Jeff Shelby - Thread of Hope

It took me an hour and a half to record the details of every conversation I’d had involving Meredith. I created a timeline, both for my conversations and for what it looked like had taken place in Meredith’s life. I marked things I thought were important, underlined things I had questions about. I read through them again to make sure I hadn’t missed anything.

And after all that, I still wasn’t sure what I was looking at.

I called down to the concierge and asked if they had a business office where I might be able to use a computer. Five minutes later, a laptop was brought to my room with a portable printer and a ream of paper. I took another hour typing up the notes I’d made and printing them out. I spread them out on the bed and looked through them again.

Reading through my notes just confirmed something I’d already figured out. Nobody knew Meredith Jordan as well as they thought they did, which wasn’t that unusual with teenagers. They put out one image for their friends and family to see, while keeping other things to themselves. It was the unusually confident kid who could be his or herself to all people all the time. The people in her life wanted me to believe that Meredith was one of those unusual kids, but my notes were portraying a normal teenager who hadn’t been honest with everyone.

As I dressed for my dinner with Jon Jordan, my thoughts drifted to my own daughter, as they often did when I was in the midst of the menial tasks of every day life.

I wondered what Elizabeth would’ve been like at Meredith’s age. It was a fruitless exercise, trying to turn a child into an eighteen-year-old, but one I played often. She was a confident little girl, always nodding her head with authority when asked if she was okay or if she was hungry. She was happy to explain when she was upset, often placing her small hand on her hip and wagging her index finger. Even though the gesture was impolite, it was one that always made her mother and me stifle a laugh.

She was terrible at soccer, loved to dance to Springsteen, giggled when people smiled at her, cried when we got upset with her and I wasn’t sure how all that would’ve translated into her teenage years. I wanted to believe that all those idiosyncratic personality traits would’ve merged to form one of the greatest human beings ever created, but reality told me that she would’ve been as frustrating to us as every teenage daughter was to her parents. There was some kernel, though, some fraction of intuition that resided inside of me that insisted that Elizabeth would’ve been special, that I would’ve been proud of her, that she would’ve been different.

What that intuition couldn’t tell me, however, was what had happened to my daughter.

Jon Jordan’s fork froze in mid-air. “Excuse me?”

“You heard my question.”

He set the fork down, anger slowly flooding his features. “Yes, I did and I think it’s fucking inappropriate.”

We were in the back corner of a steakhouse several blocks from my hotel. I’d been ushered in ahead of the forty-plus people lined up inside a velvet rope along the exterior of the restaurant. The nearest tables to the one we were sitting at were empty, giving us a buffer of privacy. The table was covered in stark white linens, with simple black plates and stainless steel flatware.

I’d ordered the smallest filet on the menu and Jordan, though he’d never ordered, was brought a large porterhouse. A bottle of red wine was already on the table, but I’d stuck with ice water. We discussed what I’d learned as we ate and we were nearly finished when I asked him if he believed that Meredith was sexually active.

“It’s completely appropriate based on what I’m hearing from her friends,the I said.

He stared at me across the table, his skin flushed, his eyes intense. “Explain.”

“Answer the question first.”

“Explain,” he repeated through locked teeth.

I leaned into the table. “You aren’t paying me to be appropriate. And every time you ask why I’m asking a question, you are wasting your daughter’s time. How many times do I have to say that?”

Jordan didn’t flinch. His face stayed stone-like. I leaned back in my chair and let a long breath out between my teeth. I could outlast him if I needed to.

“Yes, she is sexually active,” he finally said, unlocking his eyes from mine.

“How do you know?”

His nose twitched and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “She spoke to Olivia about birth control a year ago.”

“Spoke to?”

“Asked for,” he said, glancing across the table at me. “She went to Olivia and asked for it.” He started to frown but caught himself. “I didn’t agree with it, but Olivia said it was the right thing to do.”

“Did you talk to her about it?”

He fumbled with the napkin for a moment. “No. It wasn’t something I was comfortable discussing with her. Like I said, I was against it. And I didn't want to make things worse.”

I could understand that. There was no easy way for a father to discuss sex with his daughter. No matter how open a parent wanted to be, it was going to be an emotional conversation. More so when the conversation was between father and daughter.

“What do you mean make it worse?” I asked.

He set the cloth napkin next to his plate. “I’m not crazy about her boyfriend and it’s been a…challenge.”

“Weathers?”

Jordan nodded. “You’ve met him?”

“I have.”

“And?”

“And I think he’s the kind of kid I wouldn’t want around my daughter.”

A cold smile froze on his mouth. “Derek is a prick. First class. Give me ten guys in her class and he’d be the eleventh I’d choose for her to date.”

“Would you ever approve of anyone she dates?”

He thought for a moment. “No, but there will be some I can tolerate. But Weathers?” He shook his head. “He’s an asshole.”

The waiter came, removed our plates and asked if I wanted coffee. I did and he returned momentarily with large cups for both of us.

“So, what?” I asked. “You were fighting about him?”

Jordan blew on the surface of the coffee. “Yeah. Constantly. I didn’t want them together. Period. Meredith, of course, didn’t like it.”

“You do anything about it?”

“I tried,” he said. “At first, I just let her know that I didn’t like him and that I didn’t like the idea of them dating. She didn’t listen. So then I got involved a little.”

“What’s that mean?”

He sipped at the coffee. “Took her cell phone away so she couldn’t talk to his dumb ass. Made her go to a couple of functions with Olivia and me so she couldn’t go out with him. And I had him pulled out of her classes at Coronado.”

“School let you do that?”

He raised an eyebrow, as if it wasn’t even an issue. “I paid for a lot of the buildings on that campus. I didn’t ask for anything in return. I stay out of the way. But this was something I wanted done.”

The coffee was scalding and I burnt the tip of my tongue. I wasn’t sure about the heavy-handed approach, but it made sense. For him. He was used to getting what he wanted.

“But none of it worked,” Jordan said. “We were just screaming at each other all the time and she was still finding ways to be with him.” He rubbed at his chin, the defeat not sitting well with him. “Olivia convinced me to back off. So I did.”

We stayed quiet for a moment, drinking the coffee and not looking at one another.

“As far as you know,” I finally asked. “Has she had sex with anyone else?”

His shoulders stiffened. “I don’t believe so, no.”

I wasn’t entirely sure how to bring up the prostitution rumor with him. I had no doubt he’d deny it immediately, then follow it up with some sort of angry eruption. And I wouldn’t blame him for that. Hearing that your daughter may have been trading sex for money would’ve been devastating to any parent.