Free What a Mother Knows by Leslie Lehr Page A

streets than in County. Too many of them end up in the morgue with slit wrists.” He resumed his phone conversation.
    Michelle looked at the photo again, trying to picture Nikki in that fluffy gown flitting about at a party. She couldn’t. During preschool, Nikki cried when her classmates ran to the gate to greet her. At Brownies, she’d spent every meeting hiding under a desk playing with plastic unicorns. She was never picked for plays or invited to slumber parties, and puberty hit so hard she punched holes in the wall. If only slit wrists weren’t so easy to imagine.
    Detective Alvarez pointed to his business cards.
    Michelle stood up slowly, so straight and tall that even her mother would be proud. She put her left hand on his phone. “Pardon me, but I don’t have Internet service. Do you mind giving me a few more minutes’ worth of my tax dollars to check the database again?”
    Her crippled right arm swung out of the pocket. She pulled it back, but not before he cringed at the sight of the scar tissue wrapping her right hand.
    â€œYou’re not on the dole yourself?”
    â€œThe what?” Michelle asked.
    â€œDisability.” He pointed at her limp arm.
    Surprised, she looked down and saw where her power lay. She had thought of herself as injured, not disabled. It hurt to think that’s how others saw her now. But if it helped her find Nikki, she would use it to her advantage. She cleared her throat. “Detective Alvarez, are you discriminating against the handicapped?”
    The room quieted as others turned to look. He saw them and ended his phone conversation. He put his hands on the keyboard. “Name?”
    â€œI gave you her name. Can you try different spellings?”
    â€œLet’s start with the correct one.” He gestured to the chair.
    Michelle spelled out Nikki’s name. She estimated Nikki’s height to be the same as hers, five foot eight, and her weight at 130. She had mousy brown hair, brown eyes, the gazelle-like gait of her grand-mére , and a wee bit of her father’s Irish pallor. The detective promised to do what he could, but now she understood. He couldn’t do much.
    Outside, Michelle scanned the quadrant of dead grass between the courthouse and the county offices, then spotted Tyler at the food truck.
    â€œGet any answers?” Tyler called, waving a half-eaten churro.
    â€œJust more questions,” Michelle said, spotting a cigarette butt on the sidewalk. She tossed it in the trash and wondered if Drew’s plane had landed. She wanted to call him, but he had already refused to talk about this today. She could try tomorrow, but how would it help to interrupt his first day of preproduction meetings? She knew firsthand how hectic that could be.
    They walked to the car. Michelle wished she had brought her cane, but at least she had Tyler to lean on. If only he didn’t walk so quickly. She watched him take another sugary bite. It was satisfying to watch him eat—must be the Jewish mother in her. She hoped he didn’t have to go back to school anytime soon. “Are you on Spring Break?”
    â€œNot for a couple of weeks. But this is an excused absence. The attendance lady loves me.”
    Who wouldn’t? Michelle thought. Then she realized that Nikki’s school had an attendance office, too. If she could find out the first day Nikki missed school, Detective Alvarez might have a better chance of tracking down that file from the report log. Michelle was reluctant to get her son more involved, but she didn’t see a way around it.
    She couldn’t imagine how hard the whole thing must have been for him. Aside from the usual problems of puberty, with his voice breaking up and his face breaking out, his entire life had been turned upside down. One day, he was playing baseball and all he wanted to do was pitch. The next day, his pitching coach was dead, his mother was gravely injured, his sister