by Jeff Shelby
I stood. “How long are you in town?”
“I drove,” she said, looking up at me. “I'll probably head back in the morning.”
“Alright,” I said, glancing at my watch again. “I'll call you tonight with an answer.”
Her jaw quivered again. “Then I guess I'll just wait to hear from you.”
I grabbed my coffee cup from the table and deposited it in the bussing tray above the trash can.
“Mr. Tyler?” she asked.
I turned back around. “Yeah?”
“Do you think he's alive?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea. He's only been gone a week. There are about a thousand possibilities.”
She shook her head. “Not Patrick. I mean Aaron. Do you think Aaron might be alive?”
The girls behind her burst into laughter again, covering their mouths, trying to be quiet. They were red-faced and happy.
I remembered seeing photos of Elizabeth, photos of a girl eight years older than when I'd last seen her. Hearing Elizabeth's voice on the phone for the very first time, after years of haunting, deafening silence. And finding her in a warehouse, alone and afraid, but very much alive.
“I don't know,” I finally said. “But anything's possible.”
THREE
Elizabeth glanced at the thin watch on her sweaty wrist. “Forty minutes. That's the fastest we've gone yet.”
I was bent over, my hands on my knees, trying to find my wind. “My lungs confirm that.”
“I think we can get to thirty nine.”
I stifled a groan. “I think I'd like to live another year or two.”
She chuckled, put her hands flat against the garage and worked on stretching out her calves.
The amount of pleasure I got from running each day with my daughter was immeasurable. I wasn't a sucker for physical punishment and I'd be the first to admit that she was in much better shape than I was, so it wasn't that. But running together had been the first place we'd found common ground after she'd come home and it had literally been the activity that helped us rebuild our relationship. Things weren't perfect, but each day, as we plotted our route around Coronado and chatted as we ran, it was like a tiny piece of the puzzle was put back in place for me. There might be a thousand to go, but I took comfort in that, in those little connections, when a new piece snapped back into place.
“That'd be sub-eight minutes,” I gasped, still waiting on my wind, standing up and clasping my hands behind my head. “If we're doing five miles.”
“I know,” she said, smiling at me over her shoulder. Her face was red from exertion, like mine. “Or a really hard last mile if we aren't under eight for the first four.”
“We're gonna have to start leaving our route for your mom,” I said, trying to force my breathing to slow. “So she'll know where to find my body.”
“Nah,” Elizabeth said. “I'll remember where you went down.”
I chuckled as my breathing finally started to find some semblance of normal again. “Good to know. And if you can run sub-eight miles, kid, 5K would be a smart distance for you.”
Her smile dimmed. “Maybe.”
She'd started back at school and had done well, far better than I'd expected. Her grades were good, she had friends and she wasn't complaining about it. I'd anticipated a much harder re-entry, but like with most things, she'd handled it well, even asking to start school. She was braver than either Lauren or I was and tended to push the envelope when we held back. Not in a bad way, just in a way that she needed to push.
I'd broached the subject of cross-country and track once our runs had become a daily thing. She had talent and she had stubbornness, two things that had the potential to make her a very tough runner. But she'd resisted so far, not wanting to stick her toe in that particular water. I wasn't sure why and I hadn't asked. I was trying to let her come to it on her own, but when I watched her run – graceful, powerful, with purpose – and when she set goals that included time and distance, it was hard not to open my mouth.
She moved to the lawn and sat down, stretching her legs out in a v-formation. “Mom didn't puke this morning. She said it's been a whole week.”
“A small victory,” I said. I sat down in the grass, facing her. “She's had it rough.”
She made a face. “If I ever get pregnant, I will not puke all over the place like that.”
I laughed and stretching my own legs out. Lauren was now fourteen weeks pregnant, but the first trimester had been a trial. Not only were we dealing with Elizabeth being home and my moving back into the house and attempting to be a couple again, but she'd experienced violent morning sickness nearly every day and fatigue that knocked her out early nearly every night. Certain food couldn't be brought into the house for fear of triggering a sprint to the bathroom, and planning anything after six in the evening was dicey because we didn't know if she'd still be awake.
But she'd started to emerge from it over the last week. Food was her friend again and she'd made it to ten o'clock three times. Her energy level rebounded. She said she felt more like herself again, finally.
“Do you care if it's a boy or girl?” Elizabeth asked, reaching out for her ankle and locking her hands on it.
I shook my head. “No. I really don't.”
“No? But it's a boy, then you'd have one of each.”
“I really don't care. I just want it to be healthy.”
“I can't decide.”
“Decide what?”
“If I want it to be a boy or a girl,” she said, folding herself down until her nose touched her knee. “I think I'm leaning toward girl.”
“Why's that?”
She raised herself up. Her face was more pink than red now, and a thin line of sweat was still visible on her forehead. “I don't know. I just think it would be cool. I could tell her about all the junk I learn. Like boys and stuff.”
“There are boys you know about?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She rolled her eyes. “Dad. Come on.”
Dad.
Every time she said it, a small thrill rolled through me. Every single time.
“I just mean that I don't really care, but if I got to choose, I'd probably pick girl,” she said.
“You realize there's going to be a pretty big age difference, right?” I said, reaching for my ankles but settling for my shins when my muscles protested. “I mean, you're going to be off doing your own thing by the time the baby hits middle school.” Probably before then, I realized. But I didn't voice this.
“Where am I gonna go?” she said, switching to her other ankle. “Not like I'm gonna disappear or something.” As soon as she said it, the pink flushed red in her face again. A small knot tied itself into my gut. “I didn't mean it like that,” she said. “I'm sorry.”
“Don't apologize,” I said. “You don't have anything to apologize for.”
“I know,” she said, nodding, trying to convince herself. “I know. It just...that didn't sound good.”
“It's fine,” I told her, trying to get the knot to untie itself. “Don't apologize. Don't defend. You don't have to.”
She nodded again and lowered her nose to her other knee so I couldn't see her face.
It had been an ongoing thing. Anything that came up that in any way related to her disappearance, she apologized for, as if she'd been responsible. It was almost Pavlovian now and I knew she and her counselor had been working on it, trying to get her to disassociate from that response, ridding herself of any misplaced guilt she had.
As with everything, it was an ongoing process. And all we could do was try to work through it and wait.
She sat up and brushed the hair away from her face. She brought her knees to her chest, hugging them. She smiled at me.
“I just meant I want to be around,” she said. “I'm not planning on going anywhere for awhile.”
I smiled back.
That was good to hear.
FOUR
“How was your meeting?” Lauren asked. Sh
e was propped up on the bed, her hands resting on her tiny baby bump.
I'd showered after coming in with Elizabeth and I'd already pulled on a pair of basketball shorts. I finished toweling off my head, hung the damp towel on the wall rack and slid onto the bed next to her. “Was okay. Weird, I guess.”
“Weird how?”
I told her about my conversation with Kathleen Dennison.
“That is weird,” she said when I'd finished. “What did you tell her?”
“I told her I'd call her tonight and let her know.”
She lifted a hand and tucked her hair behind her ear. “So you'd have to go to Las Vegas.”
“If I said yes.”
She nodded slowly. “Gotcha.”
“I didn't say yes.”
“But you didn't say no.”
I propped my elbow up on my pillow and put my head in my hand. “True.”
She bit her bottom lip for just a second. “You said you weren't going to travel.”
“I didn't say yes,” I repeated.
“But you didn't say no.”
I rolled over on my back and stared at the ceiling. One of the things we were still trying to negotiate was me and working. I had already decided that as soon as we brought Elizabeth home that I no longer wanted to look for kids. I didn't need the emotional wringer chewing me up and spitting me out anymore. The media had already tried to paint me as some sort of miracle worker, but I knew nothing was further from the truth. A miracle worker would find every missing kid, every last one of them. And even though my track record had been good, there were still cases that haunted me, the cases I hadn't been able to crack. Like Aaron's.
I was able to fight through it when Elizabeth had been missing, but now that she was home, all of my strengths – physical, emotional, mental – needed to be saved for my family.
But I also wasn't good at just sitting around. I'd become a good investigator over the years. I knew how to find details and I knew the right questions to ask. I also knew that sometimes answers couldn't be found. So it made sense that I'd continue doing that, albeit locally and with a different focus. The opportunities were still there. I'd gotten emails about doing work related to divorces and money and theft and I'd waded into a couple of those cases. They were peaceful compared to working missing kids' cases. I wasn't licensed in California yet, but that was my plan.
Lauren was wary of it. She worried that I'd get sucked back in or be unable to say no. She hadn't come right out and told me she didn't want me to do it, but it had been there, just beneath the surface of our conversations. I'd promised her I wouldn't be hopping planes and that kids were off the table, that she and Elizabeth and the baby came first. She was skeptical, though, and I could see it all over her face as I told her about Kathleen Dennison.
“Okay, I'll tell her no,” I said.
A frown creased her forehead. “I'm not telling you what to do.”
“You're telling me what you want me to do, though.”
She reached behind her and adjusted the pillows behind her back. “I want you to do what you want to do.”
“I'm not leaving you guys,” I said. “We've had that conversation, Lauren. And I meant it.”
“I know,” she said. “But you still want to work.”
“I need to work,” I clarified. “We need to put money away for your maternity leave. We need to be thinking about college for Elizabeth.”
“I make plenty of money,” she said, her voice rising a fraction. “I haven't worked my ass off at the firm for years for nothing. You don't have to work.”
“I know that,” I said. “But...I don't know. I feel like I need to contribute.”
“You do,” she said. “Every single day.”
“You know what I mean,” I said. I closed my eyes, then slowly reopened them. “And here's the elephant in the room, Lauren. We aren't even married. We may be living like a family, but we got divorced.”
“So, what?” she asked. I glanced at her and found her staring at me, her frown deepening. “You want to get married again so you don't have to work? That's fine. I'm fine with that.”
I sighed. “That's not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
I watched the ceiling fan circle slowly above us. “It means we have to think about what we're doing. We've barely talked about getting married again. We've been focused on Elizabeth and the baby... and that's the way it should be. But we've settled into a routine without really talking about whether this is the routine we want.”
She was silent for a moment. “I want you here,” she said finally. “I've never wavered on that. Even before the divorce, when she was gone, I wanted you here. You were the one who couldn't be here.”
“I couldn't be here physically. Or emotionally.” I kept my eyes on her, making sure she was listening. Really listening. “It wasn't about you. It was never about you.”
“I know,” she said, nodding. “I believe you. I think I always knew that. So that's all the more reason why this has been easy. You moving back in, having Elizabeth home, preparing to have a baby. With you. It's all been easy.” She paused. “I want you here. But I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.”
“So then let's get married and live happily ever after,” she said.
I chuckled. If only it were that easy. I nudged her with my leg and smiled at her. “I'll marry you tomorrow. I mean that.”
Her face softened and she smiled back. “I'll marry you tomorrow, Joe.”
“I mean, that's what's really in my head,” I told her. “That we'll get married again and be a family and all that.”
She nodded. “Good. Me, too.”
“So then what should I tell Kathleen Dennison?”
“No way,” she said, shaking her head. “I'm not making that decision for you. You have to decide.”
“I don't want you angry with me if I say yes,” I said.
She sighed and sank back into the pillows. “I won't be angry. But tell me why you'd say yes. I mean, are you sure this isn't about her son?”
I thought about her question. It was a fair one. “I don't think so,” I said. “I couldn't find him before. There's no new info on him, so it's not like she was bringing me anything to work with. And I was clear with her because I thought it was about Aaron. I told her I don't do that anymore.”
“So why you, then?”
“Because she trusts me,” I said. “Because I was honest with her before. That's what she told me. And she doesn't trust the police.”
“And because she's hoping you feel guilty about not finding her son,” Lauren added.
I hesitated. “Probably.”
“And you probably do.”
I didn't say anything, but, yes, I did. Every case that I'd worked and hadn't resolved, I held some guilt about. Not because I hadn't done what I was supposed to do, but because I knew what that empty feeling was like to not have answers. And now that I did have Elizabeth back, I was even more acutely aware of that empty feeling. I didn't have to live with it anymore, but I'd never forget what it felt like.
“If you need to do it, Joe, it's okay,” Lauren told me. “Whatever the reason.” She reached for my arm and wrapped her fingers gently around my forearm. “Just remember that we need you here. All three of us. Don't forget that.”
I slid her hand down my arm until it found mine, then folded my fingers into hers. It felt warm, welcoming, like coming home. I knew I was where I wanted to be, where I was needed.
“I won't forget that,” I promised.
FIVE
Monday mornings reminded me that we'd settled back into a normal life.
Lauren liked to be out the door early, eager to clear work before the baby came. So I got up, made her breakfast and sent her on her way before I made a separate breakfast for Elizabeth. She would come down the stairs, barely awake, with wet hair from her shower and mumbling good morning. She wasn't a morning person and I didn't try to change that. I let her eat h
er eggs and bagel in peace, before heading out the front door with her for the short walk to the high school.
Was it odd that I was walking my teenager to school? Maybe. But she'd asked me to walk with her the first week she'd started and we'd just kept it up in the couple of months since. I didn't walk her to the door. We'd stop at the corner across from the high school, where she'd hug me and tell me she'd see me after school. I told myself I was making up for lost time, all the days I hadn't gotten to walk her to school after she'd disappeared. I never asked, but I wondered if Elizabeth thought about it the same way.
The first few days, I'd stood there, waiting until I saw her go inside the school and I knew she was safe. After the first week, though, I'd forced myself to turn around and head home, trying to break myself of the habit of hawking her every movement. The worst thing that we could do was crowd her and it took some getting used to – to let her go look for something on her own when we were out shopping or even not checking on her in the middle of the night. I couldn't say it was getting easier to do, but I was at least forcing myself to let her breathe.
I walked back home, showered, dressed and finished off the pot of coffee before driving over the bridge toward downtown San Diego and Kathleen Dennison.
I'd called her the night before and told her I'd look into her husband's disappearance with a few conditions. She asked what the conditions were and I told her I'd explain them when we met the next morning in the lobby of her hotel.
Kathleen was sitting near the window of the small cafe inside the lobby, a blue sweater on this time rather than a gray one. She wasn't wearing the glasses. The cafe was well lit and peppered with shiny wood tables and upholstered chairs. A large bank of windows looked out on to Glorietta Bay and boats dotted the water, their white sails billowing in the breeze. Only a few other tables were occupied, mostly businessmen, by the look of it.
She was dunking a tea bag into her mug when I walked over. A plate with a blueberry muffin sat in front of her, untouched.
