All except two?
Rowan isn’t sure whether her daughter ever owned the little redheaded doll glued inside the homemade snow globe, but she’s a hundred percent certain about the male.
She goes through the box three times, just to be sure.
Yes.
The Rick doll is missing.
Beyond the screen walls of Bob Belinke’s Florida room, the insect and amphibian chorus has taken up its nightly serenade. A gentle evening breeze stirs the palm fronds.
Ah, home.
He’s been back for a few hours now—-long enough to change into shorts and flip--flops, go through the pile of accumulated mail, and notice that there’s nothing in the fridge fit for consumption.
He has yet to do anything about that, but is planning to head over to Publix as soon as he gets ahold of Rick, who never did reply to his text this morning or the voice mail he left when he landed in Tampa.
When he didn’t pick up the phone then, Bob was slightly worried. When Rick doesn’t pick up now, he decides to do something about it.
He goes into the house, sits down at the computer, and pulls up an e--mail from last winter. It was from Rick, and it lists all four of his kids’ addresses. Bob had asked for their contact information after Vanessa died so that he could send individual condolences for the loss of their mother, since none of them was living with Rick at the time.
He sent four cards, writing messages telling every one of the kids that he would be there for them if they ever needed anything. He included his contact information. He heard back from the two oldest, Rick’s stepsons. They thanked him for his concern. The younger kids, both in college, didn’t respond.
The family might be fractured in the wake of Vanessa’s suicide, but they need each other’s support if they’re going to heal.
Using the addresses of Rick’s stepsons, Bob manages to locate phone numbers for both. Rick wouldn’t be thrilled that Bob’s reaching out to the kids directly, but it’s for his own good.
That’s what friends are for.
“Mick, have you talked to Brianna today?” Gina asks when he walks into the restaurant kitchen, wearing her telltale bursting--with--news expression.
His heart immediately starts pounding. Old Jiffy Pop may be privy to just about everything that goes on around here, but she can’t possibly know he’s Brianna’s Secret Santa.
“No, why?” he asks as casually as possible.
“She didn’t show up for work, and my mom can’t get ahold of her.”
“Oh well, she’s sick,” Mick tells her above the clatter of pots and pans, running water, and sizzling food. “She wasn’t in school today.”
“Then she should have called my mom. Now we’re totally short--handed and there’s a birthday party coming in with fifteen -people in twenty minutes.”
“Well, maybe she’s feeling better. Your mom should call and—-”
“She tried. Brianna’s not picking up her cell phone and no one is answering at her house. Obviously she’s not really home sick.”
Mick’s instinct is to snap at her, but remembering what happened with Zach—-who barely greeted him when he walked into the restaurant a few minutes ago—-he says only, “She’s probably sleeping or plugged into headphones. Happens all the time in my house.”
Shaking her head and emitting sounds that may or may not be actual words, Gina grabs her order pad and heads back out into the dining room.
As Mick rolls silverware and steak knives into cloth napkins, he hopes Brianna isn’t so sick she had to go to the doctor—-or the hospital, even. She seemed fine last night, though.
Maybe she really is playing hooky. Maybe she snuck off to a Hadley dorm to be with her college boyfriend or something.
Disturbed by the thought of that, he fumbles the cutlery and drops a steak knife onto the floor. He starts to bend over and pick it up, but someone gets there first.