“Thank you, Gabriela,” I say. “I don’t know how you thought of that or how you had the guts to do it, but you saved my ass. I never would have made it out of there if you hadn’t gone to the door. I’d be in jail now.”

“Probably. But I’ve been in high-pressure situations before,” she says. “Those two are nothing compared to the Border Patrol.”

Border Patrol? Gabriela’s comment doesn’t go by unnoticed. Gabriela’s seen some shit in her young life.

“He got the book,” Olivia says. “It worked.”

“Sweet.” And Olivia and Gabriela bump fists.

“So what did you say to them?” I ask.

“Well, the dad was kind of suspicious obviously. He looked at me like I was a nuisance. I knew I had to get both of them to the door, so I said the thing about praying. I know they’re Catholic, so they’d believe a Mexican girl wanting to pray with them.”

“And they did?” Olivia asks. “Baller move, baby.”

“I didn’t lie by the way,” Gabriela says. “I just told them how sorry I was about Chloe. And that’s the truth. They were pretty chill honestly. They must have had a million people reaching out to them. So we talked for a few minutes, and then we all three said an Our Father and a Hail Mary together. And then I left.”

“That’s it?” I ask. “They didn’t say anything else?”

“Chloe’s mom was pretty nice,” Gabriela says. “I assumed she’d be a bitch because of the way she’s been talking about you. But she seemed really sweet. Totally sad, of course.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I heard her crying in Chloe’s room. It was awful.”

We all grow silent as we drive. I’m heading for Gabriela’s house, and we turn down her street. I figure that’s the last word on Scott and Laura, but just before we stop, Gabriela says, “Her dad was kind of weird, though.”

I pull over to the curb. A light burns on the porch just above the house number. Two jack-o’-lanterns sit on either side of the door.

“Weird how?” I ask.

I glance into the rearview mirror and catch a glimpse of Gabriela. She’s looking thoughtful and taking her time answering.

“When I was leaving, I said I hoped they found Chloe soon. And I meant it. But when I said that, her dad was all like, ‘Well, we have to prepare ourselves for the worst’ or something like that. And when he said it, her mom looked shocked, like he’d just slapped her across the face. It seemed low-key rude, that’s all.”

Fifty-Six

Dad sits at the kitchen table, sipping a bowl of canned bean soup, his glasses off to the side instead of on top of his head.

He puts his glasses on and studies us, his forehead scrunched in confusion.