Once Was Lost (5 page)

I sit forward.

Jody, who just kicked Nick in the shin this morning. Jody, whose high, confident voice filled the church.

I put together the picture, the words on the screen, what the TV voice is saying.

Jody Shaw was taken off the street while walking to Petey’s Ice Cream after church, wearing her favorite orange T-shirt. No one saw what happened. She was there one second, and gone the next. Gone.

Something rises in my throat—a sob that I’m scared to let out. This can’t be happening. It can’t.

I get up and move closer to the television. Mr. and Mrs. Shaw are on the screen now. And Nick. Mrs. Shaw crying and asking anyone who knows anything, anything, to call the police. Mr. Shaw says, “She needs us. And we need her.”

Nick’s face is blank, like someone has taken an eraser and rubbed out everything that was him.

The picture of Jody comes back up. She’s in braids and braces and underneath her smiling face is Amber Alert information, phone numbers, website addresses. This is real. The rift in the world—the edge of which I’ve been teetering on for months—splits wide open, and I’m falling. “I know her,” I say to the TV, then look around the room like there might be someone else to tell it to, but there’s only Ralph, on the coffee table cleaning his paw.

“Dad?” My voice is too quiet to wake up someone sleeping in a room down the hall behind a closed door. I try to say it louder, because I don’t want to move away from the TV. “Dad?” But it comes out even quieter than the first time. I back out of the room on unsteady legs, keeping my eyes on the TV as long as I can before I turn and stand outside my dad’s room. “Dad.” I push open the door. He’s fast asleep, snoring lightly, the ceiling fan whirring above him. “Dad.” A whisper now. I walk right up to the bed, where he’s lying exactly on his half as if Mom is napping right beside him.

“Someone took Jody Shaw,” I whisper. I lay one finger on his chest and prod him. “Daddy. Someone took Jody Shaw,” I say again.

His eyes flutter open. “Sam? Are you okay?”

I can’t think of the right answer to that question.

“Did you just say something about Jody Shaw?”

I nod, and swallow hard.

“She’s gone.”

Day 3

Monday

My alarm goes off at five fifteen.

I reach to turn it off, resting my hand on its white and orange feet—it’s a plastic rooster with a clock in the belly. It’s ugly and annoying and something for eight-year-olds. Dad gave it to me back then, back at age eight, when my mom forgot to wake me up on time and I missed the field trip to the dairy in Clarkville. That was unusual. The thing about Mom’s drinking is that she’s done it her whole adult life and ninety-five percent of the time it was never a
problem
problem. Then all of a sudden and not that long ago, it went to more like eighty-seven percent. Soon after that, it dipped down to maybe sixty-two. Back when I was in elementary school, my mom forgetting
any
thing was a rare event, especially anything having to do with me. She was always there for me way more reliably than my dad. If she hadn’t been in the accident and gotten cited, she’d be here right now.

I pick up the clock and hold it to my chest for a minute before turning it over, taking the batteries out, and getting up to put it in my trash can. I don’t know why I’ve kept it this long.

As I’m doing that, the news about Jody hits me all over again.

You know when you’re having a nightmare that feels so real, and the moment you first begin to realize it’s a dream comes and in those few seconds you feel like the world is in perfect order and you’re safe? That all the stuff you thought was horribly wrong was only your imagination?

This is the opposite of that.

I sit on the edge of my bed, the air still and warm in my small room, and put my head in my hands. “God,” I say. And try to follow it with a real prayer. Something that will bring Jody back. If I thought we needed a miracle before, now there’s no question. I want to close my eyes and ask for what’s right, and open them and have everything fixed. As I try to form the words, I only get angry. Why should I even have to ask? You don’t have to be all-powerful and all-knowing to figure out that this is a tragedy in need of divine intervention. I lift my head without actually asking the questions I have:
How could you? Why would you?
I used to be able to pray like that—angry prayers, doubtful prayers. Mom always says that doubt is just another way of expressing faith, and sometimes I’d hear her mutter things to God, like, “Thanks a lot. I guess we’ll chalk
that
one up to character development,” or, “I eagerly await your explanation for this in the hereafter, assuming there is such a thing.” Like her, no matter what I prayed, I just always took for granted someone was listening.

Now, I don’t know. This is different than doubt. This is something I’ve never felt before, a total absence of whatever it is that’s made me who I am, on the inside, all my life.

Last night, Dad went over to Jody’s house to be with her family. He asked if I wanted to go with him. I couldn’t.

“I’ll just feel like I’m in the way,” I said from the hallway, where I watched him get ready to leave.

“Are you sure?”

He was strangely calm-looking, his tan face smooth, his hair in place, jaw set. It dawned on me that in a way he’s been prepping for a tragedy like this all his life; he’s like an actor getting his ultimate role. For someone whose career is believing in God and convincing other people to, this is exactly the kind of thing that would give him a chance to really prove that everything he’s been saying is true. I don’t mean it like he’s faking it. I just mean I looked at him last night and saw he was ready. Like everything else, even what’s happened with Mom, has been practice.

I knew he’d go over to the Shaws and know what to say. And I knew I wouldn’t.

“I’ll stay here and answer the phone and stuff,” I said, because everyone from church would be calling. “What should I tell people?”

With no hesitation, he said, “Tell them I’m with the Shaws, and I’ll be sending out an e-mail blast tomorrow letting them know specific ways they can help—meals, money, et cetera. Meanwhile, they should watch the news and do whatever the authorities say.”

I watched him put his cell phone and wallet in his pockets.

“But maybe Jody will come back home, and all that won’t happen.”

“Maybe,” he said, not sounding very convinced. “Hopefully.”

I followed him to the front door and said, “I should call Mom.”

He turned, and for a second his calm confident look went away. “Yeah, good idea.” He kissed my cheek. “Lock the door after me.”

Not as many people called the house as I expected—I guess they were all watching the news, like I was. Not that there was any actual information since the very first report. In place of information, the local anchor, Melinda Ford, moderated filler. Statistics. Speculation. Interviews with experts who tried to come up with theories about who could have done it, experts telling parents how to keep their kids from feeling afraid, experts discussing past cases of missing children. Experts who seemed to know everything except where to find Jody.

Vanessa called my cell, crying. “It’s so awful,” she kept saying, through her sobs. “It’s so awful.”

I had no response except “I know.”

Daniel called, too. “I bet she’ll be back tonight. I bet she will. I bet it’s just a mistake.”

What kind of mistake?
I wanted to ask. Like she went out for six hours and forgot to call home or leave a note? What could a thirteen-year-old even find to do for six hours in Pineview? But I figured he knew all that and was just saying out loud what he wanted to believe, so I said, “Yeah.”

I called New Beginnings to talk to my mom but all I got was the voice mail system telling me to call back during operating hours, so I left a message. Residents aren’t allowed to have their cell phones. I pictured her at breakfast in the morning in the New Beginnings cafeteria, everyone reacting to the news. And her sitting there, probably the only one who
really
knows the Shaws, the only one who has put her arms around Jody in a hug.

Mostly, I couldn’t stop thinking about Nick.

Not having a brother or sister, I couldn’t imagine how he’d feel. I thought about how he’d been with her at church that morning, teasing but sweet, calling her Jo-Jo. How much they looked alike. Also I kept going over and over that time he asked me to dance at that wedding at the church last spring. An old, slow song buzzed from the speakers that are too small for the huge fellowship hall and we danced and made small talk. At first I kept thinking things like: Why is he asking me to dance when he’s already been with Dorrie for months? It’s because I’m the pastor’s kid. And/ or maybe Vanessa went up to him and said something like, “Sam’s been sitting alone all night. Go ask her to dance.” I decided he simply did it because that’s the kind of nice person he is. Worst case scenario, it was a pity dance, and for someone like me—who’s never had a boyfriend, never been kissed, never even held hands—a pity dance is still appreciated. Being that close to another warm body was… I don’t know. Perfect. I still remember exactly how it felt, Nick’s hands light on my back, like I could break.

And something about that, even though it happened awhile ago and we’re not what you’d call friends, still makes me feel close to him. Which makes me feel close to this, to what’s happened to Jody. Closer than I’d feel if she weren’t Nick’s sister.

So I watched the news and thought about him, and then Melinda Ford said that anyone who wanted to help search should meet up at the library at six this morning. Within minutes, my phone rang. It was Erin, saying that she was calling the whole youth group. Anyone who wanted to search should meet her at the library in the morning and we’d do it, we’d look for Jody.

Which is why my alarm went off at five fifteen.

I dress, pull my hair into a ponytail, and slip on my hiking sandals, having random fantasies about being the one to find Jody. I picture myself with a big group of searchers, combing the foothills and calling Jody’s name, wandering off a little, on my own. Catching a glimpse of something and going farther away to investigate. Finding her, crouched, alone and scared. She’ll reach out her hand and I’ll sit with her until she feels safe, then I’ll lead her to the other searchers.

Like Jesus, coming back to the flock with his one lost lamb.

I go into the bathroom, digging under the sink for a tube of sunscreen, shaking my head at myself for even remotely thinking it could be like that, reminding myself that I don’t even know anymore if I believe those Sunday school stories are true.

Dad’s not in his room when I check to see if he’s awake. I find him in his small, cluttered study at the end of the hall, staring into space, a cup of coffee on his desk.

“Did you sleep in here?” I didn’t hear him come in last night.

He glances up, then looks at his watch. “I didn’t sleep at all. Anywhere. How about you?”

“A little bit. How are the Shaws?”

Dad shakes his head but can’t talk. The energetic confidence of last night has left him totally.

If I let it stay silent, he might start crying, so I tell him about how I called Mom and left a message, that I’ll try again later. “We can both talk to her.”

He shuffles some papers on his desk. “I’m not sure about today’s schedule. I told Jody’s folks I’d meet them at the search site this morning to be with them at the press conference.”

“Well I won’t call until we can both talk to her,” I say. When he doesn’t react I remind myself that he’s under a lot of pressure, and that obviously Jody’s family comes first right now. I change the subject. “Did you get my note?”

About the search. I left it on the fridge before I went to bed last night.

“Your note? Oh, yes.”

“So can I go?”

“Absolutely. I think it’s a great idea.” Now he’s sounding more like himself, like an athlete warming up for the day’s race. He scratches his unshaven face. “I guess I should take a shower if I’m going to be on TV.” He gets up, and when he passes me in the doorway, gives me a long look and a short hug. “Get yourself some breakfast. I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

•  •  •

Downtown feels strange, unfamiliar, even though in most ways it looks like it always does on a summer morning. The farmers’ market is set up across from the library, like always. Chickadees call to each other from the cottonwoods growing around the square. Even the record heat is almost normal. It’s not like it’s ever
cool
here in summer.

But you can sense there’s been a shift in the universe, that from now on no one who lives here will walk down Main Street and feel the same as they did yesterday, before this happened. It’s not just what looks wrong, like crowds of people milling around the library at six am, news vans, a media tent. It’s what feels wrong, what
is
wrong, and all of a sudden I don’t want to move from where we’re standing, on the curb kitty-cornered from the library, to the other side of the street. I want to be back home, asleep, not awake yet in the new reality.

“There’s Erin,” Dad says, pointing to the edge of the crowd that’s gathered. She’s with one of the Franklin twins—Kacey—and also Daniel. Vanessa texted me this morning to say she’s coming, too, but I don’t see her yet. “You’ll be okay?” Dad asks.

“Yeah.”

“Stay where people can see you.”

“I know.” For some reason I’m still not moving, lead in my legs and in my heart.

“I mean it, Sammy, don’t go off alone.”

“Dad, I know.”

He takes a few steps, then looks back, waiting for me to get going. “You want me to walk you over there?”

If I could say exactly what I’m thinking, I’d turn to my dad and say,
Please, take me home.
I’d tell him about how I don’t feel like me anymore.

Instead, I act like he’s being overprotective, like I’m fine. “Nothing’s going to happen to me between here and twenty yards from here.” I make myself start across the street, and wave him toward the media tent. “The Shaws are probably waiting for you.”