A Different Blue(149)

“To this not knowing business,” he repeated quietly, holding my gaze.

I knew what he meant and didn't need to hear him say it.

“We'll take a couple of days off. I have some personal days left, and Beverly will understand.

”

“And what do we do?”

“We find your mother. And we find Blue.”





Chapter Twenty-Seven





[page]We flew this time. No long, eight-hour road trip each way. I was no longer pregnant and

under doctor's orders not to fly. Wilson said driving took too long, and there was no reason to

torture ourselves. I think he was more anxious to get there than I was. I fluctuated between

anxiousness and nausea.

We had contacted both the lab and Detective Moody and told them we were coming. Detective Moody

had offered to meet us at the airport, which surprised me. I didn't think that was standard

procedure and said as much. He was quiet for a moment and then replied, his voice laced with

emotion, “In my line of work, there aren't very many happy endings. So many people suffer, so

many people are lost . . . and we never find them. For me, this is a pretty big deal. The whole

department is pretty pumped. The Chief said it's a great human interest story, and we have a

liason at the Reno Review that is itching for an interview. We will let you decide if that's

something you are interested in. I did call Detective Bowles out of professional courtesy, and

let him know that we got a match. He was pretty excited, too.”

I said nothing, not wanting to deflate his genuine enthusiasm, but I knew I wouldn't be talking

to any reporters. Like a child with a long-awaited gift, I wasn't ready to unwrap my story and

immediately pass it along like it had little worth. There was a time to share and a time to

savor. I needed to hold my story, examine it, understand it. Then maybe someday, when it wasn't

so fresh and raw, when some of the shine and newness had worn off, when I understood not just

what but why . . . maybe then I'd be willing to share. But not now.

Las Vegas had already embraced spring, but Reno was cold. Wilson and I huddled in our coats,

unprepared for the blast of winter air that met us as we walked to our rental car. We had

refused the police escort, deciding we would need our own wheels though we didn't expect to be

in Reno long. The answers were there waiting for us. There would be no searching. My life, my

history, would be laid out before me like a movie script . . . complete with crime scenes and

character descriptions. And like a movie script, none of it seemed real. At least, not until we

pulled into the police station. Suddenly action was required. The cameras were rolling, and I

didn't know my lines. I was overcome with stage fright, of the strangers in the audience, of the

scenes I hadn't studied and couldn't possibly prepare for. And above all, I didn't want Wilson

to see me in the spotlight once more, the light unflattering, the story line tragic, violent,

and depressing.

“Are you ready, Blue?”

No. No! “Yes,” I whispered, lying, but seeing no way around it. But I couldn't make myself

move. Wilson stepped out of the car and came around to my door. He swung it open and offered his

hand. When I didn't take it, he leaned in and looked at me intently.

“Blue?”

“I don't want you to come inside. You know too much, Wilson!”