I gripped the steering wheel, trying to settle my hands. The longer I sat there, the less sure I became of what I was doing. Would she recognize me? Would she be afraid of me? What exactly was I going to say?
I leaned my head against the steering wheel. I’d worked this moment over in my head for so long and it felt nothing like it did right then. I’d always seen myself rushing to her, grabbing her, sharing a tearful reunion. But the reality was that I had no idea what was best for her. Or me.
The bell rang, echoing across the street. Almost immediately, the massive front doors opened and teenagers spilled out, pulling on their heavy coats and knit caps. Laughing, talking, frowning. Hundreds of different faces, none that I recognized.
I glanced at my watch. It was mid-day. I assumed it was lunchtime.
I searched every female face I could find, but it was like looking for a needle in the world’s largest moving haystack. The more students that exited the school, the more frustrated I became when I didn’t see her.
The students headed toward the parking lot and took up residence on the lawn, just standing in the snow, happy to be outside rather than in the stuffy classrooms. As the doors stopped opening and students stopped exiting, my hope of spotting Elizabeth dwindled. A heavy knot settled in my gut.
I glanced at the sheet of paper on the passenger seat, the one Tim had given me. I typed the address into the GPS, which told me I was eleven minutes away from where Elizabeth supposedly lived.
But she wouldn’t be there. She was in the school somewhere. And Tim was right. Rushing into the school and trying to find her would cause more harm than good. The circumstances didn’t matter. I could go in there and shout to whomever I wanted, but given the nervousness around school security, I’d get nowhere and would probably complicate everything.
I didn’t want to be rational, but I needed to be. For everyone’s sake.
I sat there and watched the students, still hoping for a glimpse of Elizabeth.
Nothing.
Cars began to return to the parking lot, having made a quick run to nearby fast-food restaurants. The kids emerged from the cars, drinks in hand, laughing, talking and frowning just as they had when they’d left.
The bell rang and they reluctantly trudged back toward the main doors, the laughing and chaos replaced with resignation, knowing they had several hours left in their school day.
The last student disappeared behind the door and the world was quiet again.
I sat there for a moment, fighting the urge to drive right through the front door and demand my daughter.
But I’d worked a very long time to get so close.
I wasn’t going to screw it up.
The clock told me I had several hours before school let out and before I’d be able to find someone at the address I had.
Just enough time to get to the airport and get Lauren.
We could go find our daughter.
Together.
FORTY-ONE
Lauren couldn’t let go of me.
I’d called Mike and left him a message, not telling him why I was calling but asking him to call me back as soon as he could. I’d grabbed a sandwich at a deli, took two bites and threw it away, my stomach too unsettled to do any digesting. Then I drove to the airport and waited for my ex-wife.
I waited in the baggage area at MSP and spotted her on the down escalator. She wore a red sweater, black skirt and black boots, a briefcase slung over her shoulder. Her eyes, swollen and puffy, matched the color of her sweater.
She came through the double doors and launched herself into my arms. I let her hang on to me for a few minutes, not saying anything, ignoring the stares of the people around us. Her body shook against mine, her face buried in my shoulder, her hands clasped around my neck.
The sobbing finally slowed and she took a few deep breaths. She pulled away.
Her mascara had created dark circles around her watery eyes. She tried to smile. “Hi.”
I kissed her cheek. “Hi.”
“Sorry,” she said, wiping at her cheeks. “I’m a mess.”
“It’s alright.”
“I need a bathroom.”
We found one close by and she ducked inside.
Even though we’d been divorced for so long, there was still a comfort level between us. Yes, the breakdown of our marriage was acrimonious and we’d both said and done things we wished we hadn’t. But once we’d created some distance between us, we realized that the divorce wasn’t really about us. It was about the circumstances. We’d agreed that we had to continue to live our lives differently after Elizabeth. Together wasn’t working. We’d finally come to terms with that and it had allowed us to remain close over the years. And when I’d visited San Diego, just the week before coming to Minnesota, we’d ended up spending a night together.
I wasn’t sure where that left us, but I was glad she’d come to Minnesota so quickly.
She emerged from the bathroom, makeup reapplied, her cheeks clean, the redness in her eyes somewhat tempered.
She ran a hand through her hair and took another deep breath. “Okay. Tell me.”
We walked through the baggage claim area and up the escalators to the parking level. I told her everything I’d learned since getting to Minneapolis. About seeing her picture in the yearbook and Tim Barron’s confirmation that she was currently an enrolled student at a local school. By the time we reached my car, she was already churning all of it over in her head.
“So you haven’t see her yet?” she asked, getting situated in the passenger seat.
“No. Just the photo in the yearbook from a number of years ago.”
“Did he have last year’s yearbook? From the high school?”
“No. Just from grade school.”
“But he could get them,” she said.
“Yeah, I guess. But we’re going to the house.”
“The house?”
“The address he gave me for this Corzine family,” I said. “I’m not waiting. The only thing I was waiting for was you.”
“What if it’s not her?”
“It’s her, Lauren. I saw the photo.”
“But, I don’t know, maybe…”
“I swear to you,” I said as we went through the pay booths. “I wouldn’t have called you unless I was absolutely certain it was her. I would not put you through this unless it was her. That’s the one promise I’ve always made you.”
We exited the airport, turned onto the highway and were passing the exit for Mall of America before she spoke again.
“I’m just preparing myself to be disappointed,” Lauren said. “You know that’s what I do. I’ve refused to let myself believe she was still alive, refused to think I’d ever get that call from you. And then I get it. Today. And here we are. Driving to go see our daughter. Maybe.”
Brake lights lit up in front of us and I slowed, the late afternoon traffic beginning to tie up the freeways.
“I mean, what if she doesn’t know who we are?” Lauren said, staring straight ahead. “What if she doesn’t remember? Or what if she blames us?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“What if she doesn’t want to talk to us?” Lauren said. “What if she doesn’t want to leave?”
“I don’t know.”
“And what if she’s…not alright?” she said, her voice dropping. “What if she’s not okay?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know, Lauren. I don’t have any answers. But I want them.”
The traffic started moving again and I changed lanes, focusing on the freeway in front of me.
“I want them,” I said.
FORTY-TWO
The walk in front of the Corzine address hadn’t been shoveled or cleared, unlike every other house on the block. It was a split-level home, painted yellow, with small windows and a screen door covering a dark wooden door. The yard sloped toward the street, the driveway a hill of compacted ice and snow. Smoke snaked out of the chimney.
I parked across the street and we sat in the car for a moment, silent. I had no idea what I was going to encounter when I knocked on the door. I didn’t know if this was the person that took Elizabeth from my front yard or if she’d come to them through another channel.