From the author of WHEN I WAS YOU comes a spine-tingling new thriller about a mother's worst nightmare come true, when she goes to pick up her daughter from a sleepover, and she's nowhere to be found.
Whitney had some misgivings when she dropped her increasingly moody teenage daughter off for a sleepover last night. She's never met the friend's parents, and usually she'd go in, but Amelia clearly wasn't going to let something so humiliating happen, so instead she waved to her daughter before pulling away from the cute little house with the rosebushes in front.
But when she goes back to get her, an elderly couple answers the door--Amelia and her friend are nowhere to be found, and this couple swears she's at the wrong house. As Whitney searches for Amelia, she uncovers a trail of secrets and lies her daughter has told her--from Finsta accounts to rumors of a secret relationship. Does she really even know this girl she's raised, and can she find her before it's too late?
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1
FRIDAY,
5:00 P.M.
DROP-OFF
WHITNEY WANTED TO get rid of her daughter.
How awful is that?
Not forever, of course, but for the night. She was
weary of the sixteen-year-old attitude. The rolling of eyes, stomping of feet,
the judging glances and biting remarks.
That’s why she wasn’t paying as much attention as she
should’ve been when dropping Amelia off at Lauren’s. Her mind was back in their
apartment, her butt planted on the couch, bare feet propped on the table, a
pint of ice cream in her lap.
“The destination is on your right.” She turned the
steering wheel, following the instructions given by the disembodied voice of
the GPS in her daughter’s phone. Amelia held it up, giving the illusion that
her palm was talking. The house in front of them was nondescript. A tract home,
painted tan with beige trim, a cream door, two large windows overlooking the
narrow front walkway. The only thing that set it apart from the others was the
row of rosebushes lining the left perimeter of the yard, scarlet red petals and
thorny, jagged stems.
Whitney pulled her car over, tires hugging the curb.
Amelia hopped out the minute her mother’s foot pressed
down on the brakes, as if she was desperate to be free of her.
“You sure this is her house?” Whitney asked.
Amelia shrugged, glancing down at her phone and then
back up. “This is the address she gave me.” Her tone was impatient, irritated.
That’s how she’d been lately. Distant and moody. Everything her mom said and
did annoyed her.
Originally, she’d planned to walk Amelia up to the
front door and meet Lauren’s mom. But on the way over here, Amelia had begged
her not to do that, pointing out that she was no longer a little girl.
As much as Whitney hated to admit it, she could see
her point. Amelia was sixteen. As soon as she finished her driver’s
training and passed her test, she’d be driving on her own and then Whitney
wouldn’t even have the option of dropping her off at her friend’s. It was time
she learned to let go, loosen the death grip a little.
Instead of following her daughter, Whitney stayed
inside the car, watching through the smudged glass of the passenger-side
window. Amelia’s dark hair swished down her spine as she sped to the front
door. When she reached it, she readjusted the blue overnight bag that was
secured on her shoulder while lifting her other hand to knock.
Lauren appeared in the doorway, flashing a smile at
Amelia. She wore a pink headband that made her look much younger than
seventeen. Amelia peered over her shoulder before stepping forward, her lips
curling at the corners as she threw her mom another wave. It was the largest
grin Whitney had gotten in days, and she welcomed it, grabbed hold of it and
then gave it back.
After watching them both disappear inside, Whitney pulled away from the curb. Without even looking in the rearview mirror, she sped toward her night of freedom, dreaming of a couch to herself and a movie Amelia couldn’t make fun of.
SATURDAY, 10:00 A.M.
SEVENTEEN HOURS AFTER DROP-OFF
Whitney had been up for hours, and still hadn’t heard
from Amelia. Last night was restful. Quiet. Peaceful. All the things Whitney
had wanted it to be. Much needed. But this morning she was suffering from a
serious case of mom guilt. She missed her daughter. Was anxious for her to come
home, attitude and all. Unlocking her phone, she shot her a quick text: Ready
for me to pick you up?
Even after several minutes, no response came. Not that
she was shocked. When Amelia had friends over, they stayed up all night
giggling and talking. No matter how many times Whitney would remind them to
keep it down, within minutes their muffled voices would return, drifting
through the adjoining bedroom wall. Most likely, she’d done the same at
Lauren’s and they were both still asleep.
The house smelled like Saturday morning—coffee,
creamer, maple syrup.
French toast had been a weekend tradition for years.
When Amelia was little, she’d wake up early and bound into her mom’s bedroom,
eager for breakfast. But lately it seemed Whitney ate alone more often than
not. Even when Amelia was home, there was no guarantee she’d join her. Amelia
lived in her room, earbuds perpetually plugged in her ears, as if she’d grown
another extremity. Still, Whitney couldn’t bring herself to stop the tradition
altogether. The French toast would get eaten, even if it took a couple of days.
Whitney didn’t mind leftovers, anyway. Not that she had many this morning.
She’d gone for an extra-long jog and had been ravenous.
After cleaning up the kitchen, Whitney went back into
her phone and clicked on the Snapchat app. Amelia may have been quiet around
the house lately, but she had no problem sharing her life with the rest of the
world. Whitney expected to be greeted by smiling selfies of her and Lauren,
maybe some photos of the food they were eating, proof to all the other
teenagers on social media that they were having a blast on their Friday night
together. But nothing had been posted on her story in the last twenty-four
hours.
With slick fingertips, Whitney closed out of Snapchat and
checked Instagram. Nothing there either. A chill brushed over her neck, causing
the hairs to stand on end. She shook the feeling away with an abrupt jerk of
her head. Whitney had always been like this. Anxious. A worrier, especially
when it came to Amelia. Perpetually thinking the worst. Amelia hated it. So had
her ex-husband. It was one of the many things they fought about. And it was
probably one of many reasons why Dan had ended up marrying that sunny, smiling,
high-pitched preschool teacher. If Whitney had to take a guess, she’d say there
were no skeletons in Miss Karen’s closet. No past indiscretions she was afraid
of coming to light. No monsters from her past lurking around the corner.
No secret buried inside, so deep the roots had become
invisible.
When Dan married Karen, Whitney remembered thinking
how he had succeeded in finding someone completely opposite from her, just like
he said he would. It didn’t take him long either. He’d met Karen less than a
year after they’d split up. He and Karen were friends for a while, and then
dated for several years before marrying.
That was how he always defended it.
We were friends first.
We took it slow.
But that was never the point. He should have made Amelia
his priority. Whitney hadn’t dated at all while Amelia was growing up—she’d
only started within the last couple of years. Once Amelia hit high school and
started having a life of her own, Whitney figured it was time she did too.
Leaning against the counter, she stared out the
kitchen window. There wasn’t a view. The window overlooked the apartment
across the way. A man stood in his kitchen, his back to Whitney as he drank
coffee. His build vaguely reminded Whitney of Jay, and it made her smile.
Going into her last text thread with him, she typed, I
miss you.
Then she bit her lip. Too forward? Too soon?
They’d been dating for a couple of months, and he’d
only been on an overnight business trip. He was returning later today. She
didn’t want to come on too strong.
Backspace. Delete. She tried again: Hope your trip was
good.
Too formal?
Whitney paused, thinking.
Why am I making this so hard?
She really liked Jay. That was the problem. He was the
first guy in a long time she felt hopeful about. Usually by month two of dating
someone, the red flags popped up and her interest waned. That hadn’t happened
yet with Jay.
Turns out, she didn’t need to stress over what to
text. Jay beat her to it.
Boarding the plane now. Will call you when I’m back,
he texted.
Sounds good, she responded.
It was 10:30. There were a million things on the
agenda today and waiting around for Amelia wasn’t one of them.
After hitting the grocery store and Target, Whitney
swung by Lauren’s, using the memory of how they’d gotten there yesterday as
her guide. It was a little tricky, since she hadn’t paid enough attention to
Amelia’s directions yesterday, but after a few minutes of circling the
neighborhood, she came upon a familiar street and turned on it. A couple of
houses in, she recognized the rosebushes.
It had been well over an hour since she’d sent the
last text to Amelia. Although there hadn’t been any response yet, Whitney was
sure she was up by now. Probably hoping to buy more time with her friend.
Whitney had gotten Amelia a bag of gummy worms. She
pulled it out of one of the grocery bags. It crinkled as she set it on the
passenger seat. Amelia probably wouldn’t even eat them. Certainly, they didn’t
fit within the parameters of her latest diet, but, still, Whitney couldn’t
resist. Whitney’s habit of picking up treats at the store had started back when
Amelia was a toddler, when she’d surprised her with a bag of cookies one
afternoon when picking her up from preschool. Whitney would never forget how
wide Amelia’s eyes got, how broad her smile became as she clutched the little
bag. A lot of things may have changed between them over the past few years, but
Whitney didn’t want that to be one of them.
After getting out of the car, she slipped the key ring
around her finger and walked up the front walkway, flip-flops slapping on the pavement.
It was a warm, spring day. Kids played outside a few houses down. A lawnmower
kicked on. A couple rode their bikes past, bright neon helmets bouncing up and
down like beach balls bobbing in the waves. Amelia used to love to ride bikes.
For a while, it had been a weekend tradition. Whitney couldn’t remember the
last time they’d hit the trails together, but she made a note to ask her about
it. Most likely her answer would be a big resounding no, coupled with the same
cringey, horrified look she had whenever Whitney suggested they hang out.
Still, it was worth a shot. Sometimes Amelia surprised her with a yes,
reminding Whitney of the girl she used to be before the teenage monster took
over.
When Whitney reached the door, she lifted her hand to
knock the same way she’d watched Amelia do the day before. A minute passed and
no one answered. That funny feeling returned, but she shoved it down, feeling
silly.
She knocked again, this time so hard it stung her
knuckles. The girls were probably listening to music or something. Or maybe
they were in the backyard. It was a nice day. Ears perked, she listened for the
sound of her daughter’s voice or of music playing inside. Hearing neither of
those, she frowned.
Finally, Whitney caught the hint of footsteps inside.
The door creaked open, an older woman peering out, eyebrows
raised. She looked to be in her late sixties, maybe early seventies.
Whitney was taken aback. She’d never met Lauren’s mom,
but there was no way this was her. Maybe Lauren’s grandparents lived with
them. Recently, Whitney had watched a news report about how the cost of living
had gone up, causing multigenerational homes to become a growing trend. And
Lauren had mentioned that her parents were divorced. Whitney knew firsthand how
financially taxing it was to raise a child alone.
“Hi, I’m Whitney. Amelia’s mom.” Smiling, Whitney
jutted out her hand.
But the elderly woman just stared at it, not saying a
word. She glanced over her shoulder where a man around her same age stood. He
furrowed his brows and stepped forward. Whitney’s body tensed.
Maybe she’s got dementia or Alzheimer’s or something. Whitney
caught the old man’s eyes. “Hi, I’m Amelia’s mom. She spent the night here.”
“Nope. Not here.” Shaking his head, he came closer.
“You must have the wrong house. They all kinda look the same in this
neighborhood.”
Whitney glanced around. Hadn’t she thought the same
thing yesterday? She must’ve turned down the wrong street or something.
Face warming, she backed away from the door. “I’m so
sorry to have bothered you.”
“No bother at all,” the man said, and the woman
offered a kind smile.
Whitney turned on her heels and made her way back to
the car. She turned on the ignition and pulled away from the curb. The couple
had already disappeared inside. Whitney drove to the main street and turned
right. When she came up on another street, she turned onto it. The man was
right. There were lots of houses that looked like theirs. She pulled up in
front of one, scanning the yard.
Nope. No roses.
That’s what had set the other house apart. The one she
dropped Amelia off at.
She moved farther down the street, carefully looking
to the right and to the left, searching for a one-story house, roses lining
the perimeter. Coming up empty, she swung the car around. Maybe her mistake had
been turning right at the main street.
Backtracking, this time Whitney turned left.
This street was almost identical to the other two
she’d just been down. Same tract homes. Manicured lawns. Shuttered windows. A
sea of tan paint and beige trim. The odd red door or colorful lawn art. But,
again, no roses. At least, not in the correct spot.
Turning onto another street, she finally found it. The
simple house. The roses lining the side.
After parking in front, she leaped out and hurried to
the front door. It was answered after only a couple of knocks.
She gasped, taking in the elderly man standing in the
doorway. The same one she’d just spoken to a few moments ago.
Oh, my God.
She’d ended up right back where she’d started. As she
backed away from the door, apologizing profusely, she took in the shuttered
windows, the manicured lawn, the roses lining the perimeter of the yard.
Peering back at her car, she envisioned Amelia in the front seat holding her
phone, the voice of the GPS speaking in her palm.
There was almost no doubt in Whitney’s mind—this was
where she’d left her.
Excerpted
from Where I Left Her by Amber Garza, Copyright © 2021 by Amber Garza.
Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
Amber Garza has had a passion for the written word since she was a child making books out of notebook paper and staples. Her hobbies include reading and singing. Coffee and wine are her drinks of choice (not necessarily in that order). She writes while blaring music, and talks about her characters like they're real people. She lives with her husband and two kids in Folsom, California.
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