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  His eyes widened as she told him Diana’s story, concluding with, “I know I’ve breached confidence somewhere in there. Please keep it within these four walls.” She gestured to the brightly colored surroundings. “I’m not even sure how much of it is true, but I know in my spirit I’m not supposed to let it go.”

  Hank mimed turning a key on his mouth, then tossing the key away. “So that’s what you were shouting about when I came to the door?”

  Sheila nodded, a slight smile erasing some of the consternation on her face. “I’m afraid I wasn’t exactly being the meek, humble servant I know I should be. I was demanding God do what I want as if I know better how to run the world.”

  “And what was that?”

  “That He either tell me where Diana was, or bring me someone willing to help me find her.” She looked at him with a challenging glint in her eyes—or was that hope?

  Regardless, he was happy to meet her gaze. “In that case,” he said, “my first name is Someone and my last name is Willing.”

  CHAPTER 7

  A week after Thanksgiving, the first blizzard of the season hit. For about three hours, the world was a sheet of white. Evelyn couldn’t even make out the dark outline of the tree in her tiny backyard. When the blinding snowfall finally diminished to gentle flurries, tree branches sagged under the weight of snow and the streets were utterly impassable.

  Evelyn sighed as she stared out the window, waiting for her teapot to whistle. She was short on groceries, and if any more snow fell before the snowplows got out, it might be two days before she would be able to drive. Walking was out of the question. Even if the sidewalks weren’t hip-deep in snow, the ten-degree temperature with a ten-below wind-chill made being outside a most unsavory prospect.

  It wasn’t that she was out of food. She could easily live on the staples in her cupboard, and the bit of produce she had left in her refrigerator. But Linda was eating less and less, and Evelyn thought if she could just cook a tasty enough meal, she could get her daughter to at least do more than pick at her food.

  The kettle began to sing, and she turned off the flame under it and filled her teacup with the steaming water. She turned toward the dining room as Linda was coming in, stretching her arms and yawning.

  “Were you napping, dear?” Evelyn asked.

  “Yeah. I conked out for a good hour.” Linda pulled a glass from the cabinet above the counter, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out the jug of water.

  “Honey, why don’t you have some juice instead?”

  “Do you want me to throw up?” Linda’s voice was weary, and she did not so much as glance at her mother as she answered. It was a dance they did every day, Evelyn encouraging her to take in more calories, Linda insisting that it would upset her stomach.

  Evelyn sat at her place at the table, frowning at Linda’s back. Why Linda? Why my daughter? Why not me? She’s so young. What did she ever do to deserve this? And when is she going to get better? The barrage of questions she sent heavenward were as frequent as her debates about eating with Linda. And as futile. She had yet to receive any answers.

  * * *

  Sheila drummed her fingers on her thigh, chewing on her lower lip as she peered out of the car window toward the front door of the homeless shelter. What had she been thinking, asking for Hank to help her find Diana? She was resourceful enough to have taken this task on by herself; she’d gotten used to doing everything alone during the past four years, needing nobody for anything. She was surprised when she heard herself telling Hank that she’d prayed for help. Though she had, she really wasn’t expecting an answer, and certainly not in the form of a man who grated her nerves.

  More surprising was her response to him when he came to her door. In between worrisome thoughts about Diana, she had spent the week wrestling with her physical reaction to Hank when he had materialized in front of her at TGI Fridays. She’d worked hard to avoid him the last several days at school, afraid she’d have the same reaction the next time she set eyes on him. She just wasn’t ready to deal with all that, whatever it was. When he showed up at the threshold of her classroom, she almost didn’t invite him in. It must have been his smile, so genuine, so open. And their conversation after he took down the turkeys for her—well, she felt like she was talking to an old friend, instead of a new acquaintance. And—yes, she had discretely checked herself—she wasn’t shaking or full of butterflies.

  He wasn’t so bad after all.

  And when she realized that, she realized that she didn’t want to face the search for Diana by herself. So here she sat, in Hank’s Grand Am, spending her first Friday evening in ages out of her apartment, canvassing the shelters and the streets to see if they could find Diana and her aunt.

  Just after school got out, Sheila and Hank walked the square downtown where most of the homeless camped out. She showed as many people as she dared approached a photo of Diana, but nobody recognized her. Now, with daylight waning, Hank was in the last shelter, asking if a Rosa Manriquez was staying there with a little girl. Sheila didn’t dare enter, in case Rosa was there and saw her and got spooked again.

  If they weren’t there, Sheila was fresh out of ideas. Lord, please. . . .

  Hank’s lanky figure exited the building, pausing to give a man standing outside a dollar before he got back in the car.

  “Well?” she asked as he slammed the door shut.

  Hank gave her a sympathetic smile and sighed. “Not there.”

  Sheila turned her head away. “I’m sorely tempted to say a not very Christian word right now.”

  “I wouldn’t be offended.” He started the car. “Shocked, maybe, but not offended.”

  Sheila remained silent, thrusting her hands into her coat pocket. They drove for a couple blocks before she said, “I appreciate it, anyway. You giving up your Friday evening to do this, I mean.”

  “I didn’t give up anything. This is probably the most fun I’ve had on a Friday in a long time. Besides, the night is still young.”

  Unable to interpret the tone in his last statement, Sheila looked at him. No, he wasn’t asking her out on a date. The expression on his face was too casual, too matter-of-fact, and she felt relieved. She wouldn’t have been able to stand it if he’d been the kind of guy who asks a lady out when he hardly knows her. That’s what bars and nightclubs were for, one reason she steered clear of them.

  He might just qualify as a friend, she concluded, and let her guard back down. “I don’t have a clue what to do next.”

  Hank stopped at a red light, and glanced at her with raised eyebrows. “Next? Miss Carson, we’ve looked everywhere possible. We can’t notify the police because frankly, we have no idea if Diana is in any real danger.” He paused to pass a slow-moving truck. “I think it’s time to just trust God to take care of her.”

  “No.” She hadn’t meant to speak so sharply. “I don’t mean that I don’t trust God,” she said to Hank’s surprised glance, “I mean I feel like we—I’m missing something. That it’s not time to give up just yet.”

  For a while, Hank said nothing, just stared very intently through the windshield. Then, “Why Diana?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Let me back up a minute.” He turned onto the side street leading to their school. “You’ve had to make calls to CPS before, haven’t you?”

  Sheila frowned. The worst part of her job. “A few, yeah.”

  “Did you ever go after the kids you thought had been abused? Investigate into their safety?”

  What was he getting at? “No. That’s not my job.”

  “And this is?”

  “Look, you’re the one who offered to help.” Sheila had to oppress a surge of anger. “Nobody said—”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “The other kids didn’t disappear without a trace. The authorities knew about those situations. This is different.” She sat with her arms crossed, head turned toward her window. She didn’t want Hank to see the truth in he
r eyes, that it wasn’t really the situation that was different, it was Diana.

  She reminded her too much of Lorena.

  Although she knew that one girl had nothing to do with the other, Sheila still felt responsible for Diana’s welfare, as if making sure she was kept safe would make up for . . . Sheila forced the morbid memory aside. Hank would never know about that skeleton in her closet, not if she could help it.

  “You’re right.” Hank’s suddenly quiet and gentle tone caught Sheila off guard. “This is different.”

  Slowly, Sheila twisted her neck back, feeling guilty for having jumped down his throat. “Sorry,” she said. “I guess this whole thing has got me pretty stressed out. I’m sure I’ve had plenty of kids who lived in environments as questionable as Diana’s, but I guess I never put myself in a situation to hear any graphic details.”

  “Ignorance is bliss.”

  “Something like that.” Sheila stared out the windshield as they pulled into the school parking lot where her car still sat. Suddenly, the weekend ahead loomed like an invincible monster, and she didn’t want to get out of the car.

  “Let me get the door for you,” Hank said as he parked next to Sheila’s Camry.

  When he opened the passenger side door and held out his hand to her, Sheila felt an unexpected rush of pleasure. Since moving to the South, she’d gotten used to men at her church opening doors for her and offering to carry things, but she’d never experienced chivalry to this extent.

  At least, she hoped it was just gentlemanly chivalry. She didn’t need Hank to start looking at her as a potential future anything.

  Even as she hesitated, his warm smile didn’t waver, and when she took his hand, the rush became more intense. That time of the month must be coming, she thought with disgust. She hated how her hormones could set her off balance. She let go of his hand as soon as she was standing up straight, wishing he wasn’t standing right in front of her so she could move a few steps away from him.

  In the same moment, Hank stepped aside. “Well, it was an interesting learning experience.”

  Discouraging and frustrating was more like it, but Sheila didn’t want to put a cloud inside his silver lining. So she agreed with a nod. “Thanks again for helping,” she said, fishing for her car keys in her purse.

  “Would you like my phone number?”

  Sheila’s head shot up. What did he mean by that?

  “Okay, so you don’t want my phone number.” Hank held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I just thought God might give you the missing piece between now and Monday, and you might like someone to help you put the pieces together.”

  “Oh.” There you go, being paranoid again. “I—never mind.” She was glad for the twilight that hid the blush she felt creep up her cheeks. “That’s a good idea.” She decided humor would be a good cover for her overreaction. “And luckily for you, you can have my Friday night special. When you give your phone number, you get another in exchange, absolutely free.”

  She scribbled her number on a piece of scrap paper while Hank rummaged around in his wallet. Eventually, he produced a business card that declared, “Hank Johnson. Professional Class Clown.”

  Sheila laughed. “You know, maybe the other teachers wouldn’t be so hard on you if you gave them your business card.” Then she realized what she’d said. You idiot! He probably doesn’t even know—

  “It’s okay.” Her sheepishness must have shown on her face. “I know what people say about me. And it’s probably all true, dadgummit.” He lowered his head and scuffed the pavement with his boot in mock remorse. Then he looked up and grinned. “You have yourself a great weekend, Miss Carson. And really. If you need anything, I’d be happy to help.”

  Sheila tucked his card inside her personal phone book when she got home, heated up some chicken soup, and was sitting down at the desk in her bedroom to go through some mail when the phone rang. As was her custom, she let her answering machine pick up. She didn’t want to waste money on caller I. D., and refused to answer in case the caller was a telemarketer.

  Or her mother.

  “. . .please leave a message after the beep.”

  “Hey, Miss Carson, I thought you’d be home by now. Maybe you went out or something.”

  Hank? Sheila headed toward the kitchen, not twenty feet away from her in the small apartment, where her phone was.

  “I’m here.”

  “Oh, great. Listen,” Hank said, “I think I got the missing piece.”

  Sheila had already forgotten the earlier reference. “Missing piece?”

  “Yeah,” he continued, oblivious to her confusion. “When I was a kid and I wanted to get away from everybody, there was this one tree on a vacant lot a few blocks from our house that I would climb. I could sit there for hours and just think. Only my mother knew about it.”

  What on earth is he talking about? She began to feel annoyed. She needed to eat dinner, pray about finding Diana, plan a course of action for tomorrow. She didn’t have time for—

  “Hold on. Does this have something to do with Diana?”

  Hank chuckled. “Sorry. I have a way of jumping into conversations as though the other party has been reading my mind for the last several minutes. Yes, it’s about Diana.” He paused. “What if her aunt has a special refuge she goes to whenever she’s in trouble? Who might know about it that we could ask?”

  We. He really was unwilling to let Sheila go this road alone. And the idea was not altogether unwelcome, although the wondering why he should care nagged the back of her mind like a crotchety old woman trying to get her ornery husband to finish a neglected chore.

  She finally answered, “I didn’t even know she had an aunt around. Her mother died the day she was born, and her father has been raising her alone, is the story I have.”

  The pause that followed was so long that Sheila thought they’d been disconnected.

  “Which jail is he in?”

  “Come again?”

  “Tarrant County, right?”

  A loud spitting sound coming from the stove reminded Sheila of her soup, which was now in full boil and spilling onto the electric burners. Gripping the phone with one hand, she rushed to turn off the burner and slide the pan onto the enamel top. It was enough time for her to register what Hank was saying.

  “You don’t mean visit Diana’s father in jail.” Of course that’s what he meant. But it was the last thing Sheila expected him to say.

  “Who else would be able to give us a lead?”

  There it was again. Us. This time, Sheila smiled, realizing that she might enjoy having some sort of companionship for a change, if only for a weekend, if only on a professional level.

  “His name is Miguel Manriquez,” she said. “If you can find out where he is, I’ll meet you there tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Miguel stared at the couple sitting in front of him, incredulous, scared, and angry at the same time. Mostly angry. Angry because these people had no right to interfere in his family’s life. Angry because his sister had apparently disappeared with his daughter.

  Scared because Diana was on the streets.

  “Since when do teachers go after missing students?” The tall gringo had addressed him in Spanish, so Miguel responded in kind.

  Mr. Johnson’s expression remained placid as he exchanged glances with Diana’s teacher. “Since now,” he said.

  Miguel eyed him with suspicion through the window separating them. What were they trying to prove, anyway? That they were some kind of model citizens, helping a stranger in need? That the affluent whites didn’t hate the Mexicans after all? They had to have been trying to get something out of this. No one would give up his weekend to go after a child they barely know for nothing.

  “Why bother coming here to tell me all this?” He forced the fury stirring up inside to resettle. He didn’t need to have the guard escorting him out for violent behavior. “Look around. I’m stuck here for another week. What am I supposed to do about it?
”

  When Miss Carson spoke, her tone was soft, regretful. “I was volunteering at the downtown Thanksgiving dinner for the homeless. That’s when I saw Diana and your sister.” She grimaced. “She took Diana’s hand and ran off. I feel responsible for what happened.”

  Miguel let out a stream of curses. Rosa was always oversensitive, ever since they were kids. Now her emotional instability might be compromising his daughter’s safety. “I don’t know what her problem is, but it wasn’t your fault.” When Luis had told him that Rosa had been evicted, he’d assumed she’d find a place to stay. She knew better than have her niece living in a car, or worse, in some cardboard box somewhere. He uttered a few more choice words, then glared at Mr. Johnson. “What do you want from me?”

  “Would you have any idea where Rosa might have gone? Is there any place she’s in the habit of running to when she’s in trouble?”

  Miguel narrowed his eyes. Information? That was all they wanted? No money, favors, anything like that? Not that they would dare mention anything illegal sitting in a jailhouse, which made the whole situation even more confusing. If they did want to try to sell their investigative services on the fly, they wouldn’t do it here.

  Unless they were complete idiots. Which they couldn’t be, since they were teachers. Or so they claimed.

  Leaning forward, he turned his glare toward the woman. He may have only finished an eight grade education, but one thing he knew was how to read people. He could discern deceit in a heartbeat, could tell by a slight shifting of the body whether someone was ready to betray him.

  To his surprise, Miss Carson met his eyes unflinchingly, although he knew his face had to be full of hostility. In fact, he had to look away after only a few moments. There was something in her eyes that saw into his soul, challenging his own personal integrity. It was a look he’d only seen once before, in the eyes of a priest he’d confronted as a teenage boy, who told him that God loved him no matter what he did.

  Whatever he’d seen, it told him all he needed to know. For some reason or other, these two teachers did care about his daughter and had no ulterior motives for finding her.

  When he finally answered, his voice had lost some of its gruffness. “I don’t know. She visits me a lot, more to see Diana, I’m sure, but we live our own private lives.” He thought for a minute. “Rosa might have decided to camp out with an old or current boyfriend.” But if he even knew any of their names, he surely didn’t know where they lived. He pounded a fist on the table, earning a sharp look from the guard. “I just can’t think—wait a minute.”