Page 24 of Everything We Give

“Walk home, loser,” she yelled through the open passenger window. “Don’t hitch a ride and don’t let anyone see you. You do and I’ll make sure you never see your mom again.”

The station wagon sped away, engine groaning, tires spitting gravel and dirt.

When he no longer saw the Pontiac, his tears fell freely. Not only had he left his camera in the backseat, but he didn’t know his way home.

For five days Ian followed the road in the direction he thought was home. He kept to the edges of cornfields and dairy farms, drinking from the sprinklers and eating ripening corn when he risked being seen. With each approaching car, he ducked behind a tree or into stalks barely tall enough to hide him. He wanted to see his mom again so he followed Jackie’s order. He slept days and walked nights so he wouldn’t be seen. But after spending the third night wandering alone, he realized he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere.

He was lost.

He wondered if he’d ever find home. He missed his mom. His dad would be worried. Were they looking for him?

On the fifth day, Ian drifted into a fitful sleep on the sloped edge of an irrigation ditch under the shade of a large tree only to wake up when he felt a butterfly touch his head. His eyes snapped open to the blurry image of a woman kneeling beside him.

He shot upright and scooted away, his back pressing into tree bark. His heart beat furiously. He wasn’t supposed to be seen. Jackie would find out and take his mom away from him. He tried to stand, to bolt away, but the woman grasped his shoulders and gently urged him down. Bone-weary and weak, he flopped back in the dirt.

“Hello, Ian.” The woman smiled.

He squinted against the sun’s glare, then blinked at her. Hair fine and fair haloed her head in the late-afternoon light. He stared, transfixed, at the strange blue shade of her eyes. Surely, he must be dreaming.

He heard a car door slam and stiffened. He tried to scoot away. The woman kept her hold on his shoulders.

“It’s OK,” her voice soothed. She smiled some more, then glanced over her shoulder. “He’s over here, Stu.”

Dad.

A sob burst from Ian. He croaked like a frog.

“Don’t be afraid,” the woman reassured. “Your dad’s going to take you home.”

His mouth quivered. “Who are you?” And how did she know his dad?

“I’m a friend. You can call me Laney.”

“How did you find me?” He didn’t want Jackie to find out he didn’t walk all the way home.

“Magic. And Jackie will never know.” She pressed a finger to her lips and stood, retreating.

“Ian. My God, son.” Stu sank to his knees and grabbed Ian, holding him firmly to his chest. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Mom?” he cried. He started shaking—he didn’t know whether from lack of food, relief he’d been found, or fear that Jackie hadn’t shifted back to his mom. “Where’s Mom?”

“It’s time to go.” His dad picked him up, cradling him like a baby to his truck.

CHAPTER 7

IAN

She told me her name was Laney. She introduced herself to Aimee at James’s fake funeral as Lacy. In Mexico, Imelda Rodriguez, owner of Casa del sol, the hotel where Aimee and I had stayed, knows her as Lucy.

An enigma, I think, recalling the way Imelda described Laney-Lacy-Lucy, or whoever she is, to Aimee.

I watch James drive away, then look at the card in my hand.

LACYSAUNDERS

PSYCHICCOUNSELOR, CONSULTANT& PROFILER

MURDERS, MISSINGPERSONS& UNSOLVEDMYSTERIES

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