Page 22 of The Missing Half
Chapter Twenty-one
The Funland kitchen is loud and bustling. Pans clatter onto stovetops, rubber-soled shoes squeak against the linoleum floor, grease sizzles in pans. I’m standing by the service station waiting to run an order when I feel a hand press gently into my shoulder blade. I turn toward it and have to force myself not to flinch. Brad. It’s been barely twenty-four hours since Jenna and I spoke to Lauren, and I’m still feeling jumpy and betrayed. I’ve avoided direct contact with Brad throughout my shift so far, but I knew this moment was coming. Still, I can’t meet his eye.
“You all right, Nic?” he says.
“I’m fine.”
I can tell he doesn’t believe me, but he just nods toward the food prep station where José, one of our cooks, is slicing a pizza on a round silver tray. “Would you mind running that to table thirteen for me? Aubrey just went on break.”
“Sure.”
José slides the tray onto the service station and I grab it, then turn to leave. I’m two steps from the door when Brad calls my name.
“When you get a second,” he says, “swing by my office, okay?”
I see him in sunglasses and a hat, hiding in the shadows of a playground waiting for Beth Anne to skip by. I see him in the back of Kasey’s car, his fingers frantic on the button of her jeans, his mouth too hard against hers. I see him driving slowly on that road outside Grand Rapids, see him stalking through the darkness to Kasey’s driver’s side door.
Stop, I think. This is Brad. He may be a creep, but he’s not a murderer. I believe it. I do.
And yet, as I look over my shoulder and flash him the most casual smile I can, my mouth is dry as bone. “Sure,” I say. “No problem.”
—
I don’t swing by his office. The idea of sitting across from him in that little windowless room, pretending he didn’t have an illicit affair with my sister, makes me claustrophobic. I know if I want to prove his innocence, I’ll have to talk to him sometime, but I’m not ready yet. I avoid crossing paths with him all day until nine o’clock rolls around and, finally, I can leave.
In the employee locker room, I grab my backpack and head to the back door that leads to the west-side parking lot. I don’t normally leave this way—it almost doubles my walk to the bike rack out front—but I don’t want to pass by Brad’s office. I push my palms into the metal bar and am stepping into the fading dusk light when I hear my name. Brad’s voice is unmistakable. A knot tightens in my chest as I turn to face him.
“You never paid me that visit,” he says.
“Oh, right. Sorry. I forgot.”
“No biggie. Let’s talk now.”
“I can’t, actually,” I say. “I have to catch the—”
He waves a hand, cutting me off. “Don’t worry about the bus. My car’s out of the shop. I’ll give you a ride. We can talk on the way home.”
I don’t want to be alone in a car with him right now, but what could I possibly say to get out of it? “Okay, then. Thanks.”
Brad has an SUV, and once he’s pushed the seats down, my bike fits easily inside. I climb into shotgun, throwing my backpack in the space by my feet.
“So,” he says once he’s pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street. He knows the apartment complex where I live, so I don’t have to give him directions. “I just wanted to check in with you. See how things are going. I know you have a lot going on right now.”
“Things are fine,” I say.
“Geez, Nic,” he chuckles. “Getting information out of you is like pulling teeth. How’s the community service going?”
“Yeah, it’s not bad.” Because this is safe territory and I want to stay in it, I elaborate. “It can be fun, actually. I like being with the animals. They’re less complicated than humans.”
“Good. Good.” But he sounds distracted. “And what about all the legal stuff? I know you had a court date at some point. That happen yet?”
Shit, he’s right. I do have that coming up. I need to find out when. “Not yet.”
For a few minutes we drive in silence. “You must be busy though,” he says. “Between all that and work, do you have time for anything else? What about what we talked about last week? Are you still looking into Kasey’s disappearance?”
Questions and accusations churn inside my chest, but until I can confront him, they’ll be trapped there like moths with frenzied wings. I need time. To process, to dig deeper. To talk through everything with Jenna so I have her calm and analytical mind to balance my own frenetic one. “Not really,” I say. “Like you said, I have a lot going on.”
“That’s too bad.” Another long beat of silence. “And what about the Perkins girl? The one you told me you talked to. What’s her name again?” His voice is oh so casual.
“Who, Lauren?”
“That’s it. Did you ever talk to her after that first time?”
“No.” If Brad was the one who threatened Lauren, I’m not about to put a target on her back by letting him know it didn’t work. “After we talked that one time, I reached out again over Facebook, but she never got back to me. I don’t wanna push it.”
He turns into my apartment complex. “Well, she probably told you everything she had to say the first time anyway.”
“Probably. By the way, do you remember which building I’m in?” He’s driven me home a handful of times since my license was suspended, but my complex is huge, and I pray to a god I don’t believe in that he’s forgotten. I’m trying to hang on to my belief that he has nothing to do with any of this, but the truth is I don’t know what he’s capable of. If he doesn’t remember my building number, I’ll give him a fake one and bike from there.
“Of course I do,” he says. “This thing’s a steel trap.” He taps a finger to his temple as he navigates to my building and puts the car in park. “I even remember which apartment you’re in. That one right there.” He leans over me to gesture at it, and I turn my head to look: He’s pointing straight at my front door.
—
It’s only when I’m in my apartment with the deadbolt locked behindme that I can exhale. I walk to the kitchen and twist off the top of a bottle of wine. I pour myself a glass, take a sip, then top it off, replaying the drive home with Brad in my mind, trying to see it objectively.
But I’m at war with myself, defensiveness and suspicion clawing their way over each other like rabid animals. Did Brad instigate that conversation to check on my emotional well-being, or is he keeping tabs on my progress in the investigation? Did he bring up Lauren out of innocent curiosity or because he was trying to see if his message had gotten through to her? And most unnerving of all, was that joke about his mind being a steel trap just Brad being Brad, with his lame attempt at humor? Or was it a reminder that he knows where I live?
If I could just understand what happened between him and Kasey that summer, I could prove he had nothing to do with her going missing. But how? Where do I start?
As I gaze into my glass of wine, I realize with a jolt that I’m supposed to be at my weekly AA meeting right now. I was supposed to go after work today, but Brad wiped it from my mind. “Shit.” I’m going to have to find another meeting this week so I don’t break my probation.
At the thought of AA my mind flashes, as it always does, to the accident that put me there—and that’s when it hits me. An idea of where to go next. It’s a long shot, I know, but at this point, it’s all I’vegot.