expected some emotion, but he was completely taken off guard by the tightness in his chest. He hadn’t found a single thing out yet, and already he felt sick.
Drake found an unoccupied computer next to the wall and jiggled the mouse to wake up the screen. He breathed slowly through his nose and ran his thoughts one last time through his mind. Here we go, pal.
He moved the pointer to one of the search engines at the top of the Web page. He decided to use the hunt-and-peck method for typing Stephanie Pearson, Missouri for fear that the memory of anything beyond home-row keys would fail him. He hit the enter button and waited as the computer loaded the search results.
Fifty-two thousand, three hundred results. What? He quickly scanned down the list of web links. Stephanie Pearson’s new ocean drilling program…find Stephanie Pearson, age 15, on MySpace…breakthrough made in new stem-cell research…Stephanie’s recipe book… He let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair. Not even two minutes in front of the computer screen, and already he had run smack into a brick wall. I can’t go through all these. I gotta be more specific.
He sat drumming his fingers lightly against the keys, wondering what he should type that would help narrow his search to a number preferably in the hundreds. Looking for mom who left me twelve years ago? Man, what am I supposed to type? I don’t even know where she lives or if her last name’s changed by now. Drake didn’t know his mom’s exact age and definitely had no clue as to what her maiden name was. He was literally left with nothing to go on and no one to turn to. He sure couldn’t rely on his dad for any help—that would be a joke. His situation suddenly seemed doomed to failure, and made him realize how foolish he had been for believing he could actually find information on someone he hardly knew anything about. But if I don’t try—even if I have to go through every one of these fifty-two thousand links—I’ll never forgive myself.
Drake cleared the search and retyped Stephanie and Ben Pearson Linhurst Peak Missouri. Even though she no longer lived here and his dad was out of her life, it was all he had to work with. He had nothing else.
The page popped up almost instantly. Drake could feel the air escaping from his lungs. The first link captivated him, and for the longest time, he could do nothing but stare at the title. The Stephanie Pearson trial. With trembling hands still on the mouse, Drake leaned closer to the computer screen and read the small type beneath the headline. Court rules death by drowning on November 14, 1997, an accident due to a sleeping disorder. Though there was substantial convicting evidence presented in the autopsy report, Ben Pearson was found innocent after presenting…
Drake felt as if his mind was shutting down. The room, the lights, the voices…everything began fading into a silent, distorted haze.
The headline drew his eyes in again. This must be talking about his mom, because there was his dad’s name directly beneath it. Then that means she’s…
Leaving the Web page up, Drake darted outside to his truck and tore through his bag for his mom’s journal. He knew what he would find, yet he opened it anyway and frantically turned to the last written page.
Drake clamped a hand over his mouth as a surge of acidic vomit inflamed his throat. No, it’s a lie. It has to be wrong. He let the journal slip from his grasp and fall to the floor as he covered his face in his hands and sobbed.
In the top left corner, slightly smeared by blue ink, was the date November 14, 1997.
Ronnie slurped the last of his melted smoothie through his straw and dramatically patted his stomach. “I’m so full, I feel like I could bust!”
Andrew poked at a banana clump with his straw and decided he wouldn’t try to finish his. “Oh, you are, are you?” he said casually. “Then you’re probably too tired to help me get your toys out of the car
Drake found an unoccupied computer next to the wall and jiggled the mouse to wake up the screen. He breathed slowly through his nose and ran his thoughts one last time through his mind. Here we go, pal.
He moved the pointer to one of the search engines at the top of the Web page. He decided to use the hunt-and-peck method for typing Stephanie Pearson, Missouri for fear that the memory of anything beyond home-row keys would fail him. He hit the enter button and waited as the computer loaded the search results.
Fifty-two thousand, three hundred results. What? He quickly scanned down the list of web links. Stephanie Pearson’s new ocean drilling program…find Stephanie Pearson, age 15, on MySpace…breakthrough made in new stem-cell research…Stephanie’s recipe book… He let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair. Not even two minutes in front of the computer screen, and already he had run smack into a brick wall. I can’t go through all these. I gotta be more specific.
He sat drumming his fingers lightly against the keys, wondering what he should type that would help narrow his search to a number preferably in the hundreds. Looking for mom who left me twelve years ago? Man, what am I supposed to type? I don’t even know where she lives or if her last name’s changed by now. Drake didn’t know his mom’s exact age and definitely had no clue as to what her maiden name was. He was literally left with nothing to go on and no one to turn to. He sure couldn’t rely on his dad for any help—that would be a joke. His situation suddenly seemed doomed to failure, and made him realize how foolish he had been for believing he could actually find information on someone he hardly knew anything about. But if I don’t try—even if I have to go through every one of these fifty-two thousand links—I’ll never forgive myself.
Drake cleared the search and retyped Stephanie and Ben Pearson Linhurst Peak Missouri. Even though she no longer lived here and his dad was out of her life, it was all he had to work with. He had nothing else.
The page popped up almost instantly. Drake could feel the air escaping from his lungs. The first link captivated him, and for the longest time, he could do nothing but stare at the title. The Stephanie Pearson trial. With trembling hands still on the mouse, Drake leaned closer to the computer screen and read the small type beneath the headline. Court rules death by drowning on November 14, 1997, an accident due to a sleeping disorder. Though there was substantial convicting evidence presented in the autopsy report, Ben Pearson was found innocent after presenting…
Drake felt as if his mind was shutting down. The room, the lights, the voices…everything began fading into a silent, distorted haze.
The headline drew his eyes in again. This must be talking about his mom, because there was his dad’s name directly beneath it. Then that means she’s…
Leaving the Web page up, Drake darted outside to his truck and tore through his bag for his mom’s journal. He knew what he would find, yet he opened it anyway and frantically turned to the last written page.
Drake clamped a hand over his mouth as a surge of acidic vomit inflamed his throat. No, it’s a lie. It has to be wrong. He let the journal slip from his grasp and fall to the floor as he covered his face in his hands and sobbed.
In the top left corner, slightly smeared by blue ink, was the date November 14, 1997.
Ronnie slurped the last of his melted smoothie through his straw and dramatically patted his stomach. “I’m so full, I feel like I could bust!”
Andrew poked at a banana clump with his straw and decided he wouldn’t try to finish his. “Oh, you are, are you?” he said casually. “Then you’re probably too tired to help me get your toys out of the car
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