Sadie

  Could you look for it maybe, and tell me if you find it? If I can get ahold of him, it would be really helpful.

  RUBY LOCKWOOD:

  I doubt I’ll find it and I’m telling you, Darren doesn’t have kids.

  WEST McCRAY:

  You sound so certain of that but if he only lived here briefly, it seems fair to assume there’s a lot about him that you never got around to knowing.

  RUBY LOCKWOOD:

  I’m certain because I asked. He sat where you’re sitting now, shooting the shit, and I asked him if he had kids and he said no. What do I care if he has kids? What’s he got to gain by lying to me? Nothing.

  WEST McCRAY:

  What’s Sadie got to gain by lying to you?

  RUBY LOCKWOOD:

  [LAUGHS] Come on. You think she’s the first girl trying to put the screws to some man she calls daddy? I’ll tell you what else, she was damn rude.

  WEST McCRAY:

  Rude how?

  RUBY LOCKWOOD:

  When I said I hadn’t seen Darren before, she called me a liar. Take my word—I’m telling you, she was running some kind of con. She didn’t like that I saw through her.

  WEST McCRAY [STUDIO]:

  When I’m done talking to Ruby, and before I search online for Darren, I try to get in touch with Marlee Singer, but she doesn’t pick up the phone. Then I call May Beth. When I tell her the news, she’s absolutely stunned.

  MAY BETH FOSTER [PHONE]:

  No. No, that can’t be right. Sadie didn’t know who her father was. She always told me she didn’t give a damn.

  WEST McCRAY [PHONE]:

  Well, his last name isn’t Hunter, if it is this guy.

  MAY BETH FOSTER [PHONE]:

  Darren …

  I’m telling you, I never heard that name in my life. [PAUSE] But I guess that doesn’t mean anything. Claire had a lot of men in and out, before and after Irene died … God. She’s really looking for her father? That’s what she said?

  WEST McCRAY [TO RUBY, IN DINER]:

  There a chance anyone else in the diner was in contact with Sadie?

  RUBY LOCKWOOD:

  Anyone other than Saul and me, I got no clue. She was only here for … couldn’t have been an hour.

  WEST McCRAY:

  If I leave a photo of Sadie with you, you think you can put it up? Ask around?

  RUBY LOCKWOOD:

  Sure thing.

  WEST McCRAY [STUDIO]:

  A day later, I get a phone call from a man named Caddy Sinclair.

  sadie

  The cafe is called Lili’s.

  I duck inside and navigate past the ridiculous line at the register, trying not to breathe in the scent of food, of caffeine. I feel like I never want to eat again. I feel like if I don’t eat something soon, I won’t make it much further. My body is trembling, tremoring, and I’m freezing, even though it’s hot, my teeth chattering. I don’t know how to make this go away. I need to make it go away. I slip into the bathroom and sink-wash myself in frustrating stop-starts as women filter in and out. I just. Want to be clean. I use the cheap floral soap and gritty paper towels to rub a weak lather over my arms and legs with my shaking hands. The dirt from the house washes away, leaving a mishmash of tiny cuts on my shins that I didn’t notice from my trek through the grass. I slip my hand up my shirt, cleaning the sweat from under my breasts. My hair has about another day left in it before I have to find some way to wash it. I twist it into a tight bun. I lean forward against the sink and let out a sob, whispering okay, okay, okay, until I feel its cold porcelain beneath my fingers.

  He took Darren under his wing, sort of, just made a point of being nice to him. Fucking Marlee. He took Darren under his—

  Fucking Marlee. Silas could sense it, I bet, that same sick soul lurking underneath, someone he could share himself with. He was just better at hiding it than Keith was. But Marlee had to have known it, she had to. I don’t talk to my brother anymore. Why else would she give up the only relationship she had with the one person who could bankroll her? I pound my fist against the sink because there’s nothing else in here I can hit. She. Knew.

  And now I know.

  I run my hand over my mouth. My eyes are wide and wild and I can’t see myself beyond them. I can only see what they’ve seen.

  Do I kill him?

  Do I kill Silas Baker?

  I stole Keith’s switchblade the night Mom kicked him out.

  That night didn’t end how it was supposed to, in a lot of ways, but I thought I could kill him when I was half the girl I am now, a coltish thing. Or maybe I didn’t think I would kill him—maybe I was too young to imagine anything so final, so irreversible—but I wanted to hurt him badly enough to make him afraid of me the way I needed.

  The way he should be afraid of me now.

  He kept the blade on the nightstand in Mom’s bedroom next to his Bible. Once, a few weeks after he moved in, he called me in and sat me on his lap and showed it to me. Sadie, look at this, he’d said, and I watched the blade flick out of its handle before I realized it was a knife. That’s the business end, he’d said, and pointed to its tip. I don’t wanna ever see this in your hands, you hear me?

  I dip my hand into my pocket, letting my fingertips drift over its contours and remember how it looked in my grasp when my hands were much smaller. It almost didn’t make sense. I was surprised, when I pulled it on Caddy, how much it belonged.

  I can’t move through this town and leave it the way I found it.

  I press my fingers to my forehead.

  I have to stop it.

  But Keith.

  But wait.

  A woman comes in. I turn to her, my mind racing. She’s middle-aged, with dark black skin. She very sweetly asks me if I’m okay. I tell her I’m fine and ask if I can use her phone. It comes out of my mouth more fractured than usual, the stress of everything worsening my stutter. She says, “Of course,” in the softest voice and something about it further breaks me and I don’t know if it’s the relief that kindness can exist in this world or the guilt of kindness existing in a world that doesn’t deserve it. I call Javi. He picks up on the third ring, his voice thick with sleep, and I ask him to meet me here and he says quickly, excitedly, yeah, yeah, I’ll be right there, don’t go anywhere. The woman smiles at me as I pass the phone back to her.

  I step back into the café, waiting near the door, picking at one of my fingernails until it bleeds. Javi arrives eight minutes later, trying for all the world to look casual, but I can tell by his heaving chest he must have run here. There’s a vaguely sick pall to his skin and a vaguely boozy scent to his sweat. Remains of last night.

  Last night feels so far from me now.

  “Hi,” he says and I can’t bring myself to return his smile. He doesn’t notice. He leans back on his heels, eyes drifting to the registers before clapping his hands together. Everything he says next comes out rushed, nervous: “It’s still kind of early to head over to Noah’s. We could give ’em a minute to wake up, that sound okay? I haven’t even eaten breakfast. You hungry? Let’s eat. It’s on me. What’ll you have?”

  I don’t want to eat.

  I have to eat.

  If this were a normal situation, I wonder if I’d try to be delicate about it, if I’d pretend to be a girl with a dainty appetite, or more appealing, none at all. I tell him I want their protein snack box and their most calorie-laden smoothie in its largest size and he can’t mask the surprise on his face, but he recovers quickly and makes the order. Soon enough, we have our food and wedge ourselves into a table in the back corner of the café, as far from the bustle as possible, at my request. Javi matches my appetite with his order, but eats in a way that suggests he wasn’t that hungry. He’s even shyer, more uncertain than he was, now that he’s sober.

  I stare at my meal, my stomach turning at the thought of it, but I have to eat.

  I have to eat if I want to do anything next.

  I close my eyes briefly, and then I slip a piece o
f apple into my mouth and carefully chew it into a paste and then I realize that I can’t taste it. It’s nothing on my tongue. I ignore my rising panic and take another bite of apple, trying to force myself to reach past everything that’s wrong to something crisp, sweet and fresh.

  After an agonizing moment, its flavor seeps into my taste buds and then it’s too sweet.

  I never used to like apples.

  May Beth said when I was little, an only child, I was always hungry, starving, arms reaching for food and even then, I was still picky. She said I only understood sugar and grease and if she tried to give me anything good enough to grow bones, I’d cry until my eyes were so swollen, I couldn’t see. In those moments, she’d trick me; put pieces of apple on my tongue and call them candy. It wasn’t long before I caught on and bit her hard enough to draw blood. But then Mattie came along and May Beth said she’d end up pickier than me if I didn’t set a better example and did I want to see my little sister aching for food?

  I couldn’t think of anything I wanted less.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  I place a piece of cheese on my tongue and it sits in my mouth. I have to take a long drink of the smoothie to force it down.

  “S-sure.”

  He leans forward, his eyes searching my face.

  “What’s wrong, Lera?”

  “L-let me eat,” I tell him. “L-let me f-finish eating f-first.”

  He sits there awkwardly, patiently, while I work through the breakfast he’s bought me. It’s an awful, absurd exercise in self-preservation, putting the food in my mouth, consciously instructing myself to swallow, because if I don’t it will just sit there. All this production just to make it to the next moment. Javi gives me a small smile and I hear his voice, last night, over the din in the bar: Their dad was my T-ball coach.

  Sometimes, I feel made of Mattie’s absence, this complete emptiness inside me and the only thing that makes it bearable, that quiets it, is moving, is putting distance between her murder and pushing myself closer to the promise of taking Keith’s life. It still hurts, though. It always hurts. Other times, I can only feel the weight of it, all of it, of every Sadie I’ve been, every choice that she’s made, and everything she could have possibly gotten so wrong that she’d end up here. Now. Like this. Alone.

  I get halfway through the smoothie before my stomach finally says no more and then I grasp the edge of the table, fighting the utter rejection my body wants to do of normal, automatic things. I remember the last time I felt this way. After Mattie died.

  “Lera.” Javi reaches across the table and puts his hand on my arm. “What is it?”

  THE GIRLS

  S1E3

  WEST McCRAY:

  Caddy Sinclair is a tall, skinny white guy in his midthirties. He lives in Wagner and shares an apartment with his brother. He spends most days at Whittler’s Truck Stop, hanging around outside, or—when he can afford it—eating one of Ruby’s famous specials. He’s a local legend; everyone knows his name and that, he tells me, is precisely his problem.

  CADDY SINCLAIR:

  I wouldn’t mind being left the fuck alone.

  WEST MCCRAY:

  Well then, I really appreciate you talking to me.

  CADDY SINCLAIR:

  Whatever. It’s not like I’m doing you some big favor. If you find this girl, I want to know.

  WEST McCRAY [STUDIO]:

  Caddy’s an interesting contradiction; before he wanted to be left alone, a quick Google search of his name reveals a teenager who desperately wanted to be the next Eminem. If you head on over to musiccamp.com and search for the user “‘Sick Caddy” you can listen to six demos he recorded in a friend’s basement. If you’re streaming from our podcast’s official website, you’ll find an embedded player on this episode’s page. But do me a favor before you check it out: read the content warnings.

  CADDY SINCLAIR:

  That was a different … stupid time in my life. I’m not going to talk about it. Every kid thinks they got the makings of something great when they ain’t shit. Then you learn it’s better being nothing, anyway. [COUGHS] So you want to know about this girl, huh? She’s missing?

  WEST McCRAY:

  Yeah, she’s missing. I’m trying to help her family locate her.

  CADDY SINCLAIR:

  She’s probably dead.

  WEST McCRAY:

  Would you know something about that if she is?

  CADDY SINCLAIR:

  Nope. Mind if I smoke? [PAUSE, LIGHTER SOUND] The last time I saw her she was alive, but if she’s as out of her mind as she was when I met her, and if she comes at the wrong people like she came at me … well, you could lose your life for a lot less in this world.

  WEST McCRAY:

  Let’s back up a little here. You told me when we talked on the phone that Sadie came to you for information about Darren. She’d never been to Wagner before from what I can tell, so how did she know she needed to talk to you?

  CADDY SINCLAIR:

  Figure someone inside told her about me. Damned if I know. That part’s not real important, though, it could’ve been anyone. I’m the go-to guy around here. People want something—I mean, people want to know something, they’re going to come to me. I always know what the fuck’s going on because I just … I just do.

  WEST McCRAY:

  Did you know Darren?

  CADDY SINCLAIR:

  We weren’t friends, but if he saw me at the diner, we’d talk. Ruby knew him better. I didn’t know he had a daughter.

  WEST McCRAY:

  And that is who Sadie told you she was—Darren’s daughter.

  CADDY SINCLAIR:

  Yeah, she showed me his picture and it was Darren, all right.

  WEST McCRAY:

  Do you happen to have a picture of him?

  CADDY SINCLAIR:

  No, but I can tell you what he looked like: white, tall, broad. Dark hair. He was just a guy. Nothing in particular really stood out.

  WEST McCRAY:

  Tell me what happened next.

  CADDY SINCLAIR:

  She pulled a knife on me.

  WEST McCRAY:

  Really? Just like that?

  CADDY SINCLAIR:

  Yeah. She told me to tell her everything I knew about Darren or else.

  WEST McCRAY:

  And did you?

  CADDY SINCLAIR:

  Do I look alive to you?

  WEST McCRAY:

  What did you tell her?

  CADDY SINCLAIR:

  I told her the truth. I told her the most I knew about Darren was that a few years back, he was with Marlee Singer and she’d probably know more about him than I did. I told her Marlee lived in Wagner. Kid took off. Didn’t seem right in the head to me. If you do find her, let me know. I want this on record because I’m gonna charge that bitch with assault. Switchblades are illegal too.

  WEST McCRAY:

  Thanks for your time, Caddy.

  WEST McCRAY [PHONE]:

  Was Sadie a violent person, May Beth?

  MAY BETH FOSTER [PHONE]:

  No. No! Never. I mean … she could’ve been, but in the way we all could be. It wasn’t something that she was. It wasn’t in her nature, if that’s what you mean.

  WEST McCRAY [PHONE]:

  Caddy said Sadie had a switchblade. She pulled it on him. There wasn’t a switchblade in her belongings.

  MAY BETH FOSTER [PHONE]:

  Then he’s lying. Sadie wouldn’t—she wouldn’t … if it’s not in her things, he’s lying.

  WEST McCRAY [PHONE]:

  Or she could still have it.

  WEST McCRAY [STUDIO]:

  Whether or not she still does, I think the real question is why she felt she needed it.

  sadie

  I’m outside Silas Baker’s house again.

  A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck as I pull up behind his Mercedes. That must mean he’s home. The food from Lili’s does an uneasy turn in my gut. I get out of t
he car, pocketing my keys and make my way to the front door when I hear the laughter—what sounds like Kendall and Noah—coming from the back of the house. I round it slowly, until I reach the backyard and find them there, lounging by a pool.

  The private side of the Baker’s’ property is no less impressive than its public facing one. Their pool is inground, long, wide and deep with a diving board. There are four chaise longues, two on either side, and a fancy metal table between them.

  The backyard is lush; the grass is jewel green with thriving vegetable and flower gardens taking up opposite sides. A pine deck leads to a sliding glass door to the inside of the house. Noah drifts on a float in the water. Kendall is resplendent in a tiny red bikini, sunning herself on a soft monogrammed towel. Everything around us seems blessed to be here, and I try to process the luxury of it, of everything I’m seeing against everything else I’ve seen today. The only thing my head is able to arrive at is, this isn’t real …

  “Where’s Javi?” Noah asks, tilting his head at me.

  “I d-don’t know.” I shrug. “He s-said he’d m-meet me h-here.”

  “Huh.” Noah grabs his phone, which is resting on his abdomen, and thumbs out a text. He waits a minute and says, “Not answering. Maybe on his way.”

  “Weren’t you wearing that yesterday?” Kendall asks me. Noah laughs.

  “D-didn’t go home last n-night.”

  Kendall leans up on her elbows, the action pushing her impressive chest out in a way I think is meant to intimidate me. “How come?”

  “T-too hard to b-be there.”

  “Well, hope you don’t mind doing this all morning,” Noah says. “We’re on lockdown because when we came home last night someone”—”he points an accusatory finger at his sister“—”didn’t have the decency to fake sober. Grounded for a goddamn month.”

  I look around. “What a p-p-punishment.”