Needy Little Things(35)

The server, Ms. Lizette, comes over and brings no needs with her. “Look who it is, my favorite East Lake crew. Grabbing the usual tonight?” She gives Jude a second glance. “Oh! I’m sorry. Got a new musketeer over here. Where’s Deja?”

“See what I mean?” Malcolm mumbles.

I straighten up in my seat and lean forward a little so she can see me better. “Ms. Lizette, Deja’s been missing since Saturday night.”

Her mini clipboard and pen clatter to the ground. Her left hand creeps over her mouth and her right grips Malcolm’s wrist. “Oh my word, I’m so sorry, babies. Dear God. I’d heard a local girl went missing, but I hadn’t realized it was—oh my heart.” She squats down so only her head pokes above the table. “What do y’all want to eat? On me tonight. Least I can do is feed you.”

“It’s okay, Ms.—”

She holds out her hand to silence Malcolm. “Let me do it. And do y’all got a poster or something I can put out front?”

I take three from Santa Bag and hand them to her.

Ms. Lizette picks her clipboard off the floor and stands up. “Jerry!” she yells toward the kitchen. “Jerry!”

A sweaty, round-faced man sticks his head out the swing door.

“Jerry baby, go hang these up for me.” She passes him the papers, then puts her hands on her hips, attention back on us. “What’ll it be, sweeties?”

“Their usual is fine with me,” Jude says. “I’m not picky.”

“It’ll be right out. Y’all holler if you need anything else in the meantime, okay?” She walks back to the counter whispering, “Bless their hearts.”

Jude and Malcolm pick up the conversation where it left off before Ms. Lizette interrupted. Names stand out—Deja. Casey. Tessa. Deja. Casey. Tessa—but I can’t follow the details. More people trickle into the diner and the names intermingle with needs. Deja. Scarf. Casey. Sugar. Tessa. Pacifier. A pulsating heaviness develops in the upper right quadrant of my head. A brewing migraine.

Malcolm catches me taking my medicine. He stands and waves me out of the booth so he can sit on the inside instead. “Were you just going to sit there in pain?”

“I know it’s frustrating when I fulfill needs in the middle of a conversation. I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t listening.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you can focus while your head is pounding? Jude can listen to me run my mouth. Go do your thing.” He initiates the condensed version of our handshake, then I grab Santa Bag.

Putting other people’s needs before my own is so ingrained in me. But I’m glad to have a best friend who looks out for me when I struggle to do it myself.

I fulfill a few needs and come back to the table ready to actually participate in the conversation. “I thought I saw her today. Deja.”

Malcolm stiffens. “What? Where?”

Jude’s eyes are bulging and I wonder if he thinks I mean at Philly’s.

“It was at the zoo. I took Josiah. This girl looked so much like her. I felt like a freak when she caught me staring at her.” I tear at a napkin, stalling before I bring up something else I’ve been thinking about. “Guys, the days are flying by. We’ve heard nothing new from the police. How do we know they’re doing anything? Tessa was only thirteen and managed to keep a huge secret from everyone. A secret that took the cops way too long to dig up. I need to know the same won’t happen for Deja. We need to search for answers on our own.”

“I don’t disagree, but is anyone else mad as hell that we have to? It’s not that I expect the police to do all of the work. That’s not how it went down for Casey. Strangers, random folks on the internet. They gathered up the puzzle pieces and handed them to the authorities on a silver platter. Hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of people showed up and out for her. That was the difference maker. Where is Tessa’s army? Where’s Deja’s?”

“At this table,” I say. “It’s not fair, but until the rally tomorrow, until Afro Alt releases their statement, that’s the reality of the situation. We can be mad about it or do something. We owe it to her to investigate. To explore every rabbit hole that comes up.” I don’t mention that I’ve already gone down one that led me to Phillip Irvine. I need to make that make sense to me before I share it with him.

Ms. Lizette brings over our food. Potato hash with bell peppers, onions, and a fried egg for me, a spinach omelet and bacon for Malcolm, and a stack of chocolate chip pancakes drizzled in chocolate sauce, and topped with whipped cream, strawberries, and sprinkles for Jude.

“Oh.” He regards the outrageous concoction in front of him. “Y’all couldn’t warn me?”

Malcolm unrolls his napkin-wrapped silverware. “Hey, man, you said it was all right.”

“Don’t worry. We always share.”

We arrange all the entrées in the middle of the table so everyone can easily help themselves to whatever they’d like. As I adjust the pile of pancakes, a fresh need sneaks into my range.

Pepper.

I freeze. Focus on it. Make sure I heard the complete thing.

Pepper. Pepper. Pepper.

A server places a condiment caddy in the center of a crowded table and the need disappears, but it leaves behind the same dread I felt when I first heard Deja’s need Saturday afternoon. “I hope she’s okay,” I say so quietly I’m not sure Jude or Malcolm can even hear, but a moment later Malcolm’s arm is back around my shoulder and Jude’s hand is gripping mine across the table.