Chapter 1 There''s a place on the path between Bonnet Shores and the URI Bay Campus where the tall grass is worn down flat from the weight of so many bicycles. It''s the midway point for kids on their way from West Passage and the Hill to Bonnet and its beaches, children given the treasured go-ahead by parents, the stamp of approval that they''re old enough to go alone. This evening, as her legs pumped hard on the pedals, it was quiet. The half-faced moon hung bright above, and the stars were out. If she didn''t get home in the next few minutes, her mother would be worried. Worse, her mother would ground her and take away this long-awaited privilege. These early signs of independence were among everyone she knew, these whispers of adulthood. She cherished this freedom to move from one neighborhood to the next all on her own.
To head down to the sand and the surf and take a swim whenever she felt like it. She stood now as she rode to pump the pedals even harder. Her favorite part of the ride was coming up, the part where the ground evened out and, with enough speed, she could coast. From the very first time she traveled this route, pink and white ribbons waving wildly from her bike''s handles, she''d loved the sound of her tires going across all that tall, sunburned grass. The satisfying shhhhhhhh in the quiet. Tonight was no different. She gathered speed, breathing hard, then sat back on the pink-and-white banana seat because she was not yet allowed a ten-speed. Maybe next year when she was older, her mother had said when she begged for one at the start of summer.
The privileges she most craved were always slightly out of reach. She closed her eyes for just one second and listened. Shhhhhhhhhhh. There it was. That pleasing sound. It was the last thing she would hear. Chapter 2 "Christina! Christina! Chris-teeeeee-naaaaaa!" Hannah Grove''s voice was becoming hoarse from shouting. "Chris-teeeeee-naaaaaa!" For a moment, Hannah''s eyes swam, and she gripped the back of a porch chair.
The old wooden planks beneath her feet creaked. She took a deep breath: in, out. Her youngest daughter was late coming home, but her anger had given way to worry a good twenty minutes ago. Now worry was ceding itself to something else. Fear crept in to push it out of the way. She hoped that fear would not turn into terror. What time had Christina gone out today? Two? Three? Hannah took another shaky breath. Stay calm.
The bright moon shone a ghostly light onto the yard. From Hannah''s place in front of the house, she could make out the lamppost among the flower beds she so carefully tended all spring, summer, and fall, the cleanly cut grass she mowed herself, browned in places from too many consecutive days without rain. Tonight, the song of the crickets sounded different to Hannah, not comforting like it normally was, more like screeching. Hannah let go of the chair and stepped to the edge of the porch. She stretched out her arms and balled her hands into fists, inhaled as much air as she could, then belted as loud as she ever had in her life, "Chris-TEEEEEN-NAAAAA!" The sound echoed into the dark and the trees and then, after a beat, disappeared. All the other mothers had stopped shouting by now. Their kids were home, safe and sound. Hannah could always hear them over in West Passage, the neighborhood just a short distance away.
West Passage had built up house by house by house, on the other side of the woods that stood across the street from the shingled cottage Hannah shared with her two daughters. Christina was twelve, approaching thirteen, and Maddie was going to be sixteen in four days. Each night, as Hannah and the other mothers called out for their children to come home from their evening play, she''d often imagine they were calling out to one another in solidarity, a shared nightly ritual of bringing in the children, one that defied wealth and education and family background, unifying them under the banner of their motherhood. Hannah wondered if the others could still hear her voice inside their comfy homes. If those mothers felt relief it wasn''t them still shouting. Hannah wiped the corner of her eye. If Christina didn''t arrive soon, it would be all Hannah''s fault. They''d fought earlier in the day.
They fought all the time now. Where had her dewy, sweet baby gone? Replaced by someone else, a budding preteen who argued, who pouted, who raged--someone Hannah no longer knew how to speak to, much less argue with. It had happened so fast, almost without Hannah''s realizing, like a fairy had visited in the night, swapping Hannah''s real daughter with another child who looked the same as Christina but was not. Her youngest, now a different person. Her eldest, Maddie, had always been difficult, had made a childhood career of defying her, but never Christina. Not until this summer. After their shouting match during lunchtime, Christina had stormed off, promising to make her mother sorry for not giving Christina what she wanted, which was a later curfew, because the kids over in Bonnet could stay out longer playing their endless games of kick the can and flashlight tag. Those kids were lucky enough to live in Bonnet and didn''t have as long a trip back home as Christina.
But it made Hannah panic, the thought of her youngest out so late after dark and riding her bike through the wooded path that let out by the Bay Campus just on the other side of the Hill''s crest. Especially after last summer. The heart in Hannah''s chest stuttered. She inhaled sharply. "Christina! Please!" Breath. "Christina! I love you, sweetie!" Breath. "Chris-TEE--" Her voice broke. Hannah Grove just couldn''t any longer.
She sat down on the front steps and put her head in her hands.