AN: When I started this story over a year and a half ago, it took place at the Grand Canyon with Meredith telling the story. It never made sense, but I loved the idea of romanticizing the Canyon - and I loved the idea of having them sharing a tent together by the Colorado River ;) This story remolded itself and I rewrote it in New York with Derek as the protagonist. I've had a clear vision of this story since then, but now, after reading all your comments, this story is changing again.

I had expected a huge backlash from the last chapter. I expected fire and brimstone. But I received something different altogether; I received accolades and encouragement. Because of this, I am catering to your lovely comments and it should be interesting to see where this story goes now!

As always, thank you all!

-June

"Stop moping."

I narrow my eyes at the window and sigh. "I'm not moping."

Mark turns the radio down, "You are moping. You've been moping for two weeks."

"I'm not moping," I repeat.

"Dude, you're like one tear away from being the lead singer of an emo band with your incessant moping." I turn and glare at Mark. He has a shit-eating grin on his face. "All you need is a guitar on your lap—with which you only play two chords—and rain streaking down the window."

I turn away from Mark before I smack him. "You're a fucking asshole."

Mark swerves erratically through traffic. I hate when he drives. "I'm looking out for you. You know the second your sisters see your mopey face, they're going to throw fits. They'll ask you a million questions and Nancy will accuse you are ruining her second wedding."

"Please don't mention the fact that this is Nancy's second wedding. That'll really start them in on us."

It's been six years since all the Shepherd children have been in one place, and if I remember our previous family functions well enough, I know that my sisters feel the need to dote on me—especially Kathleen, Nancy, and Sophia. Amelia, being the baby, doesn't expect too much of me, but she does require my advice more often than I would have thought possible. Sophia was always my protector and as soon as she moved at eighteen, that bond seemed to have broken.

I haven't heard from Sophia in six years. No one has, until she RSVP'd to Nancy's wedding.

I have no idea what to expect of my long lost sister, but if things weren't already crazy enough, now I have to catch her up on the last six years while avoiding discussing the last month.

It's June now, and Meredith has been gone for more than two weeks. I keep going to work like I'm supposed to, but everything else has fallen by the wayside. Originally, I had promised Owen that I'd go to his parents' house in Rhode Island the first weekend of June, but I never called him back. Sara, my near-hookup from a few weeks back, called me twice to hang out. I ignored her. If not for this wedding, I probably would have continued ignoring my family's and Mark's calls. But if I missed this wedding, Nancy would never speak to me again.

I guess things could be worse…

Either way, I haven't really been an active participant in the world. I can't though, not when I have no idea how Meredith is.

"Seeing Sophia will be weird, right?" Mark asks, effectively drawing me away from my typical 'worry about Meredith' loop.

The exit for New Canaan grows nearer and I feel my stomach flip. "I think it'll be weird," Mark confirms.

"Of course it'll be weird. I don't even know how to greet her."

"I think a hug would be a good start."

I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the warm window. I finally looked up Meredith online after she left. The easiest search was for her Facebook account. She goes by Meredith Elise and blocks almost all information to the public. Her birth date was there—October 11th like she said—and she had liked only one page: Mass MoCA—the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art. I never knew she liked art. I stared at her page for a long, long time. Her main picture was of her sitting on the beach. She's wearing a pair of shorts and a white top and her face is turned away from the camera. I wonder who took the picture.

After I bookmarked her Facebook page, I searched her name in Google. The first article to pop up was from The Boston Globe. It headlined, "Local World-Renowned Surgeon, Ellis Grey, Searches Desperately for her Missing 17-Year-Old Daughter." I scrolled through the article, which mostly spends time listing Dr. Grey's accolades, but towards the end is a direct quote from Meredith's mother: "Meredith has been struggling since her father's death in 2006, but I never expected her to runaway. If anyone has any information, I'd be happy to compensate you. Please, help me bring my daughter home."

I closed my Google search immediately and decided to not look again. My first thought was of Dr. Grey's sobriety. Had she cleaned up her act since slapping Meredith in March? Had she returned to work? If she was coherent enough, is she back on the right track? Meredith never spent much time explaining how her mother was before her father's death, but maybe she wasn't terrible to her. Maybe it was just because Meredith's dad died that Dr. Grey lost it all.

As we pass the last sign for New Canaan, I see a different sign for Boston. 170 miles. Just over three hours. Three hours, 170 miles, and maybe some of the answers I've been searching for.

"Mark, drive straight."

He turns on his signal to turn off the exit. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Drive to Boston."

"I'm not driving to Boston!"

"Mark, please."

Mark slows towards the exit, but instead of pulling off, he glides into the emergency lane just left of the exit. He scowls at me, "What the fuck are you freaking out about man?"

"Meredith's from Massachusetts."

"Yeah, I know. You told me."

"I read this article last week about her disappearance. Her mom begged for information. Maybe she's sober. Maybe she's better now." I shrug. Even if she is better, it doesn't mean I'd ever be able to find Meredith and it certainly doesn't mean she'd want to return to her mother. "I just think if I saw her, maybe talked to her, I'd be able to convince Meredith to go home. At least I'd know where she is."

"That's if you can find her and if you can guarantee Dr. Grey doesn't smack her daughter again."

"That's why I want to meet her. She could be really nice. Alcohol makes some people mean. Remember that girl you dated for a half-second last year? Michelle? She was great when she was sober and a raging bitch when she was drunk. Maybe Dr. Grey just needed to be sober."

Mark sighs and stares longingly at the New Canaan exit. "You still won't be able to find Meredith. She could be in Louisiana by now."

"I have to at least know, Mark. She could show up at any point. I just need to know."

He tightens his hands on the wheel. If Mark decides not to drive me to Boston, I'll call a cab. I can't go home. If I do, my sisters will pounce and I'll never leave. They're going to be pissed either way, but I have to at least try to meet Dr. Grey.

Mark turns his signal on and pulls back into traffic. "We have to be back by tonight. I'm not missing the bachelor party."

I smile and lean back in the seat. "Thanks Mark."

I don't consider the fact the Dr. Grey might be at home in Ipswich, so I have Mark drive directly to Mass Gen. We're lucky that we're medical students at Colombia, because without that excuse I don't know how we'd convince a staff member to allow us to meet Dr. Grey. However, just because we're med students doesn't mean we'll be allowed anywhere near Dr. Grey and that's if she's even here.

Mark walks in with confidence and I try my best not to be nervous. Meeting Dr. Grey would be a big deal for anyone in our field, but meeting her after knowing such personal details about her life seems impossible.

The receptionist is a young woman, maybe twenty-five, and looks wide-eyed as Mark approaches. He's a great secret weapon. "Hi," he smiles and leans onto the circular desk.

"Can I help you?" She sounds professional, but her eyes skim over his face and chest slowly.

"I certainly hope so," he flirts. "We're medical students, at Colombia," he adds with a smile, "and we're hoping to have a tour of your beautiful hospital. Maybe we could meet some of your doctors. Meeting Dr. Ellis Grey is of particular interest to my friend Derek here." He grabs my shoulders and draws me near. "He's big into general surgery, and he'd love to just shake her hand."

The receptionist's smile falls. "I'm sorry, but I don't think it'd be possible for you to meet Dr. Grey."

"Why not?" I ask.

"Well, she no longer works here. She hasn't, in fact, for a few years. But if you'd like a tour, I'm sure an orderly would be happy to show you some of the hotspots."

"Do you know where Dr. Grey is practicing?"

She shakes her head. "Well, no, but I don't believe she's practicing," she whispers.

I nod. "Yeah, I figured."

"Are you sure you don't have any information on Dr. Grey you'd be willing to provide?" Mark continues to shamelessly flirt.

The receptionist's cheeks grow red. "I'm sorry, but that's all I know. She stopped working here years before I started here."

"Does she still live in Ipswich?" I ask.

"How do you know where she lives?" Her eyes narrow.

Mark claps a hand on my shoulder. "My friend here is very thorough with researching his favorite surgeons. Well, thank you for everything. We'll be going now."

I know she knows more than she's saying—the receptionists always know more, just like the nurses and orderlies do—but I allow Mark to hurry me out the door. I immediately feel stupid for driving all the way here. Meredith told me her mother retired right after her father died four years ago, but I just assumed she had returned. Then again, I haven't read of any big return in any medical journals and if Ellis Grey returned to cutting, the medical world would be in a tizzy.

I slide into Mark's car and close my eyes. How could I be so stupid?

"So, onto Ipswich?"

"Seriously?"

Mark starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot. He begins to program Ipswich into the GPS. "It can't be that big of a town, right? We could ask some local where Dr. Grey lives."

"And then what? Knock on her door?"

"Why not? If she's a drunken mess, she might be fun to talk to."

"What happens if she's sober? What happens if she asks us if we know anything about the whereabouts of her daughter?"

Mark pulls north onto the highway. "Do you really think she'll be sober?"

"I don't know what I think." Mark says nothing. "Why are you doing this?"

"Isn't this what a best friend is supposed to do?"

I shrug and turn to face the window. I'm suddenly very tired. I'm tired of worrying about Meredith. I'm tired about worrying that someone might find out about her. I'm tired of wondering when she'll return. I close my eyes and force myself to relax. We'll never find Dr. Grey anyway, so there's no reason to worry.

The scent of salt in the air from the ocean wakes me up only forty minutes later. Mark drives along the coast and I open my eyes to the tan beaches and pale blue water of the Massachusetts coastline. My phone vibrates in my lap. Nancy. I allow the call to go to voicemail and then I flip through the seven other missed calls. Two from Amelia, three from Nancy, and two from Sophia. My stomach knots thinking of my long lost sister waiting to see me after six years. She'll have to wait a little longer.

"I talked to Nancy," Mark says.

I rub the sleep from my eyes and sit up straight. "How pissed is she?"

"On a scale of one-to-ten? At least fifty-five."

"Shit."

"I told her we had an emergency. She knows we're in Massachusetts and I told her we'd be home by tonight for the rehearsal dinner and bachelor party."

We drive past big homes right on the water. Homes with wrap-around porches and big red shutters. It reminds me of a softer New Canaan, without the pretentious air of being better. "Do you know where you're going?"

"I'm very good at recon. Do you remember that week I worked at my dad's law firm?"

"The one where your phone sign off was: 'Peace out bitches?'"

"Exactly. Well, my dad had me stalk people online for depositions and general bullshit letters, and I used this white pages site. As long as you have a first and last name and a city and state, you can find anyone." Mark smiles. "I found Dr. Grey pretty easily. They technically live in Great Neck. Northridge Road." Mark turns onto a coastal road. "This should be it."

I sit up straight and take in my surroundings. "Mark, what are we going to do when we get there?"

"I think we should tell her the truth."

"What? Are you crazy? Do you want to go to jail for a year for harboring a runaway minor?"

Mark slows in front of a large whitewashed house. The backyard faces the ocean and through the shrubbery surrounding the front yard, I can see the beach. The yard looks well maintained and the beautiful beach house looks brand new. "This can't be it."

"It's the address I found online."

"You don't really expect me to tell her everything, do you?"

Mark cuts the engine and stares at the house. "You probably shouldn't tell her you made out with her daughter."

"Mark," I sigh.

He smirks and then turns serious. "Tell her you met Meredith. Make up a lie that you met at a party and you had no idea who she was. You guys hung out a few times, she admitted who she was, and she left. Maybe if we give her information, she'll give us information back."

"I don't even know what kind of information I need from her."

"Don't you want to know if she's decent enough for Meredith to live with again?"

Day and night I've thought about Meredith's safety. I sit up at night and wonder where she'd be safest. My apartment seems like the best option, but in the back of my mind, I've wondered if being back with her mother might be better. Yes, she's been horrible to Meredith, but maybe it was the alcohol perpetuating her actions. I can't help but wonder if the best place in the world for Meredith is back with her mother so they can both heal.

And then I remember her sadness on the roof. I remember her tears as she spoke of her father and her previous stories of her youth never including her mother. Maybe Meredith and Ellis never had a good relationship.

My phone rings again in my lap. Sophia.

"You should probably answer that."

"What do I even say?"

"Hello should suffice."

With a sigh, I open the passenger side door and slide from the car. Outside is too hot in the summer sun, but I don't need an audience. "Hey Soph," I greet before the call turns to voicemail.

"Derek," she sighs with relief. She sounds the same. Almost the same. Instantly I feel like I'm thirteen again and she's explaining the merits of a first crush. "Where are you? Nancy is freaking out!"

"I'm in Massachusetts with Mark. We have some business up here. We'll be leaving soon."

"Was today really the day to drive three hours north to finish up some business?"

I lean against the trunk of the car and smile. Sophia sounds exactly the same. "Is today really the day for you to scold me? After all, I haven't seen you in six years," I tease.

"Mom showed me a picture of you. You look exactly the same."

"Take it back! I am much less awkward now."

Sophia laughs,"Well, get your ass home and prove it to me."

"I'll leave as soon as I can. I promise I'll be home tonight."

"I've missed you, Derek," she sighs.

I smile. Despite the time away, I've never stopped missing Sophia. "I love you. I'll see you later."

With a final goodbye, I hang up the phone and slide it into my pocket. For a second I forget why I'm here—standing outside this house—on the Massachusetts coast. And then I remember Meredith and her mother and I focus on the home they've spent the last decade in. I try to imagine Meredith running through the backyard and to the warm sand. I try to imagine her swinging below the wide oak tree that occupies most of the front yard. I try to imagine her blowing bubbles from an upstairs window and playing hopscotch on the driveway. But my images of Meredith fall short. I can't imagine her truly growing up here.

I walk back along the car and lean through the window. "I don't think this is the right house. It doesn't feel like Meredith would have grown up here."

"Meredith? Did you say Meredith?" a hurried voice asks behind me.

Ellis Grey stands on the well-manicured lawn behind me. I know it's her from the various journal articles I've read on her, but I also know it's her because Meredith is a dead ringer for her mother. Ellis looks tired and aged, but her eyes are wild with hope. Mark's door opens and closes and we both regard the concerned mother in front of us.

"My daughter, Meredith Grey, is that who you were talking about?"

I can see the orange jumpsuit and steel bars of the prison now. "It's three-to-twelve months in jail and up to a one-thousand dollar fine. You should care about that," Meredith told me before she left. At the time it seemed like nothing, but now it seems like a huge price to pay—especially since Meredith is no longer under my roof. I wonder if I can still be penalized if I let her go.

Of course you can, idiot.

But how can I stand here and lie to Meredith's mom when she looks so desperate for information?

"Yes, we know your daughter," Mark says before I can really mull of the consequences.

Ellis drops the garden hose I hadn't even noticed before now and moves closer to Mark. "Where is she? Is she okay?"

"She's fine." I meet Mark's gaze. He nods once, probably to let me know it's going to be okay. It doesn't feel like it'll be okay. "We met her in New York City. She left a couple of weeks back."

"What was she doing in New York?"

Mark shrugs, "Living. Moving on. I'm not sure. She didn't tell us much."

"She said she hadn't been to New York in years. She wanted to visit," I add, despite the fact that I should just keep my mouth shut.

Ellis turns to me. "And she's gone now?"

I nod, "Yes."

"Did she send you with a message?"

I begin to shake my head, but Mark cuts me off, "Yes. She sent us here to let you know that she's okay and you needn't worry about her."

"That's it? She didn't say anything else?"

Something inside me snaps. After everything Meredith has been through, for her mother to expect so much of her makes my blood boil. "What more can you expect of her? After everything you did to her?" I snap.

"Derek…" Mark warns.

I wonder if he really should have said my name. Nothing I can do about it now.

Ellis's eyes darken and she steps towards me. "I don't know what my daughter told you about me, but you shouldn't always believe a teenager. They tend to be liars."

"So you're not a drunk who hit her daughter?"

"Derek, lay off," Mark warns me again. "Dr. Grey, I'm really sorry."

"Is that what she told you?" She laughs quietly without humor. "Well, what else would I expect from her? I've never hit Meredith in my life and my last drink was when I was in medical school. Meredith, on the other hand, isn't as innocent as she probably told you. And I'm not the villain in this story."

I shake my head, trying to disperse the negative thoughts about Meredith. "She wouldn't lie to me."

"And how do you know that? How long did you actually spend with my daughter before you decided to hate me? I don't know you and you don't know me, but I can assure you that I never hurt my daughter." Ellis kicks the hose aside and heads toward her front door. She stops halfway and faces me again. "I hate to break it to you, kid, but my daughter manipulates everyone she meets. Clearly, she manipulated you and told you lies. I wouldn't be so sure as to trust her."

Because I'm not one to give away the last word, I ask, "So she lied about your husband committing suicide, too?"

Ellis's eyes narrow again and I watch her hands slide into fists. "You know nothing about her father. I'm going inside now. When I look out my window in two minutes, if you're still parked here, I'm calling the police."

The front door slams shut behind her and Mark opens the driver's side door. "You're an asshole."

I don't try to defend myself or my actions. I don't try to repair what I just broke. All I can think about is Ellis's claims. Meredith didn't lie to me. She couldn't have. When she cried on the rooftop, those tears were real. Her mother is a drunk and her father is dead. Why else would she have run? She's not stupid; in fact, she's extremely intelligent. An extremely intelligent girl wouldn't run from her home unless she had a really good reason.

Or would she?