“My sister is missing,” April said.
“We don’t know nothing about that,” the desk man said.
April’s eyes narrowed, and the other man quickly added, “Sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah,” April said. “I agree. It’s kind of a shame that my sister suddenly disappeared into thin air.”
April was feeling strangely confident. Her instincts were telling her that these guys knew something about Rose’s disappearance. She knew what this meant: that, by coming here, she was putting herself into greater danger. And yet . . . she was doing something. She was taking the initiative.
Without being conscious of it, she began to walk away from the safety of the door, her escape hatch, and drifted toward the men. April realized what was happening when she noticed the standing man gesture to the desk man, who opened a drawer and slipped his hand inside it. He didn’t take anything out; he just sat there, with his hand in the drawer, his eyes glued to April.
“Like he said, boss isn’t here,” said the standing man, holding his hand up, making the stop gesture to April.
April stopped.
“Can I wait here for him?”
“No,” the standing man said. “He’s out of town. Not coming back ’til next week.”
“When? I’ll come back.”
“I got a better idea. How about you leave him a message? Boss wants to talk to you, he’ll call you.”
“But I . . .”
“Hey,” said the man, pointing to a notepad on the desk. “Just leave a message, and then move on. We got work to do here.”
* * *
The cold air in the parking lot of Nick’s Repair was spiked with diesel gas and burned rubber—but it smelled sweet to April. She was so relieved to be out of the shop, away from those men. She felt that she’d bested them in battle. She’d achieved what she’d set out to do: to probe Nick’s Repair for clues. The men were nervous and defensive—this was a clue. They acted as though they didn’t know Rose was missing—but they also didn’t seem surprised. It was very easy to imagine that Ricky would have at least mentioned her disappearance to them. So why were they lying? What were they covering up? And, also, where was Ricky? Was he really “out of town”? The whole situation reeked.
She’d also achieved her second goal: to communicate a message to Ricky, with whom she hadn’t spoken in probably half a year. Ricky was one of the last people who’d seen Rose before her disappearance. One way or the other, he was critical to April’s search. Before she’d run out of the shop, April had scrawled out her phone number and a message:
Ricky—I haven’t seen Rose in weeks. I need your help. Call me as soon as you read this. Ricky, I’m looking for Rose on my own. But if you don’t help me, I’m coming back here next time with friends.
—April
It was a bold message. A threat. And it wasn’t just about what she’d said in the note. It was about the larger message she’d sent just by walking into enemy territory, speaking confidently, and walking out with her head held high. It was about making her demands, without wavering, even as one of the men appeared to hold a gun under the table. April’s message that day was clear enough: she was not afraid. Nor was she going to be intimidated. She was on a mission to find Rose and would not be deterred.
April rushed to the station and arrived just in time for the last bus back to Philly. She collapsed into her bus seat, by a window, near the back. For a minute it seemed she might get lucky and be the one person on the bus with an empty seat next to her. But just as the driver was about to close the door, another person jumped aboard. April’s heart sank.
Oh, great, she thought as she closed her eyes.
Five predictable seconds later, she heard a tired man’s voice asking her if the seat was free.
Perfect, she thought. Some dude. Can’t I catch any sort of break, ever?
Hoping to set a tone of blistering indifference, April shrugged and mumbled, “Yeah, I guess.”
Out of curiosity she opened her eyes a tiny bit, just to see what kind of degenerate she was dealing with. And instantly her entire attitude changed. Standing next to the seat—looking so tall, dark, and handsome that she almost laughed out loud—was the Amish guy from Reading Terminal Market, the one who’d been posting Rose’s “Missing” posters everywhere, the one who’d testified to the police about seeing Rose in the market. He removed his wide-brimmed straw hat and held it to his chest; his strong forearm flexed in the process. All at once, she remembered how striking he’d been when she’d seen him talking to the police.
Now that her eyes were wide open and looking right at him, the Amish guy returned her gaze directly, with a warm, green look that was bold but not brash. Nobody, and certainly no man, had ever looked at her that way. She could feel her body expanding a bit, or lifting. Something, anyway, was pushing her physically in his direction.
“Hi,” she said, realizing that she was smiling much too widely.
He suddenly became slightly shy—or rather, half his face, his mouth, lost its boldness, and tightened up. But his eyes, April noted, didn’t avert their strong gaze.
“Uh, hello,” he said with a deep nod.
Did he just bow at me? she thought. April was trying, and failing, not to giggle.
“I recognize you from Reading Market,” she said. “I see you, like, every day there.”
And when he just continued staring, she quickly added, “Do you recognize me?” She narrowed her eyes.
The Amish man nodded, sat down next to her, placed an adorably tiny piece of luggage under his seat, fixed his hat on top of it, sighed, and ran his big strong hands over his big, strong knees, straightening his pants.
Did he even hear what I just said? April thought.
Finally, after taking another deep breath, he replied, “I do know you. You work at the bakery.” He turned to her. “I see you, too.”
This comment made her smile a bit too obviously, and she could feel herself blushing under his gaze.
“I’ve been meaning to thank you,” she said. “For putting up those signs, for my sister, the missing girl. And for talking to the police like that.”
“Oh,” the man said gravely. “Well. We’re praying for her.”
“Thank you,” April said. “That really means a lot to me.” A wave of emotion suddenly overcame her. These waves came unexpectedly.
Just then, she looked down and realized, with horror, that she had the word undies scrawled on the back of her hand. Actually, it was more like UNDIES!! She’d written it there, while waiting for the bus, when she realized that she really needed to launder her underwear and that it couldn’t wait another day. Unfortunately, it was on her left hand, the same hand that now faced Joseph. Had he seen it? Mortified, she quickly pulled her sweatshirt sleeve over her hand, and abruptly said, “I’m April, by the way.”
“Like the month?”
“Exactly like that.”
Omigod, is the Amish guy flirting with me? she thought.
“I’m Joseph.”
“Yes, I know. Isn’t that a guy in the Bible?”
“Yes,” he said with a big smile. “But I’m not him.”
Omigod, the Amish guy is definitely flirting with me! she thought, and immediately put herself on alert to stop smiling for at least a second or two.
They chatted for a bit. She learned about his background. He lived in Western Pennsylvania,