When the police called to tell me my dad went missing, I don't think I slept for even two hours that night. Even though I was safe in my dorm and Amrita was snoring in her bed across from me, I'd never felt so alone. At least I knew where Mom was—in the urn above the fireplace.
But Dad vanishing into thin air just like that...
The possibility that I'd never see the way his face lit up again when he caught a huge fish, or I'd never hear him singing another reggae song off beat. I’d never be wrapped up in one his hugs again, I’d never hear his light snores when he dozed off watching TV and I’d tease him that he was getting old.
The pain of the "what ifs" was hurting me more than reality. What if he was tied up somewhere and being beaten every hour? What if he was getting water boarded or electrocuted? What he hit his head and was wandering in a forrest? What if he’d fallen off a cliff and gotten washed away by the sea?
I had to squeeze my eyes shut and manually shake my head to stop these thoughts from flooding in. I had to keep calm, even I was faking it. For my own sake.
“Stay positive! I hope your dad is found soon,” was the generic message I’ve been getting ever since the news broke.
Our housekeeper Nora was the one who filed the missing person's report. Dad didn't show up to work two days in a row, and on that second day when she turned up to our empty house, his staff at the office contacted her and that's when she knew something was wrong. He wasn't at home sick, and he wasn't away on a sudden trip. Dad would never miss work without telling someone. From then till now, it's been radio silence on his part.
Dad's absence meant that Aunt Grace and Uncle Owen were now my legal guardians even though I was well over eighteen. It's part of how Aunt Grace was able to pull me from the dorms because they felt that it was the best way they be there for me. And it doesn’t hurt that I've always enjoyed being around them too.
Aunt Grace and Uncle Owen were my dad's business partners, and his best friends. He met Owen in high school, then met Grace and my mom in college. After graduation they all started a company together that manufactured medical equipment, like the true nerds they are. Business wasn’t the steadiest at first, but that was until my Mom's and Aunt Grace's published research put the company on the map.
Although she didn't get to enjoy it for too long, I was happy Mom was able to see her some of her success.
I figured Uncle Owen must be home by now, so I went to the bathroom to freshen up. I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. It shocked me. My eyes were all puffy and red and my cheeks were stained with tears. I'd been crying this whole time. I quickly washed my face hoping I looked as put together as possible. I really didn't want to deal with more questions right now.
I headed downstairs to the living room. It was modern, but not in the depressing gray and beige way. Like you could tell that people actually lived here. A sleek, mahogany grand piano stood in the corner by the huge floor to ceiling windows that had the curtains drawn since it was already nighttime. Across from that was the fireplace, and I saw the pictures strung against the wall.
There was a whole section dedicated to us. Shared family vacations, my graduation throughout the years, and even a stand alone portrait of Mom, taken while I was a toddler.
I took up the plaque, with my finger slowly tracing the outline of her face. Her dark eyes shone with pride, her smile as warm as a cup of coffee, her hair out and curly. She looked healthy and happy. That was my favourite version of her to remember.
Another picture caught my eye as I set the plaque back to its place. It was me, around nine years old at summer camp. My hair was in small twists tied back into pigtails, and in one hand I proudly held up a gold medal that I’d won in race. But I wasn’t alone. My other hand was wrapped around the shoulders of a scrawny boy wearing glasses. He had wispy, light brown hair and he was taller than me. His pose mirrored mine, except he held up a participation ribbon instead. He came either sixth or seventh in his race. He sucked.
“Where is she?” I heard Uncle Owen’s booming voice before he could even enter the living room. “Snowy!” He said, finally entering and grabbing me into a bear hug. “It’s been a while! Say, are you getting taller?” He teased me.
I was only five foot three, and I had a better chance at winning the lottery than going through another growth spurt. And I barely through that one.
“Yep, at the same rate your hair is growing back,” I joked. Uncle Owen’s hair started thinning years ago, and now the crown of his head is fully bald with only a little hair left around the sides and back of his head. A couple years ago I probably would’ve been helping to shave his head while he was asleep. It’s a wonder it wasn’t done already.
He made a face, causing even Aunt Grace to chuckle. Gotcha. “Anything is possible with technology these days,” she said, resting her hand on her husband’s back and leading the way to the dining room where dinner was already served and waiting for us. Only three places were set, but I didn’t question it.
We were having chicken pot pie, with corn on the cob on the side and slices of cornbread. The warm blend of savoury flavours always hit the spot in the winter. My all-time favourite dish from Aunt Grace’s.
“Don’t expect this everyday,” Uncle Owen spoke up. “She only made the extra effort because you’re here.”
“Snow’s our guest,” Aunt Grace shrugged. “You’re not that special.”
We laughed again, a sound that radiated through the room, causing a wave comfort to wash over me for the first time in a while. It felt like the random evenings I’d spent in their home years ago. All the way back in New Jersey before they moved here.
“And for that I’m grateful,” I replied. Aunt Grace reached out and squeezed my hand.
“You don’t have to thank us. We’re just doing job as godparents. You know that.”
I nodded, taking another bite of pie. As busy as they both are with their jobs I don’t expect us to be having dinner together often. Besides, I already knew my way around the kitchen with it being just dad and me. I had to learn quick.
“We normally just throw together a salad or something when we get home,” Aunt Grace said. “But the fridge will always be full. If there’s any particular ingredients you want, just write it on the white board over there.” She pointed towards one of the counters.
“Got it,” I answered.
She went on. “The cleaners come on Mondays and Thursdays. The gardeners come every two weeks, but I’ll tell you when so you’re not caught off guard if you’re alone when they come. Oh, and Owen’s supposed to give you a house key.” She turned to him. “Where is it?”
“You’ll get it tomorrow Snow,” he said sheepishly. “I was swamped at work today and totally forgot.”
Aunt Grace started. “I tell you to do one thing—“.
Mom always said she couldn’t tell if they argued more like toddlers or like Tom & Jerry. Dad always said they were two peas in a pod. I was used their antics. Cause either way you spun it, it was obvious they loved each other. I started helping to clear the table after we finished eating but Aunt Grace fanned me away.
“Not so fast. He’s the one on kitchen duty tonight.” She added softly, “Try and get some rest, okay? You need it.”
I nodded and wished them goodnight and headed upstairs to my room. I found myself in front of the mirror after I took a shower, my reflection staring at me with hollowed eyes, slightly red around the rims, slowly losing the light behind them. I quickly splashed some more water on water on my face, pretending it would help.
My phone’s screen suddenly lit up with notifications from Amrita and Paulo within a minute of each other, which made me giggle. I was about to reply, then I decided against it and switched off my phone instead. I’d answer them in the morning. It was early, just past nine o’clock, but I really wanted to try and get sleep for one night at least. I’d probably just end up scrolling through Dad’s chats again until my eyes burned.
The softness of the bed didn’t help me from feeling like it was punishing me for being a stranger who dared to sleep on it. The comforters were stifling me so I pushed them aside. The pillows warm despite the AC. Every toss and turn felt like glass against my skin. I sat up, panting and grabbed the water bottle off the nightstand. Empty after one gulp.
I laid back down, squeezing my eyes shut, determined to try this thing again. But that lasted for a whole ten minutes before I was tossing and turning again for God knows how long. Somehow, my body stopped betraying me and finally kept still. Of course, that didn’t last long. My eyes opened at the few lazy rays of sunlight that had the audacity to start peeking through the blinds. I looked over at the digital clock on the nightstand. 7:13 am.
There was no point in torturing myself any longer so I headed to bathroom to do my morning routine. Again, I was in front of the mirror. My reflection as if mocking me this time, showed my eyes were even redder than before. I just hoped it would fade and wouldn’t be too noticeable.
When I got downstairs, the house seemed empty. Aunt Grace and Uncle Owen hardly ever slept in. Well, Aunt Grace was less likely to.
The piano in the corner of the room caught my eye again. The piano bench was mahogany to match, and long enough for two people to sit. Yet it was indented in the middle with some distance away from the pedals—left exactly how the last person used it. Neither Aunt Grace or Uncle Owen would be able to sit there comfortably.
I ignored the unfinished music sheets resting on the rack. I couldn’t understand them anyway. My fingers hovered above the keys trying to remember something to play. I pressed one key, then another, until I was playing the first line of a simple melody that I’d forgotten the name of. And I kept that on repeat.
”Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is literally the simplest song in the entire world. There’s no way you’re struggling with that.” I heard a voice say, oozing with arrogance.
I was so focused on the piano that I didn’t even hear the front door opening and someone came in. I looked up too quickly and my hand ended up knocking over the cover of the piano keys, slamming it shut with a bang.
That voice I couldn’t stand hearing belonged to the lanky figure I couldn’t stand seeing. He crossed the room in two steps and I shifted away from him while he readjusted the piano to his liking.
“This baby’s an antique—I don’t need you bringing down the value,” he said, his lip curling into a lopsided smirk, clearly enjoying hearing himself talk too much.
I felt a headache coming on that I haven’t felt in a long time. A headache that only he could cause.
I clenched my jaw, then snapped. “I knew I should’ve let that car hit you.”