“It thee liketh not?” Gentry said, and he actually looked at me, so I knew I was acting pretty kooky.

“It’s perfect. It’s the most amazing French toast I’ve ever had.”

It was so incredible, I carried it down the hallway to Marcus, and waved it under his nose.

“If you get up now, you get French toast,” I said. “Otherwise, you’re getting oatmeal for breakfast.”

That probably wasn’t true, but it got him up. I led him down the hallway with the bite of French toast like bait on a hook.

“Look who decided to get out of bed,” Charlene said.

He ate two whole pieces without saying a word, which was a record for him. After he finished the second piece, he said, “When can I go see Mommy?”

I’d been thinking about having a second piece of French toast, too, but that killed the urge. I felt like the whole night had been a terrible dream, and I was going to have to live it again. Like Groundhog Day.

“Buddy, I don’t know.”

“But you said the police were going to bring her home. When?” He had a little mustache of syrup and powdered sugar that was so cute I would have laughed, but it was just fucking sad right then.

“They are,” I said. “They’re gonna find her and bring her home, but I don’t know when. I hope really, really soon.” All the same stuff I’d told him last night.

“Can we go to the prison and look for her?”

“She’s not there. I told you, they took her away. We’re gonna go to Grandma—”

“You don’t know she’s not there if you didn’t go look,” Marcus said. It was the kind of thing LaReigne told him when he’d lost a toy. How do you know it’s not there if you didn’t look? I guess he thought it worked for everything. He sniffled, but instead of crying, he shouted, “You don’t know! You don’t know!”

“Master Marcus, be not wroth with thine aunt,” Gentry said. I wanted to tell him to mind his own business, but I was a guest in his house. Plus Marcus stopped yelling and looked at Gentry, who took the newspaper and unfolded it. “’Tis here, writ in the paper. Canst thou read?”

“No. I can only do my alphabet.”

Marcus was still sniffling, but he got up on his knees in his chair to look at the paper. Gentry cleared his throat and started reading: “As the manhunt for escaped inmates Tague Barnwell and Conrad Ligett enters the third day, authorities have widened the scope of their search, following the discovery of hostage LaReigne Trego-Gill’s car in a rural area near the Nebraska state line.”

More than a few times I’d wondered if Gentry ever spoke modern English, but I wasn’t sure if this counted. After all, he was reading the newspaper, not making up the sentences himself.

I’d never thought of letting Marcus hear all the news, I guess because I was trying to protect him. Plus, normally, when you read him a story, he asked a hundred questions, and I didn’t have answers. He listened to Gentry read the article all the way through in the same slow, steady voice. When Gentry finished, he pushed the paper across the table so Marcus could look at it. Marcus put his finger on LaReigne’s picture, and I waited for him to ask something, anything, but he started crying.

I pulled him onto my lap and let him cry. I put my cheek down on the top of his head and took a deep breath. He always smelled like my two favorite things about grade school: recess and art.

Gentry got up and started clearing the dishes. By the time he came back with a rag to wipe off the table, Marcus had mostly calmed down, and I helped him blow his nose on a napkin.

“My lady, I am sorry if I caused him pain,” Gentry said.

“It’s okay. He needed to hear it. I don’t know.” I didn’t even know what I didn’t know. “I need to go to work. Could you take us back to my mom’s house, so I can get my car?”

“I shall take thee wheresoever thou wishest. ’Tis my honor.”

“I just need to get my car so I can go to work,” I said.

“Is it safe, my lady?”

I laughed, because LaReigne had been kidnapped by a couple of Wikkkans, and Gentry was asking if it was safe for me to go to work.

“Why doesn’t Marcus stay here for the day?” Charlene said. She was standing in the doorway wearing a professional, concerned smile. I hadn’t asked what she did for a living, but she had to be a social worker or something. I wondered whether Gentry had told her my mother was a hoarder. “Unless you’d rather he stayed with your mother.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be any trouble.” It was comfortable to fall back into that. To let someone else make decisions.

“I’m sure Elana would like the company. She has schoolwork this morning, but then we’ll probably do a craft project.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Marcus said.

“I’m sorry, buddy, but I need to take care of some things, and I don’t want you to have to wait around.” I wanted to talk him into agreeing with me, but I’d already made up my mind. Leaving him at Mom’s house was almost as reckless as taking him to Colorado. “Besides, Gentry is going with me, so I’ll be safe, and you’ll be safe here. I’ll come back this afternoon, and if you need to check on me, Mrs. Frank can help you call me, okay?”

I worried he was going to cry again, but he nodded and said, “Okay.”

At least the reporters were gone when Gentry dropped me off at Mom’s. They’d left a bunch of trash. Drink cups, burger wrappers, and cigarette butts right out in front of the house. Assholes.

I wished I could get in my car and leave, but I knew I had to go inside and see Mom. She was in her chair, watching TV, and the only way I could tell she’d gotten up at all was that her dinner trash was piled next to her chair. A loaf of cheesy garlic bread and a frozen lasagna with a two-liter of Diet Coke. She used to make that when I was younger, but for the three of us to share. Before things got so bad for her.

“Where’s Marcus?” she said. “Did you end up staying with Emma?”

“No. We stayed with Gentry’s parents. That’s where Marcus is.”

“You left him with strangers? You should have brought him with you.” Mom planted her hands on the arms of her chair, like she was going to get up, but she didn’t.

“They’re not strangers,” I said, which was basically a lie. “They’re good people. Besides, I have to go to work.”

“At a time like this?” Like there were days I didn’t have to work.

“I can’t afford to sit around and wait for something to happen.”