“Mine too,” says Ebony.
So we settle into this thing. First Michael encourages me to just relax, and he chats about pretty much nothing for a while. Then after a few minutes, he asks me to close my eyes and to focus on the image I saw yesterday. Then he starts to ask me more questions. But it's not so much about what I saw as about how it made me feel.
And then he asks about the apron and the kinds of letters that spelied out the name Colby. He asks me about colors and shapes, and then he goes into more details about the actual facial description. And it's weird because I can't imagine how some of his questions would really help him, but I try not to think about that. I just try to answer them, the best I can. Then after about an hour, he tells me to open my eyes.
“Now, I'm going to let you see what I've drawn, Samantha, but I want you to know that it's only the beginning. I'm sure it won't look like the man you saw in your vision. Not completely anyway. But we'll find the features that are right, and we'll try to adjust the parts that aren't.” He smiles, and that gold tooth glints in the light again. “You ready?”
I nod.
He turns his large sketch pad around for me to see, and I am shocked that it actually feels very familiar—and creepy. “Wow,” I say quietly, getting out of my chair to see it better.
“Are we closer than I thought?”
The drawing shows a man from the waist up, clearly depicting the apron and name Colby on the right side. He has a rounded face, somewhat coarse looking features, a stubble beard, and a receding hairline. But it's the small piercing eyes that get me. I make a face. “He gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“Not exactly the kind of guy who someone like Kayla would be attracted to?” asks Ebony.
“Not at all. He looks like the kind of person Kayla would make fun of. Like some old, geeky geezer dude who pumps gas and hits on high school girls for kicks.”
Then I point out some things that don't seem quite right, and Michael changes his eyebrows and puts his eyes farther apart, broadens his nose, and narrows his lips. After about an hour, I am pretty satisfied.
“I mean, it's hard to say for sure/' I admit. “When I see something in a vision, it's so fast, and some of it doesn't even feel visual, you know? But I really think that looks a lot like the guy I saw.”
“Works for me,” Ebony says as Michael hands her the final drawing. “I plan to run it today.” She shakes Michael's hand. “You do good work, Michael.”
“I hope it helps to catch the jerk,” he says. Then he turns to me. “Of course, I couldn't have done it without Samantha.” He smiles. “You've got good instincts. If you have any artistic ability, you might be good at this.”
I laugh. “Maybe I should show you my mountains.”
“Mountains?”
Then Ebony explains.
“Well, I don't usually do landscapes, but maybe I should take a look,” he offers. “Maybe I could help to make it look more like the real deal.” 3
I pull out my very amateurish-looking drawing, and he o nods. “Yep. Looks like Arizona to me.” Then he gets out a o fresh piece of paper and starts drawing. Within minutes he's taken what look like a five-year-old's squiggles and turned them into something that might be real. I point out a couple of things that I remembered differently.
“Like this shape.” I point to my drawing. “It was kind of like a bear's head. Or maybe a monkey head. I mean, the profile.”
So he starts playing with it some more.
“Yes,” I tell him when he gets it right. “Like that!”
Finally he's done, and I feel like it's similar to what I envisioned.
“This could be very helpful,” says Ebony. “It's obviously a long shot, but you never know. Anyway, I'll see if I can find someone who knows Arizona geography well enough to identify this location.”
I stare at Michael's landscape and wonder about Arizona. I've never been there before, and I try to imagine Kayla there now. What is she doing right this moment? What is she thinking? Is she frightened or sorry or even alive?
Eleven
After we tell Michael good-bye, Ebony walks me down the hallway, pausing in front of her office, i can tell something's bugging her. “You have a minute, Samantha?”
“Sure.”
“Come in.”
I follow her in, and she closes the door. “I talked to your mom.” She leans against her desk. “Did she mention anything to you?”
“Actually, I spent the night at Olivia's last night. I haven't talked to my mom yet.”
“It did sound as if she's pretty busy right now, what with the parade today and then the winter carnival program that the park district runs for school-age kids during Christmas break. I'm sure her hands are more than full this time of year.”
I nod. Of course, I want to add that they're always full—winter, spring, summer, or fall. Her job seems to consume her. But I don't say this.
“Well, she was very polite when I told her about what you're doing…”
“But…?”
“But she was concerned. She told me about sending you to a counselor last year, and how she felt your grief for your dad was affecting you, well, in unusual ways.”
“Like I was going off the deep end spiritually?”
She nods. “Something like that.”
“It makes her uncomfortable.”
“I-know.”
“She thinks I'm crazy.”
“I'm not sure that's it, exactly…but she doesn't really understand.”
“So, what am I supposed to do?” I feel slightly desperate. “Pretend that I don't have these dreams or visions? It's not like I asked for this gift, you know. But am I supposed to turn my back on it? What about this thing with Kayla now? Do I just shut it down, ignore any more clues?”
Ebony frowns.
“I mean, you don't think I'm crazy, do you? You seem to take me seriously.”
“Of course, I do.” She smiles now. “I think you're an amazing girl, Samantha. And with your help, I think we might have a much better chance of finding Kayla.”
“So, what do I do about my mom?”
“Just talk to her. Be honest, but try to understand how she feels too.”
“How does she feel?”
Ebony's brow creases. “Scared.”
“Scared?” I try to grasp this. My mom, the woman who can storm through our house venting her anger about Zach's irresponsibility, or who flips out over the fact that someone put the milk back in the fridge with only a few drops in it? This woman who sometimes scares me is TL afraid? It's hard to swallow.
“I know that kids don't like to think of parents like that, Samantha. Parents are supposed to be brave and grown up—they're supposed to have the answers. Maybe I shouldn't have said what I did.
“No, it's okay. But why? Why do you think she's scared?”
“Partly because her husband got killed—and on the job too. And she feels like it's all up to her now, to raise you kids—”
“We're practically grown-ups.”
“Well, Zach may be going on twenty, but he's still not grown up yet. And your mom worries about you too, Samantha. And with the stress of her job, she's got a lot to deal with.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “I know you're right. And I try to do what I can to lighten her load. I'm pretty independent, and I stay out of trouble.”
Ebony smiles. “I think you must be a mom's dream come true.”
“Well, I wouldn't say that…”
“Hey, you should've seen me at your age.” She leans her head back and laughs. “I was a mess.”
“That's hard to believe.”
“It's true. My poor mother. She'd just been widowed, and then it looked like I was going straight to the dogs. I think that was the year her hair turned completely gray. She has me to thank for that.”
“But you turned out fine.”
“Well, thank you.”
“So, what should I do about my mom, Ebony? I mean, if she doesn't want me to be involved
in this thing with Kayla?”
She shrugs. “I don't know that there's much you can do about that. She's your mom.”
“Did she have to sign off on anything today?”
“Not officially. Because you won't be legally involved in the case. If there is a case, which remains to be seen, you won't be expected to testify since you're not an actual witness…so we should be okay. But it did make me feel better to have her verbal consent for you to come here today.”
“So, do you think I need permission for anything else like this?” I ask. “I mean, do you think I should tell her if something else comes up? Like if I have another dream about Kayla or something? Should I ask her permission to talk to you?”
“I don't know, but I do think you should talk to her. Just clear the air and hopefully come to some kind of an understanding. Ask her what she'd like'you to do under those circumstances. In some ways she seems like a fairly laid-back mom. It sounds like she lets you come and go, I'm sure it's because she really trusts you.”
“Yeah. Or maybe she just doesn't have the time to deal with me.”
“She's fortunate that you're a good girl, Samantha. It really does give her one less thing to worry about.”
“So she told you about Zach then?” I feel worried about this. After all, Ebony is a policewoman, and Zach has been known to break the law occasionally. If she knew something specifically, would Ebony have a responsibility to arrest him? Could my relationship with Ebony get my brother in serious trouble? Would he blame me?
“She told me a little about him. We actual had a really nice conversation, Samantha. I feel for your mom. And because of working with your dad, and now with you, well, I feel a kind of connection to your family. I know that Zach is going through some hard stuff right now. And like I said, I was a wild child myself—the daughter of a good-hearted preacher man who brought shame to her family. I know how it feels to struggle like that, how it feels to be lost and confused. I can relate to Zach.”
I sigh. That's good to know.”
“But you know what I think?”
“No.”
“I think God is at work in your family, and even if it doesn't look too great right now, I think it's going to get better.”
I force a little smile. “I hope so.”
“Talk to your mom, okay?”
“Okay.”
I thank Ebony for her little pep talk, and then as I'm leaving the precinct, I notice that the holding area for the Christmas parade is starting to fill up. Floats and cars and horses and things are getting into place behind city hall. I'm pretty sure that my mom will be over there now, probably doing some last-minute things on the park district float. How it looks is a direct reflection on her.
And suddenly I know what I need to do. I call Olivia on my cell phone. “I guess I dqn't need a ride after all.”
“Why not? Did something go wrong?” ca
“No, not at all. In fact, it went really well. The artist was amazing. I'll call you back later and fill you in oh the whole thing. I've just decided to head over to see if my mom needs any help on the parade.”
“Watch out,” she warns me. “You might get stuck puto ting on that old Mrs. Santa suit again.”
“Nah, I think they're doing some kind of a barnyard theme this year. Maybe they'll need a cow.”
She.laughs. “Call me.”
As I walk over to the holding area, a few snowflakes start to fall. I look up, and the sky seems lower, and it's gray and heavy looking. This should get the kids hyped up. A Christmas parade and snow!
I spot the park district float over by where the high school marching band is assembling. I wave at a couple of friends who play in the band, then go over to where I find my mom assisting one of the day care kids who's dressed as a pig. The elastic string on his snout is too loose, and instead of a nose, it looks like a chin.
“Hey, Mom,” I call out as I join her. “Need a hand with anything?”
She looks surprised. “Does this mean you're bailing on my Christmas cards?” “No, I'm just trying to share a little Christmas cheer.”
“See if you can make this stay on Benjie for me.” She hands me the rubber pig snout. “This is my daughter,” she tells the boy. “Her name is Samantha.”
“You're pretty,” says the boy.
Thanks.” I shorten the elastic by tying a knot in the back. “You're pretty cute for a pig.”
He laughs. “I'm not really a pig.”
“I know.” I put the snout back on him. “How's that?”
He makes a snorting sound, which I suppose means it's okay.
After that, I become my mom's right-hand girl, running around and helping kids with costume adjustments, nose wiping, and restapling the sign that's starting to fall oft. Then we're lifting the kids onto the float and arranging them amid the straw bales and fence posts that are supposed to keep them from falling off. And then finally there's no more time, and whether or not they're ready, my mom announces that it's time to take off.
“Break a leg!” she yells as they start to roll. “But don't let any of them fall off,” she says more quietly.
“Don't worry.” Kellie, one of the day care teachers, waves. She's dressed as a farmer. “We'll be fine.”
Then Mom turns to me and lets out a big sigh. “You hungry?”
“You mean you're not going to watch the parade?”
She laughs in a sarcastic way. “Are you kidding? It's freezing out here.” Then she looks up. “And it's snowing! Let's go find a warm place and get something to eat.”
Once we're in her car, she's trying to think of a restaurant. “All my regular favorites are on the parade route. And with this weather, they'll probably be packed with people taking refuge.” She turns to me. “Any ideas?” 03
“How about Rosie's?”
“Rosie's?” Her brow creases in a frown.
“Yeah. I was there last week, and it was good.”
She slowly nods. “Okay, then Rosie's it is. At least they o shouldn't be very busy.”
As we walk into the deli, I know what Mom is thinking. I don't mean in a psychic kind of way either. I know because I'm sure it's the same thing I was thinking when I came here with Ebony. Mom's remembering Dad, remembering how he liked to come here. But maybe that's a good thing. Maybe it will make it easier to talk to her. And I have a strong feeling (also not psychic) that's why we're here. To talk.
We place our orders, and taking our hot drinks with us, we go to sit down. Isend up a silent prayer, asking God to help this conversation. It seems like we could be off to a good start, but I know my mom—it, could easily turn sideways. However, I think it's in my favor that we're in a public place right now. She can't get too aggravated with others looking on. Not that this place is busy. Other than the deli workers and an elderly couple, the place is deserted. Still, my mom doesn't like making a scene.
“I had a nice long chat with Ebony Hamilton last night.”
“Uh-huh.” I spoon the whipped cream off my hot cocoa.
“She says you're helping her to find Kayla Henderson.” I can hear a trace of sarcasm in her voice, like she still finds this pretty hard to believe.
I slowly nod as I blow across the top of my cup.
“She said that you've had several visions about Kayla.” Her voice is getting that slight hard edge to it now. I can tell she's getting irritated.
© I take in a deep breath. “That's right, Mom. I have. And it's not like I wanted to. They just came, okay? They seem to be clues, like God is trying to show me where Kayla is—and that she needs help.”
“I thought she just ran off with a boy.”
That's what a lot of people thought. But that might not be the case.”
They said she was seen boarding a bus, Samantha. Of her own free will. No one was forcing her to leave town.”
“I know.”
“But you've had these visions?” Her words are coated with skepticism, and it hurts.
“Yeah…” I look down at
my cocoa and silently ask God to help me. I want to say something mean back to her, but that won't help. I try to remember what Ebony told me—just talk to her. Help her to understand.
“It doesn't make sense, Samantha. Why would God give you visions?”
“Why not? God is God. He can do what He wants.”
She rolls her eyes. “Believe me, I know.”
“Look, Mom, I didn't ask for this, but I know that it's. real. And Ebony told me about Grandma McGregor and how she was like that too.”
“Ebony knew about Grandma McGregor?” Mom looks shocked now.
“Dad told her. Back when they were partners. I guess he told her a little about me too.”
Mom looks sad as she sips her coffee.
“Do you mind if I keep helping her? I mean, if God gives me any more dreams or visions about Kayla—would o it bother you if I stayed involved with the case?”
“It seems crazy, Samantha.”
“I know…sometimes I think it's crazy too. But at the same time, I know it's a gift from God. Dad was the first one to tell me that. Remember?”
“I remember. Not that I agreed. I just kept quiet because I didn't know what else to do.” She sets her cup down and looks directly at me. “I just don't want you getting in over your head, Samantha. You're only sixteen. And I don't understand why God would give a gift like this to someone so young. Or why He'd give it to anyone for that matter. It doesn't make sense.”
“Maybe it's to show that He's God,” I say, not mentioning that I'm not “only sixteen,” but soon to be seventeen. Although I'm sure that's not her point. Instead I try to make mine. “Maybe He wants to remind us that He's all-powerful and all-knowing—and that He cares about us.”
“It just seems very weird.”
“If you read the Bible, you'll see that there are lots of things that seem very weird.”
“Well, it makes me uncomfortable.”
“God makes people uncomfortable sometimes.”
Our food comes now, and we both use this as an excuse to take a break from the discussion. Finally, Mom breaks the silence.
“This is good.” She holds up her partially eaten sand wich. “I forgot that I liked the food here so much.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
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