BEN GATHERED HIS TOOLS, TRYING TO SEE IN THE DARKNESS, AND WALKED around to the back of his truck. He dropped everything into the big tool chest in the bed, metal clanking against metal, and turned to survey the house. They were making progress: the new wiring and plumbing had been completed; the cabinets and countertops had been installed; the ancient wide-board oak floors had been sanded, vacuumed, and covered with long sheets of red contractor’s paper that would stay down while the walls were painted—hopefully this week. And then, finally, the floors would be refinished. It was the last big job, and once it was done, they would have to stay off the floors for several days, and they’d have to keep Gus out—the thought of his nails digging into the fresh wood as he raced through the house made him cringe. Nonetheless, it was starting to look like they might finish in time for the Jacksons to move in before Thanksgiving.
He reached into the back pocket of his jeans for his phone, but it wasn’t there, and then he remembered he’d put it in his cooler so nothing would happen to it. He opened the passenger door, heard it ringing, looked at the screen, and realized Macey had been trying to reach him.
“Hey,” he said. “I know . . . I’m sorry—I didn’t have it on me.” He stood in the darkness, the only light coming from the cab as he listened to Macey tell him about the amber alert that had been issued for Harper. He nodded, imagining the little girl Macey now seemed so determined to rescue trying to navigate the world, and the darkness, by herself. As she continued to talk, her voice began to tremble and he felt a knot forming in his stomach. “Okay,” he said finally. “I hope they find her. I’ll be right along.”
He slid his phone into his pocket and listened to the wind in the trees. Reluctant though he still was to foster, the thought of any child being out in the cold was disconcerting, let alone one with a heart condition. Somewhere under all these stars a child was in crisis.
He closed the passenger door, and slowly walked around to the driver’s side, but after he’d climbed in, he just sat there, staring into the darkness, wondering—like everyone else—where a nine-year-old girl would go.
His thoughts drifted to a long-ago summer night when he and Henry had run away. The situation had, of course, been different, but they must’ve been around the same age, and he vividly remembered the circumstances: Their moms wouldn’t let them camp in Henry’s backyard, and in an uncharacteristic moment of defiance, they’d planned an elaborate scheme to camp near the lighthouse.
Ben shook his head regretfully, remembering how determined and sneaky they’d been. They’d spent all afternoon gathering food and supplies—enough for a week in case they decided to never come back—and then they discreetly stashed everything in the woods behind Henry’s house. Like spies, they’d synchronized their watches and then returned to their respective homes for dinner, a bath, and a little TV.
Afterward, Ben had lain in bed, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, waiting and checking his watch every few minutes. Finally, he’d heard his parents wash up and turn off the lights. He’d continued to wait, watching the second hand circle the face of his watch twenty more times before peeking out his door.
Ten minutes later, he’d pulled into the woods on his bike, his brakes squealing.
“You need to get those fixed,” Henry had scolded.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“What took you so long?”
“My parents were watching The Tonight Show.”
“I was about to give up.”
“Sorry.”
“Did you bring a flashlight?”
Ben smacked his forehead. “No, I forgot.”
“Great,” Henry had said as he tried to strap the tent on his bike.
“Sorry.”
“That’s all right. We’ll manage.”
“My mom said it’s going to storm.”
“Mine did, too, but I don’t think so. I mean look at the stars.”
Ben had looked up and nodded, but by the time they’d reached their destination, they’d heard thunder. “Maybe we should do this another time. . . .”
“It’s fine,” Henry had assured him, unpacking the tent.
They’d spent the next half hour setting up, but by the time they’d finished, the wind had picked up and lightning was flashing everywhere. Within minutes, it had begun to pour, and they’d huddled in the leaky tent, hoping the storm would pass, when suddenly it had filled with light. Henry had peeked out and seen the headlights of a park ranger’s truck were shining right on them. “Crap,” he’d muttered, which was never a good sign.
In hindsight, Ben was certain the idea had been all Henry’s, but the punishment had been all encompassing. They’d both been grounded for two weeks—two weeks of their precious summer vacation, wasted!
Ben’s thoughts came back to the present. It wasn’t a steamy, stormy summer night. It was the chilly end of October, and the missing girl wasn’t planning an adventure with a friend. She was all by herself, trying to make her way in life. Ben shook his head. Why was he being so selfish? Why was he only thinking of himself? Macey’s words echoed in his head and he realized she was right. He hadn’t once put himself in the shoes of the little girl who couldn’t find a home. A little girl who had no one to count on, who had no one to love or be loved by. He swallowed, remembering how his mom had come into his room that night, and even though she’d been mad, she’d hugged him and told him she was glad he was home safe. Home safe. That was probably all Harper wanted, too—to be home safe.