Free Things We Didn't Say by Kristina Riggle

side wall of the store. With my free hand I wipe under my lashes, flicking the damp off my fingers.
    The sun is already dipping low in the November sky. Where is Dylan going to spend the cold night?
    I grind my cigarette out on the outside of the car door and flick it down into the parking lot as my phone rings. It’s Mom.
    “Hi.” Suddenly so tired the word comes out more breath than speech.
    “You okay?”
    “Just a headache.”
    “Have some tea, that always helps. Or Motrin, do you have Motrin?”
    “Yes, Mom, I have Motrin. What’s going on?”
    “Just wanted to hear your voice. Wanda’s darling little baby is so adorable, and I forgot how good that baby smell is.”
    “That’s nice, Mom.”
    “What is it, Edna?”
    “I’m just distracted. I had to run an errand and I have to get back to the house.”
    “Well. I’ll let you go then. Sorry to have bothered you.” She sounds affronted. I can almost picture her shrinking back into her chair.
    “No, it’s not that, just . . .”
    “No, no, I understand. You’ve got a busy life with all those kids, don’t you? I’ll just go watch some TV.”
    She gets off the line before I have a chance to rally myself to be talkative. As her one remaining child I should be able to do this for her, just talk on the phone, is that so hard?
    I heave myself out of the car to go get the milk, considering that maybe the mundane chores of housekeeping are all I can manage, and perhaps I should leave the emotional work of being a family to someone else, someone equal to the task.

Chapter 8
Jewel
    B ye, Mrs. Morton,” I say, hopping out of her great big car with my backpack. I can’t wait to tell Dad about school today. We studied alligators, which are as old as dinosaurs. I didn’t even know that. And I know a lot about dinosaurs.
    “Bye, Jewel,” Mrs. Morton says. “Have a nice night.”
    Something’s weird, though. I can tell right away. Something about the house. In this book I read there’s a whole part about trusting your gut, and right now my gut says, “Uh-oh.”
    My mom is here? She gives me a hard hug, and her belt buckle presses into my chest. After she lets go I see Angel behind her, who’s supposed to be at play practice, and Dad’s home early, too.
    “Dad? What’s going on?”
    “Come here, honey, there’s something I have to tell you. Let’s talk upstairs.”
    Mom turns to Dad. “What’s wrong with talking right here? With both her parents?”
    My stomach is pinching me. That’s how it feels when something is going wrong. I wonder where Casey is.
    “What, Dad?” My dad sits me down on the sofa, and my mom sits on the other side. “Did my other grandma die?”
    “No, J.,” says my mom. “Dylan’s missing.”
    “What?”
    My dad looks over the top of my head, giving my mom his mean-face look. “Try not to worry, Jewel. He skipped school today and didn’t take his phone, that’s all. We’re having trouble tracking him down.”
    “That’s the same as missing, Dad. I’m not an ignoramus.”
    I just learned that word. I like the sound of it.
    “But there’s missing and then there’s missing , like being on the news and with the police looking for him. He’s not missing. ”
    “Yet,” says my mom.
    I look up at her and her arms are folded, but her whole body is jiggling, like she’s on one of those massage chairs in the mall. Uh-oh. This is one of the warning signs, like a volcano. I saw on PBS one time a special about volcanoes, and there was this machine—I forgot the name, but it was something-graph and it detected tremors before a blow. I don’t need a something-graph because I can see it right in front of me.
    “Where’s Casey?” I ask Dad.
    My mom makes a little disgusted snorty noise, and my stomach pinches harder. Angel rolls her eyes. She’s slouched in a chair, texting on her phone.
    Dad answers, “Casey had to run out for some milk. She’ll be back soon.”
    I shrug, to show I don’t really care.
    My mom