I sit and think, and it doesn’t take but a couple minutes for the idea to pop into my head.
“Can you look up the utility companies in that town?” I ask Declan who is already on his laptop.
I walk over and stand behind him while he looks up the information for me. He pulls up the number, and I quickly punch it into my cell phone and send the call.
“City of Gig Harbor,” a lady answers.
“Yes, I’m calling on behalf of my brother, Asher Corre. He’s been in an accident and is currently in the hospital and unresponsive. We don’t know when he’s going to pull out of his current state, so I wanted to make sure that his bill is up to date,” I lie, and when I look to Declan, he gives me a smirk at my quick thinking.
“What was the name again?”
“Asher Corre.”
I hear her typing at her keyboard before saying, “Yes. Our records show that there is currently a zero balance.”
“Oh, good,” I respond. “In the meantime, would it be possible to have a paper copy of his bill mailed to the house. I know he pays online, but since I don’t have access to his passwords, I want to make sure that I can pay via snail mail.”
“Of course. Yes. We can definitely have the bill mailed out to you.”
“Great. And just to make certain, can you tell me the address you have on file?”
“I’m showing 19203 Fairview Lane with a zip code of 98332.”
“That’s correct. Thank you so much for your help.”
I hang up, and Declan asks, “Did you get it?”
“That was too easy, and that woman was too trusting,” I respond and then hand him the paper with the address.
He punches it into his computer. “There it is.”
“Let’s go!” I blurt with excitement, anxious to see if it’s really him.
“Hold on,” he says. “We can’t just go showing up on his doorstep. He’s hiding from something or someone, so we need to be careful for his sake and also yours.”
He’s right. I need to slow down for a second and think this through.
“I think we should get in the car and drive by. Check the place out. We need to verify that this is indeed your father first.”
“Okay.” I’ll agree to just about anything at this point.
We’re back in the car and driving to the address we were given, and soon enough, we’re pulling into a nice suburban neighborhood with large, New England-style coastal houses lining the streets. Children are outside riding bikes and playing, and people are walking their dogs. Everyone looks happy, enjoying the last hours of the afternoon before the sun sets.
Declan slows the car when he turns onto Fairview but doesn’t stop as we pass the house.
“It’s this one. The two-story colonial,” he says.
I look out the windshield at the beautiful house, and my stomach knots when I think about that being my father’s home.
“I say we give it a couple hours, let it get darker, and then we come back. Maybe we can catch him coming home from work.”
Anxiety mixed with every other emotion swarms in the pit of my gut. How can this possibly be happening when I’ve spent my whole life mourning his death? And now there’s a possibility that I might see him tonight, that he could be alive. It’s too much for me to understand and digest.
“Elizabeth?”
My throat restricts like a vice around the sadness inside, and I simply look at him and nod my approval to his plan.
We kill time and head to a local coffee joint. Declan makes a few business calls while I sip a hot tea and read some local Gazette magazine with all the town’s happenings. We drove around for a bit before stopping here, and it seems like a quaint place to live. There isn’t much, and everything is really spread out, but the neighborhoods are nice.
“We should get going,” Declan says, and I quickly order another tea to go.
Very few words have been spoken today; my emotions are much too high to talk, and Declan hasn’t pushed for conversation, which I appreciate. I need the silence right now.
Hopping back into the inconspicuous four-door car that Declan rented, we head back over to the house. This time, when we enter the neighborhood, the sidewalks are empty and the streetlights are on. Windows are lit while the families that live inside are probably eating their dinners, and when we pull up to what we think is my dad’s home, a few rooms are lit up as well.
We park along the curb on the opposite side of the street, and I stare into the windows, hoping to see something.
“Someone is in there,” I whisper.
“I don’t see any movement, but I agree. Too many lights are on for nobody to be home.”
No cars are in the driveway, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any in the garage.
“What do we do?”
“We wait,” Declan responds. “See if anyone comes out or if anyone comes home.”
So that’s what we do.
We sit.