The Vice President looked around.
“Five days?”
The officer nodded grimly.
“Looks possible.”
There were cereal bowls in the sink.
Children’s clothes folded imperfectly.
Two empty water bottles.
A chair dragged beneath a kitchen cabinet so a small child could reach higher shelves.
The Biker Leader stared at the chair.
That told a story.
The Vice President opened the refrigerator only after the officer gave permission.
Almost empty.
Milk spoiled.
Half jar of peanut butter.
Mustard.
Two tortillas hardened at the edges.
The officer photographed everything.
Then she entered the mother’s bedroom.
The bed was unmade.
A work uniform shirt lay over a chair.
A purse was missing.
Phone charger remained.
The officer found an employment badge.
Hospital laundry contractor.
Night shift.
The Biker Leader looked at it.
“Can you call them?”
“Already sending the information.”
The Vice President stood near the bedroom door.
Something on the floor caught his attention.
A pharmacy receipt.
Dated Monday morning.
He did not touch it.
“Officer.”
She photographed it.
The receipt showed the little boy’s medication.
Not filled.
Payment declined.
The Biker Leader looked away.
This story was getting worse.
They reached the hospital twenty minutes later.
The little boy had been admitted through emergency.
The little girl sat in a chair wearing a child-sized hospital visitor badge.
The Nurse Biker sat beside her.
The pink backpack rested between their feet.
The little girl had finally eaten.
Half a piece of cornbread.
That felt like victory.
The Biker Leader approached.
“How’s your brother?”
The Nurse Biker answered.
“Breathing easier.”
The girl looked up.
“They gave him medicine.”
“Good.”
“He cried.”
“Probably means he had energy.”
The Nurse Biker smiled.
“Exactly.”
The little girl looked toward the Biker Leader.
“Did you find Mom?”
“Not yet.”
Her face fell.
“But people are looking.”
“Will she get in trouble?”
The Biker Leader sat in the chair across from her.
“I don’t know.”
“She works all the time.”
“I believe you.”
“She doesn’t leave us like this.”
The girl’s voice cracked.
“She doesn’t.”
The Nurse Biker took her hand.
“We know you love her.”
The child stared at the floor.
The Biker Leader leaned back.
“What does your mom do when she comes home?”
The girl looked confused by the question.
“What?”
“Does she cook?”
“Sometimes.”
“What’s her best food?”
A small pause.
“Pancakes.”
“Better than biker pancakes?”
The Vice President, standing nearby, said, “Nobody makes worse pancakes than bikers.”
The little girl almost smiled again.
“She makes shapes.”
“What kind?”
“Bears.”
The Biker Leader nodded seriously.
“That is advanced.”
The girl smiled.
Then the smile disappeared.
“She promised pancakes Tuesday.”
Nobody knew what to say.