Together With You (30 page)

She hugged her father hard. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Come on, now,” he grumbled. “Let's get the rest of what you need for that pie.”

Carly wiped her eyes. “I miss Mom.”

“She'd be proud of you, honey. I know I am.”

Here she was—a teary, frightened mess, and her father loved her just as she was. That was grace. That was Jesus. That was the kind of person she wanted to be.

S
hortly before six a.m., Ryan's cell phone played the ringtone that signaled Denise. Instantly alert, he snatched the phone off the nightstand and swung out of bed. “What's wrong?”

“It's Penny. I-I can't find her.”

“Have you looked in all the closets?”

“I did that first.”

“The backyard?”

“Of course I did!” The words blurred into a shriek. “Ryan, she's g-gone. The front door's open—”

“How?”

“I don't know!”

“I'm on my way.” He grabbed pants and a shirt out of his closet. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

He put her on speaker and set the phone on the nightstand. While he pulled on Levis and a shirt, she described finding the front door left ajar. “I-I thought someone had broken in. But her backpack is gone and so are some of her stuffed animals.”

“But how did she get the combination to that lock?”

“She must have watched me. It's a simple pattern . . . a square.”
Denise inhaled sharply. “That's why I picked it—so I could remember it.”

Ryan's fingers flew over the shirt buttons. “Have you called the police?”

“I'm waiting for them now.”

“We need to check the neighborhood.” Like that day at the mall, horrible visions shot through his mind with the added terror of cars speeding down a busy street. “I'll be there as soon as I can with the boys and Carly. Her dad's here, too.”

“The more, the better.” Denise's voice cracked. “Just hurry. Okay?”

He shoved the phone in his back pocket, strode into the hall, and pounded on all the bedroom doors. “Guys, wake up! I need you.”

Eric stepped into the hall first, then Kyle. Sleep clouded their eyes. Paul stepped out of the guest room wearing plaid pajamas.

“It's Penny,” Ryan told them all. “She's missing. We need to search Denise's neighborhood.”

“Oh, man,” Kyle muttered. “That's bad.”

“We have to find her fast,” Eric added. “If she gets scared, she'll have a meltdown.”

The boys stepped back into their rooms, but Paul stayed in the hall. “You and Carly go on ahead. I'll take the boys and meet you there. Just text me the address.”

“I'd appreciate it.” Ryan palmed his phone, shot off the text, and raced down the stairs to wake up Carly.

She was already in the kitchen, dressed but barefoot, and beating the life out of a bowl of pancake batter with a handheld electric mixer. The high-pitched whine muted his steps, and she didn't turn until he laid his arm across her shoulders. Light danced in her eyes until she saw his face and flicked the Off switch. “What's wrong?”

“Denise just called. Penny ran away.”

She dropped the mixer, leaving it to sink down in the batter
like an animal in quicksand. “She hasn't run away in weeks. Why? How?”

“She figured out the combination to the deadbolt. I don't know why she ran off or where she's going, but I could guess.”

“Home,” Carly murmured. “To us.”

Ryan gave her shoulder a squeeze and released it. “Your father's driving the boys. You can come with me or—”

“I'll take the van.”

“Good. She might recognize it.” As steady as Ryan sounded, his insides quaked as he dragged his hand through his hair. “We have to find her. I couldn't stand to lose her—”

“I know, Ryan. Oh, how I know.” She hugged him hard.

Life and hope flooded into him. “Carly, I—”

“Don't try to talk.” She gave him another fierce squeeze, then stepped back. “Go. I'll be right behind you.”

With his chest tight, he strode to the old garage. If Penny saw the Impala and came running, this time it really could take her home, especially if Carly married him. Longing swamped him, but fear for Penny's life turned him into a robot. With his brain half frozen, he set up his phone for hands-free, backed out of the driveway, and drove to El Segundo in an icy sweat. He wished he could pray, but asking God for help felt like talking to Lance the Lion.

He reached El Segundo in twenty-six long minutes, turned down Denise's street, and slowed the Impala to a crawl. Swiveling his head from side to side, he peered between houses and around cars. There was no sign of Penny, nothing out of the ordinary except a black-and-white patrol car in front of Denise's house.

Ryan parked behind it, headed for the door, but stopped when he spotted the van coming up the street. Carly leapt out and ran to him. He put his arm around her waist, and they hurried into the house together. Without a faith of his own, maybe he could borrow hers.

Carly hurried to Denise. While the women exchanged a desperate hug, Ryan focused on the policewoman. “What's happening now?”

“We've alerted our officers to keep an eye out for her. There's no sign of abduction, which is a plus.”

“So no Amber alert?”

“No.” She paused. “At least not yet.”

Not until they find her backpack in an abandoned car, or a witness comes forward, or—no!
Blocking the awful pictures by an act of sheer will, he slid into an icy pool of surrealistic calm, where time slowed to a crawl and voices, even his own, were off-key and distorted. “My sons and Carly's father are on their way. We'll search the neighborhood.”

“Good,” she answered. “You know Penny best.”

Ryan turned to Denise. When he looked into her bloodshot eyes, he knew exactly how she felt. “Do you know what Penny's wearing?”

“Jeans, a purple T-shirt, pink sneakers.” Her voice cracked. “She took her backpack and some of her animals.”

Kyle and Eric walked through the open door. Paul followed a second later. After hurried introductions, Ryan took control of the search. “We need to think like Penny.”

“She likes the beach,” Eric suggested.

Ryan nodded. The south end of Dockweiler State Beach was about a half mile from Denise's place, and the route was marked with blue signs. “I'll start there.” He turned to Paul. “El Segundo is laid out in a grid, with a business district in the middle. Take Eric and drive up and down the streets.”

Next he faced Denise. “Is there a park nearby? Someplace with swings?”

“There's a playground about a mile from here.” She dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled white tissue. “We've been there a few times. There's also the Plunge.”

“What's that?” he asked.

“The pool in the rec center. I didn't take her, but she saw posters at the library and wanted to go.”

Carly signaled him with a lift of her hand. “I'll check out the park and the Plunge. If I don't find her, I'll help you search the beach.”

Ryan accepted the offer with a nod, then turned to Kyle. “Knock on neighbors' doors. Maybe someone saw her.”

“Got it,” he replied.

He swung his gaze back to Denise. “I don't want to miss something obvious. What happened after I spoke with her on the phone?”

She pressed her fingers tight against her mouth, then slid them to her burning cheeks. “I can't believe what I did. I-I'm so sorry—”

“What happened?” he repeated.

“I told her nannies came and went. That sometimes they didn't come back.” A sob tore from her throat. “I'm so sorry.”

Ryan gritted his teeth against a rush of anger, but the fury dissolved in a flood of compassion for this flawed, misguided woman who loved Penny as much as he did. He had no right to condemn or berate her. Wanting to help her, he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You made a mistake, Denise. We've all been there.”

She shook her head. “I should have given you the picture of Jenna. I should have—”

Carly dropped down onto the couch. “Denise, stop.”

“But—”

“You didn't mean for this to happen.” She slid to the floor, landed on her knees, and grasped both of Denise's bone-white hands. “I've been where you are right now. It happened in Lexington. I made a mistake, and a girl with FASD ran away. I thought I'd never get over it. But I did.”

“How?” Denise broke down again. “
How
did you do it?”

“I had to forgive myself,” Carly murmured. “I'm at peace now, but it took a long time and someone being honest with me.”

Ryan thought she meant her father, but she turned to
him
. Stepping forward, he offered his hand with the intention of helping her
to her feet. She grasped his cold fingers in her warm ones, held his gaze as she stood, then bent and kissed his knuckles. It was a benediction of sorts, an acknowledgement of the forgiveness they all needed.

He longed to savor the moment, but each passing second put Penny in greater danger. After giving her hand a squeeze, he focused on the task at hand. “Kyle and Paul, give your phone numbers to Denise. She'll stay here and coordinate communication.”

Leaving them behind, Ryan strode to the Impala, cranked the ignition, and made a beeline for Grand Avenue, the street that led to the beach. Clogged with morning traffic, the two-lane road curved past houses and small apartment buildings. With traffic moving at a crawl, he peered into overgrown yards and along the sidewalk, but there was no sign of a little girl with a purple backpack.

Vehicles inched forward, then picked up speed. The residential area faded to brown hills surrounding an industrial power plant with red-and-white smokestacks. They were the kind of thing that would attract Penny's attention, and he wondered if she'd wandered into the brush. Uncertainty plagued him, but when he rounded a curve and saw the ocean, his gut told him to keep going.

He pressed the accelerator with the hope of flying through the green light, but it turned yellow, then bright red. Stifling an oath, he stomped the brake and skidded to a stop. While cross traffic sped by, he peered up and down the highway, dreading what he might see—an ambulance with flashing lights, police cars, even a coroner's van. Finally the light turned green. He hit the gas, shot across the intersection, and took the access road to an empty parking lot. After steering to the sandy edge, he cut the engine.

The ocean stretched in front of him, limited only by the horizon and a jetty made of gray boulders that marked the end of a storm drain. Pulse pounding, he climbed out of the Impala and slammed the door. A wave crashed and rolled up the shore, faded to foam
and vanished, its power and noise forgotten. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted Penny's name at the top of his lungs.

Helpless and hating it, he spotted an old van on the southern edge of the lot, ran to it, and pounded on the door. When no one answered, his mind twisted into a picture of Penny inside it, bound and gagged, abused, dying or dead. Frantic, he searched for a rock big enough to smash the window. He found one on the edge of the beach, lifted it, but stopped when he spotted a couple of teenagers riding the waves. With no other vehicles in sight, the van had to belong to them.

The ice in his veins thawed into steam. Choking back bile, he crossed the bike path and stepped onto the shifting sand. A faded turquoise lifeguard station, empty except for an orange float on the railing, sat useless and blind fifty feet from the waves. A handful of sailboats dotted the water, and the silhouette of an oil tanker stood out against the murky sky.

Sick with dread, Ryan tried to think like Penny. She associated boats with going home. If she had approached the water, even a small wave could have knocked her down and swept her away. Stumbling in the sand, he ran toward the waves, shouting her name as he searched the shore for a sign of her, footprints, anything except her small, cold body washed up on the beach. Out of breath with his heart thundering in his ears, he stared at the water and sky.

There was nothing.

No sign of Penny.

Nothing except a vastness he couldn't fathom. Carly would have seen God the Creator. Ryan wished he could see the loving, almighty, all-powerful hand of God, because he desperately needed to find his own little girl. But when he looked out to the horizon, first to Catalina Island, then to the faintest shadow of Anacapa in the north, he saw nothing but a disintegrating rock . . . a rock like the one in his chest.

Which way would she go? Had she even come this far? A gull
swooped past him and veered to the south. Hoping it was a harbinger, he ran in the same direction as the bird, calling Penny's name until he decided she couldn't possibly have gone so far. Hoarse from shouting, he pivoted and ran toward the distant jetty cutting into the water.

Dizzy and out of breath, he ground to a halt thirty feet from the rocks and collapsed to his hands and knees. Grains of sand scraped through his pants and clung to his palms. He tried to think logically, but all he could do was listen to the waves, a reminder of his helplessness, his insignificance, the fragility of his own humanity. He couldn't help his daughter, couldn't see her or hear her. He was as helpless as a starving babe left to cry out for its mother.

A choice as plain as black and white flashed into his mind. He could believe in his own abilities and surrender to a fatalistic view of life, death, and everything in between, or he could cry out for help like that hungry baby. Just like that baby needed to willingly suckle its mother's breast, Ryan needed to surrender to the God he didn't understand.

A groan crawled out of his throat. Fists clenched around handfuls of sand, he raised his face to the sky and shouted, “Where is she?”

He sucked in a lungful of air, blew it out, and waited. But nothing happened . . . except he felt a wave of something so powerful, so strong, it made the ocean seem small. That feeling was love . . . for his family, for Penny, and for Carly, who loved him just as he was and yet remained true to herself and to her God. He felt her presence in an abstract sort of way. He couldn't see her, touch her, hold her. But she lived in him.
Love.
He couldn't see it or explain it, but it swelled in his chest like the waves rising and crashing up the beach.