Driftwood Bay (Hope Harbor #5) - Irene Hannon Page 0,95
he went to heaven. Maybe until she was a grown-up.
“Molly?” Elisa sounded like she was going to cry again.
“Yes?”
“I miss my Teta.”
She kind of missed Uncle Logan too. He was even better at reading bedtime stories than Nana, especially when he used funny voices for some of the people.
And that night he’d laid down with her when he was sad and lonesome had made her feel special. Like she was important to him.
Molly frowned.
Would he be sad if she was gone?
Would he be more lonesome than before?
Maybe he was used to her now. Maybe he needed her to help him be happy.
Maybe . . . maybe he even loved her.
“Molly.” A shiver ran through Elisa. “I cold.”
“Me too.”
A crack of thunder boomed through the night, and she cringed as rain began to beat against the roof.
“We go home.” Elisa edged closer. It wasn’t a question anymore.
“It’s dark.”
“We go that way.” She pointed in the direction they’d come.
Molly bit her lip.
That might work.
If they got back to the big road over the hill, across the creek, and followed it, they should be able to find their way back. They’d stayed by that road after they turned off Uncle Logan’s street.
But they’d have to be careful if they saw any strangers. Nana and Uncle Logan had told her even people who seemed nice could be bad.
“’Kay. But let’s wait for the rain to stop.”
“I don’t want to stay here all night.”
“The rain might be done soon.”
But walking home in the dark would be very scary.
And what if they got lost?
What if they never got home?
Molly tried not to cry.
Yet as another crack of thunder shook the walls of the shed behind her back, she couldn’t stop the tears that trailed down her cheeks.
Running away had been a big mistake.
A slash of lightning illuminated the entrance to the high school gym and rain began to pummel the roof as Jeannette dashed inside to get her next search assignment, Roark on her heels.
They joined a small group gathered around Jim Gleason, who was on the phone.
“Got it. I’ll pass that along.” He slid the phone back into its holster. “Listen up, folks. That was the chief. The dog is following a trail, and she wants to pursue that approach for the remainder of the night. Since it’s easy to miss an important clue in the dark and rain, she’s suspending the volunteer search until further notice—probably first light. If you’d like to be on the call list should we have to resume, put a check mark next to your name on the sign-up sheet over there.” He motioned toward a table against the wall.
Roark headed that direction, as did many of the others who’d returned to the command center after completing their grid, while Jim fielded questions from a Coos Bay news crew.
Jeannette scanned the crowd, spotting several familiar faces. Tracy and her husband, Michael, from the cranberry farm. Luis Dominguez. BJ, still dressed in her construction attire, and her husband, Eric. Lexie’s husband, Adam.
So many people in the town had turned out to help. Marci and Ben and the two clergymen had also been on the volunteer list, but they must be out working their grids.
Charley walked in the door, lifted a hand in greeting, and crossed to her. “Any updates?”
She repeated what Jim had said. “I understand the logic behind the decision to wait until morning to continue, but it’s not sitting well.”
“I know what you mean. When people we care about are hurting or in need, we want to help in any way we can. And I can see that you care deeply about Molly—and Logan.”
She squinted at him.
Apparently the feelings she’d only acknowledged to herself a handful of hours ago were obvious to others.
Or at least to Charley.
“I may ask Jim if there’s anything else I can do until the search resumes.” She glanced toward the officer.
“Or you could call Logan, see if he could use some moral support.”
“Charley! Can I see you for a minute?” Jim called from across the room where the map with the search grids was displayed on a large board.
“A few prayers wouldn’t hurt, either.” Charley touched her arm and walked away.
Jeannette hesitated.
She could sign up to help with the search in the morning—or she could call Logan, as Charley had suggested, and offer him a hand to hold, an empathetic ear, a reassuring touch.