Mara came into our room wearing jeans, a white T-shirt and the red canvas shoes she loved.
She carried a small backpack.
I looked at it.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“That bag says more than out.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Daniel’s family leaves tomorrow.”
“So?”
“So I’m saying goodbye.”
“With clothes?”
Her expression changed.
That was when I knew.
“You’re going with him.”
“Not forever.”
“Mara.”
“Just for a few days.”
“You’re sixteen.”
“So are you. Congratulations on knowing our age.”
I stood.
“Dad will kill you.”
“He can’t control everything.”
“He can control whether you come home.”
She looked at me.
Something in her face should have made me stop arguing.
Instead, I said:
“This is stupid.”
She flinched.
“I didn’t ask.”
“No, because you know I’d tell you it’s stupid.”
“I’m going.”
“Then go.”
I said it angrily.
Casually.
Like sisters say things they assume they will get another chance to fix.
Mara stared at me.
Then said:
“Fine.”
She walked out.
Those were the last words we exchanged for forty years.
Fine.
I heard Dad shouting ten minutes later.
Then a door slammed.
By the time I reached the driveway, Mara was gone.
Dad stood by the gate.
He said Daniel had picked her up.
He said she had chosen to leave.
He said she would come back when she stopped being ridiculous.
She didn’t.
At first, police treated it seriously.
Then they learned she had left voluntarily with Daniel.
Daniel’s family was gone.
People assumed young love.
Running away.
Teenage rebellion.
A few weeks later, police located Daniel with relatives in Arizona.
Mara was no longer with him.
He claimed they had separated after an argument two states away.
He said Mara boarded a bus.
After that, nothing.
Mom never recovered.
She searched.
Called agencies.
Sent letters.
Placed notices.
Years later, when the internet made searches easier, she learned how to use computers solely to look for Mara.
Dad changed differently.
Within a year, Mara’s name became something he could barely tolerate.
He stopped talking to investigators.
Stopped discussing theories.
Once, when Mom put a missing-person flyer on the refrigerator, he tore it down.
I thought grief had made him cruel.
