go up against Jon Jordan, you better be able to prove it.”
That kind of logic baffled me. If you were loyal to a friend, you were loyal. End of story.
“I can’t prove it,” I said, backing away from her. “But fuck Jon Jordan. Chuck is lying in a hospital bed because Meredith is full of shit. And just because some asshole walks around swinging a big hammer doesn’t mean it's okay to duck.”
Gina didn’t say anything. She kept her eyes away from mine, the confidence I’d seen in her posture before now gone.
I shook my head. “If Chuck wakes up, I’ll let him know what a fantastic girlfriend he’s found for himself.”
TWENTY-ONE
My foot was heavy on the accelerator as I drove away from Jordan’s home. There was something about refusing to stand up for a friend that angered me more than maybe anything else in the world. In Chuck, I had a friend who had never backed away from me, even when it would’ve been easy to do. I had no doubt that if any of these other people had been accused of the crime, Chuck would’ve been shouting from the rooftop in their defense, regardless of how the circumstances appeared. The fact that they wouldn’t return the same show of faith was garbage.
That anger was percolating inside me when my cell rang. I barked hello into it.
“Joe?” Lauren said. “Are you alright?”
My ex-wife’s voice caught me off guard and sapped the anger for the moment. “Hey. Yeah. Sorry. I’m okay.”
“How’s Chuck?”
“The same. I saw him this morning. No change.”
She didn’t say anything and the line buzzed with white noise.
“Lauren? You still there?”
“Yeah,” she finally said. “So I was thinking…you wanna have dinner tonight?”
I guided the car over to the side of the highway. Between my anger and Lauren’s surprise phone call, I was the last person in the world who needed to be driving. Having dinner with her would no doubt bring up things I wanted to avoid, things I’d spent the past few years avoiding. It was hard enough being back in San Diego physically, but I’d managed to keep the mental things in check. Sitting down with Lauren would be a good way to uncheck them.
But I knew that it must’ve taken a lot for her to ask and being afraid just didn’t feel like a good enough reason to turn her down.
I took a deep breath. “Um, sure. I guess.”
“I don’t suppose you’d wanna come to the house?”
My fingers folded tighter around the phone. I cleared my throat. “I’d rather not.”
“I figured,” she said. I couldn’t decipher what else I heard in her voice.
“I’m staying across the bay,” I said, and told her the hotel. “You wanna come over and we’ll eat somewhere there?”
“Sure,” she said. “Around seven?”
I said that was fine and we hung up.
The car idled quietly beneath me as I sat there for a few minutes, staring out the window, watching the traffic and memories fly by.
TWENTY-TWO
“I can’t say that I’ve missed you,” Lauren said, laying her napkin on the table.
We were in an Asian restaurant on the main level of the hotel. We’d spent an hour eating and saying things that were safe and meaningless. Lauren finished her meal and apparently decided it was time to change that.
I set my fork down on top of my plate. “Stop flattering me.”
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and pulled on her earlobe for a moment, oblivious to my attempt at humor. “I mean, I haven’t missed the person you became.”
“I understand. No one would.”
She rested her elbow on the table and set her chin in her hand. “But I have wondered what you’ve been doing all this time.”
I wadded up my napkin and laid it on the table, my appetite gone. “Just moving around. Helping people when I can.”
“How do people know about you?” she asked, her thin eyebrows coming together. “Do you know what I mean? How do they find you?”
I took a drink of water from the half empty glass. “Message boards, referrals, I don’t know. People whose kids are missing, they exhaust all avenues trying to find them. I had some good luck shortly after I left here finding a couple of kids. People who get their kids back, they wanna help others. They’re grateful and they know what it’s like. There’s lots of networking.” I shrugged. “My name comes up.”
“Do you like it?” she asked.
I thought for a moment. “It’s good to be able to bring kids back home, to see them with their parents, to have helped. But I’m not sure like is the right word.”
“Have you found any that weren’t…” Her voice trailed off.
“Alive?” I held up my index finger. “One. A girl. Two years ago. Last month, I heard that they finally found the guy who killed her.”
Lauren raised an eyebrow. “You don’t stick around for that part?”
I shifted in the chair. “No. I go to find the kid. That’s it.”
Lauren blinked several times and I knew there was a different question coming. She would’ve made a terrible poker player. I’d known her for half my life and any time those eyes fluttered, I knew a serious question wasn’t far behind.
“Do you think she’s alive, Joe?” she asked.
Our waitress appeared at the table, cleared our plates and asked if we wanted coffee. We both nodded silently. I didn’t say anything again until our cups were in front of us.
“No,” I said. “There’s a tiny thread somewhere inside that still hopes. But realistically?” I shook my head. “No. I don’t think Elizabeth’s alive.”
Lauren cupped the mug so tight, I expected it to shatter. Tears pooled in her eyes, tears I knew she didn't want me to see. “I didn’t expect you to say that. Last time I saw you, you couldn’t say that.”
“She’s been gone eight years.” I stared at the coffee. “I’m not so fucked up that I can’t be realistic about it.”
“Three years ago.”
I looked at her. “Three years ago what?”
She had regained her composure. “That was the last time I saw you. You were singing a different tune then.”
She was right. I'd still been convinced that Elizabeth was alive. I’d come back to San Diego, following a lead that came my way. I woke every morning, thinking that day would be the day she'd be found. She’d come home and we’d all go back to being a family. The lead, like all of them before and after, hadn’t panned out and I’d taken off again, leaving San Diego in my wake.
“What changed?” Lauren asked.
The coffee had turned lukewarm, almost cool. I set the mug down on the table. “I learned a little more, I guess. The more I do this, look for kids, the more I learn.” I swallowed hard, forced myself to say it. “Hope almost always loses to statistics.”
