Then the doorbell rings again, and Louisa opens the door, and her heart thumps twice, then a third time, because although it’s been more than twenty years, she recognizes the chin dimple and the brown eyes and for a second she’s sixteen again, riding on a Boston Whaler, the wind blowing back her hair and the ocean spray salting her face.
“Detective Mark Harding,” says the owner of the dimple and the eyes, putting out his hand. “I know there’s a deputy officer on the scene responding to the missing person call. I’m here to coordinate a more thorough investigation, should one be needed.”
“I know your name,” she says, putting out her own hand. “Mark, it’s Louisa.”
He squints at her. He stands back, looks up at the house, then back at her, and it sounds corny and cliched to say a smile spreads across his face, but that’s exactly what it does, taking its sweet time to get from one end to the other.
“Louisa Fitzgerald,” he says. “I didn’t make the connection, when I first heard the address. Louisa! It’s been a long time.”
“Yeah,” she says. “It’s been a really long time.” She’s grinning, despite the gravity of the situation. “Sorry, where are my manners? Come in. Come in! Meet the kids.”
“Hey, kids,” says Mark Harding, nodding at Matty and Claire, who are standing near the telephone table. (Where is Abigail?)
“My mother is with Barbara, my dad’s caregiver, and the officer, outside,” says Louisa. “They’re going over where my dad was last time this happened. This is Matty, and this is Claire. And Abigail is—guys, where’s Abigail?”
Claire shrugs; Matty shrugs. “Well, there’s one more around here somewhere,” says Louisa. “The middle one.”
“Three kids!” says Mark. He turns to Louisa, and she arranges her face in a way that could either say, Aw, shucks, it’s nothing, in my spare time I care for foster puppies and read to the blind, or, I know! It’s not what I would have predicted for myself either. “It’s great to meet all of you, even under these circumstances. I’m sure we’ll find your grandfather quickly. Not to worry.” The past sits between Louisa and Mark on a sturdy invisible table, and each waits to see if the other will pick it up first. The boat; a kiss; a teenaged love triangle. “Your mother and I used to know each other, when we were teenagers.”
“Mommy wasn’t a teenager,” says Claire immediately.
“Of course I was a teenager,” says Louisa.
“Why aren’t you wearing a uniform?” asks Matty, looking suspiciously at the chinos and tie.
“I’m a detective,” Mark says. “It’s the sergeants and deputieswho wear the uniforms. Sorry to disappoint.” He smiles. “But I have a badge. See?” He points.
“What about a gun?”
“Matty!” says Louisa.
“What? I’m just curious.”
“It’s not a problem,” Mark tells Louisa. To Matty he says, “Yes, sir,” patting his jacket. “A concealed firearm is part of the job.”
“Do you ever have to use it?” asks Claire, and Mark hesitates.
“You don’t have to answer that,” says Louisa.
“Yeah, okay. I think I’ll plead the Fifth if you don’t mind.”
“Well, what’s the plan for finding Grandpa?” This is one of Claire’s favorite phrases, picked up somewhere along the line from grown-ups and sometimes employed in unexpected ways:What’s the plan for finding my other sneaker?Or,What’s the plan for ever getting a puppy in this household?She’s looking at Mark Harding.
“Well,” he says. “If the officers don’t locate him right away, which nine times out of ten they do, we’ll coordinate a search. First thing we might do is bring in a K-9 to attempt a track.”
“A police dog!” Claire breathes. “I’d like to meet that dog.”
“What if the dog doesn’t work?” asks Matty. His face has the terrified look he gets before cross-country races.
“If the search becomes prolonged, we would utilize other options.”
“What other options?” Louisa’s heartbeat picks up. She imagines her father wandering around, confused. She thinks about the tangles in his brain.
“We’d call in the Maine Warden Service to set up a command post. We’d get some planes in the air and coordinate search teams and volunteers to conduct grid searches. But like I said, I don’t think we’ll get to that point.” He looks at Louisa and says, “Really, I don’t.”
Louisa takes a deep breath and tries to calm her mind. Shewants to believe Mark. “Well, here,” she says. Her voice sounds shaky. “No reason to gather by the telephone table. Come in the living room, at least.”
Mark sits on the couch, with Claire sitting right next to him. She must be securing a top spot in case the police dog arrives. Mark says, “I can’t believe our summer paths have never crossed before this.”
