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Hope Valley Bus Terminal boasted two stories of white cement blocks and a red marquee that reminded Hope of the overhang at the town’s vintage theater. Facing the street was a small coffee shop with to-go foods. Located at the rear of the building were the boarding docks where buses pulled in to board or disembark, each protected by a wide red roof.
Before Steve had fully parked the SUV, Hope was leaping out. He cautioned her to wait, but she couldn’t. She tore into the station. To the far left was a staircase. Straight ahead was an elevator as well as the stoned archway leading to the docks. A dozen people were passing through. Hope saw a tall woman holding the hand of a little girl—not Melody. Then she spotted an elderly gentleman with a child—not her daughter, either.
Steve caught up to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Breathe,” he said. “Let’s do this methodically. We’ll go room by room, including the upstairs.”
“We should split apart.”
“I think it’s better if we stay together,” he said.
Hope could tell by his gaze that he was concerned about her—worried she’d crack into bits. He wasn’t far wrong. Every nerve fiber was quivering inside her. She nodded. “Okay.” She inhaled deeply, the aroma of stale coffee making her nose twitch, and did her best to focus. She spotted the station’s diner. “There.” She pointed to the left.
“Good idea. She might be hungry.” Steve clasped her hand and ushered her into the diner.
There were only two red booths and two silver Formica tables. The place was occupied by adult customers, but there were no children. Hope crouched to peek beneath the tables. She didn’t spot Melody hiding or sleeping. She rose to a stand and crossed to the waitress in the boxy red dress who was ringing up an order. “Have you seen a little girl?” Hope flashed the cell phone image of Melody at the waitress. “Ten years old. About this tall.” She held out a flat palm.
“No, ma’am. I’m sorry she’s missing. If I do see her, I’ll keep her here.” The waitress added, “There’s a restroom, not a lavatory, but a real rest room right next door. Sometimes people go in to lie down for a bit. Maybe she was feeling pookie.”
Again, Steve led Hope by the hand, his fingers warm, the caress of his thumb soothing. But the restroom, a cubicle about ten feet wide with a cot and a chair and no door other than the one through which they’d entered was empty.
They returned to the center of the station’s lobby, and Hope spotted a ticket taker hovering near the elevator. She broke free from Steve and approached the man. His blue suit sported shiny brass buttons. His mustache was tidily trimmed. “Have you seen my daughter?” She showed him Melody’s picture. “Sixty pounds. Slim. Pink puff jacket.”
“No, ma’am, sorry.”
Hope persisted. “Have any buses left for Portland in the last two hours?” She heard the strain in her voice. Had they been searching for two hours already? Was her daughter halfway to nowhere by now?
“None lately,” the man said, “but one’s due to leave in about forty-five minutes. Feel free to take a look.”
Hope thanked him, grabbed Steve’s hand, and steered him through the archway. She spotted a bus with the destination sign Portland above the windshield and raced to it.
Steve said, “It’s not leaving yet. Slow down.”
“I can’t.”
Steve offered a wry smile. “Glad I wore my track shoes.”
When they reached the bus, Hope leaned in and said to the silver-haired driver, “Little girl. Ten. Blonde hair. Name’s Melody. Is she on the bus?”
“No, ma’am. No children allowed unaccompanied.”
Recalling Josie’s words, Hope said, “Can we inspect your luggage bin?”
“Have a go. It’s wide open.” He hooked his beefy thumb.
Steve led the way and peered in first. “There are a lot of suitcases. Let me pull a few out.” He hefted one after another, setting each on the dock.
When he’d cleared enough for Hope to see beyond them into the bowels of the bin, she stifled a sob. Melody wasn’t there.
“Let’s check the other bus,” Hope said.
“It’s heading to Seattle.”
“Please,” she begged.
They reloaded the luggage of the first bus and then, repeating their actions, talked to the driver of the second and checked the bin. Nothing. Zilch. No Melody.
Hope sagged with grief. “Oh, Steve. She’s gone.”
He held her at arms’ length. “Keep it together, kiddo. Let’s check upstairs.”
They took the elevator to the second floor, Hope stabbing the button repeatedly to make it perform faster. It didn’t. When the elevator doors opened, Hope charged out, Steve at her heels. They hurried from one end to the other, inspecting room after room. One was an office. Two were lavatories. Melody was nowhere to be found.
Defeated, Hope slogged to the staircase. Steve gripped her elbow to steady her as they descended.
Near the bottom, Hope shouted, “Wait! Steve, look!”
To the right of the staircase on the floor lay a stuffed elephant. Not just any stuffed elephant. A pink one.
“She’s here!” Hope exclaimed, wrenching free and dashing to the bottom of the staircase. “Or she’s been here. That’s hers.” She scooped up the elephant and looked right and left. “Melody!” she yelled. “It’s Mom. I’m not mad. I’m just worried. Melody, please come out and talk to me.”
But Hope didn’t hear anything. No sweet voice begging for mercy. No crying. Silence.
Finally giving into her sorrow, tears streamed down Hope’s cheeks. “She’s gone, Steve, and it’s all my fault.”
He drew her into his arms, his warm breath in her ear. With a single finger, he brushed hair off her cheek. The loving way he was looking at her should have calmed her, but it didn’t.
“Hey,” he said, “I just thought of something. When Lincoln was five, my mother put me in charge of him for a half hour so she could do an errand. He ran away. I was beside myself. I thought I’d lost him and I’d never see him again. But when Mom got home from the store, she held her finger to her lips and showed me where his favorite hiding place was. Tucked beneath the outside staircase of our house. It’s not a solid staircase. It’s the fire-escape type. He liked to hide there because he could see through the slats. It was his own personal duck blind.”
Hope swung around and peered beneath the staircase, but Melody wasn’t there.
“I noticed another possibility,” Steve said. “Out on the dock. Maybe she’s there, waiting until the bus is just about ready to leave.” He clasped her hand and led the way.
Minutes later, Hope was staring at her beautiful girl, fast asleep beneath the metal staircase, curled into a ball with her head propped on her backpack, her arms crossed and hands tucked under her armpits.
Hope threw her arms around Steve. “Thank you. Thank you. You have no idea.” She kissed him firmly on the lips. The connection she felt with him shocked her.
Steve noticed the electricity, too, if his “Whoa!” was any indication.
Quickly, she stepped backward, creating distance between them. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I—”
He put a finger to her lips and gently kissed her forehead. “Go.” He nudged her. “Wake her up, but don’t be mad.”
Hope handed Steve her purse, crawled to Melody, and touched her arm. “Sweetheart, it’s Mom.”
Melody didn’t budge. Didn’t open her eyes. Her chest was rising and falling, but her breathing was labored.
Dread churned inside Hope. “Steve, I need to give her juice. Fast. Would you—”
“On it.” Steve raced into the building.
“Melody.” Hope shook her again. “Mel—”
Melody’s eyes blinked open. “Mommy? Oh, Mommy.” She sat up and threw her arms around Hope’s neck.
Hope’s throat grew thick with emotion. She couldn’t remember the last time her daughter had called her Mommy.
“I’m sorry,” Melody went on. “I was mad at you, and I thought Daddy . . . I thought he could—”
“Shh. I know.” Hope sniffed. Melody’s breath smelled fruity, not a good sign. She hadn’t eaten in such a long time, and the fact that she’d fallen asleep in such a noisy place spoke to her fatigue. “Steve!” she yelled as she lifted her daughter’s chin with a fingertip and checked her eyes. Clear. No trauma. “Do you know I love you more than life itself?”
“I love you, too.”
“Steve!”
From a distance she heard him shout, “I’m coming!”
Hope focused on Melody. “Speaking of love . . .” She shook the elephant. “I think this little guy has been missing you.”
“Pinkie!” Melody clutched the elephant to her chest.
Steve swooped to a stop, knelt down, and handed Hope a small bottle of orange juice, the cap removed.
She held the bottle to Melody’s lips. “Sweetheart, take a sip.” Over her shoulder, she said, “She’s fine, but we need to get her to the hospital.”
Steve said, “Melody, hi. I’m going to pick you up.”
“Okay.”
Hope helped her daughter into Steve’s arms. Darned if his eyes weren’t misting over, too.
