“Fingers crossed.” She raises two hands with crossed fingers to double our luck, and I smile, thankful she offered to join me on this trip as moral support.
We've been friends for over a decade, and she's the only one who knows my entire family history. Who understands the turmoil I've gone through with Jessica, even before she got pregnant.
“Let me change and brush my teeth, then we can check out Fancy’s Diner across the street for breakfast and, hopefully, some intel.”
A half hour later, Linnea, Jesse, and I are seated by a window overlooking Main Street while a waitress puts in our order of pancakes, eggs, and bacon after admitting she doesn't know a Mac.
Blue gingham tablecloths and chair cushions decorate the cozy cafe, and the matching pattern bordering the walls ties everything together.
It’s cute and rustic, and in any other situation, the easy comfort of such a quaint diner would bring peace of mind. Like I’m drinking Hallmark happiness straight from the source.
Unfortunately, the rest of the town is a little too rundown to embody the same vibe.
“So, how do you want to do this?” Linnea asks.
I spoon mushed bananas into Jesse’s gaping mouth and think for a second.
“It’ll probably be faster to split up, if you’re okay with going alone. We each take one side of Main Street and work our way down the open storefronts.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
We finish eating, then Linnea and I split outside on the sidewalk. Jesse’s happy babble emanates from his secure place in the stroller. Like this is any other day where we enjoy a walk in the sun and fresh air.
“Come on, little man. Let’s find your dad.”
First, we stop in the antique store next to the cafe. The older woman behind the counter is kind but ultimately no help.
The same goes for the florist, the pharmacy, and a shoe store.
Linnea and I are making quick work of the small-town shops, but I’m losing hope that we’ll find someone who knows the man we’re looking for.
I’m about to give up and wait for the only bar on Main Street to open up when the last building on the block is all that's left to canvas. The scent of wood dust and paint thinner wrinkles my nose as I enter the hardware store.
“Morning! How can I help you?” A middle-aged man approaches us with a friendly smile. His red polo has the name ‘Greg’ stitched on the chest in white.
I swallow the lump in my throat and launch into the spiel I've repeated multiple times this morning.
“Hi, I'm hoping you can help me find someone. I don't have much to go on, but his name is Mac.”
Greg's eager steps stutter to a halt once he realizes I'm not a customer, and his smile transforms into a quizzical frown.
“Mac?”
“Yes… Do you know anybody around here who goes by that?” I shrug, feeling another dishearteningnoabout to come my way. “It might be a nickname? Short for something else? Or a last name?”
My voice gets smaller and smaller with each suggestion as Greg mulls over the possibilities. None of them appear to light a bulb of recognition above his head.
“Sorry, I don't think?—”
“Did you say Mac? Like Cormac Madsen over at Rocking M Ranch?" The newcomer towers over me and Greg, a black baseball cap with an O'Hare Salvage logo doing nothing to disguise his considerable height.
“Maybe? Like I told him,” I gesture to Greg. “I don't know much more than his name, or part of it, anyway.”
The man scratches his bearded cheek with his thumb as his curious gaze sweeps over me and the stroller holding a napping Jesse.
“The thing is,” he drawls, “Cormac only uses Mac with… out-of-towners.” The way he delicately says the word makes it obvious he's being discreet, but I don't have time to be polite.
My sister had a one-night stand that resulted in an accidental pregnancy.
