by D. L. Wood
“Could you run a search on it if you had?”
He tromped past her back to his office. “I know people who can,” he said, sliding back into his chair and opening a window on his computer. “All right, let’s see what we can find.”
Chloe moved to stand behind him as he opened Facebook. A search for Amanda Parvel turned up no one even remotely resembling the woman who had just raced from his office.
“Google?” Chloe proposed.
Holt’s fingers flew over the keyboard. A list of multiple people named Amanda Parvel appeared. He scrolled through them, clicking on a few with no luck. “None of these seem connected to our Amanda, as far as I can tell. The only one linked to Tennessee,” he said, pointing to a commercial social connections site, “looks nothing like her.”
“So, maybe she gave a false name,” Chloe remarked. “Just in case.”
“Yeah, probably so. But we may still have something. Did you hear what she said about the showing?”
“Yeah, I noticed that too. The thing about her boyfriend being annoyed that she had been at a showing all day. You think that means ‘showing’ as in showing a house? Like maybe she’s a realtor?”
“Maybe,” he said, clacking away on the keys again.
Chloe grimaced. “But, in the Nashville area there have to be, what—”
“Hundreds of realty groups, yeah. Thousands of realtors.” As confirmation, he pointed to the screen, which displayed a multiple-page list of realtors produced by his initial search.
Chloe’s shoulders sagged. “That’ll take a lot of time to go through.”
“Yeah. I’ve got a guy I can put on it. He’s not too expensive for something like this.” He picked up his cell phone from his desk and tapped on it, pulling up a photo. “I managed to get a really bad side angle picture of her while she was focused on you. With a little work, he can hopefully track her down, and maybe figure out who she was seeing.”
Holt made the call on his cell, then frowned. “Voicemail,” he said, as he waited for the beep then left a message asking for a return call. “He usually calls back within a couple hours.”
Chloe sighed. “I was really hoping she might point us towards some answers.”
“Well, don’t give up hope yet,” he said. “This still could pan out. This is a good thing.”
And as if offering a counter to the notion that something could finally be going their way, Chloe’s cell buzzed, her nerves revving up when the name across the screen identified the caller as ‘Mid-Tenn Hospital.’
FORTY-FOUR
Reese’s laugh boomed through the tiny hospital room as Tyler described the chaos that had ensued in his classroom earlier that day.
“…and then Jackson’s dog jumped up on the counter where we keep the guinea pig and turned the cage over!” Tyler’s eyes were bright, his hands shoving out in front of him to mimic the cage going on its side. “I’ve never seen a guinea pig move so fast! It was just this brown and white fur ball racing down the counter. Samba—the golden retriever—ran after him and knocked everything over. Mrs. Ellis dove for him, but she tripped on the books that he had knocked onto the floor and she fell on her butt!”
Holt snorted, while Emma cackled. “I would’ve loved to have seen that,” she said. “Mrs. Ellis put me in time out once.”
Emma sat in a chair near Reese’s monitors, her feet propped up on his bed. Reese laughed at her comment, then squeezed her leg gently. The teen hadn’t moved from the spot since arriving over an hour earlier.
Reese was flushed with color, and according to the monitors, his vital signs were good. Much better, in fact, than the last time he had regained consciousness. According to his doctor, this was promising and likely an indication that Reese would not slip away again. “He just needed a little more intense recovery time,” the doctor suggested, before leaving the family to catch up with his patient. “Only half an hour more, though, all right?” he had insisted, not wanting Reese to tire out too quickly and overdo it. He didn’t want a setback. No one did. That was forty-five minutes ago.
“Okay gang,” Holt said, checking his watch. “We’ve overstayed. Time for Reese to get some rest. He can only take so much of you two,” he said, ruffling Tyler’s hair, “before he needs a nap.”
Tyler leaned over to hug his dad. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he whispered. “I knew you would be. Chloe and I prayed for it.”
Reese’s eyes darted questioningly to Chloe. “You did?”
Tyler nodded. “So…I’ll see you tomorrow, right Dad?”
“Definitely,” Reese replied, “and bring me another story from school,” he told him, as Emma took a turn to hug her father lightly before following her brother out.
“Will do!” Tyler called back as he stepped into the hall.
Holt stopped in the doorway and eyed Chloe meaningfully. “I’ll run them home,” he offered. “Why don’t you stay for a minute on your own?”
“No, no,” she said, rising. “You’ve been going all day. You should get home.”
Holt shook his head. “It’s no problem. I’ll stay with them until you’re done. I can work just as well from there. Reese,” he said, turning his gaze to his mentor, “it’s good to see you back in the land of the living.”
“Good to be here,” Reese replied, smiling.
Holt patted the doorframe in answer, then slipped into the hall.
Reese heaved a sigh, continuing to watch the spot Holt had just abandoned. “I can’t thank him enough. I can only imagine what he’s done this last week. And you,” he said, turning to Chloe, “you didn’t come here for this.”
“Stop,” Chloe said, holding up a hand to halt him. “It’s been fine. Actually, it’s been, well…good. I mean, not what happened to you,” she backpedaled, “but me with the kids—that’s been good. I’ve gotten to know them much better than if I’d just visited for a couple days.”
“So you’re a glass-half-full kind of girl.”
Chloe pursed her lips contemplatively. “I haven’t always been. But now, I’m trying to be.”
“Sit,” Reese said, gesturing to the chair Emma had abandoned. As Chloe complied, it occurred to her that this was the first time she and Reese had been alone since Emma’s visit to the emergency room. Suddenly she felt uncomfortable, and absentmindedly began running her hand along the textured blue cloth of the seat. The fabric was bumpy and created an odd sensation as she moved her hand across it.
“Chloe…tell me about Tate.”
Her eyes flicked in his direction. “Now?” she asked uncertainly. “I don’t know, Reese. It doesn’t seem like a good time to get into something like that. Something that stressful.”
He grabbed her hand, taking her by surprise. “Now is the right time. I could have died days ago, and I would have done it not knowing my son. I know that’s my fault,” he added, getting there before she could. “It’s entirely my fault. But I want to know him. As much as I can. Even if it’s just in a small, secondhand way that doesn’t do him justice.”
“He deserved more,” Chloe said. It wasn’t a cruel comment, or meant to cut. It was just the truth.
“He did. But this is all I can do now. So please, tell me about Tate. All of it. Any of it. Who he was—the sports he played as a boy, the foods he liked, the movies he liked—I want to know him.”
She thought of Tate as a boy, with that untamed curly shag of hair and the toothy grin that made his hazel eyes sparkle. She liked remembering him that way. And she liked the thought of someone else remembering him that way too.
She scooted forward in her chair a bit, resting her elbows on her knees. “Well,” she began, “for starters, there were no sports. Tate couldn’t throw a ball to save his life. As for food…he ate enough sushi to feed a small Japanese town. And movies…”
As she spoke, Reese’s eyes began to glisten, then pool, until fat drops slipped down his cheek, striking the scratchy bed sheets one after the other.
FORTY-FIVE
“Co
me on down, you guys!” Chloe bellowed, dropping a bowl smeared with vanilla-laced whisked egg and milk in the sink. “Your breakfast is getting cold!”
Pale morning light filtered through the Roman blinds that topped the windows in the family room beyond Reese’s kitchen, bathing the countertops in the promise of the coming day. Two plates stacked high with cinnamon French toast clattered as she set them on the raised bar in front of her, followed by the clinking of flatware as she set each of their places. The irresistible rich, sweet scent of the baked concoction enveloped the room, ultimately convincing her to forgo her promise to herself to watch her carbs today. She was wiping a bit of syrup from her chin when Emma and Tyler finally made it into the kitchen.
She swallowed a mouthful of French toast. “Syrup’s on the counter,” she said, nodding toward the plastic bottle between the two plates.
Tyler drenched his toast in the sticky, golden liquid, then snatched up his plate and fork. “Can I take mine over and watch TV for a minute?” he asked. As if anticipating Chloe’s protest, he added, “Dad lets me.”
Chloe looked at Emma for confirmation. She nodded and shrugged, her black hair bobbing in the high ponytail she had swept it up into.
“Sure, Tyler,” Chloe told him, and he bounded off with a plate.
“So, you stayed with Dad until they kicked you out last night?” Emma asked, shoveling in a mouthful.
“I did,” Chloe responded, chasing her last bite with a tangy glass of low-acid orange juice. She had remained at the hospital, regaling Reese with tales of Tate until he had finally fallen asleep in the early evening. She had stayed even after that, uncertain why, but feeling like she wasn’t supposed to go. Somewhere around nine o’clock, she realized she was praying for the man lying in front of her. It wasn’t a particularly purposeful prayer, but just general requests for God to move in his life, in their relationship—if that’s what you could call whatever existed between them at that point—and in Reese’s children’s lives. She didn’t remember starting to pray; somewhere along the line she must have just lapsed into it. The realization surprised her. Prayer was still a very conscious endeavor on her part. At least it had been. Maybe that was changing.
The nurses had kicked her out when visiting hours ended at ten. By the time she finally got home and relieved Holt, she was so exhausted that after checking on both kids, she dropped into the bed, fully clothed, and slept soundly for the next eight hours.
“How was Dad?”
“Fine. Great. Sleeping when I left. You should go by after school today.”
“I’m working, but yeah, after that I will.” Emma’s cell chirped and she checked it, laughing at whatever message someone had sent her. An idea nipped at Chloe.
“Hey, Emma,” Chloe continued, “I wanted to ask how Jacob is doing. His dad was asking yesterday at the hearing.”
Emma shrugged, taking a sip of juice. “Yeah, Jacob told me about the hearing. He’s dealing with it, I guess. He said he tried to visit his dad but Mr. Sims wouldn’t meet him. Something about not wanting him to see him like that.”
“It’s got to be hard.”
“Not too hard to keep him from laying into Jacob. The only message he sent back was not to slack off on football while he was gone.”
“That’s a bit harsh. How did Jacob handle it?”
“Jacob wasn’t surprised. His dad is like that all the time. And like I said, Jacob’s dealing. He hasn’t missed school or anything, so his dad ought to be happy.” Emma grabbed her backpack off the counter. “Come on, bud,” she called to Tyler. “We’re gonna be late.”
Tyler groaned, then brought his plate back to the kitchen before heading out the door. Emma followed after him, but Chloe called out, stopping her in the doorway. “Hey, Emma?”
Emma turned and waited.
“Why don’t you see if Jacob can come over for dinner one night soon.”
“Yeah, sure. He’d probably like that.”
“And you know, your dad is probably going to come home before long, which means, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here. I was thinking, what if you left school early today so you and I can spend some time together? Maybe right after lunch? Unless you’ve got tests or something else you can’t miss.”
Emma’s face lit up. “Seriously?”
The corner of Chloe’s mouth turned up. “Yeah, seriously. I already talked to your dad and he’s fine with it. He thinks you could use a little break, too.”
Emma grinned. “You have got to be the best secret half-sister I didn’t know I had ever.”
Chloe returned the smile. “Right back at you.”
* * * * *
Once the kids were gone, Chloe took her tea over to the laptop, determined to take a shot at finding Amanda Parvel. She hated the thought of waiting on whomever Holt had called for help to get around to looking into it. Even though there were a lot of realtors, if she just kept looking, eventually she might stumble onto a photograph of the woman they had met yesterday, since every realty office maintained a website with photographs of their agents.
Maybe it won't be as hard as you think, Holt. But even if it was, it was worth some time and effort on her part to try. If she was able to find Amanda, it would be a real contribution to what they were trying to accomplish and, at the same time, save Holt some money. Money that, she knew, he wasn’t getting paid.
It only took fifteen minutes to realize it would be exactly as difficult as Holt had anticipated. Not only did the Nashville area seem to have an excessive number of realtors, but many were one- or two-person outfits, meaning that there were hundreds of individual websites to peruse. She managed to get through a couple dozen before draining her first cup of tea. Realizing she was going to need a higher octane, she switched to French roast, black, and came up with a game plan. It made the most sense to start with groups based in Williamson County, hitting the large firms first, to see as many faces as possible on one site. Once she got through those, she would move on to the smaller ones. After that, if necessary, she would cast the net wider into the metro Nashville area.
She was halfway through the cup of coffee, having no luck whatsoever, when her cell beeped, alerting her to a text from Holt.
Hearing in federal court this a.m., it read. Call u after lunch. Go have fun. Forget about Sims for a while.
Will do, she replied, following it with a smiley face emoji, then immediately returned to the computer.
Hundreds of faces scrolled by as she sipped the earthy brew. Somewhere in the middle of her search, her thoughts drifted to Jack and what he might be doing. Was he thinking about her? Was he struggling with not reaching out to her? Did he have to continually talk himself out of calling? She hated that he felt she needed space. She didn’t need any time away from him and it made her sad to think that he believed she did. She was ready for this separation to be over. To get back to Atlanta and her life with Jack, and figure this whole thing out. But she couldn’t leave until Reese was home. Sighing, she shook her head and refocused on the photos on the screen.
After another hour the faces had started to blur into a featureless stream of blondes, brunettes and redheads, until Chloe realized what she was doing and reminded herself that she had to pay closer attention. It wasn’t enough to just look at the hair. Amanda easily could have changed it.
After her second cup of coffee, she realized that she was feeling a bit jittery, not something that was particularly helpful for sitting patiently in front of a computer for hours on end. She paused long enough to fix a mug of herbal tea, then got back into it, adding name after name to the list of agencies she had already checked without success.
Another hour in and her eyes were beginning to glaze over. She had nearly convinced herself that it was time to give up and let Holt’s man take a crack at it, when a familiar face smiled out at her.
“Gotcha!” she yelled, as she stared at a photograph of Amanda Parvel, one of eighty realtors listed on the page of agents that comprised Hogan and Hartl
ey Realty, Inc., of Spring Hill, Tennessee. The photo she had used as her headshot must have been a recent one because the woman in the picture looked exactly as Amanda had in Holt’s office. Blonde, messy bob, blue eyes, big smile. The only thing different was her name—Amanda Luther, not Amanda Parvel. A work email and phone number were listed beside the photograph. Hoping to reach Amanda and maybe talk her into divulging the name of her ex-boyfriend, Chloe snatched up her cell and started dialing. Just before pressing the call button, a thought occurred to her and she stopped.
What if I scare her off? What if, instead of convincing her to help, she ends up warning the guy not to talk to us?
Exhaling, Chloe set the phone down. She bit her lip as she thought, Maybe I need to go about this another way.
Returning to a window already opened to Facebook, Chloe searched for the name Amanda Luther. Her page popped up in three seconds. Though Amanda had gone to some lengths to keep her personal information from Holt and Chloe, she had made no such effort on her Facebook page. She had over 1,500 followers and nothing was restricted. It made sense that a realtor would need to maintain a public profile, and Amanda certainly had created one. All her information—birthday, workplace, favorite movies and books, and so on—was accessible by anyone.
“Didn’t figure you for a Band of Brothers fan,” Chloe mused, as she kept sifting through the information. Unfortunately, under relationship, there was no entry. Just ‘single.’
Chloe moved on to Amanda’s photo albums, hoping to find a picture of her with her mystery man. The woman was a compulsive poster. Photos of the KitchenChef home delivery meals she had prepared on multiple nights during the last week was evidence of that. There were also plenty of photos of nights on the town, friends having lunch, and family get-togethers, but nothing that resembled a shot of a couple dating. Either she had never posted photos of her mystery boyfriend or, more likely, she had deleted them after the break-up.