Towering

didn’t have a knife.
    Still, it could be in his pocket. I put my right foot over the gas, just in case. I shivered. The air was cold now.
    “Yeah, do you live here?” I asked.
    “That, I do. Are you lost? Need directions back to the Northway?”
    I relaxed a little more. Zombies didn’t usually offer directions back to the Northway. They just ate your brains.
    “Um, no. I’m okay. But do you know anything about this place?”
    “The Red Fox? Sure, I’m the owner. At least, until it burned to the ground—Poof! One second it was there, the next gone. I didn’t have money to fix it up. It was named after me, Henry Fox. I used to have red hair.” He flipped up the Yankees cap to show his balding scalp. “Back when I had hair. But you won’t find much around here except ashes and memories. There’s Mahoney’s about a mile down Route Eight if you’re looking for someplace to watch the bowl games. In fact, I was headed there myself.”
    “Oh, thanks. No, I was just wondering. If you’re the owner, maybe you know a guy that used to work there. His name was Zach, played in a band there. It would have been about seventeen or eighteen years ago.”
    The old man looked confused. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Then, a glimmer of recognition filled his eyes. “I do remember Zach. Nice kid. But that was a long time ago. You couldn’t have known him.”
    “No, I . . . that is, my mother knew him. From school. She’s on the reunion committee and trying to find people. Zach hasn’t been to the Facebook page.” I knew as I said it that the old guy had never heard of Facebook, but that was okay. Harmless babbling was okay. “Do you know any of his relatives? Does he still have family in Gatskill?”
    “Who’s your mama? I know most people in these parts.”
    “Emily Hill.”
    “Emily Hill . . .” He got a strange look on his face, then smiled. “Nope, don’t know her.”
    “It’s okay. She hasn’t been here in a long time. I’m staying with an old friend of hers, just for the Christmas holiday.”
    I didn’t know what made me lie except, in that second, I realized that not a single car had come down the road in the time we’d been talking. And something about his questions was making me nervous.
    He asked another one. “Who you staying with?”
    Again, I lied. “Astrid. Astrid Brewer. She’s my cousin.”
    “I thought you said she was a friend.”
    “Well, she’s like a cousin because we’re such close friends. I need to get back soon, for dinner. So do you know anything about Zach?”
    The old man shook his head. “No, can’t say we’ve kept in touch. But he was friends with my brother, Carl. Maybe he would know something. If you give me a phone number, I could call if he does.”
    “Great.” I was just looking for a way out of there. I found the receipt from the hardware store and wrote down my essentially worthless cell phone number. “Leave a message if I don’t answer.”
    “I’ll do that. Hey, I’ll be seeing Carl tonight at Mahoney’s. Sure you don’t want to come?”
    Poor old guy. He probably just wanted companionship, and here I was, treating him like an ax murderer. But I shook my head. I was entertaining enough old people already. “Nah, I gotta get back. Thanks, though.” I handed him the paper.
    He took it. “I’ll be sure and ask.”
    “Yeah, thanks. See you around.”
    I waited, as politely as possible, for him to back away. Then, without bothering to put the window up, I tore out of there.
    I went to the library and spent the next hour on old microfilms of the town’s newspaper. There was nothing about Danielle’s disappearance, not anywhere. They weren’t treating this as a cold case, but as no case at all. The police obviously assumed she’d run away.
    I went back home, had dinner, and went to bed. Right before I turned in, I noticed it had begun to snow again.

Rachel
    He didn’t come. I knew the rain would make it too difficult for him. Yet, somehow, I hoped he would come anyway. Now, Mama has left, and today is over. And, with it, any chance of seeing him. Perhaps I imagined him. It would not be impossible.
    When I was a little girl, I imagined a playmate for myself, a little girl with red hair and freckles. Her name was Sarah, and she liked all the same things I liked, peanut butter sandwiches and playing with dolls. When we had tea parties, she would always let me have the last cookie. I taught her songs, and we danced and played