My gaze drops to the tote bag and a flash of panic shoots through my chest.
Emma is so close to the items I stole from her room. What would she do if she discovered they were right there, just beneath her nose, waiting to unravel her careful web of lies?
I don't want to know. I just want her to leave so I can recalculate my plans. I need to get a hold of Jordan and tell her I'll be late.
"I saw Meredith and Rowan stop by," Emma says, watching me with cautious eyes.
A clamminess breaks out along my palms. With a forced nonchalance, I wipe them across my sweater. "Rowan's in the kitchen. I'm watching her today."
"Really?" She stretches out the word as if she's just learned something interesting. "And how did you get out of school?"
For once, I see no reason to lie. "I have a doctor's appointment this afternoon with Dr. Wilder."
Emma's brows rise in surprise. "I'm glad to hear that. You know how worried I've been. I know you don't want to see him, but it really is for the best. Your mental health is important to me."
Sure it is.
"You were right," I agree, hoping to establish a sense of trust. "I must have come across as offended when you mentioned it, but you got me thinking. I haven't felt like myself lately. It's best to talk to him before anything bad happens. You know—like the last time."
Emma nods wisely, her lips inching into a satisfied smile.
Good. Let her think her plan to make me look crazy is working. That even I'm questioning my sanity. Maybe it will be easier to get her out of my house if she thinks we're on the same side.
"But now's not really a good time," I tell her. My fingers reach for the door to let her out, but before I can turn the lock, Emma grabs my hand and pulls me toward the kitchen.
"Now is the perfect time—and I know exactly what you need." She glances over her shoulder with a grin. "Both of my girls are here and we can finally hang out like we used to."
Rowan's sitting at the kitchen table, her cane propped next to her chair. At the sound of Emma's voice, all the color drains from her face.
"Hey there, munchkin!" Emma drops my hand and wraps her arms around my sister, enclosing her in a tight squeeze. "Guess who's hanging out with you today? Me!" she says, before Rowan can respond.
Panic explodes across my sister's face. "Arbor?" Her voice is timid. Fearful.
"It's just for a little while," I say as soothingly as I can. "Emma can't stay long."
In one rigid movement, Emma releases Rowan from the embrace, and leans toward me with a whisper. "What's her problem?"
I motion her away from the table. Not so much that Rowan can't overhear, but to increase the distance between them. It's clear my sister is uncomfortable.
"She's not still afraid of me, is she?" Emma's words are tinged with annoyance as soon as we're out of earshot.
I shake my head. "Her grandma had a heart attack this morning and her mom had to fly out to Utah. She's just worried, is all."
"The poor thing." Emma studies Rowan for a beat before turning back to me. "I know something that will make her feel better. Remember how we always made smoothies when we babysat her?" She brushes past me toward the fridge. "I know your mom has fruit around here somewhere. It'd be a first if she didn't."
The refrigerator door swings open with a swoosh and Emma pokes her head inside. She retrieves a carton of fresh strawberries and a container of yogurt, and sets them on the counter. "Now all we need is our secret ingredient."
My eyes follow her as she grabs a few bananas from the holder and snoops through the cabinets, pulling out the cutting board. She plucks a knife from the drawer and sets everything near an outlet. There's a moment of hesitation. "Where does she keep the blender again?"
An exhale seeps from my nose. "Same place as always."
Reluctantly, I open a cabinet door and place the blender on the island. I am so not in the mood for smoothies. I need her out of here. But if I cooperate, maybe we can make this quick. The clock's ticking, and I have things to do before my parents get back.
"Thank you, Miss Grumpy Pants." Emma releases a teasing laugh. "Why don't you relax and I'll take care of everything." She guides me to the chair next to Rowan's and pulls back the seat, before retreating to assemble the blender.
When I slouch into place, I give Rowan's knee a squeeze. Her muscles tense beneath my fingers. "The sooner we drink her smoothies the sooner this will be over with, okay?" I say under my breath.
"But I don't want to."
"I know, and I'm sorry. Just trust me on this. Emma will be out of here in no time."
"But Arbor—"
"It's fine, I promise. I'm right here with you. There's nothing to be nervous about. Now give me just a sec, I need to get a hold of my friend."
A shaky breath pushes past Rowan's lips.
I feel bad cutting her off, but I have to let Jordan know what's going on. I pull my phone from my pocket and shoot her a quick text.
Me: Change in plans. I have to babysit Rowan today and now Emma's here. As soon as she leaves, I'll get in touch with you
Jordan: y is emma there??
Me: No idea. I'll get rid of her as quick as I can
I slip my phone back into my pocket while Emma holds the blender beneath the ice dispenser. As cubes fall into the cylinder, a noisy clatter fills the room.
Rowan tugs on my sleeve. "I need to tell you something," she says in an urgent whisper.
My eyes shoot across the kitchen. Emma's moved on to the strawberries now, taking her time as she slices each one into perfect red slivers.
I try to keep my voice neutral. "What's up, munchkin?"
"It's about her." Rowan nods toward the counter and hesitates, her delicate brows scrunching above an angelic face. "She's not—"
"Hey, what's all that whispering over there?" Emma stares at us over the kitchen island, a smile playing on her lips. "You're not talking about me, are you?"
Rowan shakes her head too quickly and Emma gives me a funny look. Just as I'm about to cover for us, my phone vibrates inside my sweater pocket.
A cold sweat creeps up the back of my neck. I want to read the message, but I don't want to be the one who breaks eye contact first. So I shrug, like the whispering is no big deal. Just a meaningless quirk little kids tend to suffer from.
Emma's skeptical, I can tell, as if we're up to no good. But finally, she returns to her project. With my eyes on her back, I pull out my phone and anchor it to my lap, out of view.
It's Jordan. i've gone thru every female name that starts with an S and i *think* i may have found something. how old did u say stef was?
I glance back at Emma. She's not paying attention. I can't remember. Our age, maybe a little older? Emma said she's been on her own for two years.
Jordan: there's a girl on facebook but the profile's set 2 private. i'm not saying it's her but it could be
Me: Her name is Stefanie with an 'f'?
Jordan: not exactly but close. it's sort of a mouthful: maribel estefania ruberia-colin
I scratch my head as I read over the name. It is a mouthful, but what if Stef is just a nickname? And what if she dropped Ruberia altogether? Am I grasping at straws to make this work?
Me: Seems like a stretch, but anything's possible. What's her profile pic look like?
Jordan: that's the thing. the pic has 2 females in it, 1 older & 1 younger. maybe mother & daughter?
let me do some more digging. i'll text u back in a bit
The blender comes to life with a deafening jolt and I tuck my phone against my stomach so I don't miss the vibration of Jordan's next text.
I hate to get my hopes up; this is probably one big fat dead end. But what if she did find Stef? I'd love to hop on Facebook and take a look for myself, but Emma's rationing out the smoothies in three glasses she pulled from the cupboard. She holds one in each hand and presses the third to her chest as she makes her way to the table.
"Who's ready for a delicious treat?" When she plops the drinks on the table, one of the smoothies slosh over the edge, leaving an icy pink trail down the side of the glass. She slides a beverage in front of each of us and takes a seat across from me, her tongue running alongside her cup as she licks up the frothy track. "What do you think?"
A sudden worry crosses my mind.
I wasn't watching Emma that closely. What if she slipped something into our drinks? Would she do that right in front of me? Or am I just being paranoid?
My heart hammers in my chest as I stare at the frozen concoction.
"What, you don't want to try it?" Her question rips through the suspicion taking over my thoughts. "Come on, Hayes. You don't want to hurt my feelings, do you?" Emma raises the glass to her mouth and takes a giant swallow. A frosty pink mustache hovers above her lip.
From the corner of my eye, I watch Rowan take a taste too. Part of me wants to slap it from her hands, send it flying across the room, but that would be too obvious. Not knowing what else to do, I take a measured sip of my own, the tiny ice crystals dissolving along my tongue. I force the liquid down my throat and flash Emma a quick smile. "It's delicious."
She beams like a celebrity chef. "Why thank you. That wasn't so hard, was it?"
I shake my head and nurse the smoothie slowly. If Emma has put something in it, I'll eventually know. Wouldn't I? Maybe if I monitor my intake, I'll be able to keep my wits about me.
Emma moves her glass in a circular motion and watches the liquid swish around the inside. "What do you guys want to do next?"
I freeze mid-swallow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, what do you want to do when we finish our smoothies? We could watch a movie?"
Rowan stiffens in her chair. I give her a sideways glance, my stomach dropping out from underneath me.
This is not part of the plan. "Emma, I don't think Rowan is up for company today. She's worried about her grandma—"
"Something's wrong with her heart," Rowan interrupts. "I'm really sad right now and I don't want to hang out."
There's an edge to my sister's voice I've never heard before. She's normally happy-go-lucky and playful. Now her tone is detached. Borderline harsh. I can only hope Emma doesn't notice.
Except she does.
Emma's expression morphs into something cold and rigid. "I'm sorry about your grandma," she says slowly, her eyes fixed on my sister's face. "But when bad things happen, the last thing you should be is alone. Haven't you ever heard that before?"
"I'm not alone. I have Arbor."
A strange sort of heaviness settles around us, muffling the background noise. Like that uneasy sensation you get when someone's talking to you but you're underwater.
Emma shifts in her seat and brings the glass to her lips while I try to think of something to say. Some way to cut through this unbearable tension. "Why don't we try this again once we're sure Rowan's grandma is okay? Maybe sometime next week?"
After what feels like forever, Emma sets her drink on the table. "If that's what you want. When we're finished, I'll clean up my mess and go home."
"You don't have to do that. I'll take care of it, it's not a big deal."
"I wouldn't dream of leaving you with dirty dishes." When Emma's gaze meets mine across the table, unease claws at my skin.
She's pissed. I can see it in her eyes, her pin-prick pupils constricting even smaller.
I just want this over with. I made a promise to Jordan that I'd like to keep. If Emma doesn't leave soon, Rowan and I will have to go straight to the police station.
I push the thought aside and take another swallow, but the liquid sits like an icy boulder in my throat.
There's a sudden thump next to me. When I turn, Rowan's empty glass is on the table, the bottom teetering in a circle before it comes to a stop. "Done," she says, wiping her mouth with her hand. "May I be excused now?"
"Um, sure." Rowan grabs her cane and makes her way into the great room while I take my time turning back to Emma. "I'm sorry. She's been moody ever since she got here," I lie under my breath so my sister can't hear.
"I get it." Emma stares past me and takes another drink. The sleeve of her shirt snakes up, the tattoo on her wrist standing at attention as if it's watching me. "If your sister doesn't want to hang out, I can't force her."
"It's not that. She's just—" I try cover but a vibration in my pocket halts whatever excuse I'm about to make.
"I said I get it! I'm not an idiot."
My hand ducks into my pocket, my fingers curling around my cell. "I never said you were."
"Whatever." Emma finishes the last of her smoothie and pushes away from the table. She reaches for Rowan's glass and heads toward the sink.
As soon as her back is turned, I pull out my phone and read the text.
Jordan: i couldn't find more info on maribel estefania ruberia-colin but i did find something about a juanita estefania ruberia-colin
AND the image matches the older lady in the profile pic
My heart begins to race. So that must mean the Facebook profile is Stef's?
Jordan: looks like it
but arbor, what i found isn't good
Me: What do you mean?
Jordan: if i call, can u talk?
Me: Definitely not
There's a pause on Jordan's end before the next text appears. ok so google took me 2 a news article from almost 2 yrs ago
Me: And??
Jordan: juanita's in a women's prison in texas
she was picked up in florida 4 sex trafficking
The smoothie rolls in my stomach, the phone trembling in my hand. Sex trafficking? Are you positive?
Jordan: unless the article's lying which i doubt it is
Sex trafficking. The words make me want to vomit. Did Jordan just stumble across a major clue to this puzzle? Juanita—possibly Stef's mother—is in prison for a crime against humanity?
Emma left town to be with Stef. Did she fall into whatever deviant crowd Juanita was wrapped up in? Did they turn on her? Is that why she was gone for so long? Why she came home a different person? Is it possible she was sold into the sex trade and managed to get away?
If that's true then—
Oh my God. Was she telling the truth this entire time?
My eyes lift to Emma, rinsing the blender out at the sink, and a debilitating guilt weighs down on my shoulders.
My mind races over all the things I've done behind Emma's back. Doubting her innocence. Sneaking into her bedroom. Stealing her belongings. Reading her journal, the most deplorable invasion of privacy.
And possibly worst of all, I stole her boyfriend and tried to make him mine. All this time, I was convinced Emma's been pulling the wool over our eyes—but have I been the bad guy?
My gaze drops to my phone, the screen obscured by my welling tears. Can you send me the profile pic? I manage to type out.
Jordan: 1 sec let me take a screenshot
I take in a breath, hold it, let it out nice and slow. Try to calm my shallow breaths and unsteady heart. When my phone vibrates again, I open the image on my screen.
Just like Jordan said, it's the photograph of a mother and daughter, their resemblance uncanny, arms draped across each other's shoulders in front of a featureless background.
Though there's nothing obvious going on, no summer vacation on the beach or elaborate birthday celebration, it grabs my attention and draws me in. Not because they're both smiling, emotionless grins stretched across narrow faces. It's something else.
It's their eyes. Pupils like tiny pin-pricks surrounded by a stagnant brown.
My gaze lifts and all the breath leeches from my body in a single, burning release. Emma's watching me, her mouth flattening into a hard line. Like she realizes what I've just discovered.
Emma knows.
Except it's not Emma. It's the girl in the photo.