Page 12 of The Missing Half

We walk back to Jenna’s truck. “Shit,” I say when she turns the engine on and the dashboard clock illuminates. “I’m going to be late for work. I’ll have to change in the car.”

She pulls out onto the road. “I’ll drive fast.”

I lean over to unzip my backpack and pull out my thick black work pants. But just as I’m about to kick off my Converse so I can tug them on, I stop. What Lauren just told us hits me all over again. “I can’t believe we have a name,” I say. It pulses in the air around me: Steve McLean. “I mean, I know that’s what we wanted, what we were looking for, but…I don’t know, I guess I didn’t actually think we were gonna get one.”

“I know,” Jenna says.

“You don’t recognize his name, do you?” I have to ask, even though I already know the answer. I would’ve seen it in her eyes if she had.

“It’s not ringing any bells, but that doesn’t mean Jules never said it. If they worked together, it would’ve been ten, eleven years ago. What about you? Do you remember Kasey ever mentioning him?”

“No,” I say, then add bitterly, “Not that that means anything.” I hear Lauren in my head, Kasey never told you. “Apparently, she didn’t even mention her best friend quitting the job where they worked together.”

Jenna looks over at me. “Hey, all this happened a long time ago. Kasey could’ve told you and you just forgot. It doesn’t mean you and your sister weren’t close. I’ve misremembered things about Jules—like, a lot. And even if she didn’t tell you, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like that would’ve been this big, earth-shattering news.”

“Yeah,” I say. “You’re probably right.” But I don’t really mean it. It would have been big news to Kasey that summer—at least I think itwould have—which means she would’ve told me about it and I wouldn’t have forgotten. I feel like I’m not seeing something right in front of my face.

Jenna reaches into her purse on the bench seat beside her. “Here.”

I look over to see her holding an unopened bag of peanut M&M’s. “Did you…get these for me?”

She shrugs. “I’m still feeling bad about, you know, the whole lying thing. I’m trying to make it up to you.”

I feel a tug at the corner of my lips. “Thanks.” I open the bag and pop an M&M into my mouth. “I want to track this guy down, Jenna.”

“I do too. But we need to get some history on him first, dig around online. I can do that. And after everything Lauren told us, I think we should talk to Wyler too. If she’s telling the truth and she gave McLean’s name to the police, why the hell have you never heard it before?”

“I’ll call him,” I say as I tug my pants on under my dress. “During the investigation, he made this whole big deal about giving me and my parents his cell, promised to answer if we ever called.”

“You sure?” Jenna’s eyes slide from the road to look at me. “I don’t mind.”

I pull my dress over my head, then put on my shirt. “It’s one phone call, Jenna. I can handle it.”

“It’s just, I know you have a lot going on right now.”

Suddenly, I understand what she’s doing. She’s seen my apartment full of unwashed dishes and unfinished projects. If she doesn’t expect anything from me, she can’t be disappointed. I hear Pam from the animal shelter in my head: When you say you’re gonna do something, please just do it.

“I’ll call Wyler,” I say.

“Okay.” We pull into the Funland parking lot. “But just ask for a meeting. I want to be there when you talk to him.”

“Yeah, no shit. Jesus, your faith in me is overwhelming.” I lean over to tie my shoes and look at the clock. I’m twelve minutes late. “I gotta go. Thanks for the M&M’s.” I hand them over, but Jenna shakes her head.

“They’re yours.”

“Right,” I say, opening the door and hopping out. “I forgot. Guilt candy.”

“Hey, it’s better than a guilt tomato.”

I pop one into my mouth. “Mm. The taste of regret. My favorite.”

Jenna laughs and my chest swells. I can’t remember the last time I made someone laugh.

—

At the end of my shift nine hours later, I’m walking by Brad’s open office door when I hear my name. I turn to see him sitting behind his desk.

“Hey,” he says. “You have a minute?”

I step into his office. “What’s up?”

“You mind closing the door?”

I close it and then sit in one of the chairs facing his desk. Like Funland itself, Brad’s office is a relic of the past. The faux-wood-paneled walls and the rough gray carpet are fading to a monochromatic beige. His desk is a mess of papers, and boxes of files line the floorboards. A grinning decal of Rocky the raccoon, our Funland mascot, peels from the wall over Brad’s head. Rocky’s dressed in the same colors as my uniform, a red-and-yellow-striped shirt with a matching cap.

“I noticed you come in for your shift earlier,” Brad begins.

“Oh. Shit. Yeah, sorry I was late. The bus took longer than usual.”

He waves a hand. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I, um, I’m sorry, Nic, but I happened to overhear you on the phone.”

“Oh.” It would’ve been when I called Wyler. It was the first thing I did when I got out of Jenna’s truck. He didn’t answer, so I left a message.

“I could be making this up—I seem to be losing my hearing in my old age—but I thought I heard you say Detective Wyler’s name.”

When Kasey went missing, my parents all but disappeared with her. My mom into her drinking and then eventually into her new family in Florida. My dad into denial, silence. In those crucial first few weeks, Brad and his wife Sandy were the scaffolds holding up my crumbling family. The two of them organized search parties and printed flyers with Kasey’s face, posting them on every telephone pole between Mishawaka and Grand Rapids. And unlike the rest of our friends and neighbors, who stopped coming by and calling around the six-month point, Brad and Sandy never did. The Andrewses are the closest thing I have to family outside my own blood.

Still, I hadn’t meant for anyone to overhear me.

“Nic?” he says. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” If he’s already heard Wyler’s name, it won’t take much for him to put the rest together. Plus, it has suddenly occurred to me that Brad could be a resource. He and Sandy were there throughout it all. Sandy was in and out of our house every day, delivering food from the meal train she’d organized. Brad spent almost every evening in the garage with my dad, drinking beer and talking about the investigation. He would’ve had more wherewithal throughout the whole thing than me or my parents. He might remember things we don’t.

Finally, I say, “I’ve been looking into Kasey’s disappearance.”

“Oh. Jesus, Nic, I don’t know what to say.” Brad studies my face. “Do you think this is—I don’t wanna sound, you know—but do you think this is the best idea, with everything you’ve got going on?”

“I’m fine,” I say. I can’t look directly at him. His expression of sympathy is too much to bear.

“Does your dad know?”

“No. And please don’t tell him. This may all amount to nothing, and, well, you know how he is.”

Since Kasey’s disappearance, my dad’s adopted a confounding mix of sentimentality and denial. The home where she and I grew up, the one where only he now lives, has hardly changed at all over the years. He hasn’t gotten one new piece of furniture or swapped out one picture from the wall. I avoid going there because it’s like walking back in time. And yet, he can’t even say her name. I let it slip during Christmas dinner one year and his eyes blurred over. “It’s been another cold one,” he’d said, as if he hadn’t even heard.

Brad lifts his palms. “I get it. I won’t. But you know, Nic, I care about you too. Sandy and I’ve known you since you were three hours old. I worry about you. You’ve had a rough few years topped off by a rough few months. Are you sure this is the smartest thing for you to be doing right now?”

“No offense, Brad,” I say, “but I’m doing it whether you think it’s smart or not.”

He lets out a small rueful laugh. “Understood. In that case, then, is there anything I can do to help?”

I fill with a stunned sort of gratitude. If I’d known this conversation was coming, I could’ve predicted the pitying smiles and words of caution. His support is a nice surprise. “Actually, yeah. You know how the police always said whoever took Kasey would have known her?”

Brad clears his throat. After the investigation fizzled, we never did this, never dissected what happened that summer. He’s wide open compared to my dad, but even so, our tragedy is a heavy thing to hold. “I remember they said it would be someone on the outskirts of her life. He would’ve known her, but not necessarily the other way around.”

“Do you remember the police ever mentioning any names in particular?” I say. “Anyone they were looking into?”

“I don’t think so. Not that I can remember. Why do you ask?”

“I learned there was a man that summer, someone who worked nearby the record store and…” The words turn to stone in my mouth. It’s unbearable to say the rest out loud, and by the look on Brad’s face, I know I don’t have to. “Does the name Steve McLean mean anything to you?”

For a moment, he’s so still, I’m not sure he’s heard me.

“Brad?”

“Sorry, I—” He lets out a ragged breath, runs a hand down his face. “I know Kasey was your family, but we loved her too. Me and Sandy.” It’s the first time in a long time that I’ve seen his cheerful facade drop. It’s the most I’ve liked him in years. “This is all just…unexpected. What’s the name again?”

“Steve McLean.”

“I…I don’t know. It doesn’t sound familiar.”

“The police knew about him.”

Brad’s chin juts back. “They did?”

I nod.

“They had his name?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know,” he says. “Not that I would. Your dad was the one who kept me in the loop, so I only knew what he told me. But you talked to Wyler about it?”

“I got his voicemail. I’m going to.”

He frowns. “How’d you get McLean’s name, then?”

“I talked to Kasey’s friend from high school, Lauren Perkins. They worked together in the record store that summer. Apparently, she gave Wyler McLean’s name during the investigation.”

“She’s Joe and Bitsy’s kid?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” he says, “if she gave them his name, they must’ve looked into him, right?”

“Then why wouldn’t they have told us about him?”

Brad shrugs. “Maybe it was a dead end?”

“But even if it was, shouldn’t they have told us about leads like that? I mean, they basically just kept us in the dark the whole time.”

“I know.” His voice is thick with pity. “Maybe they were trying to spare your family if they didn’t think it was a good lead? To be honest, Nic, I never got the feeling the police were hiding anything. I always thought their lack of updates was because they just had so little to go on. You know, they had her car a hundred and fifty miles away. They didn’t have prints or anything stolen. It was like she disappeared into thin air.”

That’s what people always say about my sister—hell, it’s what I always say—and for years it’s what I’ve let myself believe, because it’s easier to swallow than the truth. If the impossible happened, it would’ve been equally impossible to prevent. But though she may have gone missing without a trace, one thing I know for sure is that bodies don’t just disappear. Kasey is out in the world somewhere, waiting to be found.

There’s a knock behind me, and I jump, turning to see the door already opening.

“Brad?” I recognize the voice before I see its owner. “Oh, sorry to interrupt—” Sandy begins when she sees that Brad isn’t alone, but then her eyes land on me. “Nic!”

Her warm smile melts something inside my chest, the way it always does. When it was clear Kasey wasn’t coming home, my mom left, and Sandy slipped seamlessly into the role. Tonight, she’s wearing black leggings and a blue T-shirt, her honey-colored hair pulled back into a ponytail. In her hands is a Tupperware filled with what looks like brownies.

“Hey, Sandy.”

She walks over and pulls me into a hug.

“Hey, hon,” Brad says. “Am I late?” Then, to me: “My car’s in the shop so Sandy’s been driving me to and from work. I was supposed to be outside waiting.” He gives me an exaggerated look: oops.

“I figured you lost track of time,” Sandy says. “So I decided I’d come in and get you. I wanted to get rid of these anyway.” She lifts the Tupperware in her hands. “Thought I’d leave them here for the staff. I don’t know why I still make brownies when there’s just the two of us to eat them…What are you guys chatting about that has you both here late?”

I’m opening my mouth to tell her—I can ask her about McLean too—when Brad says, “Oh, just work stuff. Nothing exciting.”

Sandy looks from him to me. Over her shoulder, I catch his eye, and he gives me a pleading look that I understand. Kasey’s disappearance isn’t a topic that’s easy for any of us. “Yeah.” I nod. “Work stuff.”

“Well, I’m glad I’m seeing you, Nic. I’ve been meaning to have you over for dinner. It’s been too long.”

“That sounds great.” Sandy’s meals are the only home-cooked ones I get.

“Good. We’ll get something on the calendar, then. In the meantime, take these.” She hands me the Tupperware. “The staff won’t know what they’re missing.”

“For real?” There have to be a dozen brownies inside, but I’m not about to refuse.

She smiles. “They’re rocky road.”

Her rocky road brownies have been a favorite of mine since I was a kid, and because neither she nor Brad likes marshmallows, I understand that she made them with me in mind. “Thanks.” I pull out my phone to check the time—I must be running late for the bus—but I’m distracted by a flurry of texts from Jenna.

“Everything okay?” Sandy says.

I look up, startled. “Yeah. Fine. I just—I have to go. Sorry.”

“Of course,” she says lightly, though her expression is shadowed with concern. She pulls me into another hug that I return too briefly.

“See you tomorrow, Nic,” Brad says, but I’m already slipping out the door.

The moment I’m alone, I click on Jenna’s messages and our text thread fills my screen.

Holy Shit, the first one reads.

Steve McLean is all over the internet. Lauren only knew the tip of the iceberg.

Call me!