Page 39 of The Guilty One
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CELINE
As soon as the hour is reasonable, I dial my mother-in-law’s number, and when she answers, I say the name that has been replaying in my mind over and over all night.
“Matteo Acri,” I blurt out.
“Celine?” she asks, sounding half asleep. “What did you say? Was that a sneeze? Or a…spell? Are the boys watching Harry Potter again?”
“No, I said Matteo Acri. I think that was the name of the other boy in the picture I gave you.”
She pauses. “The photo from last night?”
“Yes. Does that name sound familiar?”
“I don’t think so.” Her voice goes muffled. “Honey, do we know a…” She pauses, her voice coming back to me. “What did you say it was again, Celine?”
“Matteo Acri,” I repeat.
“Matteo Acri,” she tells Lane. “Celine thinks he’s the other boy in the picture.”
“Acri…” I can hear him mumbling in the distance through the line. “I don’t think so.”
“We don’t think so, honey, but maybe. What did you find out about him?”
“Nothing, really. Just an article. But there was something. He, um, he went missing when they were in school.”
Daphne gasps. “Oh my gosh, yes! I do remember that. The boy who went missing. Yes. Oh, yes.” She’s quiet for a second. “I don’t remember if they ever found him. That was so awful.”
“I couldn’t find anything about it if they did.”
“That’s just terrible.” Suddenly, she’s crying.
“Do you think he and Tate were close?”
“Oh.” She sniffles. “I don’t think so, no. I don’t remember Tate mentioning him other than when he went missing. And honestly, we might’ve just heard about that on the news or something. I can’t even say for sure he’s the one who told us.”
“Oh, okay. He must’ve just been around the night they took that picture, then.”
“I think so, too. If you find out anything else, though, let us know. I’ll try to keep thinking about it in case there’s anything else I might remember.”
“Okay, thanks. And I will. I’ll keep you posted.” We end the call, and I slip out of bed, determination running through my veins. In the hall, my parents are there again and have just begun to wake the boys up.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Mom says. “You could’ve slept in.”
“I have some errands to take care of this morning,” I tell her. I’m planning to run to the bank to close our accounts and open new ones, but I don’t want to tell Mom and Dad about that. Not yet, anyway. Foolish as it may be, some part of me is still holding out hope for this to all be a simple misunderstanding.
As if Tate might just walk back in the door with bags of groceries and say he forgot how to get home or got locked in a coat closet at work or something. The realistic side of me knows that isn’t what’s going to happen, but the part of me who is still very much in love with her husband, the part that so desperately wants her children’s father here with us, isn’t ready to give up the hope just yet.
Once the boys are up and dressed, I give them hugs and kisses, promising to give them an update on Daddy as soon as we have it and then thank my parents for taking them to school again.
Yesterday I hated that they were going, but today I’m very thankful for the consistency in our routine as I get ready and make my way out the door.
As I cross the driveway and approach the car, I spot an email appear on my phone and open it quickly when I see the name.
Conroy Langdon, the man I emailed last night.
My heart leaps as I skim over his email.