Detective McNally said. He blinked slowly, as if trying to wake himself up. ‘Also for the delay. We’ve only just been alerted to what happened by a’ – he glanced down at his notepad – ‘Dr Griffith. I know this must be a difficult time for you, but we’d like to take an official statement. Is now okay?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
He pulled a pen from a pocket on the inside of his coat.
‘Let’s start with that last night you saw Olivia. Can you tell me what happened?’
My eyes flicked to Detective Samson’s face, but she didn’t say a word.
My hands shook, and I pressed them under my thighs. I wanted my daughter. I missed her so much it was physical, like scraping cotton wool over an acid burn.
I started at the beginning, telling them about our Saturday: work, homework, the barbecue.
‘Did everything seem normal?’ Detective McNally asked.
‘Yes. I mean, except – well, she got a haircut.’
‘A haircut?’ McNally echoed. I could see he thought grief had driven me a little bit crazy.
‘Yes. It was unusual.’
‘Unusual how?’
‘Olivia’s sensible. She doesn’t drink, she’s on the swim team, and she gets straight As. She never does stupid teenager stuff like walk home alone in the dark or sneak out at night to go drinking. It was just weird that she suddenly cut all her hair off. But teenagers do these things, right?’
‘Sometimes.’ He didn’t look at me, just kept staring at his notepad. ‘Is there anybody who didn’t like her or had a grudge against her?’
‘No,’ I said, shocked. ‘Everybody likes Olivia. I’m not just saying that. Last year at school, she was voted ‘most likable.’ She was homecoming queen. She’s happy and popular and, and –’ My voice broke, and for a second I couldn’t continue.
Both detectives nodded, their heads moving up and down like bobble-head dolls.
‘Do you think –?’
‘We don’t think anything yet,’ Detective Samson cut me off. It was the first time she’d spoken, and it startled me. ‘We’re just building a picture, gathering evidence.’
‘Something happened! She has bruises!’
‘Do you have any reason to think anybody would hurt Olivia?’ McNally asked, his eyebrows raised.
I stared at him, dismayed. They’d been here ten minutes, and already they didn’t believe me.
McNally continued asking me questions: Who were her friends? Her boyfriend? Had they had any problems? Had she ever tried to harm herself? Had anybody ever tried to hurt her? Had she been having problems at home? At school?
Occasionally he’d jot something down. The longer we sat there, the more unsettled I felt. Samson barely said a word, and McNally was the picture of a frazzled, overworked cop. How would these two find out what had happened to my daughter?
I showed them upstairs, and the detectives searched Olivia’s room, put random items into little plastic bags. They took her laptop and some of her school notebooks, asked me more questions.
By the end, my neck ached from carrying the weight of my pounding head. I wanted everything to go back to the way it was. I wanted my daughter back.
‘Did you find her bracelet?’ I asked Detective Samson.
Her brow creased.
‘A silver charm bracelet. Olivia always wore it. Always. But it wasn’t on her wrist.’ I brushed a hand over my eyes.
‘No, we didn’t find it, but I’ll check again.’
‘Was Olivia with anyone that night? Drinking with friends?’ Detective McNally asked. Neither of them had bothered to sit down after searching Olivia’s room. They towered over me in the living room, and my toes curled at the invasion of my personal space.
‘What? No!’ I replied, startled. Olivia wasn’t a drinker. ‘All her friends were at the barbecue. And she doesn’t –’ Then I remembered the scarf, her haircut, her pregnancy.
Bile, thick and acidic, rose in my throat.
I jumped up and raced to the bathroom, slamming open the toilet lid just in time to heave up every last drop of vodka, retching again and again into the white porcelain bowl.
Afterward, I shut the toilet seat and rested my head on the lid. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. The insides of my eyelids were red. I was sweating, hot moisture covering my entire body. I shoved Olivia’s phone into the back pocket of my jeans and stripped off my hoodie, tossing it on the floor.
When I opened my eyes, I saw a slip of white plastic sticking up from the mess of tissues in the trash can. I sat up slowly, reaching for it. It was a pregnancy test. A pink plus sign practically glowed on the end.
Olivia knew she was pregnant. And she hadn’t told me.
The knowledge was raw inside me, jagged as a broken windowpane. As scared as I was when I found out I was pregnant, at least I’d had Sarah.
Memories of the day I’d told Sarah I was pregnant bubbled in my mind, like a pot of water boiling over.
‘Do you know who the father is?’ Sarah had asked.
The old mattress sagged under her weight as she sat next to me on the edge of my bed.
‘Yes,’ I snapped. Okay, maybe I used to sleep around a bit. I used sex as a way to get guys to like me. I drank and dabbled in drugs and stayed out late smoking and partying. But it wasn’t going to be like that anymore.
‘Have you told him?’
‘Of course!’
‘And?’
I looked away, and Sarah sighed heavily.
‘He doesn’t want to be in the picture,’ she stated.
I didn’t answer. The worst part was that he’d cemented everything I felt all over again – that everybody eventually left me.
Sarah slapped her hands on her legs and stood. ‘I’ll come with you to sort it out.’
I stared at her, horrified. ‘Are you telling me to get an abortion?’
Sarah looked confused. ‘Of course not. I just –’
‘This is my baby. I won’t abandon it. I’m nothing like . . .’
I didn’t have to finish the sentence. We both knew the ending. Mom had abandoned me, and I had been powerless to stop her.
Sarah’s face softened, and she sat back down. ‘Abs, of course you’re nothing like her. But a baby? You can’t . . .’
