Page 6 of All the Missing Pieces

I smiled at her, not too wide but not too hesitant either. Over the past four years, I’d learned that people didn’t trust overly smiley, but they also didn’t like rude. “Afternoon.”

I took in the small grocery store. It was packed to the gills with shelves overflowing with items. But it looked like they had a good array. Plenty of the organic, healthier fare I favored. After my first six months on the road had been largely fueled by fast food and vending machines, and one too many sugar crashes and stomachaches, I’d made the switch.

My first stop in any town was a grocery store to get supplies that were easy to prepare. Bessie’s fridge wasn’t large, but I’d gotten good at the Tetris of putting items away.

I could feel the woman’s eyes on me as I wandered the aisles, grabbing a seven-grain bread for sandwiches, some almonds, ingredients for my favorite spring vegetable pasta. When I reached the table of desserts, I let a true grin stretch across my face.

Devil’s food cupcakes with vanilla filling. There was no way I was passing those by. Snatching them up, I carried everything to the counter.

There was amusement in the woman’s deep-brown eyes now. “Cupcake fan?”

“Baked-goods-of-all-forms fan.”

She chuckled as she began scanning my items and punching in codes for produce. I waited, not pushing the conversation. People got skittish when you pushed. Finally the woman spoke again. “Just passing through?”

I glanced out the windows at the front of the store. “I’m going to stay awhile actually. It’s beautiful here. Heard there are some epic trails in the mountains.”

The woman nodded. “Sure are.” She studied me for a moment. “You’re not hiking alone, are you?”

My lips twitched. “I’ve got a sat phone and bear spray.”

Her mouth thinned as she muttered something under her breath I could barely make out. “Dead tourists. Just what we need.” She punched in a final code and read off the total.

I tapped my card to the reader and took my bags as my head dipped to a name tag on her shirt. “Thanks, Mira.”

She simply grunted. “See you around if you don’t become bear kibble.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll be sure to let you know I’m still alive and kickin’.”

Some people got too fixated on that. So obsessed with health and safety that they forgot to trulylive.

A memory of my mom’s pale face, stricken with panic, shot through my memory.

“You’re leaving now? It’s dark. Anything could happen.” Her fingers twisted in her sweater. They’d become bony over the last several months because she barely ate enough to sustain herself.

The woman in front of me was barely recognizable now, but still my heart cracked for her. “Mom, it’s an open-mic night at the coffee shop. I’ll be home before ten.”

She shook her head so fast she looked like a bobblehead doll whose head was moving in the wrong direction. “No. You have to stay. Anything could happen.”

“Sheila,” my dad began.

“I saidno.” Mom’s voice cracked like a whip in the entryway of my childhood house.

But it wasn’t home. Not anymore. And I wasn’t sure it ever would be again.

I shook off the memory, pushing open the door and letting the sunshine stream down on me, baking my already golden skin. I tipped my face up to it, soaking in even more. This was my comfort and my drug. The sun and the fresh air wrapping around me.

While my mom had turned inward, I’d done the opposite. My need to get out and experience everything could turn clawing at times, but there was no way around it. Because I wasn’t just living for me anymore. I had to experience everything Avery would never get to.

I took in one last beat of the sunshine, dropped my bags in the van, and headed for the coffee shop. There was no bell over the door of this shop, but I understood why when I stepped inside. The place was two-thirds full, and it was after two. It was likely they did a steady stream of business all day long.

My gaze swept the café, taking in the vibe and trying to picture Emerson Sinclair here. The only photos I’d been able to find of her were those from when she was sixteen, around the time she’d been abducted, but that was almost ten years ago now. Within the year or so after, she’d become a ghost. No social media, no public job listing, not even an email I could find. The only confirmation I had of her still living in the area was a deed on a house just outside of town.

But the photos I’d seen of her painted a completely different picture than someone hiding away from the world. She lookedcarefree, her blond hair in a tumble atop her head as she dove for a shot on the tennis court or her hazel eyes shining as her head tipped back midlaugh with some friends. I could see her here, chatting with customers, weaving through antique-looking dark wood tables set amongst black-and-white photos that kept with the cowboy theme. Just like so many other teenagers with after-school jobs.

“Welcome to Cowboy Coffee,” a voice boomed from behind the counter.

I turned to the source of it and found a middle-aged man with a ruddy complexion and reddish hair to match. “Thank you.” Crossing to the counter, I took in the menu painted on the chalkboard above. One side held drinks and the other food.

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