wrote out a note to Nate and attached it to the front door with a rusty penknife he found in his glove box. He also pinned a business card with his cell and home telephone numbers on it.
“Thanks for everything, Nate,” he growled, turning the pickup around. He drove back out in his own tracks.
Twenty-eight
For Sheridan Pickett, there was usually nothing more invigorating, or liberating, than having school let out because of snow. The announcement over the intercom had been received with unabashed cheers and whistles, and was followed by a mad scramble of books and uneaten lunches being thrown into backpacks.
Sheridan couldn’t share in the enthusiasm, though. A snow day meant nothing with her sister April gone.
Outside, the small fleet of buses had been lined up on the street, their engines idling, great clouds of exhaust rising up to meet the heavy snow.
Now she was home, safe and warm, curled up on the couch in her sweats reading an introductory book about falconry that had appeared in their mailbox the day before in an envelope addressed to her. Paper-clipped to the book jacket was a note written on the back of a beer coaster with foreign printing on it.
She raised the coaster to her nose for the fourth time that afternoon and sniffed it. It still smelled faintly of beer. She tried to imagine where he’d gotten it. The printing on the coaster was in English and Arabic.
She opened the battered old book and looked at the photo plates of falcons, hawks, and eagles. The birds captivated her.
When the telephone rang, Missy appeared from the hallway and took it off the hook as Sheridan was reaching for it. Sheridan watched her grandmother with annoyance.
Missy handed the telephone toward Sheridan. “It’s some little girl for you.”
As Sheridan took the receiver, Missy bent down near her. “I’m expecting a call from Bud Longbrake, so don’t be long.”
Sheridan made a face and turned away from Missy.
“Sherry?”
Sheridan felt a jolt shoot through her body. She immediately recognized the tiny, distant voice, where Missy had not.
“April?”
“Hi.”
“I don’t know what to say!” Sheridan looked around the room. She remembered her mother had said something about going outside to take care of their horses. Lucy was in their room, putting on makeup in front of a mirror just for fun.
“How are you guys doing?” April asked. “I miss you guys.”
“We all miss you, too. Where are you?”
“Up here. Up here in the snow. It’s really cold.”
“Then come home!” Sheridan laughed nervously.
April sighed. “I wish I could.” There was a beat of silence, and Sheridan could hear static growing. It was a poor connection.
“I’m not supposed to use the phone. My mom will really get mad if she finds out I’m talking to you.”
“Where is she?”
“Oh, everybody is at a meeting. Mom, Clem . . .”
“Who’s Clem?”
“A guy who lives with us. I don’t like him much, but he’s the only person who knows how to keep the heater running.”
Sheridan noticed that April’s Southern accent was coming back. Sheridan had forgotten that April had had it when she first moved in with them.
“I miss you guys a lot.” She sounded pathetic.
“April, are you coming home?”
April sighed. “I really do want to. I cry a lot. I like my mom and all, but . . .”
“What’s it like there?” Sheridan asked. She was in the kitchen now, parting the curtains. The snow was coming down so hard that the corral and shelter were smudges in the snow. She couldn’t see her mother.
“It’s cold up here. Really cold. I just stay inside all day. Last night, there were awful sounds outside that kept everybody awake. Clem said it was rabbits being skinned alive.”
