“Something wrong with the hot cakes, Danny?” Jeanette asked, refilling Spaulding’s mug.
“No, just not that hungry this morning. I’ve been off my feed lately, not sure why.”
“You work too hard, that’s why. You need to relax more.”
Spaulding looked up at her, catching the hint.
“If only I had someone to relax with,” he joked. Or maybe, wasn’t joking. She returned his smile and gestured at him with the coffee pot.
“Now, Danny, you can’t…” Jeanette looked away as if called. “Oh dear, what’s that boy doing out there? That doesn’t look safe.”
Spaulding put down his newspaper and turned in the booth. He craned his neck around and caught a glimpse of a teenage boy with shaggy brown hair walking slowly along the shoulder of the busy road outside the diner. Cars and trucks whizzed by as he ambled along, staring up into the sky, oblivious to the traffic. Jeanette put the coffee pot down and straightened, rubbing her hands along the front of her apron. Before he could say anything, Jeanette was out the door, hurrying across the pavement toward the boy. Spaulding walked to the window to get a better view.
Jeanette stood in front of the boy, talking to him, but he stared away. She reached down and held both his hands, leaning in close. The boy didn’t answer, and she looked around, up and down the road, then back to the diner. She hesitated, then spoke again to him, while gently turning him and leading him by the arm toward the entrance. The boy turned stiffly but allowed himself to be lead. Jeanette kept talking to him as they walked. Spaulding met them, opening the door.
“…you can have something to eat while we call your folks and get you a ride. Do you go to the McJames School? Is that where you are? Look, and here’s Sheriff Spaulding. He’s going to help us, too. He’s a very nice man, and he’s going to help you.” Jeanette kept up a soothing banter in a hushed voice, gently steering the boy to a booth. Spaulding followed them, then picked up his tablet and sat down across from the boy.
“What’s your name, son?” The boy stared at a spot on the table, kneading his fingers and pulling on his hands.
“It doesn’t look like he talks much, Danny. I bet he’s from the school.”
“Well, let’s give them a call.” He pulled up the number. After several rings, it went to message and he broke the connection.
“Too early, no one there yet.”
“Hold on, I know one of the teaching assistants. Let me try her.” Jeanette pulled out her device.
“Hey, Toni, it’s Jeanette. I know, I’m sorry, I figured you’d be getting ready for work. Hey, we’ve got a boy here, looks like he might be from the school…Oh, I didn’t think to look. Hold on.” She pulled the phone away from her face and looked at Spaulding. “Check him for a chip. It’s usually on the forearm.”
The boy wore a short-sleeved t-shirt, and Spaulding reached over and ran his fingers over both forearms, then up around the neck. The boy flinched and let out a soft, low moan. After a moment’s hesitation, Spaulding reached up under the shirt and felt under both arms along the flanks, in the usual spots for embedded ID chips, but the skin was smooth and featureless. He looked at Jeanette and shook his head.
“No, he doesn’t have one, Toni…Yeah, I know, but he’s, …y’know…Light brown hair, skinny, brown eyes…Yeah… Oh, could you?… Okay, call me right back.”
Jeanette put the phone back in her apron. “She’s going to call the administrator and make sure no one is missing.”
During the conversation, the boy started playing with the sugar packets, arranging them in small piles, stacking, moving, and restacking them. Spaulding and Jeanette watched, eyes flicking to each other and back to the boy’s hands. In short order, the phone rang.
“Hey…Oh, okay… Yeah, I bet you’re right. Danny Spaulding is here with me. I’ll tell him. Maybe he can do something to track her down…umm, no, that’s okay, I’ll call you if I do. Danny can bring him over if need be…yeah, I will. Thanks, Toni, you’re a sweetheart…I will. Bye.” She replaced the phone in her pocket. “No one is missing from the school, but she thinks he might be a new student they’re expecting today, coming in with his sister.”
“Name?”
“Adam Shank.”
***
Michelle woke with a start at the trilling from her device. She opened her eyes and blinked, bleary from the deep sleep she’d sunk into, nestled into Adam’s jacket and swathed in the thick cotton of the sweatshirt. The sun was high and the water sparkled, and Adam was nowhere in sight.
She jumped up in a panic.
“Adam! Adam!” she yelled, turning in circles, searching the water, the shoreline, the trees and brush, mind racing to the worst scenarios. Her device chirped, insistent. She fumbled for it while continuing her search. The number was unfamiliar, and she tapped the screen in irritation.
“What? Tink?”
“Authenticate.”
“Michelle Shank, iridescent baseball. What is it, Tink?”
“You have an urgent call from a Sheriff Daniel Spaulding of the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office in Rigby, Idaho. His present location is Rexburg, Idaho. Did you arrive safely?”
“Y-yes. I lost Adam. Do you think….”
“I recommend you take the call.”
“Okay.” Tinkerbell made the connection and a gravelly male voice spoke.
“Michelle Shank?” Michelle’s eyes narrowed and she stood still on the pathway.
“Speaking.”
“This is Jefferson County Sheriff Danny Spaulding. I just want to let you know, I’ve got your brother with me, and he’s fine. He must have gotten lost or something, but he’s okay, nothing wrong. We’re sitting at the Daisy Diner in Rexburg. Are you nearby? I’m not picking you up. You’re off net?”
Michelle’s heart pounded, warring emotions surging through her body, the familiar simultaneous relief and anger, at Adam and herself, fear of this stranger holding her brother, and shame for losing him. She took a deep breath.
“Oh, thank god. I…I don’t know if I’m nearby. I’m at a park.” She spun around looking for a sign. “Nature Park? Where are you?”
“I just sent you my location. It’s not far. Just drive on over here, and we’ll have some breakfast.”
A few minutes later, she pushed through the door of the diner and immediately saw Adam sitting in a booth with an older man in a police uniform. A buxom woman in a pale yellow uniform straightened up from a booth on the other side, holding a coffee pot, and gave her a relieved smile. Michelle instantly recognized an ally and friend.
The cop had close cropped salt and pepper hair, a short mustache, dark eyes and brows, studying her as she approached, his smile just enough out of sync with the careful squint in his eyes to signal he was no fool.
The sheriff stood up and extended his hand which Michelle rushed past. Adam’s only acknowledgement of her arrival was a subtle increase in the activity of his hands with the sugar packets.
Michelle slid into the booth and put her arm around Adam’s neck, pulling his forehead to her lips. She held it there for a moment with her eyes closed, then heaved a sigh and turned to the man and woman watching her. The Sheriff sat back down in the booth.
“Hi, I’m Michelle Shank.” She reached across the table to the sheriff, and they shook hands. His grip was warm and firm and lingered a beat longer than Michelle expected.
“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Shank. Sheriff Dan Spaulding. Welcome to Rexburg. Sorry your visit got off to a rocky start.”
Michelle looked at Adam.
“Where did you find him?”
The sheriff jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the highway.
“He was just walking down the road like he was going somewhere. Jeanette over there got him to come on in and sit down.” He gestured to the waitress who smiled again and walked over, free hand extended.
“Hi.”
Michelle reached out and took her hand.
“Thank you so much for helping him. I’m so embarrassed. We drove all night and the school wasn’t open, so I needed to keep him calm. He loves trees and water. We were sitting at the park and I must have fallen asleep. He’s not usually much of a wanderer, but I guess it’s a new place. I don’t know. Thank you, though.”
The waitress gave her hand a squeeze, and her eyes sparkled and brimmed sympathetically.
“Oh, honey, it’s no trouble. He’s a sweet boy. He was just scaring me walking so close to the highway.” Michelle looked out to the road just as a semi roared past.
“Oh my god…” She looked back to the waitress, struggling for words. She squeezed Michelle’s hand, and reflexively Michelle stood up and gave her a hug, which the waitress reciprocated with one arm, holding the coffee pot away.
“Thank you,” Michelle whispered hoarsely, trying not to cry.
“You’re welcome, sweety,” she murmured into Michelle’s shoulder, rubbing her back. They separated, dabbing at their eyes. She turned to Spaulding.
“How did you find me?”
“Just good police work. Actually, it was pretty easy. Jeannete here figured you might be in town to visit the school, so she checked with them, then they gave me your name and info. Pretty straightforward.”
“Oh.” So much for trying to conceal her presence out here.
“So, you’re off net?” the sheriff inquired again, polite but persistent.
“Yes, it’s a habit from work. I’m a journalist. Can’t tip off the competition.”
“Licensed?”
Michelle nodded, trying hard not to seem wary. The sheriff nodded back.
The Media Quality and Responsibility Act of almost a decade ago revolutionized the journalism profession. No longer could any jackass set up a web page and use generative AI to start publishing whatever they wanted, and then hide behind the label “journalist”. Now there was credentialing, licensing, regulations. The higher standards came with better immunity, access, a badge that opened doors and commanded respect, but keeping that status required scrupulous research, integrity, and discipline. The loss of your license was professional death, sometimes literal as well. More than one failed journalist succumbed, by their own hand or at the hands of others, unable to survive without that protection. The credential provoked both fear and respect.
“Mmm-hmmm….so, why no chip for your brother? They really come in handy in situations like this.” Michelle looked at Adam trying to formulate a concise response that wouldn’t sound suspicious.
“We just haven’t needed one before. Back in Chicago, everyone in the neighborhood knew him. His school kept a close eye on him and he didn’t really wander. It just never came up.”
Left unsaid were her parents’ strong beliefs about technology and privacy. The political turmoil and unrest of recent times made the issues of surveillance and government power fraught topics of conversation with strangers, especially here in the Compact States.
“What kind of journalist?”
“Freelance, but I’ve got a long-term contract with the Tribcorp. I work out of Chicago.”
“So what’s your interest in our little town?”
Michelle nodded toward Adam.
“We’re here for him. He’s starting at the McJames school.”
Michelle flushed, seeing the Sherriff’s skepticism, calculation, and scrutiny.
“Mmmm…” the sheriff nodded. “You think he was headed there?” For Michelle, the discrepancy between his eyes and the rest of his expression was jarring. Her mouth hung open for a moment while she looked back and forth between the policeman and Adam.
“I, uh, he never…I mean, we drove by the school when we first got here, but he was asleep. There’s no way he…” She stammered to a stop, trying to figure out if Adam actually was walking to the school or was just wandering.
The Sherriff changed the subject. “You sure seem awful young to be licensed and too nice to be in that business.” Spaulding smiled, but Michelle saw the edge. She only returned the smile. “Well, why don’t you two get some breakfast? What time are you due at the school?”
Michelle looked at the old-fashioned wall clock with the circular Castrol logo.
“Not until nine.”
“Jen here will take good care of you. Put them on my tab, Peach. I don’t want to get on her bad side. You know the kind of trouble these news people can get us into.” Spaulding gave a friendly wink as he turned to leave and tipped his head at Adam. “And better keep a close eye on him.”
Michelle smiled weakly and turned to the menu.
Robert Wack 