"Rarely," I mutter.
We drive down to the shelter and go inside. The place is just an old house with mattresses all over the floor. It stinks like dirty clothes.
"Can I help you?" a man asks.
"This is a homeless shelter, right?" I ask.
"Just a temporary one. The other ones were full so we set this up to give people a place to stay until we can build a new one." He shakes my hand. "I'm Tom, the director. And you are?"
"Rumor. I'm looking for someone. I'm wondering if you could tell me if he was staying here."
"We don't like to give out that information unless it's a matter of public safety, for instance the police looking for a fugitive on the run."
"I'm looking for my dad," I tell the guy. "I really need to talk to him. He called me a few weeks ago and the phone disconnected. I've been calling him but he hasn't picked up. I'm worried something happened to him."
"And you're sure he was here?"
"I know he's here in town but he didn't say which shelter."
Tom looks at Trystan. "Are you the son?"
"Nephew. He's my dad's brother. My dad hasn't heard from him either."
"What's his name?" Tom asks.
"Devon Halliway," I say.
"We don't have anyone by that name."
"He might've used a different name," Trystan says to me. "He'd do that when he stayed at shelters so a tabloid wouldn't find out and tell everyone he was homeless."
"Tabloid?" Tom says.
"He used to be an actor," Trystan explains. "Just side characters on sitcoms. Nothing big."
Tom nods. "I thought he looked familiar."
"Wait—you saw him?" I say, looking around. "He's here?"
"He left. You missed him by a day. Said he wouldn't be back."
"Did he say where he was going?"
"He didn't, but I think he was trying to go to Mexico. I heard him telling one of the other men that he couldn't get past the border because he didn't have his passport."
"Then he's still here in town."
"I doubt it. If he's not from here, he'll probably keep moving. It's what a lot of people do until they're able to find work."
"We could try some other shelters," Trystan says to me.
"Wouldn't do any good," Tom says. "They're all full. This is the only one accepting people."
"Did he leave anything behind?" I ask, sounding desperate. I wanted to see him so badly. I needed to. He may not technically be my dad but he's the only dad I've ever known and I wanted to say goodbye.
"He left a few things," Tom says. "Follow me."
He takes us to a room set up as an office with a fold-out table and chairs. He opens the closet door and takes out a plastic grocery bag and hands it to me.
