Two from the Heart(48)

Bron gets a stabbing pang in his gut. “What do you mean, gone?”

“Quit. Left. Walked out last night.”

Bron thinks back twenty-four hours. He was working late at the school. He and Vern split a microwave pizza in the break room. Then he went right back to the motel.

“Wait,” says Bron, “I don’t understand. She just… left? Without saying anything?” Now his heart is pounding.

“She looked upset. Said she didn’t have time to explain. She picked up her tips and her paycheck and split.”

At this point, Bron is practically jumping out of his skin. His mind is spinning. What’s going on? Did he say something? Did he not say something? Did something happen? Why would she just take off like that? In one swift move, he slides out of the booth. Maria backs up to avoid getting bowled over.

“Where does she live? Where does she live?” Bron is almost out the door already and has to stop to catch Maria’s answer.

“About five miles outside of town—Alba Road. I think she was just renting. Let me know if you find out anything—”

Bron doesn’t hear a word after “Alba Road.”

With all this frantic energy, he could probably run the five miles in about fifteen minutes. That’s nuts. He needs directions. He needs a ride. The street is empty. Hold on. He sees headlight beams.

A pickup truck is coming slowly around a corner the next street down. Bron starts jogging and waving his arms.

He knows that truck. He knows that driver.





Chapter 34


GRANDPA’S EYES aren’t what they used to be, so after dark, he takes it slow. But that’s okay with Bron. Gives him time to scan the shoulder of the road as they go. But for what? Footprints? Blood? Breadcrumbs?

After about ten minutes, the truck headlights bounce off a battered sign marking Alba Road. Not far from the intersection is a small stucco bungalow—the only building for a hundred yards. This has to be it.

Grandpa pulls to a stop. “?Debería esperar? Should I wait, Se?or Tyler?”

“No. I don’t want her to think I brought a posse. I’m good.”

As Grandpa makes a swerving U-turn, Bron walks across the sand and low scrub grass to the house. The porch light is on, but everything else is dark. He knocks on the front door. Nothing.

He walks quickly around the house, pressing his face against the windows, one by one. No sounds. No movement.

Back at the front door, Bron tries the knob. Locked. He looks under the mat and in a clay planter. No key. Just as he’s about to put his elbow through a window, he notices a magnetic sticker on the metal mailbox. It’s from Verde Repairs. NO JOB TOO SMALL it says—in English and in Spanish. Bron peels it off.

He slips the thin sticker in against the strike plate of the doorjamb and wiggles it until he feels a slight give. Old school, but it works. He’s in. He flips the light switch just inside the door.

“Sunny? It’s Tyler. You here?”

He moves quickly through the living room, kitchen, and bedroom, flicking lights on as he goes. Deserted.

The rooms are bare except for some IKEA-style furniture. The bed is made—not perfect, but neat. No signs of a struggle, as they say on the cop shows. He slides the bedroom closet door open. Empty—except for one white blouse and one black skirt.

He checks the medicine cabinet. Contact lens solution, toothpaste, aspirin—the usual. Not much in the refrigerator—just a carton of orange juice, some cottage cheese, and a couple of beers.

Bron pulls open the kitchen drawers and finds some plastic flatware and paper napkins.

And then… he feels something. Something that doesn’t quite fit. Tucked under a cheese grater and a pair of oven mitts is an eight by ten manila envelope, the kind with a metal clasp at the top.

Bron opens the clasp. Pulls out the contents. And feels his heart thud through his chest.





Chapter 35


HE’S LOOKING at a stack of identical black-and-white glossy photos. They’re headshots—the standard calling card for models and actors. A dozen copies.

The name printed in script at the bottom of the photo is “Sunny Lynn Aberday.”

His stomach freezes.

Of course it’s her, but somehow not her. The hair is shorter and straighter, with some serious studio styling—and her freckles are missing. Photoshopped clean off. To the right of the full-face photo are two smaller head-to-toe shots in color—one showing her in a red bikini, the other in a flower-print sundress. Girl-next-door gorgeous. On the back are her vital stats: hair color, eye color, height, weight, measurements. The rest of the résumé is brief.

She studied theater at Buffalo State. Took a few acting classes in New York. She was “Juror #4” in an episode of Law & Order, “Earth Human” in the finale of Battlestar Galactica, and “Zumba Girl” in a sit-com pilot called Atlantic Motion.

Special Skills: Horseback riding, skiing, motorcycles.

Bron feels a burning adrenaline rush that starts in his chest and courses down his arms. He whips the pile of photos against the wall with everything he’s got. The headshots scatter and flutter to the floor. For a few moments, the room is raining Sunny.

Bron is furious. With her. With himself. His mind spins back through every interaction, every conversation. How easily he got led along. But was he any better? After all, he asked Crane to write him a life. He just didn’t know how it would feel to lose it.