“You know, I only have the names of people I’ve noticed that are missing. There could be more,” I tell Bam, flipping a couple of pages.
“And not everyone is going to be quick to report a person missing around here.”
I nod in agreement. “But their school will still mark those absences.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“We need to get into the school system and see. I’ll do my school, and can you do yours?” That will be a good start.
“We’ll do them together.” My fork pauses, almost to my mouth.
“Like you’re going to come to my school?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
I debate this. “One of us could distract a teacher while the other gets the information.”
“We could do it that way.”
“You don’t have to knock people’s heads together to get information.”
“You say that now until you can’t get it.”
“Fair point.” I might be okay with it if push comes to shove. “Let’s try my way first.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll stay here tonight, and then we’ll hit your school first.”
“Okay, then—” I pause. “Did you say you’re going to stay here?”
“I guess I could come back in the morning.” He shrugs.
“Which do you think would be better?”
“If I stay,” he says without hesitation.
“Okay,” I agree. His brows lift. I don’t think he thought I was going to agree so easily, but this house is lonely. I know he lives alone too.
“Okay? That easy?”
“Yep.” I shove a giant bite into my mouth.
I know I shouldn’t get used to having Bam around, but what’s the harm in one night?
Chapter Seven
BAM
The whole grain spaghetti had a weird feel in my mouth, but after the first few bites, I got used to it. “What about this pasta made with chickpeas? You ever have that?”
One of the internet sites suggested it as an alternative.
“Too expensive. I can buy three boxes of the whole grain that will make twelve servings for as much as one serving of those wheat alternative pastas. Besides, so long as I don’t have much more than this”—she tips her plate toward me—“I’m good. I’ve been diabetic since I was born, so I know what my body can take.”
“You hardly ate any of your french fries,” I say, thinking back to her plate at the diner.
“I love them, but I can only eat a couple,” she admits. “I don’t know why all the delicious things in the world are bad for me, but that’s just how the rock tumbles.”
I can fight a lot of things for Josie, but her pancreas is probably not one of them. Starting tonight, I’m going to learn everything I can to make sure that she’s getting the right food and that I’m not accidentally poisoning her or some shit like that.
