Until the phone rang. At first it scared the shit out of me, because I thought it was the middle of the night, and the only calls that wake you up are the kind that bring bad news. But just after it rang the second time I glanced at the clock and saw that it was 10:45 a.m. And I couldn’t, for the moment, remember how many hours that meant it had been for Rachel. It turned out not to matter, because that’s when Brian said into the phone:

   “What do you mean she left?”

   That’s when a different counting began.

   Rachel had checked herself out of detox at 10:32. And that meant, when the hospital called, it had been thirteen minutes since she went missing. At least, that’s what it meant to us. Because to the cops--who Brian called as soon as he hung up on the lady from the hospital--she wasn’t missing at all. She was an adult who had checked herself into detox on Monday night and then checked herself out on Sunday morning. Another druggie loser girl who’d taken a shot at getting clean. And failed. So I said:

   “Brian. Give me the phone.”

   “Shhhh...wait Tess, I’m--”

   I grabbed the phone out of his hands, took a deep breath, and told the officer about Rachel’s Summer. About violence and humiliation. About the abortion and Tim’s threats. And before I was done talking Brian grabbed his coat and his keys and I knew where he was going. Because with no money and nothing to sell for a day of haze--except for herself--Rachel had only one person to turn to...

   When I was done with the phone I ran up the stairs and reached under the couch, to where I’d hidden the only proof of Rachel’s Summer. Then I sped away, too. My cell phone rang before I was off of our road. It was Brian. Panicked. Breathless.

   “He wasn’t…Tess, he wasn’t home.”

   I cleared my throat. It wasn’t a time for explanation. Not yet. That time would come. But right now was the time for something different.

   “The cops are gonna look for her, Brian. They believed me and it was enough for them to start a search. And right now I’m on my way to make a statement.”

   “Okay.”

   But...the State Police barracks was a half hour drive in good weather.

   “Are you gonna meet me there? Or do you want me to meet you somewhere so we can drive up together?”

   “I...I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

   I thought for a moment, tried to figure it all out. Because I didn’t know what to do either. There was no way to know where she was. She must have called Tim from the hospital before she’d checked out, begged him to meet her there. Promised him something, God only knew what. And that meant they could be anywhere. He could be doing anything to her--right now. Right now she was probably in pain and hell, whether or not he gave her the haze. Right now she might even be...

   But right now I couldn’t do anything about it. And there was Brian, who was in hell, too. “Meet me at Zeke’s. We’ll ride to Westville together and then--”

   “No.”

   I pulled the car over and tried to stop shaking. Sometime between the five seconds or so that had separated I don’t know what to do and Meet me at Zeke’s the panic had fled. Just like that. Next step: anger.

   “Brian, please listen to me…”

   But there was nothing. Just dead air. And when I tried to call him back I got nothing, too. So I headed for Westville to do what I could, which wasn’t much. I drove carefully because the roads really were bad. And even though I didn’t give a shit if I slipped off the road and died in a bloody, painful wreck it might mean that Rachel’s voice would be silenced forever. The voice from her journal and her real voice, too.

   It took me forty minutes to get there and when I did I showed the officers the journal. Let them hear her voice for themselves. Pointed them towards what was the most important, the most coherent. Then I told them about the bruises I’d seen. Gave them Zeke’s name and phone number, because he’d seen them, too. And when they said she should have reported the abuse and the threats I told them about her fear of Retribution. About Tim’s ex wife; about restraining orders that did no fucking good when you live in a town with no goddamn police station and when the nearest State Police Barracks is half a fucking hour away on a good day. The officer in charge smiled sympathetically and told me they’d do what they could, that I was free to go home. Which meant, of course, get the hell out of here because we’ve heard all we need to hear from you.

   When I got home it was 3:14. And that meant it was four hours and forty two minutes since Rachel had gone missing. I checked the messages. There were lots of them from Zeke and Laura, but none from Brian and none from the cops. I called Laura first and she told me what I’d already figured out. Brian had picked up Jeff and they were looking for Rachel. Or for Tim. And I knew what that meant. So before I called Zeke--and turned down his invitation to hang out with him at the bar--I called Dave. Because he’s a lawyer. And before the dust settled I knew that, unless the cops got to Tim first, Brian would need one. And I called him because he’s my brother. I needed to hear a voice that loved me and would tell me that everything would be alright.

   “It’s going to be alright, Tess.”

   I nodded and tried to believe the words, even though Dave had no way of knowing whether or not it was going to be alright, Tess. If Rachel was going to be alright. No way of knowing if she was in pain and hell, right now. Or if she was dead. Right now. Right now while I was breathing and blinking and talking to my brother who loved me. Even though he’d never said it.

   And then I sat on the couch and waited. For a knock at the door. For the phone to ring. For anyone to call. Brian especially. I looked out the window at the snow bank Brian’s plow had made just a few hours earlier. It glowed in the moonlight and it made it feel even colder. Finally I lay down on the couch and listened to the ticking clock. I looked at my hands and hoped that Rachel’s were shaking, too.

   At 11:07 the phone rang. Twelve hours and thirty five minutes since Rachel had gone missing. It was Jeff.

   “The cops found Tim.”

   “Where is Brian?”

   “He’s on his way home. He should be there any minute.”

   “What about Rachel?”

   “They...she wasn’t with Tim. Brian will tell you when he gets home.”

   And that’s when I heard it. Brian’s truck. So I hung up the phone, walked into the kitchen, leaned back against the counter. And waited.

   Because this was it.

   He slammed both doors on his way in, the one on the porch and the one in the kitchen. Stood still and silent, glaring at me. All I could do was grip the counter behind me and wait. And even as I did I knew--I knew--that whatever happened it would never, could never, be as bad as what Tim had done to Rachel. That I would never know that kind of fear or be in that kind of danger with Brian. Even though he was angry and scared, more than he’d ever been or ever could be. And even though I really did deserve it.

   And finally he spoke.

   “The cops found Tim, but he didn’t have Rachel. They still don’t know where she is because he says he hasn’t seen her in weeks.” He took a step towards me and I didn’t flinch. “He said she called him this morning but he didn’t go to meet her. He said he left his house right after that and that he’s been with some friends. All day.”

   I nodded. Even though it was bullshit. Even though we both knew it was. Even though it meant she was probably dead by now.

   He took another step forward, kicked a chair that was in his way. Kicked it again. Finally he bent over, picked it up, and threw it against the wall. It was still in one piece. And he wasn’t.

   And so did he. Right at me, right in my face.

   “You knew. You knew! How could you know what he was doing to her? How could you know, all that time, and never tell me?”

   “I...she...”

   “You let her lie to me. And you lied to me. You fucking lied to me! I was supposed to protect her, Tess. I was supposed to keep her safe. And I coulda done that. But you kept me in the dark, like some sort of stupid fucking animal--”

   “She didn’t want you to know, Brian. She...she was ashamed and she wouldn’t let me tell you. She wouldn’t let me do anything.”

   “Let you? Fuck you! You’re smarter than that! I thought you were, anyway, but I guess I was wrong. So why don’t you tell me, Tess. Might as well tell me now. Tell me everything you know. And, goddamn it, don’t you leave out a fucking thing.”

   And so I told him everything, all the way from the beginning. From seeing Tim and Rachel together at Fran’s to seeing him at Rachel’s apartment the weekend Brian was fishing with Dave. Then what she’d told me on the way home from Portland. And I didn’t stop talking until he knew about how I’d almost killed Tim. How I would have, if it hadn’t been for Little Miss Seventeen.

   “So I told him she had a miscarriage. I thought he’d leave her alone, Brian. I thought she’d be safe here with us. I thought--”

   He backed away, finally, and gave me a bitter laugh.

   “You thought. You thought? That’s fucking hilarious, Tess. When the hell have you ever thought? About anything? All you did was close your stupid, fucking eyes just hoping it would all go away. Because that’s all you ever do.”

   “No...not this time. I tried, Brian. Jesus, I tried. I love her so much and I wanted to--”

   “That’s bullshit, Tess. And all of this is your fault. It really is. You know, that, right? Do you know...do you know where she’d be right now if you’d told me all of this when it mattered? When I coulda done something about it? If you’d just let me kill that fucking bastard when I had the chance? Do you? I’ll fucking tell you, Tess. She’d be...”

   She’d be…where? Doing what? He couldn’t answer it and neither could I. There was no way for either of us to know. Maybe she’d be safe. Upstairs. Watching television or writing in her journal. Lying in a haze, staring at nothing. Or in rehab or at work. Or out scrounging around looking for someone to fuck or something to steal or looking for someone, anyone, who could give her the Something that she needed. Doing anything for it. With whoever would have her. Maybe she’d be dead. Maybe she was dead already. Right now. There was no way to know.

   And because we couldn’t know, there was nothing we could do. Nothing that he could do. Except look at me with cold hard eyes. And say:

   “Just get the fuck out of my sight. I don’t want to even fucking look at you. I don’t give a shit where you go or if you ever come back. Just...leave.”

   He kicked the chair again on his way towards the bedroom. Kicked it twice. It was still in one piece and he wasn’t.

   And neither was I.

   So I grabbed my coat and my purse and I left. Not upstairs. I couldn’t go up there. I couldn’t be where Rachel was supposed to be, but wasn’t. And Brian didn’t need to hear me up there. Not my footsteps or the television or the springs on the bed. So I got into my car and drove away.

   I drove past the lake without looking at it. I didn’t need to. It was frozen and it always would be. Instead I looked at the clock. It was 11:39. And that meant that Rachel had been...

   But it didn’t matter. I knew. From now on there wouldn’t be anymore counting hours. It would be days and weeks and months. And then years. I knew it. Already.

   So I pulled into Zeke’s, into the back parking lot, because Fran’s was closed this late at night. The lot was packed, though, and that surprised me. Sunday nights were usually dead. I went inside anyway because I needed to talk to Zeke. Needed to talk to someone. Or maybe I needed to get drunk. Or find someone to fuck. Something. Anything. To make the ticking stop. To make all the voices that were shrieking inside of me just shut the fuck up.

   When I opened the door it was noisy and more crowded then I’d expected it would be. Not just people sitting at the bar and at the tables. People standing and laughing and drinking. So many people that I couldn’t see Zeke. Couldn’t see anyone, really. Just People.

   I clawed my way through, in between too many bodies that smelled like sweat and beer and liquor, until finally, through a small break in the crowd, I could see the television. And that’s when I knew why Zeke’s was so crowded. It was another countdown. A different kind. Because I’d forgotten.

   It was 11:51. And that meant it was only nine minutes until the New Year began. And I knew it would be the worst year I’d ever have to live through.

   I turned around and headed back towards the door. Because on this night I wouldn’t be able to talk to Zeke. Or to anyone. They were too busy drinking and counting. And I was fucking tired of counting.

   I clomped back towards my car, concentrated hard on the sound of the salt crunching underneath my boots. Jingled the keys in my hands, listened to that sound, too. But it didn’t work. I could still hear

   everything. The words she’d said

   and the words she hadn’t

   I wonder why he doesn’t love me?

   the ones I should have heard anyway. They mingled, still

   with the words of my

   own life. And I tried to push them away

   but I couldn’t. Not this way. I needed something else, needed the other thing. My hand was on my car door handle, but I could turn back around and go back into the bar. There were lots of people in there, so many, who were lonely and

   scared just like me and I could do it, find someone. It didn’t matter who, didn’t

   …get the fuck out of my sight…

   matter at all

   nothing mattered anymore.

   Except. For Rachel.

   Zeke’s door opened and I heard, even above the ticking and voices and shrieking in my head, a loud, joyful cry; a cheer:

   Even though it wasn’t. Even though it wouldn’t be.

   And then a second sound came from down the road a little way, the sound I would have recognized above anything. The sound that meant I had to stop shaking, had to block out the ticking and the voices and the shrieking. I closed my eyes and clenched my jaw, my stomach, my fists…clenched everything. Swallowed hard. And pushed it all down. Because I had to be strong, or at least pretend that I was. At least long enough, maybe, to help Brian. To help Rachel. Because please, God, please don’t let her die. Take me instead. Please…don’t let her…

   I took a deep breath and turned to watch Brian’s truck as it pulled into the parking lot. He parked a few spaces past mine, because the lot really was packed. I walked over and watched him get out of his truck. And waited.

   He’d been crying, but his eyes were dry now. He grabbed my hand and held it tight and I felt my heart start beating again. Because he didn’t come here to fight some more. Or to break up or kick me out for real. He could have waited at home for that. I’d known the second I’d heard his truck why it was he’d driven outside in the cold while his whole world was falling apart. But I said it first.

   “I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you and I should’ve told you.”

   He shook his head. “I think…I knew. I knew she was lying about something. And I knew you were covering for her. And I figured that Tim was...that she moved in with us because of him. But I didn’t want to know and...Oh Jesus, Tess. She can’t be dead. Please tell me she’s not dead...”

   I held him tight and let him cry on my shoulder. And while he cried I told him that Rachel wasn’t dead. Told him that she was out somewhere, out there, lost in the haze. She’d found a way, somehow, to get some and eventually she’d come home. And we could help her again, this time for real. And I told him that--someday--she’d be alright.

   I said all of it even though I didn’t believe it. Even though I knew I was lying. Because as I was telling him that Rachel was fine, just fine--even as I was saying those very words to him--his world fell apart for real; even though he didn’t know it yet. Because over his shoulder and through his truck window I saw them. Two State Trooper patrol cars. Their lights were flashing but their sirens weren’t on. And, thankfully, Brian’s eyes were closed so tightly that he couldn’t see the blue lights that were headed away from the main road and off towards the lake. To our road. Our house. To tell us the truth.

   But right now Brian needed Hope, even if was just a few more minutes of it. Right now he could spend those last few minutes believing that his sister was alive. Somewhere. And believing that--someday--she’d be alright. Because as soon as we got home he’d see Blue Lights and he’d know the truth. And from that moment on he’d start counting again, for the rest of his life. And so would I. Days and weeks and months and years.

   Since Rachel died.