My One and Only(86)
“We’ll deal with how this happened later on,” Nick said tersely. “What are you doing right now, where have you looked, what was my father wearing, how many people are out looking?”
They filled us in on the efforts thus far—an APB, photos, news coverage, neighborhood canvassing, K-9 unit. They handed us the flyer they were passing out, which featured a large, clear photo of Nick’s dad. My heart lurched. Mr. Lowery—Call me Ted—had aged shockingly. His hair was thin and white, and his face held a slack, sweet expression. He couldn’t have been more than sixty-five, but he looked eighty.
“Is there anywhere he might’ve wanted to go, Nick?” I asked when the briefing was over. I didn’t watch Law & Order for nothing.
“I was just about to ask that,” Detective Garcia said.
Nick ran a hand through his hair. “Did you call his old company?” he asked. “Maybe he went there.”
A quick phone call ascertained that Mr. Lowery had not shown up at his old building on Madison Avenue. Though it seemed unlikely that he’d have the ability to find his way back to his old house in Westchester County, the current owners were notified and asked to call immediately if they saw him.
Neither Lila nor Jason had returned Nick’s calls.
“Any sentimental places he’d go, Nick?” I asked. “Central Park? Maybe his favorite restaurant? The zoo?” I hesitated. “Places he took you boys as kids?”
Nick glanced at me, then slumped back in his chair. “I don’t know,” he admitted. Because of course, Ted hadn’t taken him many places at all. “Jason might have a better idea.” He closed his eyes. “Well, I’m not going to just sit here,” he said. “I’ll head for the park. What was he wearing this morning?”
The director glanced anxiously at Detective Garcia. “Well, here,” she said. “We have the security tape, in which you can clearly see your father leaving and heading west.”
The tape was already loaded; the director clicked the remote, and we saw the front entrance of the Roosevelt Center. A second later, the film showed a man simply walking out the door.
The quality of the film was good; it was definitely Mr. Lowery, clad in what appeared to be a sport coat, dark T-shirt and sneakers.
No pants. None at all. I clutched Coco a little more tightly.
“Oh, shit,” Nick muttered. “He’s wandering the city bare-assed?”
I bit my lip, and Nick glanced at me. “Don’t laugh,” he warned, but his mouth twitched.
“No. Not funny at all,” I agreed. “I’ll go with you, Nick.”
Coco, Nick and I took a bunch of flyers and headed west, toward the park and Museum Mile, past the limestone and brick townhouses adorned with wrought-iron balconies, down the tree-lined streets of the wealthy. We passed a homeless man, sleeping next to the garbage cans in front of a beautiful brownstone. It wasn’t Mr. Lowery, but Nick took a good look anyway, then took a twenty out of his wallet and tucked it into the guy’s boot.
“I thought the mayor discouraged that,” I said.
“Screw the mayor,” Nick answered. I had to trot to keep up. Coco, however, loved the pace and galloped joyfully on her leash. Despite biking to and from work each day, I was panting by the time we reached Fifth Avenue. It was so hot, and the air was heavy and damp.
“Nick, can you slow down a little?”
“My father’s out there somewhere,” he said tightly, walking across the street against the light. Swallowing, I dashed after him—I’d never mastered the art of jaywalking.
“Nick, wait,” I said. I grabbed his hand and dug in my heels, stopping him. “Just…wait.”
“Harper—” His voice choked off, and I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his neck.
“This will turn out okay, you’ll see,” I said. “But it’s a big city. Let’s try to be smart about this, because we can’t just run all over Manhattan. Where do you think he’d go?”
He pulled back and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know, Harper. I just…we never did that much together. If that idiot Jason would call, maybe he’d know, but I just can’t think of anything.”
“Okay, well, what do we know? He’s not at work…anything he’s always loved? Like, I don’t know…dinosaurs? Maybe he’d head to the Museum of Natural History?”
Nick shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
“What about horses? He rode, right? Isn’t there a stable somewhere in the park?”
Nick’s face lit up. “You’re a genius, Harper.” With that, he hailed a cab.
TWO HOURS LATER, WE’D come up empty. No sign of Mr. Lowery, not at either of the two uptown stables, not at the recreation center in the park itself where the trail rides began. Nick had called the police with the idea that his father might’ve sought out a place with horses, and they were doing the same thing we were, with unfortunately the same results.
We passed out a bunch of flyers, spoke to everyone we could, but things were looking bad. At this point, we were simply walking through Central Park, which was full of the usual suspects—tourists from all over the earth, runners, students lounging on the grass, kids climbing on the rocks. I’d forgotten how loud New York was, the endless noise of traffic, horns blasting, sirens calling, the chatter of people, the blare of radios and street musicians.