Chapter 6: What Gary Said When He Thought He Still Had Power
I drove to Ohio.
I know people would say I should have flown, that it was faster, that I had already been at an airport.
But I couldn't sit in a contained metal space with strangers for two hours.
I needed the road.
I needed to be moving under my own control, mile by mile, with my hands on the wheel and nothing ahead of me but the distance closing between me and my daughter.
I called my sister Dana from the car.
She was the only person I told that day.
She didn't say much.
She just said, "I'm coming," and I heard her already moving around her house, and I said, "Meet me in Millfield, Ohio," and she said, "I'll be there," and that was the entire conversation.
I was two hours outside Columbus when my phone rang through the car speakers.
A number I recognized this time.
Gary's attorney, a man named Braddock who had done our wills three years ago and who I had always found slightly too smooth.
I answered.
"Helen." His voice was measured.
Professionally warm.
"I'm calling on Gary's behalf.
He's asked me to reach out before things proceed any further."
"Things have already proceeded," I said.
"Your client was arrested this morning."
"I'm aware.
And I want to be transparent with you — Gary is prepared to cooperate fully with investigators.
He wants to help locate any additional individuals involved and ensure Cynthia's complete safety."
"Cynthia is already safe."
A pause.
He hadn't known that.
"That's — that's wonderful news.
Gary will be very relieved to hear — "
"Don't." My voice came out flat and final.
"Don't tell me what Gary will feel.
Don't call me again on his behalf.
If you need to reach me for any legal reason related to my own interests, you can contact me through my own attorney."
"Helen, I understand you're upset, but if you'll just — "
"I'm not upset," I said.
"I'm driving to Ohio to pick up my daughter.
Goodbye, Mr.
Braddock."
I ended the call.
He called back twice.
I didn't answer.
The call I had been bracing for came forty minutes later.
Not Braddock.
Gary himself, from what I assumed was a jail facility phone.
I almost didn't answer.
My finger hovered over the decline button for three full seconds.
Then I picked up.
"Helen." His voice was different again.
Not the panic from the airport.
Not the controlled threat from the second call.
This was something else — softer, practiced, the voice he used when he wanted me to feel sorry for him.
"Thank God.
I've been trying to reach you."
"I know."
"I need you to understand something.
What happened — it wasn't what it looks like.
I was in trouble.
Financial trouble.
Serious trouble that I didn't know how to tell you about, and Harlow approached me, and I made a terrible decision, and I have regretted it every single day — "
"Gary."
"— every single day, Helen, I want you to know that.
I never stopped thinking about her.
I never stopped — "
"Gary." Louder this time.
He stopped.
"Where did you tell yourself she was going?" I asked.
"When you shook that man's hand and took his money — what did you tell yourself was going to happen to our fourteen-year-old daughter?"
Silence.
"What story did you build in your head to make it something you could live with?"
"I was told she'd be placed with a family.
A good family.
People who could — "
"She was locked in a house in Ohio reading the same paperback novels over and over because there was nothing else to do." My voice stayed level.
I was surprised by that.
"She learned to cry quietly.
Did you know that?
She told me she learned to cry quietly."
Nothing from his end.
"I'm going to tell you something now," I said.
"And I need you to hear it clearly.
I am not coming home.
I am not speaking to your attorney.
I am not helping you build a story that makes this survivable for you.
I am driving to Ohio to get our daughter, and after that, every conversation I have will be with prosecutors, not with you."
"Helen — "
"Don't call me again."
I ended the call and turned off the ringer.
The road stretched out ahead of me, flat and gray and very long.
May you like
Somewhere in the distance, past the horizon, my daughter was sitting in a house with yellow curtains, feeding toast to a dog named Biscuit, waiting for me to arrive.
I pressed the accelerator down and drove.
