“We haven’t known each other long enough for me to give a shit about your word, Stevie.”

He nodded again. “That’s fair. But I’m not.”

“Your pal seems like he’s looking to hurt someone.”

“Boyd ain’t gonna do shit unless I tell him to.”

“What does he owe you money for?”

He brushed at the snow sticking to his face. “Not important. At this point, the money isn’t even the important thing. Just need to find him.”

“We’re going in circles here.”

Stevie nodded slowly. “Yeah. We are. But it’s complicated.”

“So un-complicate it for me.”

He chewed on his lip and looked away.

“I know who you are,” Stevie said, turning back to me.

“Good for you.”

“And I know what you do,” he said.

I didn’t say anything, but my curiosity was aroused.

“If you find Marc, you need to let us know,” he said.

“Why exactly is that?”

He stared hard at me. It wasn’t the stare of some stupid street punk, like Boyd. There was more behind it, but I couldn’t tell exactly what it was.

“Joe Tyler,” he said. “Your name is Joe Tyler.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Might be able to help you with your daughter,” he said, his voice dropping slightly.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

I did. It stopped my heart. Turned my blood to a temperature closer to the slush we were standing in. Knotted up my gut.

Stevie stood from the car. “You find Marc or you hear from him, you have Isabel call me. Or do it yourself. She’s got the number. Then we can talk about your daughter.”

I stood there, paralyzed. He’d caught me off-guard and I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t move.

“You didn’t tell me,” I said, forcing the words out, trying to regain my composure. “Why she needs to let you know if she finds Marc.”

He stood at the door to the Subaru, his gloved hand on the door handle, his breath leaving his body in icy swirls. “Because I’m trying to keep him alive.”

TWENTY-ONE

I should’ve been exhausted, but I laid awake for the rest of the night.

Isabel said she had no idea what he was talking about when I relayed my conversation with Stevie to her. She was quick to blow it off, saying he was just trying to manipulate me. She had no explanation for how he’d learned my name or knew about my daughter.

“He said he was trying to keep Marc alive,” I said, standing in the living room of her apartment.

Her face screwed up with confusion. “I don’t believe that for a second. I mean, I don’t think he’s really trying to hurt Marc, but every time he’s come to me, he’s been threatening and a bit of an asshole. Not exactly the demeanor of a guy who’s working to help Marc out.”

“People have probably described me the same way at times.”

She had no answer for that and I went back to my apartment to lie on the mattress and stare at the ceiling for a long time, working it all over in my head.

I closed my eyes and drifted for awhile. Soon, though, the sunshine on the freshly fallen snow reflected brilliantly through the window and I felt myself squinting before I even opened my eyes.

I showered, my tired eyes stinging against the hot water, dressed and walked down to a convenience store on the corner. The snow was like soft powder on the sidewalk, scattering easily around my feet as I walked. The streets had already been cleared, waist-high banks of snow pushed up against the curbs on either side of the street.

I grabbed a bagel and coffee and sat down at a small table near the window. I was halfway thru the bagel when my phone vibrated. I saw the number, hesitated, then answered. “Hey, Lauren.”

“Did I wake you?”

“Nope. I’m awake.”

“Then you must already have coffee in hand.”

I smiled and blew on the surface of the cup in my hand. My ex-wife still knew me better than anyone else in the world. “Always.”

“You alright?” she asked.

I knew she was worried. I’d fled San Diego in a hurry to get to Minnesota without telling her where I was headed. We’d reconnected while I was there and I wasn’t sure what it was like for her, but it had rekindled emotions in me that I thought I’d locked away for good.

“I’m okay,” I said. “I’m in Minneapolis.”

“Then not only do you have coffee, but you’re cold.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

She chuckled. “Trying to picture you bundled up like an Eskimo.”

“I actually had to put socks on,” I said.

“Well, now I know you’re not alright.”

“Good point.”

It was the kind of banter that existed only between people who’d shared more things than they could count. The kind that didn’t disappear even with divorce and the loss of a child. The kind that would always be there for me and Lauren.

“Am I allowed to ask what you’re doing there?” she asked.

I sipped from the coffee. “You really want to know?”

The line buzzed for a few moments. “I honestly don’t know, Joe. Do I?”

It was different for Lauren. It always had been. Elizabeth’s disappearance consumed me, sunk its claws into me and refused to let go. She had decided she had to let go, that she couldn’t live in the place I’d chosen for myself. It was why we’d divorced, even though we hadn’t stopped loving one another. The one thing we loved the most had separated us and the roller coaster of emotions that went into looking for a child was a ride she couldn’t stay on.

But I felt like this was different.

“I got a picture,” I said and explained to her why I was in Minneapolis.

The line was silent for a long time when I finished talking. I drank from the Styrofoam cup, the coffee warming my throat and gut. I knew Lauren was processing and I didn’t want to interrupt that.

“Can I see it?” she asked, her voice quiet, tight.

“Of course.”

“It’s her?”

“Yeah. It’s her, Lauren. I knew it when I saw it. It’s her.”

The line was quiet. I pictured her sitting there on the couch, her legs tucked under her, her forehead in her hand, biting back the tears. I’d seen it too many times.

“I want to see it, okay?” she said.

“Of course. I just wasn’t sure if you’d…”

“I know, I know,” she said. “But if you have a picture of her. I want to see. What she looks like.”

“I’ll get it to you as soon as we hang up.”

“I know I’m going to regret even asking this, but…”

“I don’t know anything yet,” I said. “I’ve talked to a few people and they’ve given me names of more people to talk to. Nothing concrete.”

Her disappointment seeped through the phone. “Okay. You’ll let me know?”

“Of course.”

She exhaled loudly into the phone. “Okay. Well. Wasn’t expecting that.”

“Were you calling for a reason?” I asked. “Or just to…”  I wasn’t sure why she’d be calling. I knew she wasn’t pleased that I’d left San Diego again. So there were a million reasons she could’ve been calling.

“Oh, right,” she said. “Sorry. You threw me for a loop.”

I waited.

“Your favorite person called,” she said. “Bazer.”

It was the second time in two days I’d heard his name. “He called you? What the hell did he want?”

“I really don’t know,” she said. “He was trying to be all friendly. I was decidedly not.”

I smiled. We may have come to the conclusion that we couldn’t stay married, but we had both remained adamant in our dislike of Bazer. There were times when I felt certain she hated him more than I did.

“He started off acting like he was just calling to see how I was,” she said. “He didn’t get the hint when I gave him one-word answers so I finally asked him why the hell he was calling me.”

I finished the coffee and pushed the paper cup away.

“He was still kind of evasive, but it was pretty clear he was digging for info. On you.”

“What kind of info?”

“I think more than anything, he wanted to know where you were,” she said. “He asked if I’d spoken to you in the last few days. I said yes, but didn’t tell him anything else. Not that I knew where you were, but I wouldn’t have told him if I did.”