When Cece and I were thirteen and firmly settled into my mom’s new family routine of therapy and feelings talks, we hatched a plan together. We were going to get jobs at the age of sixteen (or sooner should the child labor laws ever change in our favor) and save every penny we earned. The day I turned eighteen, since I’m younger than her, would be the day we moved out and got our own place. We’d be free of my mom’s stupid rules, free of therapy, and free to be ourselves.
When Thomas overheard us talking about our plan one morning while we were getting dressed for our bi-monthly therapy session, he popped into my bedroom and stared at us.
“You know there’s more to moving out than just rent, right?” he’d said.
“Obviously. We’re not stupid,” Cece said while she wrapped a strand of her red hair around my curling iron.
But I guess I was stupid, because I wasn’t sure what he meant. Of course there would be food and stuff, but was I missing anything? “What do you mean?” I asked.
Thomas listed off things on his fingers. “There’s rent, electricity, cell phone, cable TV if you want it, internet. Some places make you pay for water or trash services, but some apartments include that in the rent price. Then you have a car and car insurance and gas, and like health insurance and stuff. Not to mention food, renter’s insurance, emergency money…it’s a lot to remember. I mean, Uncle Kenneth pays for me to be on their car insurance, but that won’t last forever. And if I ever get my own car, I’d probably have to pay for it myself.”
“How are you so smart?” Cece asked, looking at him in my vanity mirror. “Are you planning to move out before we do? Because that’s so not fair.”
He shrugged. “I could move in with you guys. We’d split the rent and bills three ways so it’d be cheaper on everyone.”
Cece and I both scoffed at the idea. “Not happening,” I said. “When we’re eighteen, we’ll have boyfriends and we won’t want you in the way.”
“But I’d be twenty-one by then and could buy you guys beer,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.
Cece rolled her eyes. “We are classy women, Thomas. We don’t drink.”
“Sure,” he said, laughing. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
We had no way of knowing back then, but he would go missing two weeks later. I wish I had been nicer to him. I wish I’d told him he could come live with us in our apartment. Maybe we could have met together in the mornings to hash out or plan for moving out on our own. Maybe I’d have been more likely to wake him up on time that morning so he wouldn’t miss the bus.
Maybe our plan would still be on, and we’d be looking at apartments together, as a trio. As a family.
“Guess we should walk the perimeter,” Cece says, pulling me back to the real world. “This is a big freaking place, but that Jeep is somewhere.”
The sun shines brightly in the sky, heating up the asphalt enough to make me want to call back the Uber driver and pay him to drive us around the parking lot with his AC on full blast. I fan myself with my hand, but Cece doesn’t seem to mind the heat. Beside me, Ezra wipes sweat from his brow. It’s at least a hundred degrees out here and we’re looking for a dead guy with a red Jeep.
The Piney Woods apartments are made up of ten buildings that each have twelve units. There’s a courtyard in the middle of the grounds, with two pools and a big building called the Resident’s Lounge. Since we’re standing near the office, we go left, toward building one.
The thing about walking is that our eyes can see much farther than we’ve walked. Before we’re even at building two, it’s obvious there’s no red Jeep here. In fact, I can see all the way down for several buildings until the parking lot stops and turns around a corner. Many cars are parked here, but none of them are the one we’re looking for. Still, Cece continues on, leading the way down the cracked sidewalk and toward a shady area where the trees have overgrown the stairwells that divide the downstairs from the upstairs. The shade is a much needed relief from the summer sun. We round the corner and check out building six’s parking lot which is also—not surprisingly—lacking red Jeeps.
Cece picks up the pace, stepping over a stranded Frisbee on the sidewalk. Ezra nudges me with his elbow. “Do you know what we should say when we don’t find it?” he whispers.
“I was hoping you’d handle that part,” I whisper back. “You’re the smooth talker here.”
We round the corner of the parking lot and walk past a line of dumpsters that smell exactly like what days of old garbage usually smells like. I cover my nose with my shirt. At the end of the dumpsters, the parked cars begin again, and of course, there’s no Jeep. I don’t even know why I’m letting my hopes get as high as they are.
“Hey, Cece?” Ezra says, jogging a little to catch up with her. “Have you considered what you’ll do if the guy who owns this car is just some Jeep nerd who loves video games?”
She stops suddenly, turning on her heel to face us. “Ezra, I am not a child. I know that Santa Claus isn’t real. I know magic doesn’t exist and I know that life is hard and grim and fifty people die each day from malaria.” Somewhere, a door closes and she turns toward the sound, only to look back at us when a woman and her toddler leave an apartment nearby. “If this lead doesn’t take me to Thomas, I’ll deal. I can handle disappointment. I’ve had a lot of it in my life. So stop talking to me with the kid gloves, okay?”
Before we can say anything, she’s turned back around and walking again. Ezra gives me an uncertain look, then takes my hand while we follow along behind her.
Soon, my pits are damp, my hairline is dripping with sweat, and we’ve circled the entire apartment complex. We’re back at where we started, and the air feels suffocatingly hot, but I’m guessing that’s just the guilt encircling me like a boa constrictor, cutting off all possibilities that Thomas still might be alive.
Cece lets out her breath in a huff, concentrating the air to blow wisps of her bangs out of her face. “At least we got some exercise,” she says.
“What do you want to do?” I ask her. I feel like she needs to be the one to call for an Uber ride back to the bus stop. This needs to be her decision.
She checks the time on her cell phone. “It’s only a little after two. Most people work until five, right? He’s probably just not home.”
“So we wait,” Ezra says.
Cece shakes her head which gives me two seconds of hope that maybe we’ll get out of here without drama. Then she says, “Let’s go talk to the office,” and ruins it.
The office is a small room with an overbearing cinnamon candle scent in the air. The air conditioning is cold and feels great on my skin as it sends little goosebumps down my arms. There’s only one desk, and it’s empty. A handmade sign tells us that whoever works here is off to lunch until 3 p.m. and that’s all the information Cece needs. She looks around, her eyes narrowed conspiratorially. “You see any security cameras?”
The room is about the size of my bedroom at home, with a desk, a water cooler and a few chairs lined up against the wall. There’s a shelf of brochures for businesses around town, but no security cameras. The only door is behind us.
Cece smirks. “Keep watch, okay?”
“What exactly are you planning—” I start, but she dashes behind the desk and wiggles the computer mouse. The screensaver disappears and goes straight to the desk top.
“Oh thank you, Universe,” she says, closing her eyes briefly as she gazes up at the ceiling. “Let’s find the resident list.”
“Dammit, Cece. We can’t do this,” I say, rushing over to her.
“I’ll keep watch,” Ezra says, using his body to block the door. The top half of the door is made of decorative glass, so we’ll know if anyone’s coming.
“Are we seriously doing this?” I say, looking from Cece to Ezra.
“We’ve made it this far,” Ezra says. “Might as well try everything we can before we head home.”
“Exactly,” Cece says, leaning forward in someone else’s office chair while she clicks on software icons to find what she’s looking for. Eventually, she does.
There are one hundred and four residents in this complex. Two are late on their rent so their names show up in red. I stand behind Cece, watching her navigate the screen. Sorting by alphabetical order, she scrolls down to the N’s, but there’s no Thomas Novak registered here. There aren’t any residents with the name Thomas at all.
“Go to Wheatley,” I say.
The W’s come up empty as well.
“It’s fine,” Cece says, swiveling around in her chair. “It’s fine.” She looks at me like she’s trying to convince me not to worry instead of the other way around. “He probably has roommates and his name isn’t on the lease, which makes sense because for some reason he’s either forgotten his name or—”
She focuses on the candy dish at the end of the desk. “Or he’s just not on the lease. Let’s get out of here,” she says, closing the windows she’d opened on the computer.
Back outside, the heat rolls over us. “What’s the game plan?” Ezra asks as we walk back into the parking lot.
Cece squats down and sits on the curb over the shiny red paint that makes this area a fire zone. She rests her chin in her hands. “He’s probably just at work,” she says. “We’re going to wait.”