Only a few of these people are actually my friends. Martha and Thomas have both texted, and I text back to say everything’s fine. Martha texts again immediately: What’s it like having a brand-new big sister? A stranger might think she’s being insensitive, but this is just Martha being Martha. I think for a second, looking over to where Laurel and Mom are talking to a high-ranking police officer. I wonder why he has to wear a uniform if he’s so senior. Perhaps he thinks the uniform adds gravitas. There’s another, much younger police officer standing behind the first one. He has the beginnings of a black eye, which makes me wonder if he’s the one Laurel supposedly lashed out at yesterday. I must remember to ask Dad later.
Whatever it is they’re talking about, Laurel doesn’t look happy. She shakes her head a number of times during the conversation. Eventually, Mom puts her arm around Laurel and leads her off to the bathroom. What was all that about?
When they finally come out of the bathroom, Laurel sees me watching and aims a shy little wave in my direction. She even manages a smile.
Everyone told her that it would be better if she stayed away from the press conference. They said it would be overwhelming for her, but she was adamant that she wants to be part of it. She wants to read a statement, too. “I won’t let him win,” she whispered to me. I felt something suspiciously close to pride.
I text Martha back: I think I’m going to like it.
I watch the press conference—alone—on the massive TV in Laurel’s suite. They didn’t want me down there any more than I wanted to be there.
It’s surreal, watching my family (
now new and improved, with added Laurel!
) walk into the ballroom fifteen floors below. Laurel’s flanked by Mom and Dad; Mom’s crying already. I can’t help comparing it to the press conference they held when she went missing; I must have watched it a hundred times on YouTube. Dad spoke straight into the camera, talking to whoever had taken Laurel.
She belongs with us. Faith keeps asking where her big sister has gone. Please, if you’re listening, do the right thing. Bring our daughter back to us. Bring Laurel home.
That was the moment when Dad really broke down. He’d managed to keep it together up until then, but you could tell it was there, bubbling under the surface. He slumped back into his chair, and Mom took his hand and squeezed it tightly, as if she was trying to force some of her strength into him. But by that point she was sobbing, too.
This press conference is very different. It’s rowdier, for one thing. Journalists start shouting questions the minute my family walks in. The camera flashes go crazy. The high-ranking police officer reads a statement, after pausing to take a pair of glasses from his breast pocket. Another police officer reads another statement and shows the cameras a new picture of “Smith.” This one’s been done on a computer, I think. It’s a bit different from the one I saw—the face is narrower, the nostrils larger. Both police officers say that while they’re delighted that Laurel is home, they will not rest until the “perpetrator of this sickening crime” is brought to justice. They used that line at the press conference when Laurel was taken—not these police officers, but ones just like them.
Police Officer Number Two says investigators are knocking on doors and asking questions
as we speak.
Laurel was able to give them some very useful information about her captor. (Really? That’s news to me.) It’s only a matter of time, apparently.
The police ask if there are any questions, and of course there are. Most of them are aimed at Laurel and Mom and Dad, so they ignore those. But they do answer a couple.
“How can you be sure that Laurel is safe now? Why would he just let her go?”
“We are as sure as we can be that Laurel’s ordeal is over, and we will be doing everything in our power to keep her safe. As to why she was
Whatever it is they’re talking about, Laurel doesn’t look happy. She shakes her head a number of times during the conversation. Eventually, Mom puts her arm around Laurel and leads her off to the bathroom. What was all that about?
When they finally come out of the bathroom, Laurel sees me watching and aims a shy little wave in my direction. She even manages a smile.
Everyone told her that it would be better if she stayed away from the press conference. They said it would be overwhelming for her, but she was adamant that she wants to be part of it. She wants to read a statement, too. “I won’t let him win,” she whispered to me. I felt something suspiciously close to pride.
I text Martha back: I think I’m going to like it.
I watch the press conference—alone—on the massive TV in Laurel’s suite. They didn’t want me down there any more than I wanted to be there.
It’s surreal, watching my family (
now new and improved, with added Laurel!
) walk into the ballroom fifteen floors below. Laurel’s flanked by Mom and Dad; Mom’s crying already. I can’t help comparing it to the press conference they held when she went missing; I must have watched it a hundred times on YouTube. Dad spoke straight into the camera, talking to whoever had taken Laurel.
She belongs with us. Faith keeps asking where her big sister has gone. Please, if you’re listening, do the right thing. Bring our daughter back to us. Bring Laurel home.
That was the moment when Dad really broke down. He’d managed to keep it together up until then, but you could tell it was there, bubbling under the surface. He slumped back into his chair, and Mom took his hand and squeezed it tightly, as if she was trying to force some of her strength into him. But by that point she was sobbing, too.
This press conference is very different. It’s rowdier, for one thing. Journalists start shouting questions the minute my family walks in. The camera flashes go crazy. The high-ranking police officer reads a statement, after pausing to take a pair of glasses from his breast pocket. Another police officer reads another statement and shows the cameras a new picture of “Smith.” This one’s been done on a computer, I think. It’s a bit different from the one I saw—the face is narrower, the nostrils larger. Both police officers say that while they’re delighted that Laurel is home, they will not rest until the “perpetrator of this sickening crime” is brought to justice. They used that line at the press conference when Laurel was taken—not these police officers, but ones just like them.
Police Officer Number Two says investigators are knocking on doors and asking questions
as we speak.
Laurel was able to give them some very useful information about her captor. (Really? That’s news to me.) It’s only a matter of time, apparently.
The police ask if there are any questions, and of course there are. Most of them are aimed at Laurel and Mom and Dad, so they ignore those. But they do answer a couple.
“How can you be sure that Laurel is safe now? Why would he just let her go?”
“We are as sure as we can be that Laurel’s ordeal is over, and we will be doing everything in our power to keep her safe. As to why she was
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