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“How long ago was this?” I asked.
“About three weeks ago,” he said. “I’m not sure how long it was going on before I found out.”
Gina digested all of that, her eyes growing wider by the second. She had not been feigning ignorance when she said she didn’t know about Meredith.
“So I wa
“You have to tell Jon,” she said.
“I know that.”
“He’s going to…I don’t know what he’s going to do.”
“Which is why I want to get as much information as possible.”
Gina let out a long breath. “He won’t believe you.”
“Which is also why I want to get as many hard facts as I can before I talk to him.”
The email program loaded up on the screen and asked for a password. “Shit.”
“What?”
“She’s got her email password protected. Think Jordan would know it?”
“She probably has it protected because of him.”
“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t know it.doesn’/p
“We can ask him,” she said. “And I might know someone who could break it.”
“Who?”
“Let me worry about that.”
I shrugged and sca
I snapped the laptop closed. “Let’s ask him about her phone records, too. Take a look at those.”
Gina nodded, but something crossed her face and she looked hesitant.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Meredith’s a smart kid,” she said. “You saw that with her grades. If she wanted to hide something, she’d figure out how to do it.”
“So you don’t think we’ll find phone numbers or emails that might help us? That she would’ve covered her tracks that well?”
Gina thought about that. “Yeah. I think that’s accurate.”
I stood and looked around the empty room. It seemed so sterile, so generic. Teenaged rooms usually had their own personality, their own vibe. Meredith’s did not and it made me feel sorry for her.
“You’re probably right,” I said to Gina. “But we need to check anyway.”
We walked out of Meredith’s room, down the long carpeted hallway and out of the massive Jordan home.
“I’m going to see Chuck,” Gina said, as we walked down the steps to our cars.
“Oh yeah? Good.”
“This afternoon.”
“Good.”
She wanted something else from me, but I wasn’t sure what. I stayed quiet.
“Is he any better?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“What you said…” She glanced away from me. “The other day, about not really giving a shit about him. It’s not true.Oh y
“Okay.”
She moved her gaze back to me. “I’m serious. I care about him. A lot.”
“Okay.”
“Stop saying okay,” she said, irritation pinching her face.
I started to say exactly that, then caught myself and didn’t say anything.
The irritation faded in her features. “I don’t think Chuck did anything to Meredith. I don’t. All of that came out wrong. Yeah, they were spending a lot of time together, but I know there has to be an explanation for that.”
“I believe that, too,” I said.
“And what I said about Jordan, about being sure of what you know before you go up against him?” she said. “That’s the truth. You do need to be sure about taking him on.” Her mouth twisted and untwisted. “But you and I? We’re on the same page. Because I’m sure about Chuck and if I’ve gotta choose between him and Jordan, I’m choosing Chuck. Every time.” She waved her hand in the air between us, like she was shooing a fly. “And I just wanted you to know that.”
The morning sun was warm on my neck as I studied her. I wasn’t much into trusting people any longer in my life. Trust had disappeared the day Elizabeth did. But Gina seemed sincere in her words and she hadn’t given me a reason to distrust her.
“Is it okay to say okay now?” I asked.
A thin smile forced itself onto her lips. “Yes.”
“Okay.”
She took a deep breath, seemingly relieved to have cleared the air. “Have you learned anything else about Chuck? About what happened?”
Before I could answer, my phone vibrated in my pocket and I pulled it out. I looked at the number on the readout and my breath caught. The familiar cold and dread I felt every time that number showed up on my phone consumed me like a bitter cocktail forced down my throat.
I waited a moment until my breathing found its rhythm again.
“I haven’t,” I said to Gina, then held the phone up in her direction. “But this might help.”
FIFTY-FIVE
A couple of times a year, just when I’m begi
“Joe?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Hey Mike.”
Mike Lorenzo is a cop, was my mentor and we have known each other now for a dozen years. I would recognize his voice if it was one in a thousand.
“Got a call,” Mike says.
The familiar fluttering begins in my stomach. I would use every ounce of my strength to crush it, but it is Pavlovian now and there is nothing I can do to quell it.
“Oh yeah?” I say.
“Similar description,” Mike says. “Enough for me to take a look.”
Sometimes it’s a description, sometimes it’s an unidentified victim, sometimes it’s something else.
“Okay,” I say, even though it is anything but.
“Just wanted you to know,” Mike says. “Didn’t want you to catch wind of it elsewhere.”
“Appreciate that, Mike.”
“I’ll let you know.” Mike will pause. “You doin’ alright?”
He never asks where I am, what I’m doing, what my plans are. Just if I’m alright.
“Yeah,” I lie. “I’m okay.”
“Good to hear,” Mike says. “I’ll be in touch if it’s anything.”
We hang up and I know he won’t be in touch because it won’t be anything. It never is. Not once in eight years has it ever been anything. The only time he will call will be the next time he gets something that tells him to take a look. The fluttering will stick around for a day and then slowly die off until the next time it’s summoned.
She would be sixteen now, my daughter. A junior in high school, driving, dating boys and spending too much time on the phone. Every high school, every unsteady driver, every surly teenage male and every cell phone reminds me of that.
But she is gone. No matter how many times Mike calls me, I know that she is gone. If I hadn’t accepted that, I would be dead, gone in a much different way than Elizabeth.
So I can’t look for her anymore. I let Mike do that.
Instead, I look for other people’s children. I try to help them. Because I know what they are going through, how excruciating it is, to experience the disappearance of a child. I know how to do it now and looking keeps me occupied.
Because I know Elizabeth’s not coming back, won’t ever call me on the phone and say “Dad. I’m okay. Come get me.”
That call won’t come for me.
But sometimes I can make it happen for others and I pretend that is enough for me right now.
It has to be.
Because I have nothing else.
FIFTY-SIX
“You look good,” Detective Mike Lorenzo said.
“You’re a liar,” I answered, squinting into the sun. “But thanks.”
We were sitting in the left field pavilion at Petco Park, the Padres playing an afternoon game, getting run over by the Cardinals. The stadium was maybe a quarter full, the city once again demonstrating their apathy for a team that had always played second fiddle to the Chargers. Mike had always been one of the few who saw them as a first fiddle.