Free Songs for the Missing by Stewart O’Nan Page A

Another clung to the rounded top of a mailbox.
    “That can’t be legal,” Hinch said.
    Nina took a new flyer and fixed it next to the old one, and he didn’t argue with her.
    They matched Tuffy all the way into the park, wrapping one around the pole of each basketball hoop, taping another to the side of the dry water fountain. Where she could, Nina put Kim above the cat, as if to reestablish the natural order, but as they passed from the glare into shadow again she noticed she was glancing down driveways and peering under cars, checking along hedges, ready to dial the number on the flyer. Sometimes her father left the back gate open and their dogs wandered out—dangerous, considering how fast their road was—but they weren’t adventurous. When Nina opened the front door they’d be waiting there. Cats were different, but still, especially now, she couldn’t help but sympathize. Her first reaction—that she would trade a million Tuffys to have Kim back—turned into a grudging acceptance that other people were hurting too, and then, out of desperation more than anything, bloomed into a childish equation: Maybe if she found Tuffy, someone would find Kim.
    On Laurel a jungle of ivy had taken over one place, swamping tree trunks, a coachlight, the whole yard.
    Hinch made kissing sounds. “Here, Tuffy. Here, kitty kitty kitty.”
    She gave him a skeptical look.
    “It says he knows his name.”
    Spring Street, Willow, Townsend down at the bottom of the hill. Holding the flyer up again and again, she couldn’t avoid memorizing it. IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION CONCERNING THIS CASE, PLEASE CALL THE ASHTABULA COUNTY SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT.
    The information she had might be useless, since it was at least three months old. She hoped so. Kim had said it was a one-time thing, and seemed more embarrassed than concerned, as if she was sorry she hadn’t thought of the consequences. Nina told her not to worry, and that was the last they spoke of it. If she’d continued to see him, Nina didn’t know. She and Nina had practically spent the last month together, and she didn’t think so.
    J.P. didn’t know, she knew that much.
    The problem was that everything was connected. One lie covered another, which covered a third, which rested against a fourth. It all went back to Kingsville being so goddamn small.
    They’d reached the last street, half a block long. On the far side shotgun shacks with rusty mailboxes and gardens for front yards backed up to the creek. There were only two poles. Both had a Tuffy poster.
    It was hot and the walk up the hill was long.
    “How many we got left?” Hinch asked.
    She showed him the inch-thick stack. On top, looking up at her, Kim’s face was a question. What had Kim said? “It was definitely a mistake.” That could have meant anything, or nothing. It wasn’t the first time she’d picked the wrong guy.
    Nina could see herself calling from the pay phone at the edge of the lot of the Conoco, the way she’d seen hundreds of people do, leaning out of their cars to punch the buttons.
    “How do you spell that?” the cop would say.
    She wouldn’t even guess, because she’d be wrong. She had his address and his phone, but they could look that up. “Everyone just calls him Wooze.”
    Or not, she thought. Just because it was true didn’t mean it was useful, and when it came to him Nina had her own secrets to keep. They all did. The detective would find out in time, she was as sure of that as Hinch was convinced he wouldn’t. Could telling him now help, or would it just fuck things up worse? As with any big decision, she needed to discuss it with Kim.

Baby Steps
    There was a logical order to their panic, Fran thought. Every failure led to the next step.
    The police weren’t doing anything, so they appealed to the media. She was lunch buddies with Jocelyn, who handled the hospital’s PR. Together they fashioned a cover letter, saying Fran would be available for interviews, and faxed it with