Mom answers, her shoulder lifting slightly, “It seemed normal. They’ve called looking for her here before. It was probably before they even called the cops.”
Dad leans forward. “People get mean, especially when they’re scared and looking for reasons or explanations. You’re going to be a target… you were Sheri’s boyfriend—”
My emotions teeter and tip and crash down.
“Were?” I slam my hand on the counter and both my parents jump.
Dad rises. “Anthony, I’m sorry, that came out wrong—”
“I’m done.” I push my teacup away and it spills. I go upstairs to my bedroom and shut the door with force. I toss myself on the bed and stare at the ceiling. I feel bad for yelling. I feel bad for spilling the tea. I know I should go back and clean it up, but right now, I don’t care.
I stare at my phone. I want to pick it up, to look, to hope. It seems like it’s been silent all day.
A few minutes later, I hear my parents come up the stairs and stand outside my door. I roll over and face the wall.
Dad knocks. “Son?”
Mom follows his lead. “We love you.”
I close my eyes and wait for morning to come.
chapter 17
I wake Friday morning and don’t even want to get out of bed. Although it’s a game day, I couldn’t really care less. Coach is tough, but I’m not sure he’ll even want me there. I don’t move. I just stare at the soft light on the ceiling.
The landline downstairs rings a few times then goes silent. I close my eyes even though the idea of sleep seems something that was lost with Sheri.
“Anthony. Phone!”
I’m guessing Coach has realized I’m not there. He might have to get used to it. I drag myself out of bed.
Mom stands in the kitchen clutching the phone in her hand. I go to reach for it and she pulls it back. I give her a look and realize she’s upset.
“It’s Sheri’s mom.”
My hand falls to my side. “I don’t want to.” It’s a whisper.
“You can. You will.” She hands me the phone.
I run through the decision in my mind—if I walk out of the room right now, I’ll only make it upstairs before Mom and Dad are on me, telling me how deeply disappointed they are. But I know the moment I put the receiver to my ear, I’ll hear the pain in Sheri’s mom’s voice, and I don’t know if I can handle it.
I take the phone from Mom and suck in a lungful of air, maybe a little too loudly.
“Anthony?”
She sounds likes she’s calling from Mars—isolated, far away—just like Sheri.
“Hello, Mrs. Beckman.”
She gulps and takes a rattly breath. “I hope the police weren’t too hard on you?” It feels like she’s searching.
“I’m okay,” I don’t want to say it, but feel I must, “How are you?”
It takes her a moment to get it out, “We’re just so worried…”
I imagine Mr. Beckman standing beside her, holding her close.
“The police will find her.” I can hear the disbelief in my voice and hope she doesn’t pick up on it.
“That’s why I wanted to call.”
Is she going to ask me details about my meeting with Gekas, or worse, tell me that someone saw me around Sheri’s school? I didn’t plan to make people doubt my innocence or make this any more complicated than it already is.
“The police say they’ve finished searching the running path and are going to explore other leads.” She pauses, then, “They don’t seem to think it’s significant that her car was found at the head of the trail…” Her voice breaks, “we can’t keep waiting… I can’t wait for the phone to ring and—”
The phone drops with a clunk onto a distant counter and a low moan rises and cuts into my heart. There’s a rustle and another clunk and the sound of a muffled receiver before Mr. Beckman comes on the line.
“Anthony? Sorry about that. Sheri’s mother— It’s hard, you know? We wanted to know—we’ve got some people together to walk the trails. See if we can find anything the police might have missed.” For such a big guy, such a doer of things, it’s hard to listen to the hesitation in his voice. “Would you be able to come out with us? To help us search?”
“Absolutely.”
Anything is better than hanging around here, waiting for bad news to kick you in the ass while you’re down.
chapter 18
An hour later, Mom, Dad, Heather, and I pull up to the crowd of people who have gathered to comb the area. The Beckmans stand beside a pickup handing out sunscreen, insect repellent, and water. Beside them on the tailgate are a couple of boxes of coffee and doughnuts. How they organized all this is beyond me. Sheri’s parents see us and they give me huge hugs, thanking me for coming. The Beckmans, who sounded broken on the phone earlier, seem rejuvenated by this fight against fate.
Sheri’s brother Brody hands us wire flags that we’re supposed to use in case we find something that might be of interest to the police and send us across the path to the far side of the creek that stretches out into the prairie surrounding the city. The plan is to move east, away from the golf course, walking toward the first grid road outside of the city. Mrs. Beckman hands me a walkie-talkie, and it’s clear she hopes we’ll find something and need to report back.
We get in the car and travel back to Fleet Street, pulling to the side of the road after we cross the bridge. There are more people at this position, all waiting to begin. Yet, there seems to be no real order or plan, so Dad steps in to organize. He fans the crowd out into a straight line, asking us to separate ourselves by an arm’s length. Once we are in place, Dad has me radio the Beckmans to be sure that no one else is coming.
We move at a slow, equal pace, sifting the deep grass. As the banks of the stream twist and turn, so do we. Sometimes we wrap around each other like a serpent’s tail, stumbling into each other’s lanes and, although it’s frustrating, the mantra we start to spout is that twice the eyes on every patch of ground are better than none.
By noon, the clouds have passed over and a wind pushes in from the fields, bringing bits of straw and dust that gets into our eyes. When someone needs a rest or twists their foot stepping into a prairie dog hole, word comes down the line to halt and I radio the main staging area for a replacement. Food is brought out to us in the early afternoon, and we walk and eat, our eyes and free hands ferreting the land. There isn’t much chatter on the walkie-talkies, so we don’t know how it’s going on the other side of the creek, but we know they’re farther back because we hear the occasional indiscernible shout. It’s late afternoon and everyone is exhausted. By the time we reach the grid divide, the foreboding notion that sticks like a nail in our guts is that we’ve come up empty.
We move along the gravel road back toward the gathering spot. The other group comes into view as we walk and we can see it on their faces—nothing. It’s been an all-day thrashing of uneasiness and frustration, and when we reach the Beckmans, they no longer look like they have power over destiny. Actually, they seem to have resigned themselves to the worst.
“Anything?” Dad asks.
“We got a few flags we’ll report to Detective Gekas, but…” Sheri’s dad pauses for a long time. “We hoped… Even for the most dreadful… Just so this…” He sighs, holding a hand to his chest, “…could start to heal.”
That’s when Mrs. Beckman looks at me. “Anthony, if you knew where she was, you’d tell us, right? Right? You wouldn’t lie to us, would you?”
She comes at me.
“Tell me what happened to my baby girl. Tell me! Tell me where she is.”
People from the search party stare and Mr. Beckman puts an arm around her, pulling his wife and son back toward their truck before ushering her into the passenger seat and closing the door.
Her screaming and crying is audible outside.
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Mr. Beckman doesn’t look at my family or me and moves around to the other side. “She hasn’t slept much the last two nights. Neither of us have.”
I feel Dad’s arm around my shoulder and he’s pushing me toward our own vehicle as I watch Mr. Beckman slam the driver’s side door shut.
“They need some time. There’s nothing else we can do. Let’s go home.”
chapter 19
At night, I don’t feel like sleeping but close my eyes anyway. Every time I start to drift off, I find myself standing in endless fields of grain. I sink into the long, yellow stalks; I can’t rise above them. The grid road is in the distance and I try to wade toward it, but the wheat wraps around my feet and it’s a struggle. I trip and fall into thick, black soil where worms and spiders creep. They crawl up my arms into my mouth and eyes. They choke me and blind me and I wake in a sweat.
I push the covers away and have to wait in the dark before my heart slows enough so I can move. I go to the bathroom and wash my face and neck with a washcloth.
When I see myself in the mirror, I know it’s going to be a long night.
chapter 20
On Saturday, I wake up exhausted. I must really look like hell because when I head downstairs Dad sees me and says, “We’re not going back out today.”
I wave it off but he doesn’t break. “We won’t help. We’ll only… get in the way.”
I start to understand what he’s telling me. Either he and Mom talked last night and decided that the best thing for me was to stay away—or the Beckmans called and suggested I shouldn’t come back.
Either way, I don’t like it.
“But I can help. The more eyes out there—”
“I know—the better. I get it. But we need to let things cool down.”
“But I didn’t do anything.”
Dad comes over to me, placing his hand on my shoulder. “The Beckmans are trying to comprehend that their daughter is missing. The world they know isn’t solid anymore and they need to concentrate on what’s ahead, especially over these next few days. I appreciate that you want to do what you can, but right now, that means giving Sheri’s parents time to handle the situation in their own way.”
I hear what he’s saying. I don’t like it, but I get it.
“So what do I do then?”
“Well, first of all, you can do all the chores you’ve been skipping out on.”
Chores are the last thing I want to do, but he gives me a look that tells me it’s not an option. I head upstairs and get into sweatpants and grab an old University of Toronto tee-shirt of Dad’s to wear. For the next four hours, Dad has me taking out garbage, raking leaves, cleaning the downstairs bathroom, cleaning my room, and sweeping out the garage. During all of it, my mind rolls over thoughts of Sheri, of my texts, of my meeting with Gekas and the principal, and of Mrs. Beckman yelling at me after I spent all day searching for the girl we both care about. When Mom calls me in for a bite of lunch, I am surprised how quickly half the day has gone.
I eat a chicken sandwich in the kitchen and check my phone. Mike texted:
We missed you yesterday buddy.
Down below are the results from yesterday’s game. We lost.
I stare at the scores; I should care, but I don’t. I’m too numb to feel much of anything. The numbers are just strange squiggles and twists divided by a thin line. On one side is a winning team and on the other is a loser. All that divides them are a few points. I push the phone aside.
“You okay?” Mom asks.
“Yeah…”
But she knows I’m not.
“I was just thinking…” I murmur. “What could be buried in a flower bed in front of a school?”
Mom scrutinizes me and I’m sure she wants me to talk to someone, one of her “professional” friends. And maybe—probably—it would do me some good. But now I’m thinking I might want to talk to another kind of professional—someone whose methods are a little more unorthodox.
Mom takes over for Dad in the afternoon, and I spend most of my time helping her organize the storage room in the basement. I take out three more big bags of garbage and take a trip to the recycling depot. Mom tells me I can keep the $16.85 that I get for returning the bottles—and that’s when I know she must really be worried about me.
By the end of the day, I’m exhausted. My head hits the pillow and I surrender to sleep. Nightmares of barren prairie and scrambling creatures and dark, rotting earth don’t invade my deep slumber.
chapter 21
When I wake the next day, Sunday, it’s raining and I don’t even try getting out of bed. I pull the pillow over my head and turn to face the wall. Mom, Dad, even Heather, all come into the room to check on me and I lie still with my eyes closed until they leave. By lunchtime, I decide it’s time to face the world, so I drag myself out of bed and head downstairs. Everyone has left and the house is quiet.
Ollie runs over. He’s attentive and happy and I open the cupboard and find his dog treats. He sits, tail wagging.
“Shake a paw.”
Ollie puts his paw in my hand. I give him a treat.
“Good boy.” I rub the top of his head as he swallows it whole.
“Geez, chew it, would you?”
This time I get him up on his hind legs. I toss his next treat and he catches it in mid-air. I pat him again.
I grab a glass of orange juice and sit in the living room. I turn on the radio and some crap song is on, but it’s good enough. I don’t care—I just need some noise. My phone is on the counter and I send a text:
Hey mom where r u?
I drink my juice and my stomach gurgles in reply. I’ve barely eaten since Thursday.
The phone chimes. Mom? No. It’s a Facebook notification. I click and it opens to a page: find sheri beckman. I don’t know who started it, but it already has 400 followers. I feel sick and don’t know what to do. If I join, all the drama will piss me off, but if I don’t, it’ll looks bad. I decide to join.
My phone chimes again—Mom.
We’re out. Be home soon. Hungry?
I’m relieved.
Burger and fries?
Slim chance they’ll get me junk.
Okay.
Whoa—not even an argument.
My phone buzzes again—a notification on the Facebook page: we miss and love you sheri. I put it down. Pretty soon, though, it’s humming with every post and comment, and I already regret my decision. I can’t leave the group without looking suspicious, so I turn off the sound and ignore it.
The dog looks up at me.
“I know, Ollie. It’s annoying, isn’t it?”
He gives a little whine.
It’s been four days since she went missing and we’ve gotten nowhere. The police don’t have anything and our search didn’t turn up any clues. If they’d found something today, we would have heard. I don’t get it. Sheri had no enemies and this place always felt safe—until now.
I hear a car in the driveway, and Mom walks in with groceries and fast food.
“What time did you get up?” She puts the food on the counter and sets a grease-soaked bag in front of me.
“Twenty minutes ago. Where are Dad and Heather?”
She ignores the question and starts pulling vegetables out of the grocery bag. “You must be starving.”
“There’s a Facebook page for Sheri, Mom.”
She pauses as she pulls out a container of strawberries. “Did you join it?”
“I wasn’t sure if I should, but I decided to in the end.”
She nods, and I know she’s weighing the pros and cons. She goes back to the groceries to hide this contemplation.
I dig into my very unhealthy breakfast and unwrap the burger, spilling fries onto the paper. I can’t wait to sink my teeth in.
Extra bacon spills out the sides of t
he bun. She really went all out.
“Where’s Dad and Heather?”
Mom’s face tells me everything.
“Did you guys go back? Were you helping them search? Why didn’t you wake me? What’s wrong with you? I should’ve been there! I should’ve been there more than you or Dad or anyone! I loved—dammit!—I love her. I love her.”
The tears come again and Mom comes around the island to hug me and I fall into her shoulder and she shushes me like when I was little.
I can’t stop crying.
My head hurts, my muscles ache, and I’m so full of pain now that it won’t stop spilling over.
chapter 22
It’s Monday morning and I should be at school, but I’m not. I’m driving and even though I haven’t put any thought into where I’m going, I know.
I park a block away from Sheri’s school and get out and walk. I want to keep a low profile. The longer the search for her stretches out, the more people are going to start looking for someone to blame, and I’m quite certain that I’ll be at the top of their list.
I head toward the student parking lot, hoping to stay unnoticed. Although I’ve played basketball here a few times and picked Sheri up after class occasionally, almost no one should recognize my face. I cut between the few cars parked in front of the student entrance and walk across the grass.
I’m sure security is tighter now, but it’s early enough that the buses haven’t dropped off their loads of students and it’s nowhere close to the five-minute bell. It should be just me and a few teachers. If I steer clear of the office, I should be fine. My feet brush the dew on the grass along the backside of the school, and when I turn the corner toward the mechanic shop, I’m hoping my gamble will pay off.
It does.
The guy with the shaggy blond hair stands by the roll-up door. He’s beside another kid who wears a hoodie, and I see him handing over an empty baggie. They look at me and freeze. I feel like I just busted them. I slow to a halt.
Along Comes a Wolfe Page 6
