How to Bake a Perfect Life - Barbara O'Neal [133]
And I do follow, for about two blocks—when it becomes plain he will walk to wherever she is, and that’s not possible. “Wait.” I pull up on the leash, check the time, and tug him back around. He plants his feet and gives me a grave look. Not moving.
I think about all the child pornographers and kidnappers and rapists in the world, the sexual predators who would slurp her up without hesitation. Maybe Merlin knows something I don’t. But when I let him lead again, he drags me toward Colorado Avenue. There he stops, looking in both directions, a soft pitiful whine in his throat. He looks hard, as if he is listening, takes a step, stops. Looks up at me.
In my clogs and coat, I bend down and hug him. “It’s okay.” I pull back. “I promise we’ll find her. Okay?”
His whiskey-brown eyes are grave. He almost nods.
We return to the bakery, and there are customers going up the walk, coming out. It shocks me a little to see business as usual. Leading Merlin around the side of the house, I let him free in the backyard, where he heads for the bench and sits down, making complaining noises to the invisible air.
Inside, I call Jimmy into my office. “I have a big problem. Katie seems to have run away, and I’m going to have to find her. If we don’t stay open, the bakery will die. Can you cover it?”
“Yeah.” She shrugs, pats a hand over her belly. “If I get in any trouble, I’ll call Cat, right?”
“Actually, no. I’m going to make other arrangements. But thank you. I’ll give you a raise. Someday.”
She gives me a thumbs-up. “Get your girl.”
I have no idea where to start, where she might be. Would she try to run all the way to her father? Go back to El Paso? The first person to call is Sofia, but I’m absolutely loath to add even a single minute of extra worry to her plate. The baby is due any day.
First I’ll try some other things. In Katie’s room, I look for the notebook she keeps, but it’s gone—obviously with her. There’s nothing else, really, except a letter from her friend Madison. It’s written on pink paper and talks about a boy at the mall and getting a bra and nothing else. Still, it has a return address and a name I might be able to reach if I have to.
The next step is to try to open her email. It has a password, of course. I wonder if I can figure it out. The first thing I try is Merlin.
The account opens.
And there are the emails from her mother, manipulative and self-centered and begging Katie to come visit.
El Paso, then.
A half hour later, I’m at Jonah’s door. He answers wearing only jeans, his hair tousled, and I realize it’s not quite seven a.m. “Ramona, what’s wrong?”
“Katie,” I say, and tell him what I know. “I’m going down there to see if I can find her. I just wanted to let you know.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Give me ten minutes.”
“You don’t have to go.”
He shakes his head, pushes open the screen door. “You aren’t doing this alone. Come in and wait while I brush my teeth.”
Katie
When the bus stops in Albuquerque, there’s a layover. Katie puts her sweater on her seat and asks if the lady across the aisle will keep an eye on it for her. The woman nods without smiling, and Katie heads for the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face.
She got on the bus at one a.m., along with a guy who looked like he might be a soldier, with that shaved-across-the-back-of-the-head look, and two women who spoke only Spanish and carried a baby. The people already on the bus were asleep. She found an empty row and took the window seat.
It had not been that easy to get to the bus station at night, especially because she was worried about spending too much money. Although she wasn’t proud of it, she’d stolen money from the bakery office, right out of the safe that Ramona never locked. She took two hundred dollars in twenties, tucking them into her bra, like her mom showed her, and feeling guilty because she knew very well that the bakery was hurting.
But so was her mother. So was Katie. She would pay it all back.
In the end,