“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.”
She stirred her coffee with a spoon. Physically, she hadn’t changed much in three years. Still had the runner’s physique. There were no lines on her tan forehead or around her green eyes. Her auburn hair was still long and shiny. I felt ten years older than my forty years, but she looked ten younger than hers.
Nothing had changed physically about her, but I wondered if anything else had.
“Do you still blame me?” I asked.
She picked up her mug, then set it down without drinking. She folded her arms around herself like some cold wind had gusted into the restaurant. She stared at me.
“I don’t want to,” she said. “And most days, I don’t. I really don’t, Joe. I know you weren’t responsible. And I know what people suggested about you afterward was horrible. I never believed any of that. I hope you know that.” She shifted in the chair. “But there are some days that I need someone to blame.”
Tears threatened again in her eyes. Her shoulders and neck stiffened, filling with tension. Her mouth drew tighter. She couldn’t look at me.
“And then all I can think about is you and Elizabeth out in the yard,” she said, her voice breaking.
Her words weren’t anything I hadn’t heard before but they stung like I was hearing them for the first time and my gut rolled.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “I know how unfair that is. But I…” Her voice trailed off.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I understand.”
I understood because most days I felt the same way.
All I could think about was standing out in the yard with Elizabeth.