Have You Seen My Sister

CHAPTER ONE

I didn’t realize it at the time, but the first clue in my sister’s disappearance was the shoes.

Running shoes, in oxblood red, Gaia’s favorite color. She’s always moaned about her ridiculously massive feet. She’s tall, so that’s the payoff for the endless legs, I guess. But then she’d scored these gorgeous blood red sneaks, and she loved them.

They were memorable shoes. So you would have thought I’d remember them that chilly morning on the day of her disappearance. I even tripped over the stupid things, nearly broke my neck. You might assume that later, I’d put two and two together. If her blood red sneakers were on our bedroom floor here at the holiday lodge, Gaia couldn’t be out running.

But you’d be wrong to assume anything about me.

Did Gaia stay at her place last night, or here? Dad had asked, happily frying breakfast leftovers.

I frowned, thinking back to leaving the party. It was at Gaia’s friends’ house, a last-night get-together for all the kids who work here at the ski resort, and I’d tagged along. When the party ended, I’d lingered by the open door awkwardly, trying to ignore a couple making out noisily on the deck while I waited. Gaia was inside on the stairs, deep in conversation with one of her work friends, her black, curly hair bouncing as she talked, brown eyes wide and expressive. I’d felt bad for interrupting, but also very ready to ditch and head home.

Hey, Es, go. I’ll be right behind you, okay? Gaia eventually turned, gave me an encouraging—or possibly snarky—thumbs-up.

It’s snowing again. Didn’t this place get the memo about spring? I remember I shivered, glanced at my watch. It said 10:35 p.m., but the second hand wasn’t moving. Dead. I had no idea how long we’d stayed at the party—that’s one of my things, time is totally meaningless—but I suppose it must have been well into the early morning.

Seriously, I’ll be fine, Es, Gaia shouted. I can cope with a lil’ snow, ya know!

True enough. She’s been working the ski season at Moon Mountain Resort since last November. It’s her gap year, before she goes to college here in America, and me and the folks are visiting from England. Gaia’s majorly smart, a scholarship kid. I had to hope she’d be able to find her way back to the holiday lodge.

I’ll walk Gaia home. Craig appeared, blocking the view of my sister with his tall, muscled frame. He’s American, a ski instructor, one of Gaia’s friends. And, lucky fella, he’d been my teacher on the slopes this past week. I’m so horrible at skiing I think I nearly broke him. Not that I feel guilty about it; he’s kind of the worst.

Skedaddle, Esme. I’m gonna close this door, we’re freezing in here. The door shut in my face. Yep, the worst.

So earlier today at breakfast, when Dad asked me if Gaia had slept here at the lodge last night, I assumed yes. I’d gone straight to sleep, didn’t see her come in. But she said she would follow me home, so that’s what must have happened.

Gaia came back a bit after me. I glanced at Dad over my mug of black tea. Must be out now, running off her hangover.

Dad grunted, and like that, any nagging doubt about her not being here was gone. If I’d only thought about the running shoes…

But I didn’t. I sat shoveling Dad’s vegan lentil surprise into my mouth at the breakfast table, taking in the views of Moon Mountain for the last time. It’s stunning; the remains of patchy snow glistening on the slopes, framed by the dark, jagged silhouette of pine tree woods on either side. We’ve never had a holiday like this before. Big stretch for the parents, money-wise, but we wangled the luxury lodge for free and it’s been worth it to see Gaia. Not that we’ve seen as much of her as I would have liked—she’s been working, after all.

Esme, did I hear you say you walked back on your own last night? Ma swooped into the kitchen, her arms full of clothes. I was tempted to wind her up, but didn’t have the energy.

Addy walked me. She was staying over at her parents’ lodge.

That placated her. My sister and Addy Addison have been friends since forever, and Addy’s a sweetheart. She’s also the reason we got the fancy accommodation free; her uncle owns the resort. She and Gaia scored jobs together—my sis can work here legally because her birth dad was American—and Addy’s family is mega rich, so nobody ever tells them no.

As long as you weren’t wandering around alone. Ma’s voice had an edge; she’s way overprotective of me. That’s one thing Addy and I have in common. In my case, it might be justified, but Addy’s eighteen and sensible and her dad’s still all up in her business. God knows what he’ll be like when she starts college and he can’t keep tabs on her. I think one of the reasons I like Addy is that she doesn’t seem tainted by the parental interference. Wish I could pull that off.

Aw, cut Es some slack, Dad stuffed the rest of his breakfast into his mouth before Ma could whip the plate away. She’s sixteen, after all.

Not yet she isn’t. Ever the stickler for accuracy; my birthday’s in a few days’ time. "And she’s not a normal sixteen."

Julia! Dad almost spat his sausage out.

She knows I don’t mean it like that, don’t you, Es? Ma bent in for the forehead kiss.

I do know. What she meant was: I’m not super-together like she is, like my sister is. What Dad thought she meant was: I have dyspraxia.

If you haven’t heard of dyspraxia, fair. Neither had I until I got diagnosed four years ago. Sounds way worse than it is. Officially, it means I have problems placing myself within time and space. That sounds kind of sci-fi, but what it boils down to is that I get extra time on tests because I have zero sense of how many minutes have passed. And there’s the clumsy: I drop things, bump into stuff. Don’t know left from right, can’t do directions. Sometimes I talk inappropriately loudly, sometimes I mumble; that’s one of Ma’s particular faves. Dad makes out he’s chill about the dyspraxia, but Ma gets on my case.

Pack your things when you’ve finished. And Gaia’s too. I don’t want us having a last-minute rush, okay?

I didn’t answer her, but it wasn’t really a question. Ma runs a tight ship. She’d planned for us to all leave Moon Mountain together and drive to Boston for a final night with Gaia, before we leave my sis and take the sad flight back to London.

So I packed, right after breakfast, to keep Ma sweet. Maybe I didn’t realize about Gaia’s shoes—even as I stuffed them into a gym bag—because my brain works different than other people’s. Or maybe anyone would have done the same. Outside, the sun was bright and the day dripped away like the snow off the roof of our lodge as I packed. All done, I reclined in the big armchair by the fire, finishing the final pages of a book. Dad appeared, fresh from cramming luggage into the car.

Wasn’t Gaia supposed to be saying goodbye to her friends today? At a brunch?

Think someone mentioned that last night, yeah.

Should be over by now. Dad frowned. She can’t still be running around the resort. Text her, will you?

No phone.

Dad sighs, remembering how I’d killed my latest phone. Death by ski lift on the third day of the vacation. He should be grateful it wasn’t me plunging from the chair, could have totally happened.

Use mine. He reached into his back pocket, knew I wouldn’t make the catch, and carefully placed the phone in my hands. Ask her when she’s coming back. Your mother’s gone to check out; she wants to leave on time.

So I texted.

Gaia never answered that text I sent from Dad’s phone, and she didn’t come back. We ate a sandwich, I finished my book and wandered out to the deck. It was still cold, but the sun is so much stronger here than at home. Dad was sitting in an Adirondack chair, head back and eyes closed like it was summer.

Almost 3:00 p.m., he croaked at me. Your mother is not going to be pleased.

Ma was striding quickly up the lane, her mouth set, cheeks flushed with the effort. Even for her, it was quite a pace, walking as fast as possible without actually running.

Jim! she called as she got closer. Jim! There was a catch to her voice that made Dad open his eyes. Gaia wasn’t at the brunch.

No? Dad stood up and walked slowly down the steps. Couldn’t face the pancakes, eh?

Jim, Ma grabbed Dad’s arm. Her friends haven’t seen her since last night. Nobody knows where she is. Her face flickered. "Gaia is gone."

CHAPTER TWO

Didn’t she come back last night? Dad stares at me. We’re in the living room now; my parents pacing up and down and me quietly wondering how much to panic. I thought you said she’d gone running first thing?

The damn shoes.

I…got that wrong, I think.

We need to call her. Dad turns to Ma. Where’s my phone? He disappears through the archway into the kitchen.

Maybe she crashed at a friend’s? I offer.

She’d let us know, and she’d be here by now. Nobody at the brunch had seen her, none of her housemates or friends.

Where’s my phone? Dad is shouting in the kitchen.

Here! I spot it on the armchair. As Dad comes back, I jog over and go for the grab but somehow end up batting the phone into the metal grate of the empty fireplace.

Esme! Dad yells, retrieving it and bringing up a cloud of wood ash. There are cracks across the screen. Can’t see anything on this now! He tries to swipe. Ow! He shakes his finger and a plop of dark blood drips on to my armchair.

Jim, you’ve cut yourself! Ma says, like he needed telling. I’ll get a bandage.

I’m fine! He’s not, he’s dripping red; it’s running down his hand in a totally overdramatic way.

God, sorry, Dad.

It’s okay! he says, looking down at his not-okay finger. He shouts through the archway at Ma, who sounds like she’s rummaging in a kitchen cupboard. Leave it, Julia! Just call Gaia!

"It was the first thing I did, obviously. Ma shouts back, reappearing. Straight to voicemail. She shoves a roll of bandage and tape at Dad. I called, texted, IM’d, emailed. Pulling her phone from her back pocket she scrolls, searching. Nothing. The phone goes to up to her ear. Voicemail again. Ma takes a few steps away and clears her throat, her back to us. Gaia, love. The voice is casual, everyday. Can you call us—we’re a bit worried that you haven’t turned up. We’re at the lodge. Love you. She hangs up. I’ll ring Addy. She might know something. Holding the phone to her ear, she moves to the window. Oh, hell, why do kids never answer?" She goes to the front door and walks out into the cold air. We hear her leave a chirpy-but-taut message for Addy.

Dad has managed to roll the entire bandage around the end of his finger, the tip so fat it looks like a giant cotton swab.

Let me get this straight, Es, he says, biting tape. You came home with Addy last night.

Yeah. I sink lightly onto the armchair, memories of Addy wobbling alongside me, slightly the worse for wear. It was snowing—she left me, went home to her parents’ place. Not entirely accurate. I’d ended up seeing her home, sort of. I was worried she might pass out drunk and freeze overnight, but I don’t need to share that right now.

Ma appears at the doorway. I heard the door unlatch. We’d gone to bed, Jim, but I can’t sleep ’til I know the girls are back.

And you thought Gaia came in shortly after, Es? Dad is fiddling with more tape.

Not exactly… I bite the side of my thumb. She said she’d follow me, but she was in the middle of talking to someone. I picture her on the stairs with…who? Can’t remember. So then, Craig—you know, my ski instructor? Whose house the party was at?—well, he shooed me out and said he’d walk her back.

Did Gaia actually say she’d walk with Craig? Ma says. Oh for goodness’ sake, here, Jim! She slams the door shut, strides up to Dad, and deftly ties the tape off for him.

Um, I try to remember. Nope.

Oh god! Ma says.

"Julia, she’s nineteen. Dad says. She’s an adult, and she knows her way around."

Not well enough, clearly, Ma mutters. Stay here. I’m going to drive to her lodging. Es, you can come with me, and if she’s not there, we’ll get her luggage into the car. That way we can leave for Boston as soon as she comes back.

Dad nods, silent. I follow Ma out of the door. She will restore order. That’s what she does.

When Gaia sent us a pic of her new home, it took my breath away.

I’d watched this old movie called The Amityville Horror, and Gaia’s house had looked just like it. The movie had been a bit of a disappointment. Dad conned me into watching it, promising spooks to the max, but the actors were over the top, and it was funny rather than terrifying. The house itself gave me chills, though. In the movie, it’s this huge, run-down place, and when you see it for the first time it actually looks like it has an evil face, windows for eyes, the whole bit. The pic of Gaia’s house had that going on too. Only, when we landed in the United States, I realized that quite a lot of the houses here are inherently creepy. Very different from the redbrick terrace I call home. I don’t know if it’s the wooden shutters and the crawl spaces, the attics and the basements—and Americans never close their curtains when it gets dark. What’s up with that?

The house isn’t far away, but I’m pretty sure we take the scenic route because Ma is scanning for Gaia. She drives slowly as we pass holiday lodging interspersed with woods and the ends of ski trails. There’s a big leisure complex and pool, and the center of the ski village with its shops and eateries. We do a drive-by, and most of it looks shut. Nobody is around except for a couple of maintenance guys up a cherry picker on the side of the road. We pass only one car going in the opposite direction, and Ma slows down to look over. It’s a boy-girl couple in a beat-up four-wheel drive, packed to the gills with luggage, skis on the rack. They’re arguing, and they don’t look at us as we check them out. I think they were at the party last night, but I couldn’t say for sure.

At the turning for Gaia’s street, Ma slows to a stop. There’s a figure in the distance, walking slowly toward us: head down, a black hat, dark green parka. Gaia’s parka is dark green. Whoever it is, is struggling with a large laundry bag. Ma has her indicator on to turn right, but we sit there, willing that figure to be Gaia. As they approach, they look up, and it’s not Gaia. A slender, young white man with thin spikes of yellow hair poking out of the bottom of the hat looks back at us.

Gaia’s place is at the far end of a street with several large houses, all on one side of the road. They’re the oldest buildings in the resort; Abenaki Avenue, named after the indigenous folk the white people stole the land from, she’d (half) joked. We’d eaten at The Apogee, the revolving restaurant on top of the mountain, earlier in the week, and Gaia had pointed out a framed print on the wall beside our table.

Check out my crib! She’d said, brown eyes twinkling. "Back in the day, I woulda had a deluxe domicile." And there was her house in the photo, in nineteen thirty-whatever, with plucky folk standing on the deck wearing tweed pantaloons and holding thick, wooden skis.

Apparently, when they were built the houses had great views of the slopes, but they became staff quarters when the resort expanded and newer accommodations sprang up. A line of trees was planted to hide the staff housing from the road and deny their new occupants the view. Gaia reckoned she was lucky because she and Addy shared an attic room and could see the top of the mountain from their window.

Ma pulls to the side of the road. A couple of the houses have people outside, in various stages of packing their cars.

Looks like everyone is leaving, Ma says. I wonder how many of these kids stick around for the summer season?

Gaia told me not many, mainly waiters and bar staff. She and Addy got asked to stay on in Concierge, but they already had those beach jobs lined up at the Cape.

Ma nods, suddenly throwing her door open and leaping out. I’m left to climb over her seat to exit, as there’s a wall of frozen, compacted snow curbside.

Hey, guys! Ma is already accosting people. Anyone seen Gaia? Nobody is being particularly helpful; most of them know who Gaia is and mention she was a no-show at the brunch, but no one volunteers any new info. As Ma chats away, I can see her surreptitiously checking out the cars, even running up to a house or two to try and get a glimpse inside. She’s shameless like that. Normally, it would give me a chronic cringe, but right now I’m glad she’s so brazen.

Ma powers up the street to Gaia’s place when she’s finished her interrogating.

Addy’s car. She slaps the hood of a silver-blue hatchback in the drive of the house. So, Gaia hasn’t borrowed it. I wish she had; Adam Addison probably installed a bloody tracking device, knowing how he monitors his poor daughter’s every movement.

Does Gaia drive it? I try the car door, but it’s locked.

Yep. Ma nods. We fumed. The Addisons bought it for the girls in Boston, had it waiting for them in the airport parking lot when they landed. She gives a hollow laugh. What a stupid idea. Neither of the girls had ever driven on the wrong side of the road before, and then the first time they get behind the wheel is in Boston, home of the worst drivers in North America.

I forget sometimes that Ma lived over here; she barely talks about it. But I’ve heard about those times from what she’s told Gaia. It was quite the love story; Ma was only a teenager when she met a handsome U.S. soldier on the military base near her little English village. I’ve seen pictures of Ori, Gaia’s dad. He was Black, super tall, and extremely good-looking; no wonder Ma followed him back to the United States. Ori was seriously clever too—he’d been in the military to fund his college education, studying to be an engineer—and when Ma got pregnant, they knew it was going to be a struggle, but the future looked bright. Gaia doesn’t remember much, but she says Ma tells her they were really, really happy. But Ori died, in their backyard, right in front of them. It was a heart attack—some desperately unfair, previously undetected problem. Because she wasn’t married, Ma had to leave the United States and take little Gaia back to the UK. My dad came on to the scene a year later, and me soon after that.

Ma’s leaning on the car as though if she listens hard enough, it might whisper secrets. But then her face hardens, and she pushes herself up and runs lightly to the front door, opening it and striding in without invitation.

Gaia! she bellows into the hallway.

It’s a big house, and the last time we were here it was buzzing with people, but today it stands silent. Ma leaps up the stairs, runs down a corridor, and immediately tackles the second flight, with me hurrying to keep up. On the second-floor landing there’s a door that leads to a narrow, twisty flight of stairs to the attic bedroom. Ma pauses a second before going in: Addy and Gaia’s room. We almost trip over a trunk, which takes up most of the floor space. The rest of the room consists of bunk beds—one stripped, one unmade—an open closet, and a dressing table. It takes a second to see that Gaia is not here.

Someone packed this. Ma lifts the lid of the trunk. The Addisons are going to pay to store the girls’ snow gear until autumn.

Addy’s backpack. I point to the gray and pink bag leaning against the bottom bunk. It’s full. I look around. Where’s Gaia’s?

We find it, stuffed into the top of the closet. Very not-packed, which I expected, because I can see some of her clothes hanging, and some on the floor. And there are toiletries, and books and a small saucer of jewelry that I know is Gaia’s. I pick up a single earring, an amber stud; I gave her these for her birthday last year. Where’s the other one? I pocket the one in my hand.

Ma is rifling through the trunk.

Only Addy’s stuff is ready to go. She straightens up, sighs, momentarily closes her eyes. Right. Gaia wouldn’t give us a fright like this. She must have been…held up, or something. She grabs Gaia’s empty rucksack. Help me get things squared away, will you? We’ll take it back in the car.

She hesitates, staring at the pack like it’s going to bite her.

Ma? I look at her. When she doesn’t answer, I go to grab a pile of Gaia’s clothes from the closet.

No! she says, one hand out, stopping me in my tracks, carefully laying the bag back on the shelf where we found it. Actually…maybe… We shouldn’t touch anything. She leaves the closet open and walks past me to the door.

Why not?

But she doesn’t answer me.

We’re sitting in the car again, now parked outside the house, like cops on surveillance. Apart from Addy and Gaia’s attic, only one bedroom showed signs that it was still occupied. We checked every room, top to bottom, and we were, as I had suspected, completely home alone.

We’ll wait here a few mins, in case she comes back. Ma stares at the house. Where the hell is she? Anything unusual happen at the party last night, Es?

I breathe out slowly. Oh god. Where do I start?

CHAPTER THREE

It started with a boy.

It was snowing lightly as Gaia, Addy, and I walked to the party at Craig’s house last night. On the way over, I’d had a little disagreement with a patch of icy pavement and wiped out. Broke my watch and knocked my head. No biggie, very much business as usual for me, but by the time we got to the party, my head was thumping, and I felt seriously queasy.

Hey, I’d tugged Gaia’s sleeve as we’d walked up the steps to the covered deck. Gonna catch my breath for a sec. I’ll follow you in.

You’d better. She raised a thick eyebrow, but left me to it, the noise of the party enveloping her and Addy as they went through the front door.

Oh god, a wave of nausea hit as the door closed. I staggered across the deck, grabbed the rail, and hurled my supper into the darkness below. Wow. Didn’t see that coming. Sinking to my knees, I clung to the deck, inhaling the freezing air like that was going to fix me.

You done?

A voice from below, from the