Read Online The Year of Fog by Michelle Richmond - Free Book Online

and over, so catchy and so depressing, “Every moment’s a little bit later.” I look at my watch and do the calculations, pi times radius squared, a series of numbers ticking off in my head.
             
    I haven’t set foot in Colma in years, for good reason. It’s nothing but endless second-rate shopping centers and chain restaurants, four-lane roads and no sidewalks. I post flyers at Burger King and Cost Plus, Pier 1 and Home Depot, Payless Shoes, Marshalls, and BevMo. The clerks, for the most part, are friendly and concerned. At Nordstrom Rack, a pregnant woman asks for extra and promises to put them up in Westlake. “Those poor parents,” she says, running a hand over her enormous stomach. “I can’t imagine.”
    Around midnight, after talking to hundreds of shoppers, showing Emma’s picture to anyone who will look, I come to Target. It’s the only place in Colma that’s open this late. The store is alarmingly bright. At the door, a greeter pushes a basket my way, and in exchange I give her a flyer. She takes a pair of glasses out of her pocket, pushes them up her nose, and says, “Cute kid. Breaks your heart. It’s been, what, a week? She’s probably in a ditch somewhere.”
    I wander the wide aisles, giving flyers to a dozen late-night shoppers. At some point, I find myself standing face-to-face with Dream Time Barbie, who is dressed in a flannel nightgown and fuzzy slippers, a clear plastic bag slung over her arm. The bag contains a comb, shampoo bottle, and tiny eye mask. I put Dream Time Barbie in my basket. Suddenly, all the plastic and garish colors that would have seemed crass to me just last week look wildly appealing. I add a red Nerf ball, a clear jump rope filled with purple glitter, the board game Operation, and a battery-operated dog that barks, rolls over, and fetches. Even the gender-specific toys I’ve always hated are suddenly enticing: the Easy-Bake Oven, Barbie’s Malibu Mansion, a microphone and speaker set featuring the Spice Girls.
    I’m carrying my loot to the checkout when a television in the electronics department catches my eye. Emma’s picture appears in a small box to the right of Leslie Gray. “Martin Ruiz, a former English teacher at the school where Jake Balfour teaches, has been brought in for questioning. Ruiz was admitted to the psychiatric ward of Kaiser Permanente last February and later released.”
    I know Ruiz, who attempted suicide following an ugly divorce—thus the bout in the psych ward. Jake invited him over for dinner a couple of times. Ruiz struck me as a deeply depressed man attempting to hide his sadness with jokes and a bit too much alcohol. I immediately liked him, as did Emma, for whom he built an impressive house of cards on the living room floor after dessert. I’m sure he’s got nothing to do with this—nothing about him struck me as strange or untrustworthy—but then I realize I can be sure of nothing. I was certain Emma would be safe with me, certain that when Jake came back from his trip we could be a happy family. Everything I’ve known, all the basic rules, have been rendered meaningless.
    A boy of about sixteen is standing in the headphones aisle, watching the televisions, dressed in Target red. His name tag says Pete. “Need help finding anything?” he asks.
    “No, thank you.”
    Pete looks at the television. “My mom can’t get enough of this story. She thinks the dad’s involved, says it’s just a little too convenient that he was out of town the day the kid disappeared. My money’s on the crazy English teacher. What about you?”
    The store starts to swirl, and I lean against the counter.
    “You okay?” Pete says, reaching over to steady me.
    I leave the basket and make my way toward the exit. “Hey,” Pete says, following. “Hey, you want this stuff?”
    The parking lot is nearly empty. Neon signs cast eerie shapes on the glistening asphalt. A woman walks toward the door, pushing a row of shopping carts. There