“How rude.”
“Who does this guy think he is?
“What a jerk.”
Please be there,I think as the receptionist searches.Please, please, please …
She reappears, shaking her head. “Sorry. There’s nothing here for a Grant Wilson.”
I don’t move. “Are you sure? There has to be …”What? What are you expecting?“… something. You didn’t check those baskets over there.” I point at the two wire organizers overflowing with documents further down the desk.
“Those are intake forms,” the receptionist says, her tone turning cold. “Do I need to call security?”
“Wait,” I say, fighting for control. “Just wait. My wife is in trouble. It’s very important I find her. I know it sounds strange, but I was given a clue that led me here.” My voice cracks on the last word. I’m a few seconds away from a full-on panic attack. Because if this isn’t the right place, I’m completely screwed—and so is Avery.
Her frown deepens. “A clue?”
“A … riddle.” Even in my panicked state, I know how stupid I must sound.
The woman releases an aggravated exhale. “Look, sir, I can tell you’re upset. If you’re worried about your wife, you should go to the police.”
“You don’t understand,” I say, resisting the urge to scream. “I can’tdo that.”
“What’s the riddle?” a voice to my right asks. I turn and take in the woman I interrupted for the first time. She has curly, close-cropped black hair and is staring back at me through a ridiculously large set of purple-rimmed glasses, no longer looking annoyed but curious.
“What?” I say, taken aback.
“What is it? Your riddle. I’m good at them.”
“Jesus H. Christ,” the man directly behind us mutters.
I hesitate, but not for long. I’m out of options and I’m out oftime. If this woman can help me, I’ll take it. I speak the lines and the room falls silent, everyone listening in.
Her forehead puckers when I finish. She taps her foot.
“Say it again.”
I do, and her lips move in an echo of mine, her eyes tilting upward as she thinks. “Hmm, you’re right. A hospital does make sense. But obviously that’s not the answer, since no one here knows what you’re talking about. It has to be something else. That line about the wound, though. It doesn’t really fit here as well as it would at …” Her voice fades and her throat moves in a long, slow swallow. Her eyes wilt. “Oh.”
“What?” I ask, peering at the clock on the wall, noting the time: Twenty-eight minutes left. I can literally feel the time flowing past, quickly closing on empty.
Her expression softens, the tips of her eyebrows rising slightly. She reaches out and places her hand on my elbow. “I’m sorry, but you might want to try the CARE Center on the north end of town.”
“The CARE Center?” I ask. “What’s that?”
She hesitates, and then says, “It’s … an abortion clinic.”
Chapter 23
REED
Midland, Texas
Age Twelve
Reed and his father had been in Midland for a year and a half now—the longest they’d been anywhere—and to Reed, it was starting to feel like home. The people here were friendly and spoke with a rich twang that warmed his soul. He liked the way the teachers took time to really explain things to him in a way he could understand. Even better, the kids were nice. They didn’t make fun of his ripped jeans and worn shirts like so many others had.
Reed and his father had rented a home on the eastern edge of town that had paint-chipped cupboards, a living room covered in stains, and two bedrooms the size of closets. His dad had taken the larger one, of course. They didn’t have much of a lawn, and what they did have was covered in trash. Plastic sacks, mainly. No matter how often they picked them up, the bags blew back in. They seemed to be everywhere in Midland, scattered by the wind, clinging to the bushes and their fence like tattered ghosts. Bags strung all over the street like roadkill. But still, the place was better than their last by a mile, so Reed didn’t mind.
