Inside the Wildflower, dozens of customers filled their shopping baskets to the brim like it was the last store on earth. There was a growing line at the cash register, and Mike was a nervous wreck. I walked in just as a lady in a long, Indian print skirt and a brightly colored babushka handed him her pile of purchases.
“My prayers have been answered! Madison, I need a favor. We’re out of paper. Could you run in the back and grab a pile and wrap up these crystal balls?”
What could I say? Mike needed my help. I pushed past the colorful curtain of beads into the storeroom. Because of the clutter, I had to poke around until I finally found a stash of yellowing newspapers.
Then I saw something I hadn’t noticed before. In the far corner, a wooden ladder reached high up to a trapdoor in the ceiling. My whole body tingled with certainty. That had to be my mom’s attic.
I hurried back with an armload of newspapers and dumped them on the counter.
“Wow, where’d you dig up these relics? We have plain white wrapping paper back there somewhere.”
“Sorry. It’s all I could find.”
“No worries. Let’s use it up. Can you give me a hand for a quick second or two?”
I desperately wanted to race up that ladder, but I didn’t feel right about bailing on Mike. Besides, would it really be the end of the world if I put off looking for my mom for a couple of seconds?
I carefully wrapped the first crystal ball in thick layers of newspapers that were almost old enough to be antiques.
“Ronald Reagan Sworn in as 40th President,” read the headline. And playing at the El Cortez theater was a movie I’d actually watched a couple of years ago on video with Violet, The Empire Strikes Back. That’s when we both became obsessed with Yoda and talked like him for two months straight.
Wrap up the second crystal ball I will, I thought in Yoda speak.
I reached for more newspaper and something in The Sierra County Sentinel caught my eye. The prom picture from Walter’s house.
Under the photo it said: “Elena and Roberto Montoya proudly announce the engagement of their daughter, Betty, to her high school sweetheart and Hot Springs High School star-quarterback, Walter Brinker.”
What the heck? They’d been engaged? Did they ever get married? Were they divorced, or did Betty die? Could that have been her engagement ring in the little leather box?
I carefully tore out the article, folded it over, and slid it into my jeans pocket.
When Mike handed me another customer’s handful of treasures to wrap, I knew I had to come clean.
“Mike, I’m so sorry. I’d like to keep helping, but I can’t. My, uh, Angela is missing. I think she might be up in the attic.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so, Madison? No worries. I can take it from here.”
I thanked Mike and pushed my way back through the beaded curtain. I ran to the ladder and began to climb, counting the rungs one-by-one.
One. Two. Three. I could feel my face flush and my forehead get sweaty.
Four. Five. Six. Was I afraid of not finding her?
Seven. Eight. Nine. Or was I more afraid that if I did find her I wouldn’t know what to say?
Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
I reached up and popped open the trapdoor.