Лайза Макманн - Cryer's Cross

He pauses. “Let’s start searching. Please find your same groups from spring and wait for instruction. If you are in need of a group, see me. Stay together, return together. Teens, when you return today, see me. I’ll have the buddy list ready.”

Kendall glances at Mrs. Cruz, who holds tightly to her husband. It sounds like Sheriff Greenwood expects they won’t find Nico today, the way he’s planning this buddy thing. It feels terrible.

The sheriff lowers the bullhorn, a resolute look on his face. Then he nods, and people disperse into groups on the sides of the streets.

Kendall stays close to her parents at her mother’s request. It’s kind of comforting, since Kendall is group-less. Last time she searched with Nico.

The tone is somber and way too familiar as the groups get their instructions and set out to comb the most remote part of the valley again. Last time everything was freshly planted. This time the potato fields are plump and green, ripe for harvest, and the leaves on the trees are just starting to change colors.

Kendall wonders how many days her parents can search when there’s so much to do on the farm right now. But she’s too tired to ask. All she can do is wearily count steps, and rows, and trees, repeating crazy sentences in her mind as she scans the vegetables and grain, and then goes on to grassy fields and woods. Looking for the body of her best friend. Torn between hoping she finds it and hoping she doesn’t.

She doesn’t. No one else finds him either.

When they return to town, Sheriff Greenwood is there, talking with Hector, Jacián, and Marlena, and what must be their parents.

Kendall stops. Doesn’t want to see Jacián right now. Still doesn’t know what to think of him. And certainly doesn’t want him to say anything to her about Nico. Fresh tears spring to her eyes as she pictures going to school without Nico there.

“Stop it,” she mutters to herself. “He’ll be back.”

But it feels so much more futile this time. With Tiffany everyone was so hopeful. Now that disappearing seems to have become an epidemic, the hope is gone.

“Dad?” Kendall says. “We have to find him. I want to keep searching. It’s not dark yet.”

Mr. Fletcher checks his watch. He glances at Mrs. Fletcher.

“I’m in for another round,” Mrs. Fletcher says. “Why don’t you head back to the farm, Nathan. Kendall and I will go out again with someone else.”

Kendall smiles tearfully. “Thanks, Mom.” They go out with another group.

After dusk, when Kendall and her mother return, they find Sheriff Greenwood again. Exhausted, Mrs.

Fletcher goes into the restaurant to call Kendall’s dad to come out and pick them up. Kendall approaches

Sheriff Greenwood.

“I need my school buddy assignment,” Kendall says. She’s so tired she can barely hold back the tears now.

Sheriff Greenwood glances at her and takes his clipboard out. “You’re all alone out that direction,” he muses.

“No kidding.” Kendall can’t help it. She’s still stinging from yesterday’s interrogation, even though the sheriff played the good cop.

He mumbles, “Eli’s grouping with the north end. Travis is east, but one of you would have to travel alone to meet up. . hmm.”

Kendall scratches the toe of her boot in the dirt as the sheriff reconfigures his list.

Darkness descends quickly without big-city lights. The stars twinkle. She hears the four-wheelers before she sees them. It’s Marlena and Jacián.

“Ah, now there’s a thought,” Sheriff Greenwood mutters, looking up. “Yes. That’ll work.” He turns toward them. “You two can swing by for Kendall on school days, right?”

Jacián is silent, and in the dark, Kendall can’t gauge his reaction. Marlena pipes up, “Sure. We’d love to.” She climbs off and goes over to Kendall. Gives her a swift hug. “I’m really sorry. You must feel horrible,” she says softly.

Kendall’s throat tightens. She nods. Can’t speak.

“We covered miles and miles, made it to the foothills and up beyond Cryer’s Pass, along the woods, and back.”

“That’s awesome,” Kendall says, without enthusiasm. Her body aches. She just wants to crawl into bed and forget everything.

“Jacián and I can give you a ride home now if you need one. You look exhausted.”

“My dad’s coming. Thanks.” She’s almost asleep on her feet.

At home she checks all the windows and doors in the entire house before falling into bed.

The quiet stretch unsettles, rattles Our aching souls. We roam the floor, bitter, restless, shoving others out of Our way. Searching for new life. And then We grow quiet and return to Our spot.

Remembering, hoping.

We save Our energy for another day.

After a week of chaos the local search for Nico Cruz ends. They’ve combed every accessible section of the valley on foot. Every American with a TV has heard about the strange situation in “quaint” Cryer’s

Cross, Montana, where young, innocent Tiffany disappeared in spring, and sinister, older bad boy Nico disappeared only months later. . probably because he killed her. Or brainwashed her into hiding out for three months so they could fool people into thinking their disappearances were unrelated.

Never mind the quiet girlfriend, Kendall. She keeps her head down and doesn’t talk to the reporters.

Does she know something? Speculation ad infinitum.

Kendall can’t stand it.

Every morning Kendall wakes up and remembers. And every evening at eleven her phone doesn’t ring.

More than once she thinks about calling Nico’s number just because it feels like a connection, but she doesn’t want to startle his family, make them remember, force them to relive their personal horror any more times than they already do.

Over the course of the week Kendall goes from shock to mourning to frustration and fury. The news crews are bored, tired of having only one restaurant to eat in and no fast food within thirty miles. Tired of the loyal, tight-lipped people. They try to get a fresh angle, but the people of Cryer’s Cross are a quiet, protective group. Even Jacián just gives them a look and walks away when they yell out questions to him.

Kendall sits on the restaurant steps, waiting for her mother to stop chatting inside the drugstore. She pushes her hair off her forehead. It falls back again when she stares down at her hands. Behind her, old

Mr. Greenwood and Hector Morales sit in their chairs, not talking. As usual.

Jacián comes toward them. “Abuelo,” he says sharply. “Are you coming now with me?” Kendall notices that he takes on a hint of an accent when he speaks to his grandfather.

Jacián ignores Kendall, walks right past her up the steps.

Hector looks up and says something to Jacián in Spanish. Jacián replies in Spanish and then turns, jogs down the steps and to his four-wheeler. He heads off alone.

Kendall turns and squints at Hector. “Jacián isn’t supposed to be going off alone, you know. He could get arrested.”

Hector smiles, but he looks worried. “He’s okay. He’s already eighteen, and stubborn. What can I say?

Sheriff says he’s legal to go alone, just stupid. It’s nice of you to worry about him, though.”

“I’m not worried about him,” Kendall says crossly. How can she explain it? The rule-follower in her can’t help but say something.

“I’m sorry, Miss Kendall. Truly. About the Cruz boy. I know he was your beau.”

Kendall stares at the dirt between the steps. “He’s not dead,” she says. “He still is my. . my beau.”

She cringes at the old-fashioned word. It’s odd how the longer Nico is gone, the easier it is to call him her boyfriend.