I wasn’t sure where that left us, but I was glad she’d come to Minnesota so quickly.

She emerged from the bathroom, makeup reapplied, her cheeks clean, the redness in her eyes somewhat tempered.

She ran a hand through her hair and took another deep breath. “Okay. Tell me.”

We walked through the baggage claim area and up the escalators to the parking level. I told her everything I’d learned since getting to Minneapolis. About seeing her picture in the yearbook and Tim Barron’s confirmation that she was currently an enrolled student at a local school. By the time we reached my car, she was already churning all of it over in her head.

“So you haven’t see her yet?” she asked, getting situated in the passenger seat.

“No. Just the photo in the yearbook from a number of years ago.”

“Did he have last year’s yearbook? From the high school?”

“No. Just from grade school.”

“But he could get them,” she said.

“Yeah, I guess. But we’re going to the house.”

“The house?”

“The address he gave me for this Corzine family,” I said. “I’m not waiting. The only thing I was waiting for was you.”

“What if it’s not her?”

“It’s her, Lauren. I saw the photo.”

“But, I don’t know, maybe…”

“I swear to you,” I said as we went through the pay booths. “I wouldn’t have called you unless I was absolutely certain it was her. I would not put you through this unless it was her. That’s the one promise I’ve always made you.”

We exited the airport, turned onto the highway and were passing the exit for Mall of America before she spoke again.

“I’m just preparing myself to be disappointed,” Lauren said. “You know that’s what I do. I’ve refused to let myself believe she was still alive, refused to think I’d ever get that call from you. And then I get it. Today. And here we are. Driving to go see our daughter. Maybe.”

Brake lights lit up in front of us and I slowed, the late afternoon traffic beginning to tie up the freeways.

“I mean, what if she doesn’t know who we are?” Lauren said, staring straight ahead. “What if she doesn’t remember? Or what if she blames us?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“What if she doesn’t want to talk to us?” Lauren said. “What if she doesn’t want to leave?”

“I don’t know.”

“And what if she’s…not alright?” she said, her voice dropping. “What if she’s not okay?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know, Lauren. I don’t have any answers. But I want them.”

The traffic started moving again and I changed lanes, focusing on the freeway in front of me.

“I want them,” I said.

FORTY-TWO

The walk in front of the Corzine address hadn’t been shoveled or cleared, unlike every other house on the block. It was a split-level home, painted yellow, with small windows and a screen door covering a dark wooden door. The yard sloped toward the street, the driveway a hill of compacted ice and snow. Smoke snaked out of the chimney.

I parked across the street and we sat in the car for a moment, silent. I had no idea what I was going to encounter when I knocked on the door. I didn’t know if this was the person that took Elizabeth from my front yard or if she’d come to them through another channel.

But as I stared at the house, I was angry. Angry that my daughter had lived there without me. Angry that someone else had gotten to see her grow up and take care of her. Whoever was in that house, they’d gotten all of the things that I’d been robbed of. They had taken things away from me that I couldn’t get back.

“You have that look,” Lauren said.

“What look?” I said, my eyes still on the house.

“The one that broke our marriage,” she said. “The one that told me that finding Elizabeth was more important to you than anything else. The one that scared me sometimes.”

I didn’t say anything, just opened the car door and stepped out into the street. Lauren got out on her side. We crossed the street and shuffled up the driveway, the snow trying to find its ways inside my shoes. I navigated the snow-covered steps up to the front door and stuck my finger on the doorbell. I felt Lauren’s hand on my elbow. I took a deep breath that did nothing to calm my nerves and waited.

Footsteps echoed behind the door and a young girl, probably six or so, opened the door. Blond ponytail, big brown eyes, wearing a long sleeve T-shirt and sweatpants.

“Are your parents home?” I said, loud enough so she could hear me through the screen door.

She hesitated, then closed the door. Footsteps echoed away from the door and were soon replaced by heavier footsteps. The door opened again.

An older version of the young girl appeared. Around my age, sporting a longer blond ponytail and the same brown eyes. But hers were red-rimmed, framed by dark circles. Slender, she wore faded jeans and a plain gray thermal.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Are you Valerie Corzine?” I asked.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. What can I do for you?”

“You have a daughter? Ellie?”

Her shoulders stiffened and the lines in her face drew tighter. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Joe Tyler. You have a daughter named Ellie?”

If my name meant anything to her, she didn’t show it. Instead, she stepped closer to the door. “Yes. Ellie is my daughter. Is she with you?” Her eyes scanned the street behind us.

“No. She is not.”

“What do you know?” she asked, the tension moving to near panic. “Have you spoken to her? Do you know where she is? Who are you?”

A different kind of dread was filling me now. Lauren’s hand tightened on my elbow. Her questions weren’t what I’d hoped to hear.

“We’re her parents,” I said.

She stared at me, her mouth setting in an angry line. “Excuse me?”

“Elizabeth Tyler,” I said, my hands beginning to shake again. “The girl you call Ellie? Her name’s Elizabeth. She was taken from us. I’m her father. This is her mother. And we’re here to take her back.”

“Taken from you?” she asked, squinting at me. “What the hell is this?”

“Where is she?” I said, my voice rising, my patience ebbing away.

“What do you mean she was taken from you…”

I slammed my hand against the plexiglass pane in the door and it banged against the frame. “Where is she?”

The woman jumped back and the little girl hidden behind her legs took off running.

“She’s my daughter!” I screamed. “Not yours! And so help me God, if you’re the one that took her, I am going to end your life! Where is she?”

The woman stepped away from the door, her eyes wide, her hand covering her mouth.

“Joe,” Lauren whispered, her other hand touching my waist now. “Easy.”

Another person approached the door. A man, about her age, wearing jeans and a University of Minnesota sweatshirt. About my size, slightly built. He put his hands on his wife’s shoulders, looked from me to her and gently moved her back so he was between us.

“I’m not sure what the hell is going on here, but you need to leave,” he said.

“Where’s my daughter?” I asked.

“I’m going to call the police if you don’t leave.”

The woman said something behind him and he glanced back at her quickly, not wanting to take his eyes off me.

I shrugged Lauren off my arm and pulled out my cell phone. “Tell you what. I’ll do it for you. Because I’m not going anywhere until I see her. And while I’m at it, I’m also going to call the F.B.I. because they’ve been involved in looking for her, too, so they are all going to want to talk with you. And when I get off the phone, I’m coming through this door to find my daughter. They can sort through the fucking wreckage when they get here.”

The man stepped forward, closer to the door. “Wait, wait. Ellie is your daughter?”

I gritted my teeth. “Her name is Elizabeth.”

The woman spoke again. He turned around annoyed, said something to her that sounded like he wanted her to be quiet.