The phone pinged again. He’d left his smartphone on his bed at the house in San Francisco, bought a cheap prepaid one with a new number. He’d taken what was left of his cash stash at home too. The money he made at the library wouldn’t provide for both him and Amaya. If not for Grim, he didn’t know what they’d do. Merrick had promised to pay him back.
“You’d do the same for me,” was all Grim had said.
Merrick frowned and flipped open his phone. He hoped that was true.
I’m kind of a jerk. I didn’t tell Nikki where I went. I didn’t even give her the decency of a good-bye.
He tried to set his guilt aside and focus. Nikki would have gotten over him by now, moved on.
He glanced at the clock. Two minutes. A few people started to file in. They mingled and grabbed snacks and drinks. The real stuff wouldn’t actually start for another ten minutes or so. He double-checked that everything was in place, slipped into the library, and hopped on the nearest computer.
Rarely a free minute passed that wasn’t dedicated to finding his mom. The fake online profiles he’d created had been of zero use in tracking her down. The few leads he’d found at the beginning of March sped toward dead ends. Now it was the last day of April and still nothing.
How does a person just vanish?
His phone lit up and Amaya’s name flashed in the blue window. Merrick flipped it open and whispered, “Hey, I’m at work. You can’t keep calling me at work unless it’s an emergency, Maya.”
“Oh really, Nigel?” He could hear the sarcasm in her voice. Amaya loved to tease him about the fact that he was working here under Grim’s name. Since it was a small town, he hadn’t even been asked to show a picture ID with the paper application he’d filled out. And since he had Grim’s permission, it wasn’t identity theft either.
“I’m bored,” Maya whined. “Grim keeps letting me win Scrabble.”
“I do not!” his friend shouted in the background. “This girl’s a cheater! Tell her quixotic isn’t a real word!”
“Why can’t I come hang out with you?” Maya said, ignoring Grim’s complaints.
Merrick gripped the phone so hard he thought it might break. He closed his eyes and swallowed his panic. How was he supposed to explain to his ten-year-old sister that he was probably wanted for kidnapping? That he could literally go to jail for what he’d done? He’d already seen their names on the government’s Amber Alert site. Yes, he’d checked. Not that anyone here paid much attention. Here, time stopped. Here, he could hide in plain sight and no one gave him a second glance.
“It’s safer for you at the house,” was all Merrick said, tugging his fedora lower over his brow. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
“Whatever.” He could practically see his sister’s pout through the phone. “Just bring me a new book to read.”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Prisoner of Azkaban?”
“Order of the Phoenix. I’m in a broody teenager mood tonight.”
“You’re not even eleven yet.”
“Just over a month and counting, big brother.”
He chuckled. Amaya had discovered the first Harry Potter book when she was seven and devoured the series once every year since. She started reading them based on mood. He didn’t know how she kept track of the story out of order but said in a bad attempt at a British accent, “Your wish is my command.”
Merrick hung up before she could ask for anything else, but he made a note to grab the book before he closed up.
After scanning social media, again, he headed back to the meeting room. It was a larger group tonight with a few new faces ranging from teens to elderly adults. Some came back every week and others filtered in and out. No matter who showed up, the moderator, Miss Brandes, led a good discussion.
And, if he was being honest, Merrick held on to the unrealistic but idealistic hope his mom might show up one night too. It was a long shot, but she’d loved this town when he and Amaya were kids. Maybe she would end up here again and find this group as a way to cope with her own feelings about Maya’s attempted suicide.
He still had no clue what he would say to her if by chance that ever happened.
Merrick took a seat on his corner stool, doing a quick check to make sure all was well in the food and beverage department.
“Good evening, everyone. For those of you who are new, I am Miss Brandes. I work full time as the counselor over at the high school and have ten years’ experience with grief- and suicide-survivor counseling. As with every session, I’d like to begin by having you turn to the person on your right and say the words, ‘You are not alone.’”
The group did as she said, then followed her next instruction to do the same with the person on their left.
“We don’t want to put any pressure on our new attendees to speak. You don’t even have to introduce yourself. But if you do decide to share, please start by giving us your name so we can get to know you a little better. Sound good?”
Everyone nodded.
The door opened and Merrick cringed. He hated when people showed up late because there was always that awkward moment when everyone turned and stared. He felt for this girl standing in the doorframe now, looking as if she didn’t want to be here at all.
Miss Brandes’s expression brightened. “I’m so glad you decided to come.”
The girl shrugged. She hugged a plain brown paper notebook to her chest. He also noted she was barefoot. Not extremely odd for a beach town but a little less common inside the library. “My grandmother made me,” was all she said before walking to the circle.
Merrick moved quickly to add another chair for her while a couple of people scooted out of the way to make room. She met his eyes briefly, an instant that captured the oxygen from his lungs.
Her eyes. Memorable. Distinct. Where had he seen them before?
Merrick had the sudden urge to shield the girl from anything and everything that might harm her.
He shook it off. Ignored the instinct. Where did that come from?
Miss Brandes finally turned her attention to the rest of the group and went into her spiel about calling the suicide hotline or 911 in the case of a life-threatening emergency. Then she opened up the floor.
One of the veteran attendees, a middle-aged guy, raised his hand. “I guess I’ll start. Hey, guys. Name’s Bastian. Most of you know my wife, Emma, took her life about a year ago.”
Several in the group nodded, and an elderly woman next to Bastian even reached over and put her hand on his knee as he talked about his four-year-old daughter and how she kept asking when her mom was coming home. Bastian got choked up and Merrick found his own emotions wavering. Hiroshi said it wasn’t manly to cry.
But here was this man, this father, who was learning to cope following the loss of his wife and the mother of his child. This, in Merrick’s opinion, was the manliest thing he had ever witnessed.
“Thank you, Bastian,” Miss Brandes said when he was done. Before she could even ask, a woman who looked to be in her forties raised her hand, introduced herself, and went on to offer some kind words for the grieving man. She had also lost a spouse, though several more years back. She even offered to babysit for Bastian if he needed a break.
After an hour had passed, Miss Brandes offered her closing remarks and encouraged the attendees to stay and talk and exchange numbers or emails. The idea of the get-together was never so much about counseling as it was about coping together. Confiding and relating and being understood.