Missing by Francine Pascal

broke?”
    Nice. Really nice. Well, that confirmed it: The dining room had become the most depressing room in the house by far. It was the weekly site of “family time,” when her sister—still looking extremely pale and sickly from her bout with anorexia—would visit home from her recovery center and eat an “inexpensive dinner.” That was the new favorite word around the house, the catchphrase: “inexpensive.” In order for anyone to do anything, it had to be “inexpensive.” Of course it did. Her father had lost his job, and Phoebe’s care had drained her family’s savings. No . . . the dining room was beyond depressing. It was mortifying.
    Heather had to keep reminding herself that this was, in fact,
her
life and not the life of some fictional movie character. Her eyes floated over to a family picture from just a year ago that sat in a bright silver frame on the mantel of the dining-room fireplace. It was a shot of the four of them from when they’d gone skiing in Aspen just last year. Each of them was grinning joyfully, all swaddled in their red or blue down coats, with their thick white scarves and their flushed red cheeks.
    That’s my family,
she told herself.
These people are just a bunch of bad actors in the Lifetime TV version of my life. “People in Crisis: The Heather Gannis Story.”
    Heather’s dad threw his food down on the dining-room table and grabbed Phoebe’s skeletal hand.
    â€œMaybe we could be happy about the fact that our beautiful daughter is recovering from her illness?” he growled. “Wouldn’t you say that’s a happy thing? That she’s eating again?”
    Heather looked at her sister. Recovering? That was a nice way of putting it. Phoebe’s skin was still almosttranslucent, the blue veins bulging throughout her body. She was pinching a rubbery piece of steamed broccoli between the thumb and index finger of her available hand, holding it as if it were some disgusting worm she’d just dissected in biology class.
    â€œShe’s going back to Chelsea tonight,” her father hissed, “so let’s enjoy these few hours, all right?”
    Phoebe’s recovery center was this oddly tasteful upscale town house in Chelsea, filled with Oriental rugs and pricey knickknacks. Heather didn’t even want to imagine what her parents were paying to keep her there. Then again, up until the last few weeks, Heather had never even thought for a moment about what her parents were paying for anything. It had never been much of an issue before. At all.
    â€œWell, would you like her to stay in the recovery center?” her mother asked. Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. “If you won’t look for a job, I don’t see why—”
    â€œI’m looking for a job!” he shouted. “And if I need to find the money, then goddamn it, I’ll find the—”
    â€œStop it!” Phoebe interrupted, yanking her frail hand from her father’s grasp and slamming it on the table. “I know I’m skinny, but I’m not invisible. I’m sitting right here, so stop talking about me like I’m not. I’m sorry that I’m so expensive, I really am. I’m sorry. . . .” Her voice broke. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
    â€œMay I be excused?” Heather asked. She couldn’t take this melodrama for another second. It was too painful—not to mention too pathetic. Family dinner was most definitely a bust. She was half tempted to mention what Ed had told her the other night at dinner, that he would always take care of her and her family ...but no. She didn’t even know if that was true or not. Yes, she trusted Ed. Of course she did. But sincerity didn’t pay the bills. Besides, Ed’s parents might not be thrilled with the idea of Ed’s helping the Gannis family. Particularly given her and Ed’s tempestuous past . . .
    Her father