Finding Hannah Read Free Page B

you just say the word.”
    Father Whitmore also came into my room. When he realized I wasn’t going to talk, he told me a story about the senior high service project where Hannah and the group had volunteered to shovel snow on one of the coldest days last winter. While they were shoveling, Hannah approached an elderly woman who was having trouble getting her car out of her driveway. Without prompting, she gathered some help and they pushed her out.
    “She has such a generous heart,” Father Whitmore said. He politely told me he would be available day or night if I wanted to talk to him.
    An hour later, I was halfway up the stairs to get a glass of water when I overheard my aunts talking.
    “I’m just happy they’re finally talking about getting Dylan some help,” Aunt Jessica said as they sat on the couch. “It’s been two weeks and he still hasn’t said a word.”
    “They’re so overwhelmed,” Aunt Jamie said. “They’re pushing so hard to get the word out about Hannah.”
    “And Amy is a mess right now,” Aunt Jessica said.
    “I keep telling her it’s going to take time,” Aunt Jackie said.
    “I hate seeing her like this,” Aunt Jessica said. “She’s being really hard on herself.”
    “It doesn’t help that she’s home alone with Amy all day while everyone else is out searching,” Aunt Jamie said. “I feel so helpless. What can we do?”
    “Just give it time,” Aunt Jackie said. “They all need it.”
    All of them turned to look at me, and I retreated back to my room. I didn’t need more time. I needed my sister back.
    * * *
    On Monday at 6:30 a.m., I walked through our living room, which had now been taken over by stacks of “Help Find Hannah Beachley” items. There were flyers, posters, buttons, and T-shirts with Hannah’s info and picture. Mom and her sisters had ordered so much of each that they spilled into the kitchen and down the hallway.
    I sat at the breakfast table just as I had for the last three weeks since Hannah had been taken. This time, however, Dad’s chair was empty.
    Mom walked into the kitchen holding her purse and her car keys. “Dylan, Amy and I are heading into town. Your dad is at work. We’ll be back in a few hours.”
    Her voice had developed a new tone since Hannah disappeared. It was cold and sharp and served as another reminder of how everything had changed. I still hadn’t said a word to her or anyone else since the night Hannah had been taken.
    She stopped digging in her purse and looked at me in my hiking clothes.
    I set my spoon down and stared at my bowl in a daze.
    “You know they’ve called off the search, right?” she asked.
    I didn’t look at her. Dad had told me, but I refused to believe it.
    “Dylan, talk to me.” Mom spoke to me with a different tone, as if she felt sorry for me. “Are you okay?”
    I shook my head telling her no, I was not okay. Until Hannah was found the answer to that question would be no. I got up and took my bowl to the sink.
    Her previous tone returned. “We’ll be back soon.”
    Once they were gone, I got on my bike and pedaled as fast as I could to cover the two miles to the park before our usual 7:00 a.m. start time. I arrived to find the park completely empty. No granola bars were being handed out and no news vans were parked nearby. The park was deserted. It appeared the number of people who were still interested in finding Hannah was now down to one.
    I sat on a picnic table and developed my plan. The past three weeks had been handled all wrong. We had been searching the forest, which was fine, but we should have been searching homes, too. The police had rules to follow with their probable cause and their warrants, but I didn’t. The man who took Hannah wasn’t following those rules and neither would I.
    I pulled out my jackknife and carved on the picnic table. I would search the forest during the day and monitor houses at night. I’d go deeper into the forest and cover more ground than the volunteer