The Ruth Valley Missing by Amber West Page A

instructions, looked around a little while longer, then checked out and
headed to the Jeep.
    “Looks like I beat you here.”
    Jack was emptying the cart when I
arrived, and immediately went to work emptying mine. Once inside, we drove a
few minutes up the road. “One stop before we head home. I don’t know if you’ve
noticed, but Ruth Valley is a dry town.”
    “I noticed. I just wasn’t sure if
noticing would give anyone the wrong idea.”
    Jack laughed. “Smart. With some
folks, it might have. I like to keep a little something at the house myself.”
    We pulled into the liquor store
parking lot and headed in. I hadn’t had a glass of wine since I left New York,
so the mere thought of it made me giddy. I started loading bottles into the
cart and Jack laughed again. “Ok, I take it back. You keep loading the cart at
that pace, I’m definitely going to get the wrong idea.”
    I shrugged, “Hey, I am just stocking
up to last until the next trip.”
    He raised an eyebrow and looked down
at the cart, counting the bottles. “Not counting on another trip for about six
months then.”
    I rolled my eyes and pointed to the
whiskey bottles in the cart. “And are you planning on drinking that in your
coffee every morning?”
    He laughed again. I liked making him
laugh. His whole face smiled when he did, eyes crinkling in the corners.
“Alright, I think we both have enough. Let’s get going.”
    As he unloaded the cart, the woman
behind the counter looked over at me and back at Jack. “I’ll need to see her ID
before I can ring ya’ll up.”
    Jack looked over at me and covered
his mouth, unsuccessfully hiding a large grin. I dug in my pocket and turned
over my ID. As she handed it back, he intercepted it, looked at the ID, then up
at me. “That might be the most unfortunate driver’s license picture I’ve ever
seen. If I pulled you over, I think I’d have to let you go without a ticket.
Out of pity.”
    I slapped his arm playfully and
swiped at my license, returning it to my pocket. He wasn’t wrong. At the time
of the photo my dark red hair was cut in a very short bob with a severe straight
bang, and my usually fair skin was pale. My stylist was convinced that this
look was edgy and made me look older. This photo was evidence that I was
clearly not meant for edgy.
    We loaded up and headed back,
listening to the radio along the way. After a while, Jack turned down the
music. “How are you feeling about living in our little town? Are you getting
along any better?”
    “Good,” I paused, “for the most
part.”
    “There was something going on in
that silence of yours. Everything alright?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You sure? If you need to talk about
anything, I’ve been told I’m quite the listener.” He raised an eyebrow and
smiled.
    I returned the smile then asked, “Do
you go to confession? At the church?”
    “Sure. Once a week.”
    “Really? I didn’t know you were such
a sinner.”
    “You joke, but we all are. Most of
us make excuses for the little things we do, a mean comment, a little white
lie, what goes on inside our heads or the privacy of our homes, whatever it is,
we tend to reason it away. Confession makes me think about those things
honestly. It’s not so much about admitting it to someone else as it is about
admitting it to myself.”
    “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
    “Why the interest?”
    “Oh, Father Mike was telling me I
should go to confession.”
    Jack’s brow furrowed. “When was
this?”
    “The other day at Andy’s. I went by
to check on him and Father Mike showed up.”
    “Hm.”
    “What?’
    “Oh, it’s nothing.” Jack’s face
relaxed as he waved his hand. “Usually the Sisters visit the sick or laid up.
How’s Andy?”
    “He’s not great. I mean, physically
he seems well enough, but he is still pretty shook up about the accident. He
barely wants to talk about it.”
    “I would imagine. Whatever he came
across got him good. It was good of you to go see