The Missing - Kiersten Modglin (the reading strategies book TXT) 📗

the island had worn on me, and though I still didn’t feel ready to confront whoever had done this to us, I felt exhausted by the idea of staying in a constant state of survival forever. Utter hopelessness swelled in my chest.

“Then you have to be willing to do whatever it takes. Just like the note said.” His face was serious, his eyes drilling into mine.

I looked away, forcing myself to regain my composure. If I hoped to survive this, I had to get ahold of myself. “Well, if we are on a TV show, you’ll be the one to end up in prison when it’s all over.”

He gave a dry chuckle and scooped a handful of water to run over his raven-colored hair. When he looked up, his expression was serious again, his voice softer somehow. “Do you think your husband is still looking for you?”

“I hope so.” The truth was, sometimes I wondered if he’d even noticed I was gone yet. Though I knew it was implausible, there were times that I thought maybe he’d holed up in the suite, grateful for the uninterrupted time, and just forgotten all about me. I knew it was impossible by this point that he still hadn’t realized I was missing, but how else could I explain why they still hadn’t found us? My husband had every resource in the world available to him. If he wanted to find me, he would’ve…

Unless life is easier without my nagging… My constant fussing and interruptions.

If I believed that terrible thought, I’d have to believe my husband was a much crueler man than I knew him to be. But why hadn’t he found us? It just didn’t make sense. I couldn’t deny the voice in my head saying he’d given up on me. But where did that leave us? What did that say about my marriage?

Sometimes we know the truth about the people we love; we know the truth in our bones and in the fiber of our being, but we can’t admit it, not even to ourselves. Sometimes the truth lies in the quiet moments, in the first thoughts, the answer that pops into our heads before we have time to tamp down the intuition that we so often do, because it’s easier than admitting the truth.

We’d rather live with the mistakes we’ve made, shut out the things we’ve learned, the way we’ve grown, than take on the challenge of admitting our marriage sucks, or our friend is toxic, or our relationship with our parents isn’t healthy.

So, we ignore the voice, ignore the feeling in our gut that grows stronger every day, and we pretend that life is so much longer than it is and that we’ll get more chances for better days. And that was what I’d done with my marriage for so long. If I was back in the real world, it was what I’d continue to do. But here, on the island with nothing to muddle my head, only silence and my thoughts, I’d been forced to reckon with what I’d known for so long.

My husband didn’t love me.

Not like he should.

He tolerated me, sure.

Took care of me.

But some days I felt like little more than something to interrupt his constant flow of work.

Did I think he’d still look for me? Of course.

Did I think he’d be sad that he couldn’t find me? Yes. He wasn’t a monster.

Did I think losing me would reawaken something in him, make him realize how much I’d meant to him and how much he’d missed out on? It was possible. A girl could hope. But, at the moment, all my hope was being used up just to make it through the day.

“Who do you have looking for you?” I asked, realizing we’d been sitting in silence for way too long.

He shrugged, shaking his head. “My parents, probably.”

“Brothers, sisters?”

“Nope, just me.” He shook his hands off, swiping them over his shorts, and made his way out of the water. “I had a brother who died when I was young.”

He wasn’t looking at me as he made the confession, but somehow, as he revealed something intimate about himself, it felt as though we were locked eye to eye, baring our souls to one another.

“Oh, Noah, I—”

“Do you think they have our pictures plastered on the news? Like real news, not just local?” He changed the subject, grinning then, though I saw the sadness behind it. “I’ll bet we even have a Twitter hashtag. Something like HashtagTheFiveWhoDisappeared or HashtagTheMissingFive.”

“The Florida Five,” I joined in, picturing it in my head. Would there be national news coverage for something like this? Would they still be searching for answers? Or would they have already written us off as having drowned or ran away? Would they be digging into our internet searches or our cell phone data? Trying to pinpoint where we were?

“I’d obviously be the face of the campaign,” he joked. “People everywhere will wonder how something like this could’ve happened to someone so handsome, intelligent, talented—”

“Humble…”

He laughed, shaking his head. “There’s no room for humility in the real world. People only want you to be humble so they can make sure you don’t shine.” He dusted off his shoulders, standing up and pretending to shoot a basketball. “Besides, bragging comes naturally when you look this good.”

“Bragging? Noah? Never.” Ava’s voice carried through the forest as they appeared, the three of them carrying an armful of sticks, with the sack hanging off Harry’s arm.

Noah feigned a laugh and held out his knife. “Come on, Annie Oakley. Daddy brought home the bacon. The least you could do is be grateful.”

“The bacon, literally,” James said, spying the hog and rubbing his stomach hungrily. “Oh, hell yes. Tonight, we eat like kings.”

“Why are you giving me this?” Ava stared at the knife, but didn’t take it.

“I assumed you knew how to clean it or whatever… You’re the one always bragging about hunting.”

Her hip cocked out to the side, and though I couldn’t see her