Page 42 of Pick Me
Pretending that therightthing was also theeasything.
“Thanks, Knox.” Goodman laughed. “My testicles appreciate your friendship.”
I knocked my arm into his again. “You want my no-sexual-innuendos lecture now or later?”
“You’re adorable, pretending I have a choice,” he mused. “You’re dying to speechify me, Knox. You’re fully engorged with annoyance and thrumming with the need to lecture me… to lecture mehard. You’re turgid with the desire to pound all those words right into my tiny, tight little—”
I burst out laughing. “Christ, you are such a shit. Who uses the word turgid?”
“I do,” he said, grinning smugly. “If you’re feeling tense, you might try some yoga stretches. I could show you my forward bend—”
I grabbed for him, but he leaped away, laughing.
And then my cell phone rang with a call from Webb… and neither one of us felt much like smiling after that.
Chapter Seven
Gage
I’d learned back when my mom died that nothing brings a small community together like a tragedy.
But until the Tuesday afternoon that Aiden Sunday went missing, I hadn’t realized how a community could completely mobilize itself so that every man, woman, and child was actively pulling together to help one another. It was kind of a beautiful thing— or at least itwouldhave been, if everyone hadn’t been too sick to their stomachs with worry to really appreciate it.
My hands shook as I measured out coffee grounds for the tenth pot of coffee I’d brewed in the past five hours. The Sundays’ happy kitchen had become a mini command center—a place where family members, law enforcement officers, and the entire boys’ and girls’ soccer teams had stopped by for snacks and to coordinate search efforts, while Drew, Marco, Knox, and a few others manned the phones, trying to find someone who’d seen Aiden since school let out.
At least two kids were absolutely positive that Aiden had been on the bus home that day but couldn’t remember what he’d been wearing or whether they’d spoken to him.
Mac, the bus driver, was slightly less sure. “I think I remember stopping at the end of the driveway like every day,” he’d said when he’d come by earlier, his face drawn and haggard-looking. “But every day’s a little like the day before, isn’t it? And I got so many kids I drive… I couldn’t swear to it. I’m sorry, Webb.”
Webb had stormed out then without saying a word, and I understood why. I felt bad for Mac, and I didn’t blame him, but I also couldn’t imagine how anyone could spend a minute with Aiden and not see that he was special. The boy’s infectious smile and mini-adult brain that had made me like him immediately—he was sweet and earnest and confident and happy, and I wanted to be like him when I grew up.
Hawk walked in the back door to the Sundays’ kitchen just as I flipped the switch to get the coffee brewing, and he knelt to scratch Sally Ann’s head. The old dog had been keeping vigil on the braided rug by the back door all evening, not interested in food or attention, like she sensed that something was wrong. That someone was missing.
“Barns and paddocks are completely clear, including the haylofts,” Hawk announced. “Chicken coop, too, not that I thought he’d be there. Gift shop was closed up, but I checked there anyway, just in case. The sheriff’s got a dozen people on 4x4s checking the orchards.” He ran a hand over his face, looking impossibly young. “I don’t know what to do next… but there has to be something.”
“I’m sure there is. Sit down and wait for the guys to get off the phone,” I instructed, pushing him toward the table. “Refuel for a second, and we’ll figure it out. Coffee or tea?”
“Tea,” he said tiredly. “Thanks, Gage.”
“Sure.” In truth, I was glad I had some task to perform. I’d be more of a liability than a help when it came to actively searching for him since I didn’t know the area as well as everyone else, but this was something I could do.
“No, Miss Ethel, Aiden hasn’t run away,” Drew said loudly, his voice brittle and strained. “He’s missing, which is different. Yes, I’m positive… Oh, yes, I remember the stories about Carl Justis from years ago, but that was— Uh-huh. No, it was a very different thing. Yes, of course Webb’s extremely worried. Yes, he called Sheriff Carver right away when we realized Aiden hadn’t— Yes, ma’am, I’ve heard that the first forty-eight hours are the most important. I’ve watchedLaw & Order: SVU, too. No, Aiden doesn’t have a cell phone. He’s six. Why in the world would he? No, thank you, we do not need you to crochet us a prayer shawl,” he said impatiently. “Yes, I’ll keep you posted. But when you call Betty Ann and the rest of the Little Pippin Hookers, please tell them to call us or the police directly if they’ve seen anything, okay? Alrighty, then.”
“Ugh,”he pronounced as he jabbed the button to disconnect the call. “That woman, I swear. But all the octogenarians, busybodies, and fiber artists in the area have been alerted now. Helena Fortnum and Norm Avery sent messages to all the artists and the farmers in the Little Pippin Vendor Co-op respectively. And Emma texted that she’s already hit up the library, Scoops, and Wing Factory, and she alerted all the moms she babysits for, who’re spreading the word, too. No one’s seen him in town. Which isgood,” he said mostly to himself. He looked at Marco. “Itisgood. Right?”
“Sure, honey. Tells us he’s around here somewhere. Poor kid took a nap in a loft or built a fort someplace, and he’s gonna wake up and wonder what all the fuss was about.” Marco leaned over and patted Drew’s shoulder sympathetically, then nudged a plate of banana bread at him that some kind soul had dropped by earlier. “Eat, old man. You need fuel just like Hawk does.”
Drew wrinkled his nose, which was maybe the only time I’d ever seen him turn down a baked good since he enjoyed them as much as I did. “I’ll fuel up when Aiden gets home.” He pushed himself up from the table and looked toward the pantry cupboard. “Do I have pretzels for Sunday Sundaes? I should get some—”
“Marco’s right. You should eat,” I suggested, bringing him a cup of yerba maté when I brought Hawk his tea. “That way you can be alert and steady and ready to make sundaes when he’s home. Do you want banana bread? Or I could make you a sandwich?”
Drew grunted but sat back down and took a piece of the bread.
“Aiden’s not at the McMahons’ house.” Knox tossed his phone down on the kitchen table and scrubbed two hands through his thick hair so forcefully that his biceps strained against the fabric of his flannel shirt.
“Should we call Reed?” Marco asked. “Your brother’s got friends who are politicians, right? Maybe he knows an FBI agent, too.”
“Maybe,” Knox agreed unenthusiastically. “But let’s keep that in our pockets for now. Goodman, any luck getting the student contact list from the school principal? I’ve run through the list of classmates Webb could remember.”
