Free Blood Will Tell by April Henry Page B

was biting his lip so hard that it had turned white.
    Alexis was the one who broke the terrible spell. She hurried up to the woman and dropped to her knees in front of her. Speaking in a low but urgent voice, she wrapped her arms around the older woman.
    Nick couldn’t believe it. Alexis always held herself back. Even though she was friends with him and Ruby, she never shared anything personal. She didn’t even like getting her hands dirty, which was pretty ironic for a SAR volunteer. But here she was, calmly beholding naked grief and pain. And unlike the rest of them, she had moved toward it. Embraced it.
    What kind of girl was Alexis Frost that she could do that? Take the agony of an adult and let it fall on her own slender shoulders?
    Whatever Alexis was murmuring in the older woman’s ear, it was enough that the woman was able to pull herself together. First the screams were replaced by ragged breaths. Then the woman wiped her face on her sleeve. Finally, Alexis and one of the cops helped her get to her feet. She was quiet now, her face red and wet and raw. Half supporting her, the cop led her away.
    The onlookers who had gathered along the crime scene tape began to talk again, but their voices were subdued now, their expressions more serious. It was no longer such a spectator sport.
    Mitchell broke the quiet by clapping his hands and calling the searchers back in.
    â€œI’ve got to go, Kyle.”
    Pulling his phone from his pocket, his brother checked the time and swore. “And I’ve got to bounce.”
    Nick ducked back under the two crime scene tapes and joined the others. Mitchell got them all lined up in their places again, just past the blackberry bush where Alexis had found the mitten. Mitchell worked from behind the line, not ahead, so that he wouldn’t leave footprints or disturb evidence.
    As he took his spot, Nick eyed the area they would be searching next. It sloped down toward the spot where the girl’s body had been found. At the bottom was a small creek, about six inches wide. Parallel marks on either side showed how the width varied with the weather. This week had been mostly dry.
    As he knelt, waiting for everyone to get into position, Nick looked up at the sky. It was bright blue except for a single white contrail. Portland didn’t have many clear, cold days. If he had gone to school today, he might have been tempted to wear shorts, flip-flops, and sunglasses, just for the double takes and the laughs. It was doable if you topped it with a down jacket (which you stuffed in your locker as soon as you got to school) and didn’t have to wait too long for the bus.
    The air was sharp in his nose, and the trees were nearly bare. Thanksgiving was almost here. After the break, everyone else would come back to school complaining about having to see their boring aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents. They would talk about being stuck at the kids’ table when they were practically adults, but they would also complain about having to make small talk with ancient relatives, about being forced to choke down brussels sprouts or baked squash. At Nick’s house, like always, it would just be the three of them: Nick, Kyle, and their mom.
    A lot of years, they just ate Thanksgiving at restaurants. His mom’s relatives lived back east. At Christmas and birthdays, her parents sent him and his brother each a twenty-dollar bill and a card bearing nothing more than a signature. Nick couldn’t even remember getting a present or a card from his mom’s sister. He knew they didn’t get along, for whatever reason. His dad had been an only child, and his parents were dead now, too. Nick realized he didn’t even know if he had aunts and uncles on that side.
    If his dad had lived, Thanksgiving might have been different. Everything might have been different.
    The team started forward, with occasional pauses when people found broken glass and bits of plastic and paper