Mine (21 page)

An Internet search had provided her with the phone numbers of several area families with the last name of Hurst. She had called as many of them as she had time for during a layover in Dallas, saying she was an old friend looking for Mike. All but one had no idea whom she was talking about. That one had hung up the second she’d mentioned Mike’s name.

The number belonged to Franklin and Marnie Hurst, address unlisted. But by the time she arrived in Colorado Springs, she’d formulated a plan.

Worship was a huge part of daily life in this part of the country. With the next day being Sunday, she began calling churches, using the story of a person who’d just moved to town looking for a church to join, preferably the one where her mother’s dear old friend Marnie Hurst went. If pressed on why she hadn’t received Marnie’s number from her mother, Leah would say her mother had passed away the year before.

There were a lot of churches in the city, and she went through thirty-two of them before she got lucky.

“Marnie Hurst?” the woman on the other end of the line said. “Sure. She’s on the committee that runs our women’s group.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. I hope I see her when I come tomorrow.”

“Marnie and Frank never miss a Sunday. They usually come to the nine a.m. service. I’m sure they’ll be glad to see you.”

__________

L
EAH SPENT A
restless night in a cheap motel, full of dreams of chasing Joel through deserts.

When morning finally came, she put on her nicest outfit, checked out of the motel, and waited in her car in the church lot until 8:30. After taking a seat in the back of the church, she watched the parishioners arrive.

The Hursts walked in at ten minutes before the hour. She recognized them immediately from Mike’s photograph. They were older now, both gray-haired, and Mr. Hurst had packed on more than a few pounds. Mrs. Hurst must have picked up on Leah’s stare because she looked over at Leah and smiled before moving down the aisle.

Leah barely heard the service as she anxiously waited for it to be over. After the last prayer had been uttered and the closing song played, the parishioners slowly made their way out, stopping here and there to greet others.

Leah could have easily approached the Hursts right then and there, but she thought it better if the setting was more private. So she followed them home to their upper middle-class neighborhood of big yards and nice cars, gave them ten minutes inside, and then walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

Footsteps tapped across a tiled floor before the door opened and revealed Mrs. Hurst.

“Can I help you?”

“Hi, Mrs. Hurst. My name is Leah. I was wondering if—”

Recognition twinkled in the woman’s eyes. “Didn’t I see you at church earlier?”

“Um, uh, yes, ma’am. I’m, um—”

“You must be the young lady who talked to Ava yesterday. Your mother and I are friends?”

Leah was saved from having to answer by Mr. Hurst shouting from inside, “Who is it, dear?”

His wife glanced over her shoulder. “It’s that girl Ava told us about.”

A moment later, Mr. Hurst was at her side, holding out his hand. “How you doing? I’m Franklin Hurst.”

Leah took it. “Leah. Um, Leah Bautista.”

Mrs. Hurst’s brow furrowed as she tried to place the name.

“Don’t just stand there. Come on inside,” Mr. Hurst said.

“Thank you.” Leah stepped over the threshold, relieved the coming conversation wouldn’t have to start on the front porch.

She was led into a large living room that looked like it could have been featured in a magazine. The furniture, the accessories, even the art on the cream-colored walls were all just right.

“You have a beautiful home,” Leah said as she sat on the sofa.

“Thank you so much,” Mrs. Hurst said. “That’s very kind.”

“Just renovated the place last year,” Mr. Hurst said.

“Well, you did an excellent job.”

“I’m curious,” Mrs. Hurst said. “You said Bautista, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I don’t recognize your last name. Did I know your mother by her maiden name?”

“I’m, um…I’m afraid I misled your friend at the church.”

“How so?”

“You have met my mother, but you don’t really know her. I’m here because I needed to talk to you about your son.”

Mr. Hurst’s face hardened, all the kindness gone. “You’re the one who called yesterday.”

“Called?” Mrs. Hurst said. Apparently her husband hadn’t told her about his and Leah’s short conversation.

“Yeah, that was me,” Leah admitted.

“You need to leave now,” he said.

“Please, you are Mike’s parents, right? Mike Hurst? He’d be about twenty-three or twenty-four now. Went to Camp Red Hawk in—”

“Get out!” Mr. Hurst yelled, pointing at the door.

Mrs. Hurst’s face had gone white, her hand covering her mouth.

“I just need to talk to him, that’s all. Do you know where—”

Mr. Hurst grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet. “If you don’t leave now, I’ll call the police. We don’t need to see this plastered all over the Internet. Leave it alone!”

“What? No! You misunderstand me.”

Mr. Hurst started pulling her toward the door.

“I’m not with the press,” Leah said. “I was there! I was at Camp Red Hawk with your son. I was one of the three who returned!”

At the mention of the three, Mr. Hurst tightened his grip and glared at her. “That is just sick. I am calling the police.”

“I’m not lying. It was me and Mike and Joel. Joel Madsen. A sheriff’s deputy found us walking along the highway. He took us back to camp where you were all waiting for us. You, my parents, Joel’s.”

Mr. Hurst looked less than convinced. His wife, however, stared at Leah in growing astonishment.

“Bautista,” she whispered. “Oh my God, I do remember you,”

“That girl was barely a teen,” her husband said. “This woman could be anyone.”

Mrs. Hurst, her gaze still on Leah, said, “It is you, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Leah said.

“And your parents…” Mrs. Hurst paused, unable to remember their names.

“Leon and Helena.”

“Right.” Mrs. Hurst smiled. “Leon and Helena. They were so worried about you. We were all so worried about all of you.”

She walked over and took hold of Leah’s hand, then started leading her back into the living room.

“What are you doing?” her husband said. “She’s lying. She’s just trying to get a story. She’s not who she says she is.”

Undeterred, Mrs. Hurst guided Leah back to the couch and gestured for her to sit. “Can I get you something to drink? Have you had lunch?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Behind them came a pair of soft beeps from a phone being dialed.

“Frank, put that down,” Mrs. Hurst ordered.

Leah looked back and saw Mr. Hurst holding a phone, a finger hovering over the screen.

“I’m calling the police. They can deal with her.”

“You are not calling anyone. Now put that away.”

“We don’t know what she wants. She could be—”

“It doesn’t matter what she wants.”

“Of course it does,” he said.

“It’s okay,” Leah said. “If you want to call them, go ahead. We can talk while we wait for them to get here. I promise, I won’t cause any problems.”

After a few quiet seconds, Mrs. Hurst said, “Put it down, Frank, and come over here and join us.”

Her husband hesitated a moment longer, and then set the phone down and took the easy chair farthest from Leah.

Mrs. Hurst, who had yet to take a seat, said, “I’ll be right back.” She glanced quickly at her husband. “Manners.” With that, she disappeared up the stairs to the second floor.

An awkward silence ensued, Mr. Hurst eyeing Leah suspiciously and Leah trying to look as non-threatening as possible. Finally, she said, “I’m not here to cause you any problems.”

“Too late for that.”

“I just have a few questions.”

“About Mike.”

“Yes.”

He shook his head and looked off to the side. “Do you know how many years it’s taken my wife to get to the point where she doesn’t think about that summer every moment of every day? Sending him to that camp was her idea. It doesn’t matter how much therapy she gets or how many times I tell her what happened wasn’t her fault, she blames herself.”

Leah couldn’t stop herself from asking, “What
did
happen?”

His eyes narrowed again. “If you were really there, you should know.”

But I don’t
, she wanted to say.
I don’t remember what happened
. Instead, she said, “I mean after we came back.”

They heard a creak and Mr. Hurst’s gaze flicked toward the stairs. A moment later, Mrs. Hurst reentered the living room, carrying an envelope a half-inch thick.

“Sorry,” she said as she joined Leah on the couch. “It took me a minute to find this. I…” She seemed to lose her train of thought.

“What is it?” Leah asked.

Mrs. Hurst glanced at the envelope as if she was unsure. “Pictures. From Camp Red Hawk.”

“From when we came back?”

“No, of course not. From when we dropped off…our son.”

She pulled a stack of photos out of the envelope and began going through them, handing Leah each one as she finished looking at it.

The pictures weren’t actually from the camp itself, but from the bus departure lot in Boulder. The photos featured a chaotic mess of children hugging parents and goofing off, in front of a background of luggage that sat next to buses that would be taking them into the mountains.

Leah couldn’t help but run her finger over images of kids she recognized—Molly, the one who couldn’t swim; Derrick, the clown; Jonah, the boy who won the pie-eating contest; Wendy, the one with the streak of purple in her hair; and—

Leah gripped the photo she’d just been given. “Joel,” she whispered.

He was far from the lens and in profile, but it was him.

“I’m sorry?” Mrs. Hurst said.

Water gathering in her eyes, Leah showed the woman the picture. “It’s the other boy who was with us. Joel.”

Mrs. Hurst looked at the photo and nodded. “I remember him. He was very concerned about you. He kept asking if you were okay.”

A tear escaped Leah’s eye and ran down her cheek. She’d never heard that before. She wiped her face and took the next photo.

Several pictures later, Mrs. Hurst said, “Here we are.”

She held out a photo of Mike looking off to the side, anxious. Standing no more than a dozen feet behind him were Leah and her parents.

“That’s you, isn’t it?” Mrs. Hurst said.

“Yes.”

The shot had caught Leah looking directly at the camera.

Mrs. Hurst leaned toward her husband and held the photo out for him to see. “Now tell me this isn’t her.”

Mr. Hurst glanced at the picture, but from the look in his eyes, Leah knew he’d already decided she was who she said she was.

After they finished the photos, Mrs. Hurst made them some coffee. “It’s decaf, I’m afraid,” she said. “We can’t abide the hard stuff anymore.”

There were cookies, too, but Leah avoided them for fear she’d eat them all. The emotional journey the pictures had taken her on had made her famished. What she really needed was a steak followed by a heaping bowl of pasta and topped off with an entire gallon of ice cream.

She took a polite sip of her coffee and then set the cup down. “I was hoping you could tell me where I could find Mike.”

“Why?” Mr. Hurst asked, some of his suspicion returning.

“There’s something I need to talk to him about.”

His eyes narrowed. “But you haven’t seen him since you were thirteen.”

“You’re right. I haven’t.”

“Then what could you possibly have to talk to him about?”

“Frank,” Mrs. Hurst said.

“No, I think we deserve an answer,” he said.

Instead of providing one, Leah said, “Something happened to him, didn’t it? Something was different when he came back.”

Mr. Hurst pushed up from his chair. “It’s getting late and I don’t see how continuing to talk about this is going to accomplish anything.”

Leah thought Mrs. Hurst would calm him down again, but the woman said nothing, the fight apparently drained out of her.

Mr. Hurst walked over to Leah and held out a hand to help her up. “It was…
kind
of you to stop by.”

Leah looked at his hand and saw his fingertips move, urging her to take them. She couldn’t let the meeting end like this, though. She still didn’t have what she needed.

“Something changed me while we were missing, too. I don’t remember what caused it. I don’t remember anything about our time in the woods. But I was never the same.” She held her still-full cup of coffee out to Mr. Hurst. “Take this.”

His fingers reflexively curled around the handle.

“Now let go,” she said, angling her gaze so that while she was looking him in the eye, she could still see the cup.

“What?”

She barked, “Drop it!”

In surprise, he let go of the cup. Without moving her head, she snatched it out of the air, only a dribble of coffee jumping over the rim onto her finger.

He stared at the cup and shook his head, as if snapping himself out of a trance. “What’s that supposed to prove? You’ve got good timing?”

“I don’t have
good
timing. I have the best timing anyone has ever had. We could do this all night and I’d never miss.” She glanced over at Mrs. Hurst and saw both dread and recognition on her face. Maybe they hadn’t seen this kind of talent before, but they had seen something. “I can run faster and farther than anyone you know. I am immensely stronger than I look. And there are few people in the world as smart as I am.” She nodded at the photo of Joel. “He’s one of them. And I’m willing to bet your son is another.”

“Dear God,” Mrs. Hurst whispered. “What did they do to you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know who
they
are.” Leah turned back to the woman’s husband. “That’s why I need to talk to your son.”

Mr. Hurst looked at her for several seconds before his resolve broke. He walked over to a cabinet along the wall, removed a piece of paper, and wrote something on it. “This is his address,” he said, holding out the paper. “We’ll let them know you’re coming, but I’m afraid he won’t be much help.”