by Sarah Hualde
She concluded taking Emily, Ivy’s friend, to dinner was her first move. When Lydia thought it over, she had no excuses for not getting more involved with the kids who lived at Mission House.
She had a charming home, a comfortable life, and plenty of time. That time wasn’t given to her so she could serve only herself, but so she could help others. As Kat kept reminding her, she was still young. Thirty-nine was middle-aged, but it was far from decrepit. She knew Ethan would be up for it, upon his return. With his youthful transformation, he was ready for any new venture.
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Emily dressed up for the occasion. That is, she brushed her hair and spritzed on too much Baby Soft perfume. Lydia made a mental note to gift Mission House with fresh toiletries. Lotions, perfumes, even make up were everyday items to Lydia, but were luxurious to the needful teens.
“Ivy and I go way back. When her Mema was still living, she would bring her to VBS every year. I think I was seven when we met. She might have been nine.” Emily munched on her mushroom ravioli as if it were a delicacy and not a regular menu item. “When Ms. Annie died, Don turned mean. Well, no, he’d always been mean. Just Ms. Annie was always there to protect Ivy. She was an awesome old lady. More than once, she took me in, too.” The girl drained her fourth cherry coke.
Lydia delighted in spoiling the teen. She munched the edge of a breadstick and was an attentive audience of one. Emily talked in massive detail as if no one had ever listened to her before. Likely, no one has, Lydia surmised.
“There was one summer I lived with her and Ivy for two months. They were some of the happiest times of my life. Don was on a job in another state, and it was just us three. She made us dinner every night. On Fridays, she made us chocolate chip cookies from scratch. I would’ve been happy with tube cookies, but she’d break out the flour, turn on old country music, and mix them up. Just for us! She was amazing.”
Lydia allowed Emily to daydream on her happy summer. When the girl’s blue eyes returned to the restaurant, she began her questions.
“Is there anyone in Ashton that Ivy would visit?”
“Not that I know.” Emily dredged a corner of her last ravioli through creamy garlic sauce. “But I saw her in Ashton, before Thanksgiving. That’s when she told me she’d be in town the next week, for her appointment with you. She was going to visit me afterward.”
“What was she doing in Ashton in November?”
“Same thing I was doing. I was there for my annual doctor’s appointment. We chatted, for a bit, about boys and then she had to leave to catch a bus.”
“Any boy in particular?” Emily blushed and pouted. Some boy somewhere didn’t admire Emily in the same way she admired him.
“For me, no. But she was talking about seeing Martin Levere. I do not understand why she wanted to talk to him. Not after what he did to her?”
“What did he do?”
“He worked at the cell phone accessory kiosk, in Lewiston plaza. He flirted with her for a long time. Nothing major happened. Ms. Annie didn’t want Ivy dating until she was older. Then Ms. Annie died, and they were instantly a couple. They even lived together for a bit. Then he ditched her and dated a waitress named Amber.” Her blue eyes rolled.
“Does he live in Ashton?”
Emily shook her head and smiled at her refilled glass. “Martin doesn’t live in Ashton. He lives closer to Don.” She sneered at both men’s names.
“Do you want dessert?” Emily’s eyes sparkled at the idea of sweets. “How about we order some and maybe a serving of breadsticks, for you to take home?” Her young friend clapped with glee.
Lydia flagged down a waiter and ordered. Emily stopped chatting as she waited for the promised dessert to arrive.
“A friend of mine said she saw Ivy at the Ashton Target.”
“I know where that is. It’s in the same center as my doctor’s office.” Their waiter set fresh slices of cheesecake on the table.
Emily sunk a fork in her creamy cheesecake and then smeared the bite in the garnish of melted chocolate. Lydia observed Emily as she ate and talked.
The teen’s girl-like mannerisms and excitements, her woman-like experiences and disappointments, and her inconsolable optimism colored every simple memory and every single story. Lydia loved this new friend and added her name to her mental prayer list.
CHAPTER 10
Rehearsals raged on. Two hours of timing, line reading, costume fitting, and choir practice rolled into a hairy mess of noise. With her shepherds out with a stomach bug, Kat had the handful of wise men pulling double duty.
Sam, also known as Joseph, ran lines with Hannah/Mary. He was having a blast hamming it up on stage but was a world away from being the humble stepfather of the Savior. He was a wild, sarcastic ball of wit dressed in a brown robe and sandals. Charmed by his comedy, the first twenty times he slaughtered his lines, Kat, now, fumed. Her hands shook under her clipboard every time he took the stage.
Late-coming families disrupted rehearsals and then needed guidance to their proper places. Early leaving families wanted Kat to email them anything they missed, by exiting an entire hour before time.
No one would listen to Kat’s begging introduction, during which she groveled for everyone’s attendance, every night, on time, for the entire time. No one seemed to care about the pageant. Yet, everyone in the community demanded it still took place.
Kat hosted entire conference calls that morphed from planning to complaining. Someone’s daughter didn’t like the itchy material of her camel outfit. Someone’s son thought his robe was too girlie and wanted a camouflage one instead. Then started the cries of: Why couldn’t the children dress in whatever costumes they already owned? How come the “Holy Family” was on the stage the entire time but not the angels? Turmoil seemed to echo off of everything Kat touched.
One kid was allergic to sheep and another to the bales of hay. Three families wanted to take part but would not make a single rehearsal due to basketball practice. They wanted their roles emailed to them, and a daily text shot their way with any new changes. One family couldn’t be on stage the night of the performance but insisted on rehearsing with everyone else.
Kat had an entire composition book filled with unique arrangements, personal preferences, and the calendars of every family in Honey Pot.
Kat’s family shared her frustration. It crinkled her expressions and wafted on her acidic breath. No amount of mints or tums could keep her reflux at bay. She often forgot to eat, living instead on coffee and random bits of Christmas goodies.
Her favorite Christmas traditions went ignored or put off until “later.” Cookie night established her family’s Christmas tree habit. Their tree was the single decoration up in the Miller home. Thad urged her, several times, to put up more tinsel and lights but she poo poo-ed his suggestions. She had pressing matters to attend to. The entire community depends on me nailing this pageant.
Now, her own child, blessed at being one of the main characters, was sabotaging her efforts. She couldn’t handle it. “Six more days.” She repeated this new mantra whenever the storm in her stomach sloshed. “Six more days and then never again.”
The Millers drove home to a dinner of macaroni and cheese with hot dog chunks. Jess hummed God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman while Sam interjected fart noises into the chorus. That was the final straw. Kat lost it.
She swerved to the side of the road, tossed the car into park and screamed. Loud and scary, her wordless holler terrified the children. Jess sobbed, swallowing the sound so as not to add to the tension. Sam, agitated by the outburst, kicked the back of the passenger seat and tossed hateful sneers toward his horrified sibling.
Kat witnessed it all and did nothing to stop it. Inside she raged. Cursing herself and the town and then herself again. By the time her emotions settled, she was numb and unable to feel any concern for her dependents or her fellow drivers. She pulled back onto the street and rushed home on autopilot.
Sam, the first to recenter, tucked
Jess under his arm and led her to his bedroom. He curled around her on the floor and whispered prayers for their mother. Jess allowed herself to wilt on his shoulder and they huddled together, listening as Kat flung around pots and pans.
When Thad arrived home, Kat was too distraught to speak. He didn’t bother trying to talk with her. Their communication had been curdled with Christmas angst since Black Friday. He passed her by and found his children. They rushed to him. Thaddeus Miller prayed for something to straighten out Kat.
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The library was not a busy place during Christmas. Pottersville youth did not enjoy wasting away their vacations on furthering their education. They built men and forts when it snowed, played video games when it hailed, and enjoyed hiking on a day filled with light rain. Lightning meant more creative entertainment. Sometimes, movies at the theater, sometimes foosball in the garage, and sometimes less savory activities, but the library never made the list.
Emily paced the YA section, checking her phone for the time or a text. She eyed the book spines and flipped open the occasional hardcover. Emily considered taking a couple back with her to keep her story straight.
Mr. Mike was always looking deep into everyone’s activities. Since Emily’s mother was so close to reconciling with her daughter, Mr. Mike was extra attentive to her whereabouts.
Sometimes kids and parents could not bear to be apart for another minute. Often they would meet in private, for a quick hug and an update. Sometimes these meets were harmless. More often, they left emotional scars on the child. Either way, they violated court orders and could ruin the chance at a real reunion. Emily knew the risks and wouldn’t dare ruin her chance to go home. She stuck around town and chose to visit with friends as her main distraction.
Her friend was late. That was not unlike her. Emily resigned herself to wait for Ivy. She grabbed a vampire romance and a historical drama and headed to the comfiest looking armchair. She curled her feet onto the cushions and snuggled into reading. Entranced with her novel, Emily didn’t notice the sky darken, and the library patrons vacate. She finished the last chapter as the librarian announced closing time. Ivy still hadn’t shown. Emily huffed, dropped her book on the return rack, and drudged home feeling both anxious and abandoned.
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“I don’t have a daughter, woman! I’ve told you that twice. I will tell you one more time, and then I’m going to get mean. I... don’t... have... a... daughter!” In a dirty t-shirt and cargo shorts, Ivy’s stepfather belly bounced Lydia off of his front porch. A woman standing in the threshold of the screen door stared into the yard, processing the scene and hiding her alarm.
Lydia almost fell, rear first, onto the browned lawn. She couldn’t fathom the man’s belligerent behavior. Even his mailbox tractor attacked her. As soon as Don turned away, she took a quick picture of his house with her cell phone.
Her funny bone injury electrified her arm. She rubbed it and noticed next door’s kitchen curtain swing into place. Lydia walked to the turquoise front door and slipped a post-it through the mail slot.
I’m a friend of Ivy’s. Do you know where she is? Lydia
Her telephone number acted as a postscript. Sounds of mounting frustration rumbled from the house next door. Lydia hurried to her car and sped away. She had no destination. She only wanted off the same street as Don, the disgusting rage machine.
She pulled into a drive-thru and ordered a beverage. Her nerves were frayed and scattered. Ethan would be livid if he figured out Lydia was hunting down a missing person alone. Her buddies would happily join in, but it was Christmastime, and she was the only one without family obligations.
Riddled by inner debate, Lydia drove back to Honey Pot. Why should she worry about Ivy? If Ivy needed or wanted her help, she could’ve called. Now, her phone was out of service. She struggled between worry and apathy the entire ride home.
Worry won out. She couldn’t keep silent. She needed to find that girl. Something was wrong.
There had been thefts, small, and huge. Then an abandoned car that led to nowhere, a bloody sleeping bag, and a name tag. Lydia expected Ivy’s stepfather to be a painful person to encounter. Ms. Annie told her as much, titling him “The Treasure.” But his true nature was shocking.
Ms. Annie had only hinted at the level of upheaval her home life counted as normal. Lydia remembered how concerned over Ivy her grandmother had been. She was determined to help the girl get free from Lewiston and dependency on Don Hooper. Ms. Annie would have succeeded. Lydia had not a doubt. If she lived just two years longer. It was not to be. Now, her missing granddaughter was in more peril than either woman considered plausible. There was one last lead for Lydia to track down.
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Kat’s hair was in a messy bun, not in an online tutorial, designer, messy bun fashion but in an I haven’t washed my hair for a week, re-sprayed, and repined messy bun style. Lydia tried not to stare at her friend’s haphazard hair day horror. But it kept drawing her attention. Throughout Pastor Dean’s blessing over the Senior Center, her eyes shot undeterred to the tangled nest. Lydia completely missed the ending amen. She still had her head bowed when Emily approached.
“Hiya, Lydia.” The teen threw her hands in the air and waved. Though only ten feet away from her friend, she continued to rally until Lydia returned the gesture.
She must have enjoyed dinner. Lydia felt instant guilt. She asked Emily to dinner only to pump her for information about Ivy. Seeing what a small amount of attention could do, she wanted to get to know Emily for Emily and not for clues in her investigation. The girl smiled and shimmied over to Mr. Mike, gathering up gifts to hand out to the elderly.
“Mike’s calling you.” Emily motioned to the tall, muscular man standing near the piano. Lydia nodded and walked over.
“Emily hasn’t stopped talking about the other night.” His gray eyes pierced into Lydia’s chocolate ones. Mr. Mike was always searching out motive and intent in the volunteers that served his kids. He was always on guard and doing what he could to prevent disaster. He was straightforward and direct when examining adults who affected the lives he rescued. Lydia shrunk back as he dove into her thoughts.
“Emily will not make it back to her mother before Christmas. It would be great if you would host her for the holiday. Nothing special needs to be done. Just someone for Emily to be with. I’ll even send a couple donated gifts to you ahead of time. It wouldn’t cost you more than lunch and a headache.” He glanced toward Emily and grinned. “Man, can that girl talk!”
Embarrassed she’d never considered hosting a teen for Christmas, Lydia agreed to the idea. Even if Joan were at home, inviting one more for the day wouldn’t be a bother. “I’d enjoy that,” she responded.
Mr. Mike examined her face once more before he slapped his hands together in approval and said, “I’ll set it up.” Then he walked away as if the conversation never happened.
Lydia joined Kat and the teens. She watched kids without parents love on parents without kids. Kat and the younger children decorated the huge plastic tree, dusting it as they worked.
Emily read to Mrs. Lloyd, the center’s oldest resident. She repeated and reemphasized the same paragraphs and pages until the geriatric acknowledged the effort with a soft pat on Emily’s knee. Emily was a good girl. Lydia wasn’t naïve enough to assume Emily was always helpful and cheery. Trauma begets drama. Sometimes hurt people live hurtful lives.
Emily hosted a lot of both trauma and hurt. Though Emily welcomed Lydia to the party, she spent the last hour avoiding her. Even her reading to Mrs. Lloyd appeared a diversion from a direct conversation. Lydia let it go. Maybe she’d pushed too hard at dinner. She’d send her one formal and fancy invitation to Christmas dinner and then call her a few days later. Perhaps, the distance would shrink by then.
CHAPTER 11
The following afternoon, Lydia sat in the restaurant wondering what she had been expecting. She was hoping the M. on the black and gold card was the same Marti
n on the restaurant name tag. Factoring in the odds, he was also working on this particular day on this particular shift made Lydia seem nuttier. She ordered dinner, even though she’d eaten on the drive up to Lewiston. Then she waited, praying for help from above.
Ivy had been in Honey Pot, and something had happened. Since no one noticed the exact day Ivy went missing, Deputy Gus refused to file a missing person report.
Don, her stepfather, was less than helpful and refused to offer any information to anyone who asked. He denied living in the same house as anyone named Ivy, even though common knowledge suggested the opposite. He also refused to admit Ivy was his stepdaughter. No clues leading to boyfriends or jobs or runaway possibilities slipped from his lips when interrogated. He left investigators confused, and Lydia perturbed.
Though evidence pointed to him being a violent despicable man, nothing led Deputy Gus to think Don manufactured Ivy’s disappearance. Even Kat and Flora accounted for seeing her in a healthy state after her supposed vanishing.
Flummoxed, Lydia was confident Ivy needed her support. But Lydia was helpless to give it. Her prayers and nightmares reflected her deep concern and worry over the girl.
“Your potato skins and a side salad.” Lydia’s waiter, Ben, set the food down without a clink of the dishes. “You need a refill?” He poured iced tea without waiting for an answer and pandered to another table.
Lydia picked at her food, pretending to enjoy it. No Martin nametag passed. She would have to ask. Next time Ben came near she waved him over. “More tea?” Her glass was still brimming.
“I’m looking for someone. Martin Levere. Is he in today?”
Ben’s brows slanted in opposition to his plastered-on smile. Lydia’s internal radar flared. Married to a sheriff for twenty years hadn’t left Lydia without super senses. She often had “notions” about people, glimpses of their inner selves and hidden motivations. She had a bad impression of Ben just like she had a foreboding about Ivy. Ben knew Martin and knew him well. She covered her heebie-jeebies with a smooth countenance and steady voice.