it into a funny childhood anecdote.

Bel might be sick, heart making a break for her throat.

Because it wasn’t funny. It was the one thing, the very thing Dad must have known she’d be afraid of. After Rachel, after Phillip Alves. The backseat was a bad place, where bad things happened.

Jeff had no idea what he’d just done, what he’d undone.

Dad had lied to Bel, betrayed her. Abandoned her in the backseat for hours, to go off with Taco Bell woman, unpicking a scar that would never heal.

And if he’d lied about that, what else had he lied to her about?