As though my grief were a layer of silt that had settled at the bottom of my life, just waiting to be kicked back up.
When Izzy didn’t come home the night before the pageant, Mom and Dad assumed she’d stayed over at the Sherman house. She spent the night with Ben all the time—they’d been dating since middleschool. Our families had always been intertwined: rodeos, carpools, dinners. If Mrs. Sherman brought McDonald’s up to the elementary school for Ben, she bought Happy Meals for us too. If Mom made T-shirts for Spirit Week, she made extras for Ben and his little sister, Laurie. I’d spent just as much time roaming the river and the woods of the Sherman land as I had spent in my own house. They were basically family.
The next morning was a whirlwind. Kennedy Claire and I were getting ready for the pageant. Mom was on the committee, driving around all day, picking up floral arrangements, meeting with vendors, and chauffeuring around the guest judges. It wasn’t like now, everyone glued to their cell phones every second of the day, everyone always checking in. And in small towns like Anhalt, bad things simply didn’t happen.
I wasn’t worried. I knew Izzy would show up. Earlier that week, I’d tweaked my ankle, just enough that I had to ditch my gymnastics routine. Izzy had come up with a magic trick we could do instead.
But when the talent acts started without her, I panicked and tried to tumble anyway. I hit the mat wrong on my first landing, pain shooting white-hot up my leg, and I went down hard. I ended up in the wings with a bag of ice while the show kept going.
That’s when the worry started. Izzy would never have let me down like that. I knew something wasn’t right, and so did my parents.
I watched Mom fidget in her seat, check over her shoulder. I watched Dad lean in to whisper, then get up, disappearing into the dark shadow that held the rest of the audience in their seats.
After Kennedy Claire’s crowning, I limped through contestants hugging and moms packing away makeup and dresses.
You can’t go yet, Kennedy Claire said. She was wearing her evening gown, the Miss Lone Star crown pinned to her head, a big bouquet in her arms and a pout on her face.We’re supposed to celebrate.
I threw my things in a bag, gave Kennedy Claire a hug.We’ll celebrate tomorrow, I said, annoyed at the way she always had tomake everything about her, when I just wanted to be with my parents, just wanted to be looking for my sister.
In the car, Mom kept wiping her palms on her skirt. Dad had already talked to Sheriff Ryan, told him that they hadn’t heard from Izzy all day.
Dad dropped Mom and me off at the house, then headed out to the Shermans’ himself.Look, he said, standing outside the car before he left, arms around Mom.She’s probably there, okay? But if she isn’t, I’ll get Abel, and we’ll find her, and we’ll bring her home.
His words had soothed me. Because Dad, Abel, and the sheriff—the three best men I knew—would be out there looking for Izzy. There was no doubt in my mind in that moment that she would be coming home safe and sound.
But nearly two hours ticked by, the frozen bag of peas on my ankle going lukewarm and mushy, Mom pacing around the living room, peeking out the blinds, calling the Sherman house to no answer. Finally, Dad came home. He didn’t have Izzy with him. But he did have the sheriff. They came into the living room, where Mom was perched on the edge of the recliner, back straight and hands knotted in her lap, and I lay on the sofa, my hurt leg elevated on a pillow.
We found Isabelle’s car parked out by the river entrance on Ranch Road 20, the sheriff said.
No, she wasn’t going to the river, I said, sitting up on the sofa, my ankle screaming at the shift.She was going out with Ben.I remembered her packing her little black date night purse.
Where’s Abel?Mom said.
That’s when I noticed Dad’s face, dark and hard like I’d never seen it.They’re not talking.
Mom’s head jerked back slightly, and a quiet scoff escaped her.What do you mean they’re not talking? Did you go up to the house?
Abel barely opened the door, Barb. Said they hadn’t seen Izzy, said they didn’t know anything.
Didn’t know anything?Mom asked, her voice incredulous. She stood up from her chair then.Did you talk to Ben?
Dad shook his head.Abel wouldn’t let me.
I’m going over there, Mom said, walking to the entryway so she could step into her tennis shoes.Carol will talk to me. This is ridiculous.
I’ve already been up there, Barbara, Sheriff Ryan said, gently reaching for her shoulder.Abel told me to get off his property. Said if I wanted to poke around, I’d need a warrant.
Mom’s breathing sharpened and her eyes turned steely.Then get one, she spat.
I stood in the doorway, holding the frame for balance.
I will, the sheriff said, putting a hand to her shoulder.But we need evidence.
Evidence of what?I said.
Then Mom started to cry.
And, like her, I realized what it meant that Abel didn’t want us to come onto his property, what it meant that he wouldn’t let Ben talk to the police, that they hadn’t answered their phone when Mom called. Izzy was missing. And Ben had something to do with it.