Lay Me Down

9. Lost and found.

{Jon}

Jon stayed out with Kadee, driving around looking for Cary until a phone call from his dad at midnight summoned him home. The next day, there was still no Cary. Jon's dad burned the pancakes, and they fought about the volume of Jon's music. Jon slammed out of the house and tore down to the dirt trails in the ravine on his bike. He didn't turn around to come home until after dark, dirty and battered from hurling himself down the steepest hills he could find.

Pete was waiting up—when Jon came in, he hefted himself off the couch in the family room to shut off the lights and lock up behind him without saying a word. Jon blocked his way to the front door, putting his hand over the light switch. "Leave it on."

Pete touched his face with a tired look. He nodded and patted Jon's arm instead of locking the door. "Good night, son," he said. "Tomorrow is another day."

Jon glared at his father's back as Pete shuffled down the hall to his room. What the hell did that mean?

Jon sent another text to Cary that night and called again. The home number. The cell number. No answer, unless you counted the click of the answering machine. He hung up before Cary's father could give the recorded message. He tossed and worried for two hours before he finally dropped off a cliff of oblivion and slept.

When he woke up to the sound of his mother rapping on his door, his phone was still in his hand under his pillow. For a second, he couldn't figure out why he'd gone to sleep holding it—but as he drew it toward him and opened his eyes, he remembered.

Cary was gone.

He shoved the covers back and swiped the screen of his phone open.

Nothing. Two days and no text back, no phone call, no Cary on their doorstep. Jon sagged, putting the cool face of the phone against his forehead. The list of possible explanations for why Cary was MIA was getting shorter.

His mother tapped his door again, saying, "Honey, time to get up. It's church day."

Jon's eyelids scraped down over his eyes. Time for the pastor's family to get up, go to the church and make some people happy with their friendly smiles. God, he did not feel like smiling today.

Bea burst into his room, her Sunday dress falling off her shoulders. "Can you zip me? Momma is doing Tabby's hair."

Jon fiddled with the tiny zipper at the back of her dress, muttering under his breath and trying not to swear. When he got it, she spun, her dress flaring around her hips. "Thanks, Jonee."

Bea's energy gave him a little of his own. He shuffled around his room, putting on the first clothes in his closet that his hand touched. The only important thing was a pocket for his phone.

His sisters banging in and out the front door kept his heart beating and his feet moving. This was his family. This is what they did—church, family prayers and helping people. He felt hollow and his head hurt, but if he kept smiling, probably no one would notice. He'd been doing this long enough to know how to deflect attention from himself and get people talking about themselves. He just had to stand and smile for 20 minutes in the foyer after church and then come home.

The rest of the day, the week, the months of school and summer without his best friend yawned ahead of him and he tipped over a little, catching himself against the door he'd shut behind Bea. His head throbbed in time to the thud of his heart, and he rested it against the door.

Dead was a long time for the people left behind.

It was getting harder to push that thought away and tell himself that today, they would find Cary. He'd watched his brother fight a losing battle with cancer—he knew death was just one missed breath. And then another. And another. And you thought it couldn't possibly happen to someone you loved—and then you woke up one morning and it had.