When I'm Gone: A Novel (9 page)

Luke marched out of the restroom, double-checking his pockets for keys. He’d say good-bye and thank you to Annie and go. She’d understand. She always understood.

Approaching the bar, Luke noticed the bartender, Mick, standing in front of Annie. Luke’s open beer sat on the counter, and Mick was leaning over it doing that annoying flexing thing, taking obvious glances at Annie’s breasts.

Luke searched the room for Brian, hoping to signal him in to rescue Annie. He located him quickly at a table a few feet from the bar, but to Luke’s surprise, Brian was casually watching the interaction between Annie and Mick. Next to him sat his severely buzzed buddies. He didn’t look concerned at all. In fact, he was laughing.

Annie leaned away from the bar, glancing around the room, arms crossed tightly around her chest, giving obvious signs of disinterest, but Mick didn’t seem to notice. When he reached across the bar to tuck a piece of hair behind Annie’s ear, Luke had seen enough. He took three long strides across the room and dragged the barstool out loudly, the rubber stoppers scraping the floor.

“Sorry I took so long. You okay?” Luke plopped down, pretending Mick wasn’t standing there ogling Natalie’s best friend’s body parts. Annie met Luke’s gaze, and the tension in her shoulders disappeared instantly.

“Sure thing.” She flashed a smile that looked like relief. “Glad you found your way back. I was about to send in a rescue team.”

Luke laughed as heartily as he could muster, putting on a show for Mick, who was still standing there. When would this guy take a hint?

“Hey, beautiful, my shift’s almost over,” Mick interjected, his voice deepening in what Luke could only guess was an attempt at sexy. “Can I buy you a drink or something? My place is only a few minutes from here, and my bar is well stocked.”

Brian let out a loud “Hah!” behind them. The amount of entertainment he was getting from his wife’s distress was starting to irritate Luke. He took Brian for the protective type, not an unfeeling lout.

“Thanks, but like I already told you, I’m married.”

“And like I told you, I don’t buy it. No ring? At a bar?” He grabbed her bare left hand and lifted it up into the light. She snapped it away, blushing.

“I was doing the dishes and forgot to put it back on,” she explained to Luke, like he should care.

“What? Are you married to this guy?” Mick stood tall, like he was trying to show how much more of a man he was than Luke.

“No,” Annie and Luke said in unison.

“He’s my best friend’s hus—” Annie cut herself off. Looking at Luke, her forehead wrinkled. “Actually, he’s my friend,” she corrected herself.

He’d never thought of Annie as anything other than Natalie’s best friend. He had plenty of casual friendships, but the only real, meaningful friendship he’d ever been able to maintain was with Natalie. Growing up isolated by abuse and then again by foster care, he’d never learned how to lean on anyone but himself. Yet if he looked closely at the past three months, she was right. Annie had become his friend. She might be his only real friend.

“Sooooo.” Mick broke into Luke’s moment of realization. “I got this thing right after all.” He stared pointedly at the empty spot on Annie’s hand where her solitaire usually sat. “You stand behind a bar long enough, and you get to a point where you can read people pretty well. I pick up on things.”

“Yeah, totally FBI material, Mick,” Annie joked, flipping her hair before taking a long drink from her diet soda.

Luke had to work hard not to laugh. Mick, as was becoming habit, didn’t notice the sarcastic lilt to her voice.

“You think so?” Mick ran a hand over his chest. “I’ve definitely got the body for it.”

Luke was done trying to let Mick down easy. This guy needed a dose of honesty.

“Listen.” He snapped his fingers in front of Mick’s face. “She’s clearly not interested. Leave the poor woman alone.”

“Uh, I don’t think you know if she’s interested or not, so back off.”

Annie cleared her throat, catching Mick’s attention. “I’m not interested. Sorry. And I
am
married. See that guy back there, the one who’s been playing Golden Tee for the past hour? That’s my husband, Officer Brian Gurrella, and a few of his work friends.”

Luke piled on. “Maybe you’d like to chat with them about your interest in law enforcement. I can call them over if you’d like.” He turned as if to wave at Brian and his friends. Mick checked out the group of heavily muscled men hovering around a table covered in half-empty mugs of beer.

“No, no.” He backed away from the bar, almost bumping into the bottles of hard liquor behind him, finally finding someone intimidating enough to back off. “I’m good. Uh, looks like you need a refill.” Mick pointed at Annie’s empty glass, seeming almost professional. “My shift’s over, but I’ll send Stacey with one for you.”

“Sounds great; thanks, Mick,” Luke added, finding Mick’s reaction to rejection far too entertaining.

When Mick disappeared through the flapping doors, mumbling something under his breath about them being assholes, Annie let out a loud whoop and offered Luke a high-five. He put up his hand, and she slapped it so hard it tingled.

“That was awesome.” She was beaming—nothing left of the shy, intimidated woman he’d attempted to “save” a few minutes earlier. “I’ve never had the guts to do that before. Brian thinks I’m a wimp. I hope he was watching.”

When she mentioned his name, Brian poked his head between the two of them, reeking of beer and at least a few shots of whiskey.

“Thanks a bunch, Luke. You lost me fifty bucks. I bet those losers she’d run away and cry before she’d get him to back off.” He smacked Luke on the shoulder and gave Annie a brief kiss on the top of her head. “I think the bet should be off since you stuck your nose in there and scared the guy away.”

“Hey!” Annie protested. “I think I did pretty great. And not one tear.” She shrugged off Brian’s arm in mock disgust. Luke was about to join in on the whole strange but playful banter when he caught sight of Annie’s reflection in the mirror over the bar. Her face was smooth, eyes hard and unblinking. There wasn’t any of the bouncing laughter that filled the words she spoke. In fact, the only thing he could easily identify in her features was desperation. Luke cringed.

Brian didn’t see her face, didn’t know he was embarrassing his wife. Or that by sitting back and watching Mick hit on her, he’d made Annie feel insignificant.

“I’m giving you a hard time, Luke.” Brian stood and slapped both of them on opposite shoulders. “You ladies keep enjoying your girls’ night out. The boys are itching to play darts, and I gotta win some of my money back.” He eyed Luke like he was checking his credentials. “You can join us if you want to, man. We always like fresh blood.”

Luke knew Brian got better at darts when he was drunk, and the other two would soon be throwing like twelve-year-olds. He considered for a moment how easy it would be for him to dominate them all at darts and make a little money. Then he checked on Annie’s unchanged reflection.

“No, thanks. You guys have fun.” He waved at Tanner and Jose, who were divvying up the darts by color. “You can give me your money another time.”

“You wish,” Brian said as he walked away.

“You okay?” Luke whispered once Brian was hefting his first dart toward a plastic board. Did Annie and Natalie ever talk about their husbands together? They must have—isn’t that what girlfriends do? Now Luke and Annie were friends—it was official—but Luke definitely wasn’t ready to dispense relationship advice.

“I’m fine.” She took a deep shaky breath before putting on a bright smile. It looked real enough to him. Then Luke had a startling thought: What if he’d never seen Annie’s real smile? She turned her barstool around and watched the game of darts from a distance as though she was actually interested. “You can leave if you want; I wouldn’t blame you.”

Luke hesitated. Before Mick and all his slick moves, he was planning to find an excuse to jump in his car and make it home before
The Late Late Show
came on. The only reason he’d come tonight was to pump Annie for information. She didn’t have any more to tell him.

As Luke turned his stool around to match hers, he crossed one foot over his knee and leaned against the bar behind him. Annie wasn’t some object he could take out and use every once in a while when it suited him and then put in a closet when he was done.

He wasn’t going to use her like Mick wanted to, or ditch her like Brian had.

“Nope. I’m staying,” Luke said before taking a long drink of his nearly warm beer. “But since it doesn’t look like we are going to get Brian out of here in time for our reservations at Bistro 16, I think we should order some food. Do they even have food at this dive . . . I mean, this incredibly classy facility?”

“Oh, for sure.” Annie laughed. “Their specialty is a delicacy from France. I think it’s called french fries.” She put on a horrible fake French accent. Luke chuckled.

“Sounds very exotic.”

“You’ll never look at French cuisine the same again. I promise.” Annie waved at the young woman dressed in black who had replaced Mick behind the counter. As the girl headed over, Luke watched Annie stare at her hands.

“Um,” she said, pausing like she was gathering her thoughts. “Thank you for coming to my rescue. I’m really glad you came out with us tonight.” Annie had flawless skin; high, well-defined cheekbones; and a body that was well sculpted by a natural athleticism and hours in the gym. Natalie used to joke that she felt like an Oompa-Loompa beside her fine-boned best friend, which Luke would laugh off with an extra long kiss and smack on the behind. Annie was definitely not his type, but right now, sitting at the bar with her mouth turned up a little at the corners, curving softly—something inside him stirred; he had a sudden urge to reach out and touch the delicate wrinkles settling around her lips.

“Hey, that’s what friends are for,” he joked, looking away. What the hell was he doing thinking about Annie? He was missing Natalie—that had to be it.

Luke found lots of interesting things to focus on in the bar—flashing lights, Brian’s winning streak at darts, the guy in the corner who kept playing “Back in Black” on the jukebox. He looked everywhere but at her. Yet no matter how hard he tried to avoid it, Luke found himself waiting for another view of her subtle smile. When he did catch her once or twice smiling at a joke or story, he’d wonder if this time it was real.

APRIL

CHAPTER 9

“Why do you think she had that envelope? Why keep it?” Will followed behind Luke asking questions. Every morning they went through this routine—Will making lists of evidence trying to prove he wasn’t crazy; Luke tamping down his son’s concerns while his own grew like an unkempt garden choked with weeds. “She always talked about how she had to take medicine to help her get pregnant. Did you ever
see
her belly? Why aren’t there any pictures?” The questions went on and on.

“I don’t know why she kept it.
Yes,
I saw her pregnant, and we didn’t take a lot of pictures because I was gone and selfies hadn’t been invented.” Luke reeled off the list of answers like he did every morning. They weren’t always the same questions, but the eerily hopeful tone never changed. It was the way Will asked more than what he asked that disturbed Luke the most.

Even without Will’s obsession, Luke didn’t go more than an hour without thinking about the envelope from Natalie’s memory box and the name written on it. It still bothered him . . . a lot . . . but not because he was in any doubt that Will was his son. No matter which way Will spun the story or how many wild assumptions he made, nothing could make Luke question his son’s paternity. Why all the secrets? That was the question that kept racing through Luke’s mind during these morning interviews—why all the secrets?

He’d planned to throw away the Maranatha envelope, ready to never think about it again. But then a new letter came, this one all about Dr. Neal giving Natalie a box of his wife’s old scarves. That’s all it took. The envelope had been staring at him from the top of his dresser ever since.

“I did a little research, if it makes you feel better. The Maranatha Adoption Agency, it’s in Chicago, and the folks there won’t answer any questions over the phone about something that happened years ago. But that agency has some kind of office in Kalamazoo. It’s called Maranatha House.”

Will’s mouth dropped open. “Are you serious? Isn’t that close to where Mom grew up?” He jammed his hands into the front pockets of the sweatshirt, burrowing them in deep. “Dad, what does that mean?”

“Probably nothing,” Luke said as he plopped the pile of mail into the back pocket of his workbag. He put up his hand to stop Will before he could argue with him further. “
But
I’m taking the day off work on Thursday to check it out in person. Is that thorough enough for you?”

“I’m coming with you.” Will hung his blue backpack over his shoulder. It was covered in all kinds of doodles done in permanent marker. Luke thought they were graffiti, but Natalie always called them art.

“No, you’re not. They probably won’t talk to me anyway. Do you know how hard it is to adopt a baby, Will?” Luke’s voice went up, and he fought back irritation. He took a deep breath and continued toward the front door. Will followed.

“Okay. Okay. Fine. You go alone.”

Passing through the hall of family pictures, Luke stared straight ahead, still unable to look at the picture of “wedding day Natalie.” Usually it was to avoid the pain inflicted by the happy memories, but lately it was to evade all the doubts clogging his brain.

When they emerged from the hall, Will was behind him, touching his shoulder. “Thank you for doing all this.” His arms wrapped around Luke’s shoulders in a brief hug, and Luke patted his back, wishing he didn’t have to let go.

“I’d do anything for you, Will.” Luke leaned back to look him in the eye. “You’re my son.”

“I know, Dad.”

Luke patted his son’s cheek and held him an arm’s length in front of him. “Now get Clayton, and I’ll drop you at school on the way to work.”

“Okay.” Will nodded and then shouted,
“Clay! Time to go!”

“Uh, I said
go
and get him. I could’ve yelled.” Luke pointed him toward the stairs.

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes and sulked up the stairs, back to his normal teenage-boy self.

Luke sped down I-94 past still-bare trees with tiny buds at the tips of each branch. Even though they were already a week into April, there was still a strong possibility it could snow. But the snow wouldn’t kill the leaf buds. Somehow they survived the late winter storms and premature springs. If only humans were more like trees.

A large green road sign read
K
ALAMAZOO,
E
XIT 72
. He’d been waiting for this moment all week. Flicking on his turn signal, he checked his mirrors, even though no one else had been on the road all morning. It had only taken two hours to get from his house to the western Michigan town, and with everything running through his mind, the time had flown by.

When Luke told Annie about his last-minute “business trip,” she offered to watch Clayton at his house so the handoff with Jessie would go smoothly. Despite Clayton’s immediate friendship with Jessie, Annie would always be first in his heart, and lately that meant big fits at three when it was time to go home. Luke was grateful for one less thing to worry about, even if it meant making sure the dishes were in the dishwasher and that Clayton flushed the toilet after his morning potty break.

Annie had been extra supportive since he’d tagged along with her and Brian to the bar. He didn’t know if it was because he’d helped her with Mick or because she was worried about his state of mind. Annie was one of the most loyal people he’d ever met; she reminded Luke of his mother a little, which was a good thing and a bad thing at the same time. His mother didn’t seem to be able to see the bad in people or even suspect it. This was doubly true of Annie with Natalie. She’d rather assume Luke was going bonkers than question if her deceased best friend had been living a secret life.

Off the highway, Luke focused on slowing down. Pressing gently on the brake, he checked the map on his GPS screen. Two rights, two lefts, one more right, then he’d be there. Maranatha House. He’d been working on his story and his “I need help” face. That morning he’d put on the suit he’d worn at Natalie’s funeral. So much for burning it. He needed it today. The sadness that clung to it like cologne would help him appear more convincing.

Luke followed the voice on his GPS to a narrow lane covered in crumbling blacktop. He took the turn cautiously, avoiding a large divot in the middle of the asphalt. Inching down the road he let his foot hover over the gas pedal, never allowing the speedometer to go above ten miles per hour. The driving instructions told him to go 1.2 miles. As he pushed closer to the red and black dot glowing on the navigation screen, Luke felt a growing urge to make a three-point turn and head home.

Unexpectedly the woman on the GPS told him he’d arrived at his destination. Luke slammed on his breaks far more forcefully than necessary, which tossed his body forward, shoulders nearly bumping the steering wheel. Glancing around, Luke was confused. There was nothing but half-bare branches on the trees and the tips of green bulbs peeking out of heavy blankets of half-rotted leaves on the ground. Shoot. He must have put the wrong address in his GPS.

Checking in the rearview mirror once, Luke pulled out the sheet of paper he’d written down the address on and carefully typed it in again. As the GPS recalculated, he took one more glance around. Thirty yards behind him, something stuck out from a hedge of budding bushes. A silver mailbox. Luke clicked the car into reverse and slowly backed up until he was parallel to the large silver mailbox at the end of an overgrown dirt road. The mailbox’s red flag was up, and the initials
MFS
were pasted across the side of the box in black letters.
MFS
. Maranatha Family Services.

So, it was real. He’d been so distracted he’d almost missed the entrance. The desire to leave without finding the Maranatha House had disappeared. Someone had put up the flag on that mailbox, which meant there was probably someone on the other end of the dirt road. Maybe that person would have answers. Luke held his breath as he left the road with a giant double bump as his tires settled into the soft dirt. He couldn’t turn back. He’d come too far. Will was waiting for answers. Damn it,
he
was waiting for answers.

It took a few accelerations for Luke’s tires to finally get enough traction to head down the dusty road; he was thankful he’d gone with an SUV with four-wheel drive. Otherwise, he probably would be walking now, and his funeral suit would be getting dusty. Thankfully he wasn’t walking, because the road was much longer than he’d expected.

Luke turned in to an empty spot next to a dark-brown Chrysler that had seen better days. The windows were brazenly rolled down, as if the owner was daring the sky to turn dark and rain. Luke patted his coat pocket to make sure the envelope was still there. Inside was an old picture of Natalie, a picture of Will as a baby, and a copy of Will’s birth certificate, just in case. He’d planned out at least a dozen lies he could tell to get information out of the agency, but finally he decided he might as well tell the truth. They probably wouldn’t give him any information either way—far too many legal issues with all the confidentiality agreements he was sure they signed on adoptions.

The large white house had a wraparound porch and sat in the middle of a green meadow, an incongruous site given the godforsaken road he’d just driven down. The battered Chrysler was one in a cluster of dusty cars parked by a barn several yards from the house. A wooden sign that said
O
FFICE
hung off the white fence, the only hint the house wasn’t a private residence. Luke stomped up the steps to the glossy green door at the top. A fluorescent yellow piece of paper, half-bleached from the sun, was taped inside the glass of the storm door. A crude drawing of hands holding a baby was at the top.

“Safe Haven for Babies. Desperate? Need help? You can leave your baby, up to a year old, inside with our staff. No questions asked. Use bell if after hours.” A white button glowed beside the door.

Up to a year old. How could someone leave their one-year-old here, all those feedings, sleepless nights, smiles and giggles? Plus, what girl would want to drive down that dilapidated road to get here? He shook his head and walked through the door, a bell dinging to announce his entrance.

Inside was a surprisingly large lobby for what seemed like such a small organization. The chairs, covered in a rough maroon fabric, were placed in a semicircle facing an L-shaped desk. When the door shut, a woman called out from behind a computer screen. The only thing visible was her bright-pink acrylic nails waving him toward the sitting area.

“Be there in one sec. Take a seat.”

Luke unbuttoned his suit coat and took the seat closest to the desk in case she forgot he was there.

After a few minutes of clacking, the computer woman stood and put a clipboard on the counter. Only she wasn’t a woman; she was a teenager, no older than seventeen or eighteen. She was also very, very pregnant.

“Oh, hey there.” She smiled when she saw Luke sitting alone and pointed to a large wooden door with a sign of a man and woman on it. “Your daughter going to the bathroom?” Luke opened his mouth to talk, but the girl interrupted. “Well, my name is Lacey. When your daughter gets out, you can have her fill all this out. I’ll call Ms. Stephani so we can get right to orientation.”

She put a tan headset to her ear and pressed several buttons, her nails tapping loudly against each one. Luke snagged up the clipboard and scanned the page.

Maranatha Family Services Maternity House Manual (Applicant Edition)

This Crisis Pregnancy Center is a nonprofit organization providing physical, emotional, and spiritual support services to women and families during pregnancy and provides residential services to women ages 12–19, regardless of income, who are pregnant and have chosen adoption.

Replacing the receiver on the phone, the girl called out to him, “Go ahead and read that, and then Ms. Stephani will take you into the office to do the rest of the paperwork. I’m not allowed in there, confidentiality and all.” She whispered the last part, cupping her hand around her mouth. She looked at the bathroom door, eyebrows raised. “You sure she’s okay in there? Maybe she’s carsick?”

“No, I don’t think that’s the problem . . .”

A tall woman with bleached-blonde spiral curls and dark roots came through the open door. She had a giant smile, a light-blue shirt buttoned to the top, and bigger gums than Luke had ever seen. This must be Ms. Stephani.

“So, you’re Dana’s dad. So nice to meet you.” She thrust out her hand, her excitement so real Luke almost felt bad he didn’t have a pregnant daughter hanging out in the restroom for a ridiculous amount of time. Luke shook her hand once.

“Actually, I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding. I’m not here with my daughter.”

Ms. Stephani took her hand back and tilted her head side to side like a cockatoo, her friendly demeanor fading fast.

“Oh? Did she change her mind?” Her face looked older when she wasn’t smiling. Late fifties maybe.

“No. My daughter is nine and is having fun in the fourth grade learning about tadpoles and long division.” He wanted to add “thank God,” but thought that could sound judgmental.