Once Was Lost (6 page)

“Okay, honey. Call me when you’re done.”

By the time I get to Erin and Kacey and Daniel, there are tears in my eyes. Daniel opens his arms and I take the hug. His big stomach and familiar, fruity-smelling sweat are comforting. Then Kacey Franklin gives me a quick hug even though we aren’t really friends. She’s one of those people who always seems to be changing the subject when I walk into a room, and said at youth group one time that she only comes to church because her parents make her and she can’t understand how anyone could really believe. I think she thinks we must be so different.

Erin, wearing hiking shorts, her hair held back by the sunglasses that rest on top of her head, puts her arm around me and squeezes tight. “Hey.”

I spot Vanessa walking quickly from down the block.

“I guess this is all of us,” Erin says, waving to Vanessa and checking her watch.

Vanessa doesn’t say a word, just receives hugs from everyone and holds on to my hand. We all go over to the volunteer registration table where people are crowded, chattering about how awful this is, how unreal. Some people hold cardboard cups of coffee, and donuts, like it’s social hour. There are a lot of people from church here, and a couple of the faculty from Amberton Heights Academy. Gerald Ladew, the organist and choir director, stands on the fringes of the crowd. I catch his eye and give him a sad wave; he looks away, his face pinched like he might cry. So many people are connected to Jody in some way. It’s like a Venn diagram of tragedy.

We pick up orange mesh vests and bottles of water, and Erin talks to one of the coordinators. Then she explains it to us.

“They’re sending people out in groups of three, mostly,” she says. There are five of us. Vanessa squeezes my hand tighter. “But I told them we want to stay together. Okay?”

We all agree.

Then, one of the volunteer coordinators—Darlene, according to her name tag—comes over and tells us that we’re going door to door. We’ve been assigned the neighborhood west of Main and we’re asking the residents questions, passing out flyers, looking for anything unusual.

“What about searching?” I ask. “What about actually looking for Jody?”

“We really do need people going door to door.” She touches my arm. “It’s just as important.”

It’s not how I pictured it. I thought we’d be hiking through scrub forest and foothills. Instead, we cram into Erin’s little car and drive closer to our assigned area, then walk the roads of Pineview in our orange vests, dividing up and sharing tasks. It turns out Kacey is pretty good with maps. A different side of her comes out as she looks at it and points with her pink-polished nails to show us where we are and where we’re going. “We should start this way,” she says, definite, and we follow her. Erin and Vanessa decide they’ll knock on doors and ask questions while Daniel and I search the yards wherever anyone is home and says it’s okay, keeping watch for anything strange.

It’s still early; the streets are quiet. I’ve been inside some of these houses. I recognize one as the home of my third grade teacher, Mrs. Benchley, who always had an end-of-the-year party at her house for all the parents and kids. We’d have relay races and water balloon tosses on the big field behind her house. Now Mrs. Benchley doesn’t live there anymore, and Daniel and I are walking across that same field, eyes to the ground, searching for we don’t know what.

I look to the instruction sheet Darlene gave me for help. “It says to call the victim’s name,” I tell Daniel when we stop at the next house. We have to look in garbage cans and recycling bins and in any corner or hidden spot where someone could conceal something or someone.

Erin and Vanessa talk to the resident on the porch; Kacey leans against a car in the driveway, waiting. The first time Daniel calls Jody’s name, they all stare, alarmed. “It says to call her name,” I repeat, this time to Erin and Vanessa, and Kacey, who looks away.

He does it at the next house, and it still sounds wrong. By the third stop we’re getting used to it, but there’s one moment after he says her name and I hear the thunk of a garbage can lid being dropped that I feel that sob rising up again, and I have to press my hand against my mouth to keep it in. We’re looking for Jody—Nick’s little sister, Mr. and Mrs. Shaw’s daughter—in garbage cans.

“Well this is depressing,” Daniel says as we all cross to the next block, if you can describe the layout of Pineview as blocks. It’s really more like clusters of old farmhouses, with newer houses sprinkled in between, now that most of the farmland has been divided up into residential tracts.

Kacey makes a check mark on the map with a little golf pencil, and says, stopping at the corner, “We could either zigzag across streets to get both sides at once, or do a loop back to the car and get the other side of the street on our way back.” She turns the map for a different view. “Or…”

“
God
, Kacey,” Vanessa blurts, “how can you be so…”

Kacey sweeps her blond-streaked bangs to one side. Her eyes are steady. “So what?”

“So efficient.”

“Okay,” Erin says, putting one hand on each of their shoulders. Kacey pushes it off. Daniel’s eyebrows go up.

“It’s what I’m good at,” Kacey says to Vanessa, defensive. “I’m good at maps and organization and checking things off lists.” Her body relaxes a little. “It’s the only way I know how to help, okay?”

They stare at each other until Erin says, “You’re doing great, both of you.”

“Sorry,” Vanessa mutters.

“Zigzag, loop, do a figure eight, whatever,” Daniel says. “Just tell us where to go, Kace.”

So we proceed.

At a house on the next block, Daniel and I finish in the front and back yards but Vanessa and Erin are still talking to whoever lives there, and Kacey stands near them, taking notes. Daniel and I find a shady spot under a blue spruce and wait, drinking from the bottles of water we got at the library. I’m thinking about Jody but want to talk about something else, just to get relief from tragedy for two seconds.

“What was it like?” I ask him. “In Mexico. When you… got the call or whatever.”

“Oh. Yeah, well, first of all I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about that before.”

“Did you hear a voice or something?”

“No. It’s really hard to explain.” He wipes his face with a corner of his T-shirt. “We were in the middle of nowhere, and it was so, I don’t know, desolate. In this way that makes you have deep thoughts. I thought about how so much of the world needs help, and asked myself… what could I do?”

“You could be in the Peace Corps,” I offer. “You could be a doctor. You could be a teacher. You could be a businessperson who donates money to good causes, Daniel, you could help people a lot of ways. I just don’t understand why a
pastor
.”

He gives me a funny look. “I guess when I say people need help I don’t mean that kind of help.”

I look down. I know he really likes my dad. And maybe my dad does help people in some intangible important way. It’s just hard for me to see when he’s never home.

“Anyway,” Daniel says, “possibly I was just heat-struck and hopped up on too much Mexican chocolate and too little sleep. I shouldn’t have told my dad. He told my grandpa, and now my grandpa e-mails me like every day with stuff he finds on the Internet about the best seminaries, and articles about quote-unquote trends in church management and lists of stuff to read. It’s going to be this total disaster now if I don’t do it.”

“You’re only fifteen.”

“Yeah, well, so was Mary when God told her she was going to give birth to Jesus, according to your dad.”

I finish my bottle of water. Vanessa, Erin, and Kacey are descending the front steps of the house. “My dad isn’t right about everything.”

An hour later we don’t have one single piece of new information, and we’re slowing way down in the heat. We get to a house where some little kids are playing in the front yard, running through the sprinkler. After going through our question and search routine, Erin asks the mom of the kids if we can take a rest on her porch, already lowering herself onto one of two Adirondack chairs. Kacey takes the other one. Vanessa stays standing while Daniel sits next to me on the wide steps after the mom goes down them to deal with a crying kid.

“I think I melted off ten pounds of blubber already,” Daniel says. “By the end of the day I should fit into my skinny shorts.”

Erin leans forward to touch her toes, stretching out her back. “How do you guys feel?”

“Hot,” Daniel says. “But I can keep going for a while.”

“Me, too.” I’m not giving up on Jody just because of a little heat, but I wish I’d actually eaten a good breakfast the way my dad suggested, because I do feel a little bit weak.

“I’m fine,” Vanessa says. Then she looks at Kacey. “You seem good.”

“Yeah.”

They all start pulling phones out of their pockets and checking for messages and sending texts, so I get mine out, too. No missed calls. No texts. Nothing from my mom.

One of the kids waves to me, grinning big. She’s happy. She thinks she’s living in the same world that she lived in yesterday. Her yellow tank top has a silver glitter sun on the front and her shorts pocket has Elmo and she’s got sprinklers and a friend to play with.

A couple of weeks ago at church I passed by a Sunday school room where Jody was helping the kids with a craft project, sitting in one of the tiny preschooler chairs, her braids hanging dangerously close to the glue and glitter used to decorate pictures of Jonah in the belly of the whale. I stopped and watched, not because of Jody, but remembering my preschool self and how my mom would hang my Sunday school craft projects on the fridge. And what was on the fridge kind of summed up my faith. It was my parents’, really, only belonging to me by default and habit.

Erin’s feet appear on the step next to me. “Ready?” she asks. But when I stand up, I wobble a little. “Whoa,” says Erin, steadying me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just lost my balance for a sec.”

After another hour, Erin says, “We should break again. Or stop. The heat’s getting to be a little much.”

“Getting to be?” Daniel asks.

“No…,” Vanessa says.

I agree with her. “There are a lot of houses still. Let’s eat, then keep going.” I shield my eyes and look down the road. “Sykes is three blocks that way, right, Kacey?” I point in the direction of the little gas station and convenience store where my mom used to send me on my bike for ice or toilet paper emergencies. I notice that my hand is shaking. I lower it before the rest of them see.

I’d passed hungry a long time ago, and passed thirsty way before that. Now I’m hit by a sudden wave of dizziness.

“Are you sure that place is open for business?” Erin blots sweat off her forehead with the back of her arm. “It always looks so deserted.”

Her words sound funny. Murky and slow.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Kacey says. “Maybe we should head the other way, toward the QuickMart.”

When was the last time I was at Sykes? I try to remember. My thoughts fuzz.

“As long as there’s a bathroom.”

Who said that? Probably Daniel. But it’s hard to distinguish their voices. They’re getting farther away, either because I’ve stopped moving or they’ve kept going, or both. All I know is that my legs don’t feel altogether… there. As bright as the sun is, the houses and trees and lawns around me are going dim and grainy.

“Sam?” someone says. “Are you okay?”

I want to answer but my tongue suddenly feels swollen to the size of my mouth.

I’m sinking slowly onto a lawn. The grass against my cheek is at least a little bit cooler than the air. I want to stay here and rest my eyes, so I do.

“Sam? Sam, can you hear me?”

I try to nod, and am able to open my eyes for a second. Erin’s nice face shimmers and fades. Daniel looks panicked.

“Don’t tell my dad,” I say, and close my eyes.

“Sam, stay with us.”

“Bring the hose over.” That’s Kacey. She
is
very efficient.

“Okay, Sam.” Erin’s voice is close and soft. “Just hang in there.”

Hands touch me, lift my head.

Something cool runs over my neck. I open my eyes and look past Erin, past Daniel, through the leaves of a nearby tree and into the sky. I attempt to see past the sky, and into God’s heaven, from where he watches, doing nothing.

Day 4

Tuesday

I wake up in the dark of my room, the edge of my sheet
fluttering from the small fan someone has put on the floor nearby. My head throbs behind my left eye, pain spreading to my temple and around my jaw. I try sitting up. Dizziness forces me back down. That’s when I see my father sitting in the desk chair he’s pulled over to the bed.

“Hey,” he says, putting a hand to my forehead. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

I don’t know what time it is, how long I’ve been here. The blinds are drawn. I crane my neck to look at the rooster clock—ticking away as happily as ever—before remembering it’s supposed to be in the trash. “Thirsty.”

“Here.” He picks up a glass from the nightstand and holds the straw to my lips—a bendy straw with red stripes, the kind my mom always gives me when I’m sick. “It’s a mix of juice and water.”

I sip, then let the straw pop back out of my mouth. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I remember looking for Jody.”

I remember Daniel looking worried. I remember the way everything disappeared, a mirage in the heat. Hands cradling my head. That the time felt infinite and strange but when I opened my eyes they told me I was only out for a few seconds. “Can you stand up?” Erin had asked, with Vanessa crouched beside her, putting a hand on my shoulder. I did try standing but everything spun, and Erin and Daniel helped me up and took me into someone’s house and the rest is blurry.

“You were dehydrated,” Dad says now. “And overheated. And very weak. Did you even eat breakfast yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“A good breakfast, or the usual junk?”

“The usual junk.” It hurts my throat to talk.

He shakes his head and holds the glass while I take a few more sips. “Sam,” he says, “I wish you’d eat a vegetable now and then.”