“It’s kind of hypnotizing,” Amanda says, shaking her head. “I should have stopped at the high pony, that one looked best.”
A few people come to the counter with bags of stuff to drop off, but so far no one has appeared with the big white box. The big white box that contained the book that contained the drawing that just might somehow lead me to Nina. Some guy walks in carrying a big box. I inhale and hold my breath. But he puts it down near the door, tries on a belt, goes to the counter with the belt, discusses the belt with Morgette, picks up his box, and leaves.
Amanda takes a deep breath, she lets it out. “El, I’m not trying to be a bitch here, and you know that I would do anything that I could to help you, but what exactly do you think watching this is going to do? Even if we see someone dropping off a box full of what looks to be books and maybe one of them is the book that you found Nina’s doodle in, then what? You’re going to track him down how? Because unless he has his name and address tattooed on the top of his head, it’s going to be pretty impossible…”
But I tune her out completely then because there he is.
Stop. Rewind. Play. He looks a few years older than us, wearing longish cargo shorts and a white T-shirt, pale blond hair, skinny arms covered in tattoos, holding a big white cardboard box up at the counter. I stop the tape and put my finger over the tiny guy on the screen, pressing so hard my finger turns white. I hit play and watch as he puts the box on the counter, says something, Morgette nods, he hands the box to Morgette, she takes it to the scale, weighs it, comes back to the counter, hands him some money. And then he starts walking toward the door and then, right past where Amanda is trying on hats, then turns back and…this is the perfect part—he goes over to this community bulletin board that Morgette has hanging near the door, takes something out of his pocket, and sticks it up on the board. And then he’s gone.
I turn toward Amanda who is looking at me with her eyes wide. “Oh!” I say.
I run through Morgette’s office, out into the main room, and stop in front of the bulletin board. Amanda is at my side.
“Ellie?” Her voice sounds strained. She puts her hand on my arm and when I turn toward her she’s looking at me with such concern that for a second I think she’s maybe about to cry. “We don’t have any idea how her drawing got into that book, or when she drew it, or how the guy who brought the book here even got it, I mean he could have bought it at a garage sale or found it on the street or…something.” She stops herself and shakes her head. But I don’t let it hurt me. I know why Amanda is saying this. We’ve been down this road before.
When Nina first vanished, finding her was all I talked about and all I thought about. And there were at least a dozen times when I was sure I was this close to finding her. Like the time I saw a girl on the street with hair the exact blue color Nina’s had been when she left and spent an hour following this girl so I could ask her questions, as though maybe she and Nina were part of some Girls With Blue Hair club and by locating one member I’d be led to the rest. (The girl turned out to be visiting from Russia and didn’t speak a word of English.) Or the time I found a crumpled-up ad for an art supply store in the pocket of an old pair of Nina’s jeans and spent three hours each way on the bus going to this store, only to find that they’d gone out of business. For each of these occasions and the dozens like it, Amanda was always right there with me, as supportive as a best friend could be. And each time when the “clues” led nowhere, as they inevitably did, and I was newly crushed as though Nina had just vanished all over again, Amanda was right there helping put me back together. As time went on, the possibility that one of these mazes might actually lead to my sister seemed smaller and smaller. And I guess eventually Amanda decided that helping me wasn’t actually helping me at all anymore.
So I know what she’s trying to say, but I’m also not going to listen.
I turn back to the bulletin board. I feel my face spreading into a smile.
“Ellie…”
I reach my hand out and take the flier off the wall. I’m not sinking anymore. I’m floating up, up, up, because here it is. Bright red paper covered in bold black handwriting. This is so obviously his. And I know there can be only one explanation for this—this is fate. So whatever happens next, it’s going to work out, and it’s going to be perfect. I’ve waited far too long for it not to be.
YOU HAVE HEREBY BEEN CORDIALLY INVITED TO A HOUSEWRECKING PARTY AT THE MOTHERSHIP (349 Belmont Ave) Come help us tear this sucker down.
For 15 years we’ve been home to a rotating band of musicians, artists, transients, travelers, angels, devils, do-gooders, and ne’er-do-wells.
But we’ve lost our lease , an era is ending, the time has come to say goodbye.