My One and Only(85)

“Hello? Yes, this is he. What? When was that? How did he just walk out? Why wasn’t…oh. You did, good. No, I’m in South Dakota at the moment.” He was quiet for a minute. “No, he’s on his honeymoon. Jason should be…oh. No, that’s fine, I’m on my way.”

My heart sank. “Everything okay, Nick?”

He looked at his phone for a long minute, then turned to me. “I have to go back to New York. My father’s missing.”

“Oh, no!”

He frowned, still not looking at me. “Apparently, he wandered off early this morning when the staff was dealing with another patient. The police are looking for him, but it’s been two hours.” He raised his eyes to mine. “I’m sorry, Harper. I have to get back. As soon as possible.”

“No, no, of course. You have to go.” I paused. “I’ll come too,” I added.

His eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“Sure. Let’s go.”

Because of course, what else was I going to do? Let him go alone? I couldn’t help feeling a little sad that we had to go back so soon, just when we were together again. But it couldn’t be helped.

Knowing my Massachusetts lead foot would get us to the airport faster, I drove while he made some calls—his office, a message for Christopher, one to a friend in the city. Last, he tried his stepbrother. “Jason, this is Nick. Dad’s missing; he wandered away from the Roosevelt, and I’m in South Dakota, on my way to the airport. Call me when you get this.” He hung up and tried another number, repeated the message. Tried a third, still to no avail. “Shit,” he muttered.

“Is your stepmother still around?” I asked, vaguely recalling the unnaturally smooth and expressionless face of Lila Cruise Lowery from the two times I’d met her.

“She can’t deal,” Nick said shortly. “She said her heart was too broken to see him like this, so she hasn’t been around. Moved to North Carolina a couple years ago. And anyway, she’s on a cruise of the Greek isles at the moment.”

Right. Her reason for missing Chris and Willa’s wedding. “Where does Jason live, Nick? Is he any closer?”

“Jason lives in Philly, but he’s not picking up right now.” Coco, sensing Nick needed some sugar, licked his wrist. He gave a reluctant smile and patted her head, which she took as permission to curl up in his lap.

“They’ll find him, Nick,” I said, reaching over for his hand.

“I’m really sorry about this,” he said again.

“By the time we get to the airport, you’ll probably get a call saying he’s back, safe and sound,” I offered.

That wasn’t the case, unfortunately, but the good news was, Nick’s travel agent had found us a direct flight to New York. Coco was not pleased to have to go into her crate and looked at me mournfully through the bars before curling around her bunny with a reproachful sigh.

By far, the worst part of an emergency is the inability to act. As the plane finally took flight, Nick grew more and more tense. We held hands, but we didn’t talk much as the minutes ticked by. The no-cell-phone rule kept us in limbo as to what was happening in New York, but as soon as wheels touched tarmac, Nick was on the phone again. No sign of his father.

When we emerged into the terminal, the noise of the JFK was deafening. I’d forgotten how loud the city was, the languages, the colors, people streaming in every direction. After a week on the road through beautiful nowhere, it was a shock. Nick, however, had reverted into the fast-walking New Yorker he was. We picked up Coco and our bags, and after walking for what felt like miles, made it outside, where the heat and noise and smell of jet fuel welcomed us to New York like a punch to the head.

A car service was waiting; Nick greeted the driver by name and helped heft our bags into the trunk. Then we headed toward Manhattan, which had briefly been my home. The skyline glittered, sharp and unforgiving and beautiful in the blazing sunshine.

Poor Mr. Lowery. He may have been a callow jerk in life, but now he was a confused old man, alone in the teeth of the city. Coco seemed to agree…she whined and trembled, though it was probably in response to the roar of the jets overhead, the cars surrounding us. The driver nudged the car onto the Queensboro Bridge, ignoring the blare of horns from behind.

“So what’s the plan, Nick?” I asked. He was staring out the window, his mouth tight, eyes sharp.

“The officer in charge is waiting for us at the nursing home,” he said. “He’ll fill us in then. How my father could just wander out—” He shook his head and said no more.

Coco sat quietly on my lap, shivering occasionally as we headed up Park Avenue. It was a very posh area, of course; once I’d spent the afternoon around here, a lonely newlywed trying to fall in love with the city that was such a part of Nick. I pushed the memory aside and stared out the window, hoping against hope to see Nick’s dad.

By the time we pulled up in front of the Roosevelt Center on East 65th Street, it was three-thirty in the afternoon, a miracle of efficiency on the part of Nick’s travel agent and assistant, and still Nick’s father was missing. A detective and the director of the facility, an understandably anxious woman named Alicia, greeted us and brought us into a sitting room.

“Mr. Lowery,” she said to Nick, “you have my deepest apologies on this. Apparently, one of the new staffers inadvertently shut off the front door alarm, and—”