She's Not There Read Free

didn’t she just hang up?
    “I think…”
    “Yes?”
    “I’ve been looking at the sketches on the Internet.” Lili paused. “You know…of your daughter.”
    Caroline lowered her head.
Here it comes,
she thought. It happened every year at this time. Five years ago, a man had called from Florida, claiming his new neighbor’s daughter bore a suspicious resemblance to recent sketches of Samantha. Caroline immediately took off for Miami, missing all three of Michelle’s performances in her high school’s production of
Oliver!,
only to have her hopes dashed when the man’s suspicions proved groundless. The following year a woman reported seeing Samantha waiting in line at a Starbucks in Tacoma, Washington. Another wasted trip followed. And now, with the widespread release of the most recent sketches in the papers, on the Internet…“Lili…,” she began.
    “That’s just it,” the girl interrupted as once again Caroline felt her knees go weak and her breath turn to ice in her chest. “I don’t think Lili is my name.” Another silence. “I think my real name is Samantha. I think I’m your daughter.”

“A re we there yet?” Michelle whined from the backseat of the late-model white Lexus. She tugged on her seat belt and kicked at Caroline’s back.
    “Please don’t do that, sweetheart,” Caroline said, swiveling around in the passenger seat to face her scowling five-year-old. Next to Michelle, Samantha slept peacefully in her toddler seat. And there in a nutshell, Caroline thought, eyes darting between her children, was the difference between her two girls: one daughter a fidgety little mouthful of childish clichés; the other a perfect little Sleeping Beauty. Caroline had always disdained parents who favored one child over another—her own mother being a prime example—but she had to admit that it was occasionally harder than she’d anticipated not to do just that.
    “I’m tired of driving.”
    “I know, sweetheart. We’ll be there soon.”
    “I want some juice.”
    Caroline glanced toward the driver’s seat. Her husband shook his head without taking his eyes off the road. Caroline’s shoulders slumped. She understood Hunter didn’t want to risk getting juice all over the buttery leather seats of his new car, but she also knew it meant another twenty minutes of pleading and kicking. “We’ll be there soon, sweetie. You can have some juice then.”
    “I want it now.”
    “Look at the ocean,” Hunter said in an effort to distract her. “Look how beautiful—”
    “I don’t want to look at the ocean. I want some juice.” Michelle’s voice was getting louder. Caroline knew the child was working her way up to a full-blown tantrum, that it was only a matter of seconds before there would be an eruption of seismic proportions. Again she glanced at Hunter.
    “If we give in now…,” he whispered.
    Caroline let out a deep breath and stared out the side window, knowing he was right and deciding to concentrate on the spectacular, unblemished view of the ocean running alongside the well-maintained toll road. Perhaps Michelle would follow her example.
    “I’m thirsty,” Michelle said, quickly scuttling that hope. Then a full octave higher, her voice trembling with the threat of tears. “I’m thirsty.”
    “Hang on, sweetie,” Hunter said. “We’ll be there soon.”
    There
was Rosarito Beach and the Grand Laguna Resort, a luxury hotel and spa complex that Hunter had selected as the perfect place to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary. Located between the Pacific Ocean and the foothills of Baja’s Gold Coast, Rosarito was only thirty miles south of San Diego, and its proximity to the U.S.-Mexican border made it a popular tourist spot for Southern Californians, providing them with the opportunity to visit a foreign country and experience a different culture without the inconvenience of having to travel very far.
    Seventeen miles of stunning ocean road led into the main urban district