Chapter 3: What Mrs. Greene Saw
For a few seconds after Lily said the next post might use both their names, neither of us moved.
The kitchen clock ticked above the sink. My phone lay on the table between us, its screen dark now, as if that could make the message disappear.
I wanted to ask a dozen questions. Who had sent it? What had the first post shown? What could the next one do to them?
Instead, I took a breath.
“Can I ask you something about Mrs. Greene?”
Lily’s shoulders tightened. “What?”
“She said she’d seen you come home during school hours. I want to know what she actually saw—not what she guessed.”
“You’re going to ask her?”
“I am. But I’m not going to ask her to figure out what happened to you or Maya. I just want to understand what she witnessed.”
Lily looked down at her hands. “She saw us come in.”
“More than once?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you know she’d noticed?”
“No.”
I could hear the accusation I wanted to make—that if Lily had realized our neighbor was watching, she could have told me. But she had not owed me a report on every person who might notice her. The important thing was that she had been scared, and I was trying to understand why.
“I’ll talk to her by myself,” I said. “You don’t have to explain anything to her.”
Lily glanced up. “And then?”
“Then I’ll come back and tell you what she said. I won’t fill in the blanks for her.”
She held my gaze for a moment, as if testing whether I meant it.
“Okay,” she said.
I went next door without my phone, leaving it facedown on the kitchen table. Mrs. Greene answered in a cardigan, her hair still damp at the ends. When she saw me, her expression softened—but she didn’t step closer or ask what I had found out.
“Olivia,” she said. “I’m glad you came.”
“Thank you for telling me. I’m trying to separate what you saw from what you’re worried might be happening.”
“Of course.”
“Could you tell me exactly what you remember?”
She folded her hands at her waist. “I’ve seen Lily come home during the school day a few times. Not every day. I can’t tell you how many without guessing.”
“And you saw someone with her?”
“I believe so. A girl, about Lily’s age. They came up the walk together once, I’m sure of it. Another time, I saw two girls near your front door. I was inside, and it was through the window. I didn’t get a good look.”
“Did you hear them?”
“No. I wasn’t close enough.”
“Did you speak to them?”
Mrs. Greene shook her head. “No. I didn’t want to frighten them, and I didn’t know what was going on. I thought maybe Lily was sick, or maybe she had forgotten something.”
She paused, choosing her next words with care.
“What made me mention it was how they looked. They seemed in a hurry. Tense, maybe. But I can’t say why. I don’t know whether they were upset, late, or just trying to get inside.”
The plainness of that answer unsettled me more than a dramatic guess would have. Mrs. Greene had noticed two girls hurrying toward a house. She had no explanation to offer, and no secret knowledge to uncover.
“Did you ever see them leave?”
“Once, I think. Again, I can’t be certain. I saw Lily walking toward the corner by herself later in the day. I don’t know if it was the same day.”
“And you didn’t know the other girl?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize. You were trying to help.”
Mrs. Greene’s eyes shifted toward my house. “I didn’t want to make it sound worse than it was.”
“You didn’t. I’m grateful you told me.”
She touched my sleeve, briefly, then let go. “You know where I am.”
I thanked her and walked back across the narrow strip of lawn. I’d expected to come away with some useful clue, something I could set beside Lily’s message and turn into a clear picture. Instead, I had the same pieces I’d had before, only more honestly named: a few school days, two girls, hurried steps, no explanation.
That was still something. A pattern did not have to explain itself to deserve attention.
Lily was at the kitchen table when I came inside. Her phone was beside her, but she wasn’t touching it.
“What did she say?” she asked.
“That she saw you come home a few times, sometimes with another girl. She didn’t know who the girl was. She didn’t hear anything or see what happened inside.”
“Did she think we were doing something?”
“No. She said you looked tense and hurried, but she didn’t know why. She was careful not to guess.”
Lily seemed to breathe out through her nose. “Okay.”
“She wasn’t trying to get you in trouble.”
“I know.”
I sat across from her. “There’s something else I need to ask. Would you be comfortable telling me Maya’s mother’s name?”
Lily’s fingers curled around the edge of her sleeve.
“I’m not asking you to tell me anything about the post,” I said. “I’m worried about Maya. I’d like to check whether her mom knows she might need help.”
“Her name is Carla.”
“Do you have a number for her?”
Lily hesitated, then opened her contacts. She turned the phone so I could see a contact labeled Carla Ruiz. “This is it.”
“Would it be okay if I called?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s fair.”
Lily stared at the contact. “Maya might think I told her mom everything.”
“I won’t say that you did. I can tell Carla I’m your mother and I’m calling because I’m concerned about the girls. I can ask whether Maya is safe. Nothing more unless she wants to tell me.”
“What if her mom gets mad?”
“Then I’ll listen to why. But I won’t blame Maya for needing help.”
Lily was quiet long enough for the kitchen clock to take over again.
“Can you not say she was here today?” she asked.
“I can start without that. If Carla asks me a direct question, I won’t lie. But I won’t give her details she doesn’t need.”
It wasn’t the answer Lily wanted. I could see that in the way she pressed her lips together.
“Okay,” she said at last. “You can call.”
I stepped into the living room so Lily wouldn’t have to listen from across the table. The phone rang four times and went to voicemail.
“Hi, Carla. This is Olivia Carter, Lily’s mom. I’m calling because I’m concerned about Maya and wanted to make sure she’s safe. I don’t want to assume anything or put words in the girls’ mouths. Could you call me back when you have a moment?”
I left my number and ended the call.
When I returned, Lily had picked up her phone. She was reading something but locked the screen when she noticed me. I didn’t ask what it was.
“Did she answer?” she asked.
“No. I left a message.”
“Are you going to call the school?”
“Not this minute. I want to talk with you first, and I want to know whether Carla has heard from Maya. We still need to decide what help looks like.”
Lily’s eyes stayed on me. “You said you weren’t going to pretend it was nothing.”
“I’m not.”
“And you said you’d talk to me before bringing in other people, if you could.”
“I did.”
“So this is still talking first?”
“Yes.”
She looked away. I didn’t know whether she believed me, but I also knew I couldn’t demand that she trust one conversation more than the days of silence that had come before it.
“We have to talk about school,” I said. “Not because I want to punish you. But you can’t keep disappearing from class, and Maya shouldn’t have to make it through the day without support.”
“I know.”
“Could we meet after school? Just you and me.”
Lily rubbed the seam of her sleeve between her fingers. “I can meet you.”
“Thank you.”
“But I’m not promising Maya will come.”
“I’m not asking you to promise that.”
“She might not want to talk to you.”
“Then I won’t make her.”
Lily’s gaze returned to mine. “You might have to.”
“I might have to involve an adult if someone’s in danger. But I won’t corner her or demand that she explain everything. I can’t promise nothing will be difficult. I can promise to be honest with you.”
She sat with that for a moment.
“After school,” she said.
“After school.”
The agreement was small, and it did not fix what had happened. It did not tell me why Maya was afraid, what the first post contained, or whether the warning on Lily’s phone would become something worse. But it gave us a next step we had chosen together.
I went back to the living room and set my phone on the coffee table. The house settled around us. Lily stayed in the kitchen, and I could hear the faint scrape of her chair as she stood, then the tap of her phone against the counter.
Time passed in uneven pieces. I tried not to watch the clock. I answered no messages, made no plans in my head that depended on Carla saying exactly what I hoped she would say. When my phone finally rang, I stood so quickly that my shoulder—still sore from the bed frame—gave a sharp tug.
The screen showed an unfamiliar number.
“Hello?”
“Olivia? This is Carla Ruiz. I got your message.”
Her voice was tight and breathless. Behind it, I heard the dull noise of a car engine.
“I’m glad you called,” I said. “I wanted to make sure Maya was okay.”
May you like
There was a pause.
“She isn’t here,” Carla said. “She hasn’t come home, and she hasn’t reached me.”
