Miranda Jessup Buckley is back and trying to rebuild her life after a tumultuous couple of years.

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Waylon has been living with me for almost two years. We've had our moments, both good and bad. But despite the hormonal mood swings and stand-offs, I really care about the kid. We can have fun together just watching a movie or when Aaron comes over and we play cards. He isn't high maintenance like some other kids.

Towards the end of last school year, I started making it a habit to take him to school one or two days a week. I still made him ride the bus the majority of the time. This gave us time a couple of mornings a week to eat a drive thru breakfast together before we went off to do our own things.

I look over at him as he leans his head on the window, mouth slack as he dozes off. He's polished off the two biscuits and Pepsi he ordered. He's coming into his own. The chubby face and bowl haircut are a distant memory. He's starting to look more like his daddy now. Good old Dougie, where oh where are you?

"Hey, wake up, Waylon. Getting ready to turn into your school."

He sits up quick, his eyes darting around to get his bearings. "Oh, yeah, thanks for the ride."

Every morning the same five faculty members are stationed along the drive thru line. Today, there is a new face. "New teacher?" I ask, as I slow up behind the car in front of me.

Waylon grimaces. "Pull past him."

"Who is he?" I ask. I can tell from the look on Waylon's face, he is not a fan of this guy.

"Just pull past him. He's just a teacher."

The man glances into our car, his expression changes. I swear it looks like he just sucked on a lemon.

"He looks friendly," I say dryly. "He not like you or something?"

"I gotta get out. Thanks for the ride." His hand is on the door handle and I'm trying to brake before he jumps out.

Waylon swings the door open and the car behind me slams on brakes. Mr. Lemonface comes stalking over. "You can't stop here. You have to go past the line. See where Mrs. Baldwin is. That's where you have to go. You almost caused an accident."

"Whoa, buddy, I thought he was getting out. Maybe if you had a sign posted or something."

Lemonface points to a three foot tall sandwich board that has in bold letters "Stop Here".

"Sorry," I mutter. I try to smile at him, diffuse the situation, if you will, but this guy has a bug in his underpants and he's hell bent on proving his point.

"If you're going to use the drop off line, learn the rules. Rules are there for a reason."

"Jesus, buddy, it was an accident and I said I was sorry. Switch to decaf, you-," I'm about to lay into him when I happen to see Waylon, standing frozen behind him. The look on his face is warning me to put the car in drive and leave. I bite the inside of my cheek and smile politely. "I'm sorry. I'll do it the right way next time."

Lemonface gloats. He has this smug smile on his face.

Part of me feels a tad sorry for him. Only because he thinks he's won. Oh no, Lemonface, you might have won the battle but you have not won the war. I roll up the window and drive away.

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Rita is kind of like my cheerleader. Every time I show up for work, she acts like she hasn't seen me in so long. Never fails, she's always upbeat and cute. Today she greets me at the door, shivering like she's cold, but I know better. She's excited about something.

"Please, Rita, let me put my stuff down and get clocked in before you start loading me up with gossip." I say, easing around her and dropping my purse in the office and coming back to the counter to clock in.

"What makes you think I have gossip?"

"You always do. You know more about what goes on in this county than anyone."

Rita blushes and smiles. "I do, don't I? But this isn't gossip. That reporter lady came looking for you. The little one that interviewed you about Missy Toblerone."

"Colleen Weaver? What did she want?"

"She left her card, said to make sure you call her as soon as you get in. She said it was of the utmost importance." Rita pulls the small white card out of her vest pocket and hands it over.

"I'll call her later. Did Matt call about the beer order. He said he wanted to bulk up for the season."

"I haven't talked to him. How come you're not curious about what the reporter wants?"

"Because she is only about the story. I'm a little tired of being in the news, Rita. Give someone else a turn."

She nods like she understands but unless you've had your privacy stepped on for the sake of a story, you can't understand. But she's smart enough not to push it. As I'm heading to the cooler, I stop and look over at her. "Rita, my little fountain of information, do you know many of the teachers at the high school?"

"Which one?"

"Patterson High."

"I have a neighbor who works there, why?"

"Because, I met someone today when I dropped Waylon off, a real prince. Just want to get a little information on him."

She shrugs. "What's his name?"

This time I shrug. "We didn't get to that part. But when I find it out, you'll be the first to know."

The phone rings and I'm about a step into the cooler when Rita calls me back. "Miranda," she says, her eyes wide like she's in shock. "It's for you."

"Matt?"

"No. It sound's like, well, it sounds like Dougie."

I feel like someone has just pushed me in front of a speeding train. It can't be him. He's been gone for months. Gone as in no trace, no one has seen him or heard from him. Dougie vanished. "Right," I say, snatching the phone from her. "Hello?"

"Hey, babe, how are you?"

All these months I have prepared speeches for this very moment. I've been angry, concerned, dismissive, and abusive in these scenarios. But right now, I'm in shock.

"What the hell? Is this a joke?"

He laughs, like he used to. "Same old Randa. How's Waylon?"

The shock is starting to wear off. The anger is starting to pulse through my veins. How dare he ask about Waylon? The kid who has faced every day wondering where his father is, if he's dead or alive. "He's fine, thanks for asking. How the hell do you think he is? He's been worried about you since you disappeared. No word from you, nothing. What is wrong with you?"

"I had to disappear for a while. I was raising that money, remember, and things got a little out of hand. It was just supposed to be for a couple of months."

"I don't care."

"Don't be mad, babe."

"Don't call me that," I snap. "As a matter of fact, don't call me at all." I slam the phone down and look up to see Rita still staring at me.

"It was him. He's not dead. Missy didn't kill him."

Dougie isn't dead. I should be happy, but I'm not. I'm afraid he's going to take Waylon. I can't lose that boy.