by Sara Zarr
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.”
I release the straw from my teeth. “For breakfast?”
“You know what I mean.” He sets the glass down. “I rescued Rooster from the garbage can. He only needed a fresh battery. Good as new.”
Instead of telling him I don’t want the clock anymore, I say, “Thanks.” With my eyes on the ceiling, because I can’t stand to look at his face if it’s bad news, I ask, “Did they find Jody?”
There’s a long pause. I close my eyes for a few seconds then open them again.
“No,” he says. “They didn’t. Not yet. Searchers went out again today.” He holds the straw to my lips again. “Drink.”
I take another sip. Ralph trots into my room and jumps on the bed with a soft grunt. I run my fingers through his fur. “Did you talk to Mom?”
“I haven’t had a chance to call.”
“She didn’t call us back?”
He shakes his head.
Then I hear noises from the kitchen—running water, dishes clinking. “Who’s here?” I ask.
“Oh.” He glances at the door. “Erin came by to check up on you, and now she’s cleaning up a little. I couldn’t stop her. She’s going to hang out here with you while I’m out.”
“Where are you going?”
“Over to the Shaws. And to the church office.”
“I don’t need Erin to stay with me.” I try sitting up again, to prove that I can take care of myself. My head spins and I flop back down.
“Right,” he says.
Ralph walks to the end of my bed, where he can feel the fan, and curls into a ball, head up, the tip of his tail twitching.
“How about something to eat?” Dad asks me. “What sounds good?”
“Nothing.”
All I can think about is Mom not calling back. She knows my cell number backwards and forwards. If she were here, now, with all of this going on with Jody, we’d be inseparable. Maybe she didn’t get my message. But even if she didn’t, wouldn’t she call me as soon as she heard the news about Jody? To see how I’m feeling, to make sure I’m okay? To talk and speculate and wonder?
“You have to have something,” Dad says.
“Just bring me whatever.”
“Sounds like something I can handle.” He stands, kisses the top of my head.
But it’s not Dad who ends up bringing me food, it’s Erin. She comes in with a plastic tray she must have dug up from one of the bottom kitchen cabinets. Arranged on it are a turkey sandwich, a peach, and yet more of the water/juice combo I’m already getting sick of.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” she says, setting the tray down on my desk. She holds up the peach. “This comes compliments of Vanessa, from the tree at her neighbor’s house. She guarantees it’s a perfect peach, just how you like it. She says to call her when you’re up to it.”
She hands it to me. I put my nose to the fuzzy skin. It does smell perfect, and for the first time I actually feel hungry. “Did my dad already leave?”
“He did.”
Without saying good-bye.
Erin sits on the edge of my bed, folding her toned leg under her. “So that was exciting, yesterday, huh?”
“Sorry.”
“What are you sorry for? The heat was crazy. You weren’t the only one on the search who went down.”
“Really?” I bite into the peach; it’s soft but not mushy, the flesh pulling easily away from the pit. I wipe juice from my chin. “Did you guys keep going, after? Did you finish the map?”
“Not quite,” she says, “but don’t worry about that, okay?”
“Sorry,” I say again.
“Stop apologizing, you,” Erin says, giving my arm a fake punch.
I take a few more bites of the peach. I want to be alone, I want to call Mom, I want a tuna sandwich, not a turkey sandwich, and I want it the way my mom makes it. “You don’t have to stay,” I tell her. “I’m fine.”
“Your dad made me promise not to let you convince me to leave.” She gets the sandwich from my desk and hands it to me. “He also made me promise to make sure you eat.” Apparently she takes this command very seriously, and literally; she sits there while I eat the whole thing and finish the juice.
I hand her the glass. “Happy?”
“You don’t even know.” She watches me for a little while, her feet propped on the edge of my bed while she sits in the chair. “It was actually kind of scary for a couple minutes there, yesterday. I imagined trying to explain to your dad that you collapsed on my watch.”
“I’m fine.”
“I know. But I’m saying that I care about you and don’t want anything to happen.” She nudges my hip with her foot. “Get it?”
I nod.
“And speaking of caring about you, you know if you want to talk to me about your mom or anything else, you can.”
“Okay.” I guess I knew she knew, that it would be something my dad would have told her, probably a long time ago. She waits, like I’m going to do it r
ight now, just open up about what it’s been like to be part of a family that everyone on the outside thinks is so perfect, to have a dad everyone loves but who isn’t there for me, and then on top of that to lose my mom the particular way she’s been lost.
When Erin finally gets that I’m not going to talk, she lifts her feet from the bed and stands. “You want to get up and walk around the house a little bit, test out your legs?”
“In a minute.”
As soon as she leaves, I roll over in bed with my back to the door, and cry, and then go back to sleep.
KPXU
LIVE @ FIVE
Forty-eight hours since thirteen-year-old Jody Shaw disappeared from the quiet streets of Pineview, frustrated investigators and a shocked community are still without answers. While one witness account places a blue sedan near Jody’s last known location, police cannot confirm. Authorities are following several leads in the case but no arrests have been made. More than three hundred volunteers turned out yesterday to help with the search; unfortunately, the record heat curtailed efforts and sent several volunteers to the hospital with heat exhaustion, and there’s no sign of cooling in the forecast. The search resumed early this morning; we’ll be updating you throughout the evening with any breaking information.
This is Melinda Ford, reporting live from Pineview, where at least one family is waiting to hear some good news.
Erin and I are on the sofa, watching the news. Melinda Ford stands on Main Street, her eager face powdered sweatless and her blond bob sprayed into total submission. One time Mom and I watched her report on an apartment fire in Dillon’s Bluff, her colored contacts–enhanced eyes wide and alive, with the flames and smoke shooting up behind her.
“There’s nothing that girl loves more than bad news,” Mom said, before changing the channel with one hand, her wine glass in the other. Melinda Ford is always “that girl” to my mom. “Someone should introduce that girl to the concept of the roots touch-up.” “One day that girl needs to learn the correct pronunciation of ‘nuclear.’ ”
