Thread of Hope

just something that hurt.

I thought about doing the goodbye thing. Find Lauren, find Chuck, find Gina, find everyone I’d connected with over the previous few days and say goodbye. But I knew that I’d be tempted to stay, to think that I could overcome the past that punched me in the face every day I woke up in San Diego.

I knew better and drove myself straight to the airport before I changed my mind, turned in my rental car and strapped on my backpack.

The envelope Mike had given me was folded up in the pocket of my jeans and I pulled it out. I hadn’t opened it. When I’d gotten back to the hotel, I’d stared at it for a few minutes before deciding that I needed sleep before confronting whatever it held.

I knew that whatever was inside probably wouldn’t lead to finding Elizabeth. But there was always that microscopic chance that it would. I’d spent the previous years jumping at just those chances. Following up on them was the only thing that got me to sleep at night, knowing that I wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

Meredith was back home. She’d been found. Seeing her with Jordan reminded me of how much I wanted to be that father, the father reunited with his daughter.

When Lauren asked me where I was headed, I hadn’t lied to her. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t know where I was going, only that wherever I went, I’d go back to thinking about Elizabeth.

I unfolded the envelope, fingered the dull creases in it.

I slid my finger carefully under the flap and unsealed it. I pulled out a folded-over photo with a note attached to it.

Found this in a file. You'd know better than I would, but it was close enough to pass on to you. I'd have followed it myself if you hadn't come to town. Let me know if I can help. ML.

That was followed by the name Jacob Detwiler and a Minneapolis address.

I removed the note from the photo and unfolded the picture.

Two young girls, maybe ten years old, sitting on what looked to me like a bus bench. There was snow on the ground and both girls wore hooded sweatshirts and jeans. They sat close together, their faces devoid of expression. Their arms were linked.

I folded the picture with trembling fingers. The floor swayed a bit and I had trouble breathing as I looked for a place to sit. An icy sweat formed on my neck. I knew better than to get my hopes up. I had learned the hard way. But sometimes things showed up that couldn't prevent it, couldn't save me from the heartache.

I sat down and tried to catch my breath, wondering how fast I could get to Minneapolis.

I unfolded the picture again.

The photo was grainy, out of focus and shadowy, probably taken around dusk. But I knew Elizabeth's face.

And for the first time in forever, she was staring back at me.