“How would I know where she is?” Sam complained into the receiver. As far as he was concerned, he would be the last person on earth to hear what Cindy was up to. He was annoyed by Armen’s question, but it didn’t take him long to realize that Armen didn’t have any idea what was going on in his head. Sam sighed and apologized to his friend. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen her in weeks.”
Sam didn’t have the first idea of how to respond to Cindy’s disappearance. He could only do what he always did: work. Work was all he really knew. Work was his medicine and therapist. But he had to sleep sometime, and that night the dream caught up with him. It was the girl again—the girl with the mirror and the fire. All through the following day, Cindy’s absence was suddenly quite tangible, though it was based on no more than a phone call. He worked and worked to fill the imagined void. Work was no comfort, but he didn’t know anything else, so work he did.
Several dozen hours later, he was driving a load of feed back to the cows when he heard the roar of a motorbike approaching from the highway. When he saw the bike swing around the ranch house, his heart skipped a beat. But as soon as he had cracked a smile, he realized it wasn’t Cindy. It was Sue. She brought the bike to a stop and a sputtering idle at Sam’s feet, and then she let it die. She stood, popped down the kickstand, and swung her left leg high over the bike. Then she pulled off her helmet and shook out her hair. Her head bobbing lazily forward, she looked up at Sam though her dark bangs and gave him a smug grin. “I have something that you want.”
Sam could hardly begin to ask her what she meant by that greeting.
“You know, Mr. Milkman, you really ought to get out more often. You know what they say about all work and no play.”
Sam grimaced. “I don’t know how you can talk like that whe—“
“Ahhh yes, Bowgirl. How can I talk like this when your little bowgirl is running around the countryside doing Heaven knows what with that finely tuned little body of hers.”
Sam turned away. Sue grabbed his arm. “A’ahhh. I don’t ever recall Bow gir—“
“Cindy! Her name is Cindy!”
“Cindyyy … I don’t recall Cindy ever asking for help from you. I—think little Cindy can take care her own little self.”
Sam pulled his arm out of Sue’s grasp and started to walk away.
Sue raised her voice to match the distance Sam put between himself and her. “How about a little exchange, milkman? You give me what I want and I give you what you want.”
Sam stopped, but he didn’t turn around.
“Go get your trail gear together, cheesey cheeks” Sue said to the back of his head. “—that is, if you want to see your bow girl. … I’ll be back in thirty.”