They managed to kill most of the day at Jordan’s house. Jordan was good at filling empty spaces and providing distractions. They talked about college and summer plans. When Wendy got quiet and stuck in her own head, Jordan coaxed her back. They’d even made muffins with fresh marionberries from Jordan’s backyard. Later, Jordan gave Wendy a ride to the hospital after texting her dad for permission, since Wendy needed to pick up her truck.

Now home, Wendy slipped her sandals off by the door. The threadbare brown carpet was a disappointing contrast to the plush beige one at Jordan’s house.

Her father sat at the dining table, his back to her. The news was on the television in the living room. A reporter was speaking off to the side, but the volume was too low for her to make out.

Ashley Ford’s and Benjamin Lane’s faces were front and center. Wendy got nauseated looking at their smiling pictures. She vividly remembered the school photos they’d used for her and her brothers when they went missing. Wendy was in a white blouse with blue flowers. John had on a white collared shirt, his hair perfectly swept to the side, his glasses making his eyes look huge. Michael, on the other hand, was a rumpled mess. His shirt was untucked and he’d missed a button.

Even after she had been found, they continued to run her picture along with John’s and Michael’s, explaining the details, what they did and didn’t know. At thirteen she hadn’t been able to handle seeing her brothers like that. After the first couple of times she had broken down in uncontrollable tears, her parents banned news from the television. Sometimes, though, her mother wouldn’t hear her come downstairs and Wendy caught a glimpse of the news before she quickly changed the channel.

Wendy tore her eyes from the screen.

She turned to her father and inwardly sighed. She really didn’t want to get yelled at, or lectured, or whatever else the hard set of his shoulders foretold. Well, the sooner she got it over with, the sooner she could go to her room. She steeled herself and walked up to his side.

Mr. Darling sat clutching a mug. It had a faded blue logo of his bank on the side, and it was half full of black coffee.

“Where’s Mom?” Wendy ventured.

“Gone to bed.” He didn’t look up, but Wendy nodded anyway. Wendy imagined her mom especially needed sleep after last night and this morning.

She, herself, could have used about five years’ worth of good nights’ sleep.

“Do you know that boy?” Her father’s sharp eyes locked onto her. The question jolted Wendy, but of course she had seen it coming.

“No.”

“You just found him on the road?” One of his thick eyebrows lifted.

“I just found him on the road,” she echoed through a sigh.