July 9, 5:27 P.M.
The burgundy Chrysler 300 sits where I last saw it, still impeccably clean, still loved, still waiting. The well-groomed car is the embodiment of the Brouwers’ sad vigil for a daughter too long missing.
I stand on the porch, Lauren’s locket tight in my right hand, working up the courage to ring the doorbell. I can feel Jimmy watching me from inside Walt’s Expedition. I insisted that they let me do this myself; I don’t know why. It all seems so hard at this moment and I’m weary; weary beyond measure, beyond sleep.
My soul is weary.
I’m just about to turn and walk back to the SUV and let Walt and Jimmy handle this when I hear the doorknob turn, and then Alice Brouwer is standing before me. She sees the subtle streaks on my face and the watery glisten in my eyes and she knows.
She knows.
“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can manage to say as I gently place the locket in her hand. Her fingers hesitate to take it at first, but then she holds it tight. She collapses, broken, in my arms, sobbing, weeping; she wails a dreadful dirge that shatters the last of me into tiny pieces. I cradle her. I cry with her.
I don’t know how long we stand there. There’s no clock in purgatory. Eventually Walt and Jimmy join us and help guide Alice to the living room. Her pastor was notified before our arrival and is soon at her side. An assistant pastor is on his way to Redding to retrieve Martin Brouwer from work and drive him home.
Minutes turn to hours and word spreads among neighbors and family. They begin to arrive in ones and twos until the house is full to bursting. I’m on the porch, standing by myself at the rail and looking out over the California hills, when a young man arrives. He has Lauren’s eyes and cheeks, and I immediately recognize him from her Facebook page—Larry, her brother. Beside him is another young man who can barely walk, his face tortured, his mind in a surreal fog. It’s Lauren’s fiancé.
Larry pauses on the porch and looks at me a moment. Letting go of the fiancé’s arm, he walks over slowly and extends his hand. We’ve never met and I wonder how he knows me, but then I remember I’m wearing a Windbreaker with FBI in large letters on the back.
I take his hand; we shake. He puts his other hand over mine and just holds it for a moment. No words are said; there are no words for such a meeting. We just tip our heads at each other and share a moment of grief, an unspoken thank-you, an unspoken sorry. Then he’s gone, guiding the fiancé into the house to face the sorrow within.
So much lost.
So much broken.
After a while, Jimmy and Walt join me on the porch and we make our way slowly back to the Expedition, Jimmy to my left, Walt to my right. Walt still has two crime scenes to process and three bodies to recover. For Jimmy, it’s back home to Jane and little Pete. They’ll wonder why he holds them so tight, as they’ve wondered a time or two before.
And when Jimmy kisses little Pete on the cheek, he’ll say, “Stop, Dad. You’re goofy. Boys don’t kiss boys.” He’s said that a time or two before as well.
For me, it’s back to Big Perch and Jens. It’s back to Mom, Dad, Diane, an eccentric nudist neighbor who has too many hats, a pint-sized rodent who pees in my shoes, and … maybe … Heather?
Right now it’s hard to hope for good things.
As I open the Expedition door, I hear a shout from behind and turn to see Alice racing from the porch. She slows a few feet in front of me and then embraces me hard. Her eyes are dry now, empty of tears. She stands on her tiptoes and whispers in my ear, “Thank you,” and then holds me again. Stepping back, she places a piece of paper in my hand, and then says to the three of us, “Thank you for finding my girl, for bringing her home. You don’t know what it means.”
She turns without another word and walks back to the house. Larry’s waiting on the porch and slides his arm around her as they come together and make their way back inside.
I feel it between my fingers—the paper. It has a silky smooth feel to it and I suddenly realize what it is, though I haven’t yet looked.
I don’t want to look, I tell myself. I’ll just put it in my pocket, and later, much later, when the wound is not so fresh or so deep, then I’ll look. But my eyes betray me, my hand defies me. I find myself staring at the four-by-six photo, and I can’t look away.
Lauren smiles at me from a happier time not too long ago.
It’s a good smile.
July 9, 9:41 P.M.
As we descend to Bellingham International Airport, a bloom of red and silver fireworks erupts over the bay, expanding to a large moon of sparkling light before dissolving into a storm of falling stars. Close on its heels, a second bloom of blue and gold lights the sky in a flash. Like the first, it quickly dissolves, and the night sky reverts to a dusky blue trailing into black. Independence Day has come and gone, but the revelers remain.
Marty’s voice booms over the PA system, loud and as ridiculously obnoxious as he can make it. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Bellingham International Airport. The temperature is a comfortable sixty-two degrees, with clear skies and a light breeze from the south. Thank you for flying Les and Marty Air, and remember that gratuities are always welcome.” Marty peeks around from his seat in the cockpit and gives us a big grin.
I know how he feels; it’s always good to be home.
Hangar 7 is open and waiting as Les wheels the plane along the tarmac and expertly maneuvers it through the wide, though still tight opening. If the hangar is open, that means Diane is still here. I know that Jimmy called earlier to update her on the case, to tell her of Susan’s rescue. I’ve noticed over the years that she waits for us on occasion. At first I thought it was because she didn’t have anything better to do, or that she’s just that married to her job.