I check the phone again. Aspen lives on the second floor.
Since the building’s so old it doesn’t have an elevator, I take the stairs to the second floor, stepping around cigarette butts and fast-food taco wrappers. A couple of spider webs. Nobody cleans this area. Ever.
I knock on her door. I don’t know what I’m going to say or how I’m going to fix this—my head’s too jumbled—butI have to see her.
No response. I open my mouth to call her name, but end up making a pathetic croaking sound instead. I clear my throat. “Aspen.” I knock, then pound. “Aspen! I know you’re in there.”
The more she gives me the silent treatment, the more desperate I become. I keep on banging on the door, louder and harder until my fist hurts.
The unit next to Aspen’s opens. An old Asian lady sticks her head out and looks me up and down. Her disapproving eyes linger on the cut of my suit, then slide to my watch, belt and shoes, then up to my face.
“She’s not here,” she says. “She’s working. I heard her leave.”
“Did you hear her come back?”
She shakes her head. “No. I don’t think she’s home. I was in the living room. Heard nothing.”
Where could Aspen have gone? She wouldn’t have gone over to Zack’s when he’s at the bar tonight. She wouldn’t have gone over to see her grandfather, not when she’s this upset. Does she have other friends in town? I realize I know very little about her. My fault—I never made any effort to get to know her. I was too busy living in the past.
Idiot! Dumbass!
“Do you know where she might go if she’s not working? Maybe a friend? It’s important.”
The neighbor lady shrugs again. “I don’t know. I never seen her with friends. Anyway, maybe you can be quiet? I want to watch my drama.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I head back downstairs, then walk around the parking spots around the building, looking for her car. The lot is as crappy as the building itself and poorly lit, so I use the flashlight on my phone and check every blue car. But nope. She isn’t around. And the lot’s full except for a couple of empty slots.
Okay, so Aspen’s not home. I climb into my car and text her.
–Me: Where are you? I’m at your place. We need to talk.
I stare at the screen, while counting slowly. I reach ten, but it stays unread.
–Me: Aspen, we have to talk. Please.
Still unread. I call, but it goes unanswered.
Shit. I should’ve never let her run out like that. Now what? Don’t women like to unload everything on their friends when they’re upset? Who would she meet?
Suyen…
They were tight back in college, and Aspen might’ve gone over to Suyen’s place. I try to look her up, but can’t find anything useful.
Who would know everything about everything?
I mull it over for a second, then snap my fingers. George Harford. Even though he graduated from Napa Aquinas twelve years ago, he’d still keep up with everyone. He thrives on socializing.
I thumb through my contacts until I find him. He’s one of a few people whose number I didn’t purge from my phone when I left college.
–Me: George, it’s me, Grant Lasker. Mind if I ask you something?
I don’t have to wait long before a response pops up.
–George: Hey, long time no see! How are you, man?
–Me: Great. You?
