I approached my daily tasks with a ferocity, finding if I baked twice as much gingerbread, vacuumed twice as often, the days passed instead of limping by. I sat in with Tom during the weekly updates with investigators, listening as he peppered them with questions, pretending to buy into their theories. My bottom lip developed a sore because I bit it so often.
When the second Friday of December arrived, and the discount prices on the Christmas trees began, I welcomed the crowd at the store as yet another blessed distraction.
It was nearly nine o’clock when the last family left and Roxy declared it a night. We were sitting at the table behind the counter going over the receipts when Stella came in, her cheeks rosy from the chill. She’d come right from work to help with the Christmas crowds. “Mom, do you feel like one more customer? Some lady said you helped her out earlier, and she had a quick question for you.”
“Sure, hon.” I said, passing the receipts to Roxy.
“Oh, let me personally thank this woman for enabling me now to do all the closing by myself,” Roxy said.
I patted her on the shoulder and grabbed my coat and scarf. The night was lit by rows of white lights strung above the trees. I slipped on my gloves and walked into the rows of pine, seeing no one.
“Hello?” I called out. “Did someone need help?”
Someone called out my name from the far end of the trees, and I hustled over. I peered out in the darkness beyond.
“Hello?” I said.
“Were there ladybugs swarming when your grandson disappeared?” a voice said from the trees.
I froze. A female shape stood between two trees, her long silver hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a long dark-blue overcoat, too thick and heavy for the southern winters.
“Barbara?”
It had only been a few weeks since I’d seen her, but she seemed thinner, even in her bulky winter coat.
“Did they, Lynn? Did they swarm?” Barbara asked.
I looked around for a moment before replying. “You know they did.”
“It’s been documented in so many cases. Sometimes the beetles cover entire walls, crawling like they’ve been driven insane. When I see ladybugs now, sweet as they are, it stops my heart.”
She exhaled, her breath white in the icy night. “They have your grandson. They’ve taken him. Steven said he thinks he can help you find him. If your boy’s been returned.”
“Who has William? And where is Steven? I thought no one knew where he was.”
“Steven is here now, Lynn. That’s why I’m here tonight, to take you to him.”
I looked past her to make sure neither Roxy nor Stella had come out to see where I was.
“How could you come here, after what happened?” I asked.
“I’m not happy about it either. Doug can be a first-class jerk, and can’t see past his own ambition in order to do the right thing. The others think he’s the Messiah, with his grand talk of taking all this public. He sees you as the key to do that, to finally get validation for all our work. And he is genuinely concerned about Steven. But he doesn’t know how it feels to lose someone, like we do. You have to remember, Lynn, my brother was my twin. When he vanished, half of me vanished too. And you don’t care if people believe you or not. You want to find him. My brother is long gone, but your grandson may not be. That’s what Steven thinks. He thinks there’s still a chance to find him.”
A chill ran through me so severely that I tightened the scarf around my neck. “What do you expect me to do?”
“Come with me. Hear Steven out. That’s all. You can walk away again if you want. It’s just me and Steven this time, none of the others even know we’re here.”
“All this time, you’ve known where Steven has been? And you say he’s here?”
“No. I hadn’t spoken to him until he contacted me a few days ago. We only met here yesterday. I’ll let him tell you where he’s been; that’s for him to say. I’m the only one who knows how to even contact him now. That was his decision when he decided to run.”
“Run?”
“He can explain.” Barbara looked back at the shop.
“He won’t have to. I’m not going with you. I don’t want anything to do with you or the others. Not after what happened. And I won’t put my family through the scrutiny that Doug would require for this information.”
“Doug isn’t a part of this.”
“I don’t know that. For all I know, you could take me to him again. I’m sorry, but no. I can’t do it. I won’t do it.”
“Steven thought you might feel that way.” Barbara reached into her pocket. She brought out an envelope and offered it.
“What is that?”
“The names of two people Steven said for you to research. He said to look up their names at the local library, and you might change your mind.”
I cautiously reached out and took the envelope. “I don’t understand.”
“Steven says you will, if you look into them. I’ll give you all day tomorrow to inquire if you choose. Tomorrow night, if you want to see Steven, I’ll wait for you at Chevron gas around the corner. I’ll be there at nine o’clock. I’ll wait thirty minutes. If you come, I’ll take you to Steven. If you don’t, then I’ll take that as your decision. I won’t fault you either way. I felt horrible about what happened, and I told Steven that you deserved better. That’s why he came. That’s why I’m here.”
She buried her hands in her pockets. “It’s colder here than I would have thought,” she said, walking back once more into the pine trees.
I’d immediately gotten online after we’d closed the shop and Roxy and Stella had gone home, checking for anything about the two names typed on a single piece of white paper, along with corresponding dates. The fact that it wasn’t written in Steven’s all-caps handwriting seemed dubious, for anyone could have typed the names. But I looked anyway, and could find nothing about a Josh Stone, August 5, 1945, or an Amelia Shrank, August 2, 1934.
Amelia Shrank. I somehow knew the name. But like the answer to a Trivial Pursuit question that remained on the tip of your tongue and would not come until the other side of the card was read aloud, the explanation of how I recognized a name from the early 1930s would not surface.
I was at the downtown library as soon as it opened the next morning, and made my way to the microfilm room. It was as visually impressive as the rest of the library, with its light fixtures and paint colors straight out of Restoration Hardware, but it did not have the lure of the popular fiction section or the civil-rights collection. The emptiness of the room was disquieting; I feared any moment there would be some kind of whispered ambush from Doug in full entitled-Researcher mode, working alongside Barbara to get me alone to try and browbeat me into submission.
I cautiously sought out microfilm, peering down every aisle. I’d hoped the Nashville Banner published as far back as I needed to go. Before The Tennessean became the only newspaper in town, the Banner was its worthy competitor. Once I understood the catalog system, I found the archives of the paper for the entire year of 1934 and started sliding through the months.
The ancient technology still hummed as I remembered, but I quickly grew frustrated with having to press the button to advance. I chastised myself, thinking of how I urged the grandkids to develop patience as they whined about a video taking too long to load on YouTube.
At last came August 2, and I immediately started reading the obituaries. It was the only way to search by name. When I finished the last obituary, and found no Amelia Shrank.
Was this just another way for Doug to try and wear me down? Was he watching from somewhere, maybe an adjoining room, to see how desperate I had become? Was he waiting, hoping I would break down in tears, when he would reveal himself, ready once again to make a deal? And what did he mean, that this wasn’t only about William?