Laura Dave - The Last Thing He Told Me

“We will,” I say.

But then Elenor stops typing. She looks at the screen confused. “This is the 2008 season you’re asking about?” she says.

I nod. “Yes, first home game was the first weekend in September.”

“I see that from the document,” Elenor says. “What I’m asking is, are you sure of the year?”

“Pretty sure,” I say. “Why?”

“2008?”

Bailey is trying not to look irritated. “2008, yes!”

“We were closed that fall for construction,” she says. “It was a major renovation. There had been a fire. Doors shut on September first and we didn’t open again for services, no ceremonies of any kind, until March. No weddings.”

Elenor moves the screen so we can see the calendar for ourselves—all the empty squares. My heart drops.

“Maybe you have your year wrong?” Elenor says to Bailey. “Let me check 2009 for you.”

I reach out my hand to stop her. There is no point in checking 2009. Owen and Bailey moved to Sausalito in 2009. I have the records of that, and in 2007, Bailey would have been too young to remember much of anything. She has no memories of Seattle during that time, let alone a sole weekend trip to Austin. If we are being honest with ourselves, even 2008 is a stretch. But if her mother was at the wedding—and Bailey thinks she may have been—then 2008 is the only time it could have been.

“Look, it had to be 2008,” she says.

Bailey’s voice starts to shake as she looks at the empty screen.

“I was here. And that’s the only time it could have been. We’ve gone over this. It was that fall. It would have had to have been then if my mother was with us.”

“Maybe it was 2007?” Elenor says.

“I would’ve been too young to remember any of it then.”

“Then it wasn’t here,” Elenor says.

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Bailey says. “I mean, I recognize the apse. I remember it.”

I move toward Bailey, but she moves away. She isn’t interested in being appeased. She is interested in getting to the bottom of this.

“Elenor,” I say. “Are there other churches in walking distance of campus that look like yours? Something we may have missed that may have reminded Bailey of your church?”

Elenor shakes her head. “No, not with a cathedral that is reminiscent of ours,” she says.

“Maybe a church that has since closed down?”

“I don’t think so. But why don’t you leave your phone number? I can ask the pastor, some of our parishioners. And I will call if I remember anything. You have my word on that.”

“What are you possibly going to remember?” Bailey says. “Why don’t you just say you can’t help us?”

“Bailey, stop…” I say.

“Stop? You’re the one who said if I remember something we need to track it down, and now you’re telling me to stop?” she says. “Whatever, I’m so freaking done with this.”

She stands up quickly, storming out of Elenor’s office.

Elenor and I watch her go silently. She gives me a kind look once Bailey has gone.

“It’s fine,” she says. “I know it’s not me that she’s angry with.”

“Actually it may be,” I say. “But it’s misplaced. She needs to be mad at her father, and he’s not here to hear it. So she’s turning it on everyone else.”

“Understood,” Elenor says.

“Thank you for your time,” I say. “If you do think of anything, even if it feels unimportant, please call.”

I write down my cell number.

“Of course.”

She nods, putting the number in her pocket as I start walking to the door.

“Who does this to his family?” she asks.

I turn around, and meet her eyes. “Sorry?” I say.

“Who does this to his family?” she says again.

The best father I’ve ever known, I want to say.

“Someone without a choice,” I say. “That’s who. That’s who does this to his family.”

“We always have a choice,” Elenor says.

We always have a choice. That’s what Grady said too. What does that even mean? That there is a right thing to do and there is a wrong thing to do. Simple. Judgmental. And if you are the person someone is asking that question about, you have chosen wrong—as if the world is divided between the people who have never made a big mistake. And the people who have.

I think of Carl on the phone, telling me that Owen was struggling. I think of how he must be struggling wherever he is now.

I feel my own anger rising.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, my tone matching Bailey’s.

And I head out the door to join her.

Not Everyone Is a Good Helper

When we get back to the hotel, we order grilled cheese and sweet potato fries from room service. I turn on the television. There’s an old romantic comedy playing on basic cable—Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan finding their way to each other, against all odds—its familiarity a sedative. It lulls us. Bailey falls asleep on her bed.

I stay up, watching the rest of the movie, waiting for the moment I know is coming, Tom Hanks promising Meg Ryan that he has her, that he will love her. For as long as they both shall live. Then the credits roll. And it’s back to the dark hotel room in this strange city and it returns with a terrifying jolt: Owen is gone. Without explanation. Gone.

This is the terrible thing about a tragedy. It isn’t with you every minute. You forget it, and then you remember it again. And you see it with a stark quality: This is what is required of you now, just to get along.

I’m too riled up to sleep, so I start going back through my notes from the day, trying to construct another way to utilize the wedding weekend to spark Bailey’s memory. What were she and Owen doing in Austin besides going to the wedding? Was it possible they were here longer than that? Maybe Bailey isn’t wrong. Maybe that’s the reason the campus looked familiar to her. Did she spend more time there than that one weekend? And why?

I’m relieved when my phone rings, interrupting my thoughts. No good answers to my questions.

I pick up the phone, JAKE coming up on the caller ID.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for hours,” he says.

“Sorry,” I whisper. “It’s been a long day.”

“Where are you?”

“Austin.”

“Texas?” he says.

I head into the hallway, gently closing the hotel room door, careful not to wake Bailey.

“There’s a longer explanation, but essentially Bailey had memories of being in Austin when she was young. I don’t know, maybe I pushed her to think she had memories of being here. But between that and Grady Bradford showing up at my door… I thought we should come.”

“So… you’re chasing leads?”

“Apparently not well,” I say. “We’ll be on a plane home tomorrow.”

I hate hearing how those words sound. And the thought of going home to an Owen-less house is terrible. At least here I’m able to harbor the illusion that I can help bring Owen back to me, that Bailey and I, together, can do that.

“Well, look, I need to talk to you,” Jake says. “And you’re not going to like it.”

“You’re going to need to start by telling me something I will like, Jake,” I say. “Or I’m hanging up on you.”

“Your friend Grady Bradford is legitimate. Great reputation in the service. He’s one of the go-to guys in the Texas bureau. The FBI often brings him on when a suspect goes missing. And if he wants to find Owen, I’m guessing he will.”

“How is that good news?”

“I’m not sure anyone else can find him,” Jake says.

“What do you mean?”

“Owen Michaels doesn’t exist,” he says.

I almost laugh. That’s how ridiculous those words sound—ridiculous and, of course, wrong.