Before She Disappeared(29)

“Top one’s mine. Third is Charlie’s.” The vet nods at me. “Second here, that’s Ariel.” He points to the woman who’d been wearing a chef’s apron. She crosses over to shake my hand.

“You need anything . . .” Arnold gestures to the phone list, indicating I should feel free to use it.

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. Ten days, ten months, ten years, you never know when the next craving is going to hit, and in those moments, a single connection can make all the difference.

Even after our relationship ended, I’d often call Paul. One a.m., two a.m., three a.m. It hardly mattered.

I’d dial his number. Hold the phone next to my ear. Listen to the sound of ringing, followed by the click of someone picking up on the other end.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. He knew it was me just as I knew it was him.

We’d lie in silence together. I’d focus on the sound of his breathing, feel it like his heartbeat against the palm of my hand back in the days when we were still together, and I pressed myself against him in the middle of the night to keep my body, my thoughts, my very sanity from spinning apart.

Minute into minute. Until it was enough.

Then I’d hang up the phone and be separate once more.

Two weeks ago, after Lani Whitehorse’s funeral, when the work was done and my goal accomplished and I lay in bed in my cheap motel room, feeling all the emptiness and sadness crash down upon me, I called his number again.

Except this time there wasn’t silence on the other end.

This time, a woman picked up. She said, “You need to stop this.” Then, not unkindly, “You need help.”

I hung up the phone, my heart racing wildly in my chest. Then I curled up in the fetal position and burst into tears.

The truth can be like that.

“Hey,” I say now, addressing the three people before me. “I need to buy a new phone. Something simple and cheap, like a burner. Do you know where I can go?”

“There’s a T-Mobile around the corner,” Ariel mentions. She’s buttoning up a light jacket.

“Sounds expensive.”

Arnold doesn’t say anything, but Charlie the vet nods. I figured it would be him. Funny, how any addict can spot a dealer. We are crazy-good judges of character. Just don’t ask us about ourselves.

I hang back with Charlie, as Arnold and Ariel hit the stairs.

“How cheap you looking?” Charlie asks, moving over to the light switch.

“Very. I’m just now back to work, so extremely low on funds.”

“I do some volunteering at the rec center,” Charlie says, flipping out the lights and herding me toward the stairs. “I’ve heard the kids talk about after-hours phones.”

“After-hours?”

“After closing hours. You’ll find a guy or two lurking outside the mobile carriers. They have old phones with new SIM cards. Now, I mean old phones. Flip phones, that kind of thing.”

I nod.

“Lotta kids pick those up. Can use them for a month or two, at ten, twenty bucks a pop.”

I’m thinking if I’m a teenage girl embarking on a secret life with limited funds, that’s an excellent price point.

I drop my voice in a pseudo whisper. “Do I ask for Marco or just look for the guy in the trench coat?”

Charlie grins at me. I like his beard. It fits nicely with his broad face, hulking build. He would make an excellent teddy bear.

“Little thing like you needs to be careful asking around. Some of these kids are in the life for sure.”

I’m assuming he means gangbangers. Which makes sense. Additional funding for illegal activities.

“I’m not threatening,” I assure him. “Any kid looking to build his rep is hardly going to bother with a scrawny middle-aged white woman. Frankly, it’d be too embarrassing.”

Charlie grins again. “Not so wrong, little lady. Not so wrong.”

“You work at the rec center?” I ask as we exit the church. He locks up behind us.

“Volunteer three afternoons a week. Try to do my part to set these boys straight. I’ve lived here most of my life. Seen the good, the bad, the ugly. I know what they’re going through.”

“Ever meet Angelique Badeau?”

“The missing girl?” Charlie stops, looks at me. “Why are you asking about her?”

“I heard about the case. It’s made me curious.”

“I saw her around the center,” Charlie says slowly. “But can’t say that I know more than that.”

“Could I stop by, look around?”

“Don’t see why not. Best time is after school hours or on the weekend. If you’re looking to see the kids.”

Charlie studies me. Maybe he hopes I’m looking to mentor girls or volunteer my time or talk responsible drinking with teens. He’s not sure about my questions, however, some internal radar clearly pinging to life. Liars are very good at spotting other liars. He doesn’t push it, though. Maybe the next time we meet.

We’re outside the church now, standing on a broad avenue. I have eight blocks between here and Stoney’s to cover. The first of those streets is bathed in streetlights but quickly fades into a tunnel of black. I stick my hands in my jacket pockets, square my shoulders. Now or never.