Numb, I just nod in agreement. I can’t bring myself to tell her that Mercy had been angry with me earlier that day, and that her last text nearly kills me. Mercy wanted me to go with her to visit Lux, even after everything, because she was kind and forgiving. Mercy was the one who was supposed to fly away. She was never supposed to be taken away.
Mom and Steven join us, and if it were any other day, Mrs. Montoya would be having a heart attack over the giant, drooly dog in the middle of her kitchen. “Thank you so much for coming to help,” Mrs. Montoya says, hugging Mom and then patting Steven listlessly on his massive, wrinkly head. Steven’s tail wags, because he doesn’t know Mercy is missing. Steven is pretty damn lucky.
Mom turns to Mr. Montoya, “Have they tried pinging her phone? Isn’t that something the police can do?”
“Rick’s calling it in now from the station.”
“Maybe that’s how they’ll find her,” I say quickly, hoping it’s true.
“We texted and called her all night,” Mrs. Montoya explains. “We’d called the police at midnight, but they said until she’d been gone for twenty-four hours, it wasn’t really a missing person case. So we waited, and even though it hadn’t been long enough yet, Rick stopped by early this morning to see if we’d heard anything. If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t have gotten the case upgraded to a missing person case as soon as we did.”
“Maybe they’ll be able to track her phone,” Mom says, giving Mrs. Montoya an encouraging nod.
Neveah comes into the kitchen, and her resemblance to Mercy hits me in the gut. She’s carrying an almost-empty pitcher that she must have been using to serve the volunteers. If Mercy was here, the pitcher would still be full because Mercy is an Enough. I hope Mercy’s talent gives her Enough time for us to find her. I don’t say it, though, because even with my usual lack of filter, I’m scared to say it out loud.
Mrs. Montoya takes the pitcher from Neveah and goes into the pantry, Mom trailing behind her as if she might be able to help.
“Can you feel anything?” I ask Neveah.
Neveah shakes her head, and she looks so devastated that I feel like a jerk for asking. “I tried,” she says, her voice close to tears. “Finding works on things, but not on people.” I don’t let myself think about how just a couple of days ago we thought Neveah would be helping us Find the chest this morning, and that all our problems would be solved.
Nearly an hour passes, and Rick comes back. I can tell from his face that his news isn’t good.
The Montoyas, Mom, and I gather in the kitchen with Rick. “We pinged her phone,” Rick tells us. Mr. and Mrs. Montoya draw a shaky breath of anticipation, and it feels like I might be sucked into a whirlwind.
“It was in a trash can near the van,” Rick finishes. “So was her backpack. We identified it by her name sewn into the inside liner. It had papers for Lux Reed inside it.”
Wherever Mercy is, she’s completely alone, with no way to reach out to us. I feel like I might throw up. What happened to Mercy? Is she hurt? Is she dead? I want to sob, or scream, or run as fast as I can until my heart explodes and I can’t feel this much terror.
“We need to start looking now,” Mom says. “Enough snacks. Let’s go.”
Rick nods. “These first twenty-four hours are critical. I’ve got stacks of flyers for the volunteers to distribute. Everyone will be assigned to a grid section. Let’s move out.”
I refrain from pointing out that the first few hours were actually quite some time ago. Neveah’s chin trembles and hot tears track down her small face. She flings herself at her mom and buries her face in Mrs. Montoya’s chest. “The kids,” Mrs. Montoya says. “Maybe one of the neighbors would stay with them?”
“I can stay with them,” Mom offers, surprising me. Mrs. Montoya and her nice house have always made Mom a little nervous, like Mom felt like she might break something or say the wrong thing. But she’s stepping up, volunteering to take the reins. “Neveah, Malakai, do you want to help me take care of Steven today?”
Malakai nods eagerly, taking Steven’s leash from Mom.
“I want to help look for Mercy,” Neveah says after she pulls her face out of Mrs. Montoya’s now-wet blouse. “Maybe if I try hard enough, I can Find her.”
“Oh, honey,” Mrs. Montoya says. “That’s not how your talent works. Nobody expects you to be able to find her. What we need you to do is stay here with Ms. Galveston in case Mercy comes home.”
“Do you think she’ll be home soon?” Malakai asks, tugging on Steven’s leash. Steven is trying to steal a muffin that’s perilously close to the edge of the counter.
Mrs. Montoya’s face looks like it might crumple again.
“We hope so,” Mom answers. “But if no one’s here when she gets home, Mercy might leave again and go look for you. So it’s important that someone mans the fort.”
Neveah nods. “I don’t want her to leave again.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Montoya says to Mom, reaching out and squeezing Mom’s shoulder. “I’m so grateful.”
Mr. and Mrs. Montoya hurry away to speak with the rest of the volunteers, and Mom whispers to Neveah and Malakai, pointing at the cookie jar Mrs. Montoya keeps well-stocked on the counter, “We’ll eat all the cookies while your mom’s not here. And watch all the cartoons we want.”
“We’ll get to eat the cookies in the TV room?” Malakai asks eagerly. Even I know that’s against the rules, and I cringe when Mom nods.
Malakai grabs the cookie jar and Neveah snatches some napkins to follow him to the TV room, but Mom stops and puts one soft hand on my cheek.
“Go find Mercy,” she says. “She’ll know you’re coming. No matter what.”
I try not to cry as I leave.
Twenty
I PARK NEXT TO MR. Montoya’s truck at the church Mercy’s family attends, and I’m surprised to see how many Evanston families have shown up to help. Morgan is here, and Miss Strong, and the school librarian. It looks like the entire debate team is here and most of the baseball team, too. But Mercy has always been the kindest, friendliest one of us, so perhaps you really do reap what you sow. Cottonwood Hollow is no slouch, either, and most of the town has arrived to help look. I catch sight of Flynn and Wynona, all of Mercy’s neighbors, Sam Buford and the boys from the gas station, Marisol and Letty, most of the Cottonwood Hollow Historical Society, and the entire troop of Cottonwood Hollow Girl Scouts.
I send out one lonely message to Lux, unsure if she’ll answer.
Looking for Mercy. I need you.
I examine the bell tower of the massive brick church, wondering what Mercy found here that was so comforting. I find solace under the hood of a car or behind a freezer that’s not making ice the way it ought to be. I am most comfortable where I can be useful.
My eyes trace the bell tower down to the front steps of the church, where I see a familiar face handing out water bottles. It’s Jett, and he’s standing next to a pretty blond woman. The shock of seeing him pulls me across the parking lot, and suddenly I’m standing before him. He wears jeans and a Royals T-shirt. The blond woman smiles. “So good of you to come help, sweetie. Do you know Mercy from school?” She hands me a water bottle and I take it even though what I really need right now is caffeine.
“Mercy is my best friend,” I answer, squeezing the bottle harder than I should.
“Oh, you must be Rome,” the woman says. She hazards a quick glance at Jett, who’s staring at me like I’ve grown two heads. “Jett told me about you.”
“Jett told you about me?” I ask.
The woman elbows Jett, hard. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“Oh, sorry,” Jett says. “This is my mom, Aubrey. Mom, this is Rome.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Aubrey says, holding out a hand that’s cold and wet from passing out water bottles. I shake it gently, aware that my Fixer hands are somewhat stronger than the average person’s. There’s a smudge of blue paint near her wrist, and I recall that Jett said she wa
s into painting now.
“Why are you here?” I ask. I fumbled it, like so many other things that come out of my mouth. “I mean, how do you know Mercy?”
“I know Mercy through church,” Aubrey answers. “She’s a sweet girl. And Jett said she’s your best friend, so he wanted to come along, even though he’s not much for attending church services.”
“Thank you,” I reply with a short nod.
“Come on,” Aubrey says. “It looks like they’re ready to send us out.”
Mr. Montoya and Rick assign me to the four-block span of houses near where the minivan was found. And before they can give me a partner, Jett steps up from the crowd. “I’ll go with her,” he says.
Mr. Montoya nods, as if all is as it should be. “Thank you . . . um . . . ?” He waits for Jett to offer his name.
“Jett Rodriguez,” he says, shoving his big hands in the pockets of his jeans. Being this close to him is like standing near a space heater, the kind Mom and I use to heat the trailer when we run out of propane before payday.
“Oh, that’s right. Aubrey’s son. Well, thank you for your help. With all these friends, we’re sure to find Mercy soon.” I can’t decide if he’s so optimistic because he truly believes what he’s saying, or because he’ll break down if he doesn’t pretend. I suspect the latter. Mr. Montoya continues. “I would prefer that Rome not visit strange houses alone. But I won’t worry if you’re with her.”
It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes.
Mr. Montoya hands me a stack of flyers. One of my pictures of Mercy is on the front. It’s from Lux’s birthday, when we’d gone out for pizza. She’d had her hair cut just an hour before, and it had only taken six months of cajoling for her parents to allow her the sleek, shoulder-length bob instead of her long, girlish braids. We’d squished into one side of a booth, and Tina had taken the photo from the other. In the original photo, Mercy is in the middle of the picture, smiling primly. On her left, Lux is poking her in the ribs, and on her right, I’m doing an imitation of Steven when I bring home leftover pizza. But Lux and I are cropped out, and it’s just Mercy on the flyer.
Underneath reads:
MISSING MAY 7
Mercy Montoya, age 17
5 feet tall, 100 pounds, brown eyes, black hair
Wearing blue plaid skirt, white blouse, navy knee socks, and a navy headband
Last seen in Evanston area
Please call Rawlings County Police Department with any information: 555-3483
Seeing Mercy laid out on paper in such bare, brittle strokes makes me ache. It doesn’t mention that she’s generous to a fault, that she rarely swears, or how she chews her pencil erasers while she’s studying. It doesn’t say that she brings over lasagna when my fridge is empty, or that she makes peace between Lux and me because we’re both too stubborn for our own good.
“If you see anything suspicious, call the police,” Mr. Montoya tells me pointedly.
Because he knows if I thought Mercy was locked up in someone’s basement, I’d burn the house down to get to her. He’s right, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“We will,” Jett promises. “Come on,” he tells me. “Let’s get to work.”
We hit the first block of houses. They’re mostly rentals, some divided into multiple apartments. The first two people we talk to are tired-looking moms who come to the door in sweat pants. Kids shout in the background of each apartment, asking for cereal or help flushing the toilet. Both women take the flyer but admit they haven’t seen Mercy. The third door reveals a young guy in a ratty white T-shirt and boxers that leave his scrawny pale legs exposed. He takes the flyer and comments that Mercy is hot.
“Dude, she’s missing,” Jett replies, looking annoyed.
“Sorry, man, just saying.”
“Well, keep an eye out, okay?” I plead, the words almost sticking in my throat. This all feels so unreal. I can’t be here asking people if they’ve seen my friend.
“Definitely,” he says with a series of emphatic nods.
“What a creep,” I mutter as we climb down the front stoop.
Jett nods. “I don’t think we’ll get much out of him.”
“So why are you here?” I ask, but I’m looking at the ground and not at him. The question’s been eating at me since I saw him in the parking lot of the church.
“What do you mean?” he asks. “Why am I partnered with you, or why am I looking for Mercy?”
“Both,” I reply.
“Well, I’m partnered with you because we’re friends. And I’m looking for Mercy because she’s your friend.”
“And because your mom and Mercy go to the same church.”
“That’s the only reason I even knew she was missing. It’s not like you picked up the phone and called to tell me.”
“You know, I don’t think I actually have your number,” I respond. It had never occurred to me to reach out to anyone other than Lux when Mercy went missing. For the first time in my life, I am without them, and I have no idea how to deal with it. It’s like missing a limb. Two limbs.
“Well, I know I don’t have your number,” Jett replies. He accidentally bumps into me as we avoid a sticky spill on the sidewalk. “I was going to call you last night after my game to see if you were okay. You were obviously pissed about something, but I don’t think it was about me.”
The words are hard to get out, so I hurry. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” I tell him. “I was upset. While I was out on our date, something happened to Lux. And I blamed myself for not being there for her. And you were right there, so I lashed out at you.”
“And all the ‘your town versus my town’ stuff?” he asks. “What about that?”
I cross my arms, almost wishing that he would fight with me so I would feel something other than scared out of my mind for Mercy. “Some of that is true, you know.”
“Look, Rome. Let’s lay a few things out on the table here.” He stops and stands in front of me. We’re toe to toe, and when he looks down at me, he says, “I’m from Evanston, and you’re from Cottonwood Hollow. We’re not from two different planets. We live in the same county, go to the same school. I do not think you’re a freak. I would gladly pummel the face of anyone who actually had the balls to say that you, no matter where they’re from. But since I’m being really honest here, I want to tell you that if you let your guard down just a little bit and gave people a chance, you’d probably find that not everyone hates you just because you’re from Cottonwood Hollow. Look at Mercy. Look at all the people searching for her today. More than half of them are from Evanston. And we’re all here trying to help Mercy. Trying to help you.”
I exhale a long breath, the fight gone out of me. Not because he’s won, but because I want to let go of the anger if I can. It’s not helping me survive in Evanston. It’s certainly not helping me find Mercy. I nod and take a few breaths to steady my voice and keep the tiny pricks of heat in my eyes from turning into embarrassing tears. These people are here to help me. And to help Mercy. And I’ve spent most of my time building fences to keep them out.
“That’s very flattering,” I reply finally. “You would pummel someone’s face for me. Gladly, even.”
“I do what I can.”
“I’m sure I could return the favor.”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about.” He flashes his grin, and the dimple I’m fond of shows up, too. “I know I don’t understand everything you go through, Rome, but I’m trying to. And I want to be with you. Whatever that means. Acquaintance. Friend. Boyfriend.” He puts a hand on my arm, his palm hot against my skin.
“Bat lender?” I add. “Red’s Auto customer?”
“Yeah, definitely that. My brakes are so much better now.” He runs his other hand over his black hair. “But to be totally upfront and honest, I’d prefer boyfriend out of those choices.”
“I do have that effect on men.”
“Of course.” He struggles to hold back another grin as his hand slides off my
arm and we turn and go up the front steps of the next apartment building.
We get the same response, apartment after apartment: Never seen her. Eventually we reach a block that’s mostly nice, single-family houses with carefully cropped yards. We walk up to a split-level that’s tidy and freshly painted a mint green. It’s strangely comforting to have Jett by my side as we climb the front steps. I’m glad I’m not doing this alone. I wish Lux were here with me, too, but since she never replied to my texts, I’m guessing that she’s still so angry with me that she can’t bring herself to read my messages.
Jett rings the doorbell, and when a woman in her mid-fifties answers in her yoga pants and T-shirt, I’m ready with my well-practiced speech.
“Good morning, ma’am. We’re sorry to bother you, but we’re looking for this girl.” I hand her the flyer. “Her name is Mercy Montoya. She went missing late yesterday afternoon. Is there a chance you might have seen her recently?”
The woman bites her lower lip as she studies the picture of Mercy. The scent of apple cinnamon wafts out the door, and I wonder if she’s baking a pie or if she has one of those magical scented candles that make your house smell like food.
Jett shifts restlessly next to me.
“Yeah,” she says. “I’ve seen her.”
“What?” I ask, my heart in my throat. I’m louder than I mean to be, and the woman winces at the volume. I turn it down a notch. “When? When did you see her?”
“Yesterday afternoon. Not far from that brick church on Monticello.”
My pulse races. “What was she doing when you saw her?”
“Well, she was standing in the street talking to someone in a car. Not very sensible, standing in the street like that. But you know how teenage girls are.”
“What kind of car?”
“Oh, honey, I don’t know cars all that well.”
I ignore her. “Was it big, small, old, new? What color was it?” Cars are something I can understand. Even finding out what kind it was might give us some insight on who took Mercy. On who might still have her.
The Deepest Roots Page 20