I blinked up. The sheriff. I hadn’t forgotten he was here, but I’d almost managed to forget that I was. Tennessee, Kentucky, Ohio, all the way through Chicago, apartment after apartment and never a single yellow wall among them. Somewhere back there, in a strange cupboard over the window in Kentucky or out in the storage shed in Chicago—that’s where I was. Lost. I was still there, and Joshua was still there, and when I woke up from this nightmare, we would be together. He waited just there for me now.
“It’s time to get some rest.”
“I’m not tired.”
“People in distress always say that.”
“Did you read that in the manual?”
He slid his hand up and down the kitchen doorway. “I’ve sent all my people on. I’ll stay—”
“No.”
“I think you need—”
“Please don’t.”
I saw that he wasn’t here at all, either. He was back in the musty barn. His problem. Kentucky, Tennessee. I was back then, and if I chose to move on, I would take a different way. I’d never see that barn. I’d never see this town. I would take a different turn and never spot the familiar sign of the Dairy Bar. I would have Joshua by my side. I’d have everything I’d ever wanted, if only I’d never come here.
“OK,” he said, and closed the door quietly on his way out.
Finally alone. The clock over the door said 4:00 a.m.
I walked to Joshua’s room and stood in the threshold. They’d been too careful with his things. The tidiness was the worst insult. Everything was in its place but the boy.
But that was a lie. None of it was in its place. I had made sure of that, hadn’t I? That nothing about us had a place to call home?
Joshua, alone, dark road, the driver doesn’t see him—
I tried to turn off these thoughts, but the worst-case scenarios were patient. As soon as I discarded one, another rose to the surface.
Joshua, alone, fallow field short cut, he twists an ankle—
Joshua, alone, black alley, an arm darts out and grabs him—
I went to the window and yanked up the shades. The street below was silent and gray. Up and down the block, nothing moved.
If he walks up the block now, I won’t be mad. If he walks up the block now, I will make everything right.
Something moved in the corner of my vision and my eyes leapt toward it.
A black truck, Indiana plates. And, inside, someone—
I recognized the sheriff, his black hat tipped back against the frame of his open window. He stared down the empty street.
He was back at the barn, but he was also here. Where was I?
I turned to Joshua’s bed and lay down on the covers. I pressed my nose into his pillow to find his scent. His shampoo, because he wouldn’t use mine. The gel he used on his hair to get it to hang straight into his eyes. Under all these perfumes was the scent I craved. Dirt under the fingernails, sweat on the back of the neck. I was here. I breathed in what was left of my son. I would never change the sheets. If it came to it, I would never change a thing ever again.
I DIDN’T SLEEP. Up at dawn, I made coffee I didn’t want. The apartment was too quiet. After several hours at home by myself, I slipped out the back door and around to my truck and drove downtown. I made it through security at the courthouse without too many pitying looks. Deputy Lombardi wasn’t on duty to dump out my purse this time. At the door to the sheriff’s office, I lost my nerve.
The first time I’d come to this door, another boy had been missing. Was still missing. That first time I’d stood here, hesitating to go inside, I’d almost run.
What would have happened if I had?
Joshua might still be gone. But would I still be standing here now?
Because I wasn’t here to work a case, pass along information, or even look at anyone’s handwriting. I was here to see the sheriff—simply see him. To see—Russ. If I’d walked away the first time, I wouldn’t be seeking the sheriff to help steady my anxiety.
Or maybe I would. Wasn’t this where family members of the missing came to do their hoping?
This wasn’t the headquarters of Joshua Watch, though. The courthouse square was empty; no posters or news vans.
I reached for the doorknob again. I couldn’t stand being here. I couldn’t stand not being here. I should have stayed home, in case Joshua came back.
I let my hand drop from the door and turned for the stairs. Two steps away, the door to the office opened behind me and the voices of two men bounced down the hall.
“Anna?”
Russ, of course, and one of the hard-eyed officers. I stared at their boots.
“Go ahead,” Russ said. “Tell them I’ll be right down.”
I watched the other man’s feet walking past. “Ma’am,” he said.
“You should be resting,” Russ said. “Has something happened?”
I nodded: yes, I should be resting. And then shook my head: no, nothing had happened. I found I was still nodding when I should be shaking my head, and then still shaking my head long after I should have stopped.
“Come with me.”
I followed his boots down the hall, past the elevator. There was a window at the end of the hall that looked out over the courthouse green, nearly the same view I’d seen on my first visit to his office. The same jeweler, the same karate school, all the snug businesses living under the shadow of all the protection there was.
The sheriff took out a set of keys. A door opened up into a dark, windowless vestibule, crammed to the ceiling with storage containers and boxes. He squeezed through and, using the keys again, opened another door that swung out to reveal his office. He took my elbow and led me toward the chair in front of his desk.
“Secret passageway,” he said. “In case Bea Ransey comes calling.”
I began to nod, then stopped. Some people could understand how I felt, but most didn’t and never would. Bea Ransey was not a joke.
My throat was tight, my eyes puffy from crying. I didn’t want to cry. But then—Joshua’s schoolbooks, pulled from the closet. The sight of his cereal bowl in the sink from the morning before, the morning I’d hidden from him in the shower. The alarm in his room going off at the customary time.
And now, this joke that was not funny. I buckled and fell into the chair.
“Hey, now. I’m sorry,” Russ said. “I don’t know what I’m thinking.” He unloaded a pile of paper from another chair and brought it close to mine. He unearthed a smashed box of tissues from his desk and held it out. When I didn’t reach for them, he pulled out two and put them in my hand. “Now, come on, Anna. We’ll find him. Remember how we talked about kids not getting far? Remember? The odds are with us on Joshua.”
“Aidan,” I said, gulping around the lump in my throat. I pushed the tissues at my nose. “Aidan’s been gone for—almost two weeks.”
“Aidan is a different case. You can see that.”
“But he shouldn’t still be gone. What if Joshua is—is a different case?”