I sleep on Ann’s pullout, just long enough to conquer my jet lag, and then I stumble into the shower. Ann makes me scrambled eggs and toast, and we sit down at her little table to eat while I tell her everything.
“Runaway bride,” she says, shaking her head. “What’s the plan for today then?”
“I’m going to see if I can track him down,” I tell her.
I look over her shoulder and out the window and my stomach does a little flip. I love it here. I missed it.
“Good, that’s a good plan.” She winks at me and stands up to clear our dishes.
David doesn’t live in his old condo behind Pike Place Market. A man answers the door and tells me that he rents it.
“I send my checks to an agency,” he says. “I don’t know anything about a David Lisey.”
I go to The Crocodile next.
“Man, if I had a dollar for every time some girl showed up here and asked for David Lisey,” the bartender says. He’s wearing a 49ers hat. Does that mean something or does it not count if it’s a sports team? He wipes circles on the bar and shakes his head at me. “No, he don’t come in here no more, not now that they’re big time.”
I thank him and leave. I think about going to his mother’s house, but I’m too afraid. She must hate me as much as he does.
“I don’t know how to get in touch with him, Ann,” I say when I’m back at her place. “He’s a celebrity now, it’s not like his information is public.”
Ann waves off my comment like it’s the dumbest thing she’s ever heard.
“He has a best friend, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “He’s in the bloody band too.”
“Don’t you still have his phone number?” she asks.
I think about it for a moment. I don’t, but I do know where his mother used to live.
“You’re a genius, Ann,” I say, kissing her forehead before I run out the door.
When I knock on Ferdinand’s mother’s door, a plump lady answers wearing an apron with apple pie all over it.
“Hello, Mrs. Alehe?”
“Yes,” she says, looking around. “You’re not a reporter, are you?”
“No,” I say. “I’m an old friend of your son. I was wondering if you could give this to your Ferdinand. Tell him that Yara came by.”
“Yara,” she repeats, suspiciously.
I smile.
“Yes, Yara Phillips. He’ll know who I am.”
“Did he knock you up?” she asks.
I try not to laugh. “No, Mrs. Alehe. I’m really just a friend.”
I eye her crucifix as I hand her the paper and then walk back down the drive and to my waiting Uber. I know she’ll call him right away, just to make sure I wasn’t carrying her illegitimate grandchild.
Forty-five minutes later my phone rings. The number says Private.
“Yara?” I recognize his deep voice right away.
“Yes,” I say. “It’s me.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in Seattle. Can we meet somewhere…tonight maybe?”
There’s a long pause on his end. “Yeah, sure. Where?”
I tell him to meet me at the brewery by David’s house. And then I hang up. One step closer.
I meet Ferdinand at the taproom we all used to go to near David’s old place. I’m thirty minutes late by the time the Uber pulls up to the door, typical Seattle traffic. Ferdinand is outside, smoking against the wall. He has the hood of his jacket pulled up around his face and I wonder if it’s to keep people from recognizing him. Their lives have changed so much since I was last here. He has tattoos on his fingers that weren’t there before, and he’s wearing heavy silver rings on almost every finger.
“Hi,” I said. I feel so awkward I stick both of my hands in my back pockets.
“Hi,” he says back. “Want a beer?”
I nod, and he tosses his cigarette on the ground before turning around and walking into the taproom. He orders an IPA for himself and a Stella for me.
“You still like that shit?” he says, turning around to check.
I nod. We carry our beers to a table near the pretzel machine and sit down.
“So,” he says.
“Congratulations. On everything,” I say. “You guys really made it happen.”
He nods slowly, his eyes drilling into me. Ferdinand is frightening as fuck. I try to remind myself that this was the guy who had a kitten screensaver on his computer.
“Yeah, I guess I should be thanking you,” he says.
I flinch. So, it was going to be like that.
“You would have made it one way or the other. David is a talented songwriter.”
He finishes off his beer and then looks at me. “So what do you want, Yara? Why are you back, or do I even need to ask that?”
“I need to find him. I tried to e-mail him, but he changed his e-mail, I guess.”
“Yeah, after that little stunt you pulled in Paris I don’t blame him.”
My face rearranged itself. I could feel it happening.
“Or you don’t blame Petra,” I say, raising my eyebrows.
The corner of his mouth lifted in what I perceived was a smile. Wow. I made Ferdinand half smile.
“I need a smoke,” he says.
I stand up to go outside with him. The traffic is thick, rush hour. I kick at his last cigarette butt with my boot as I wait for him to light up. Eventually I can’t take it anymore.
“Ferdinand, tell me where he is.”
I put both hands on my hips like I can intimidate a six foot four bull of a man. He blows smoke out of his mouth and for a moment his face is lost behind the cloud.
“Your mother named you after Ferdinand the bull, didn’t she?”
His eyebrows jump at the sudden change of subject, but it just occurred to me that she must have and I felt the need to ask.
“Yes,” he said.
“Because you were huge or preemie?”
“Preemie,” he says, frowning.
I nod. “What a prediction.” Then I drop my hands to my sides letting my shoulders droop. That’s how I really feel: droopy.
“I’m sorry I never got to know you before,” I said. “I had—have issues.” I sit down on the wall outside David’s old building and stare up at the sky. It’s getting ready to rain, I’m going to get drenched.
Ferdinand sits down next to me, sighing deeply.
“I never liked you,” he says.
I look up at him. “You knew I’d hurt him.”
“Yeah,” he says. “David sees the best, I see the truth. And you had that look of panic in your eyes the whole time you were with him.”
I nod. That was true. “I love him very much,” I say. “I just wasn’t good at love back then.”
“Why not?”
I look at the street, a couple is crossing a few feet away—they remind me of David and me back in the day.
“I didn’t have anyone show me until David and then it scared me off. When you’re unhealthy, healthy things are frightening.”
“Are you healthy?” He looks at me and I resist the urge to look away.
“No,” I tell him. “But, I’m getting there. I know what I need to do.”
“Find David,” he says.
“That’s part of it, yes. We’re still married, for God’s sake. Something has to be done one way or another.”
He stares at me long and hard. “All right,” he says finally. “I’ll give you his address. But, you have to promise me something.”
I nod, vigorously.
“No more games,” he says.
I cross my heart. Ferdinand shakes his head as he texts me David’s address.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he mumbles.
“Thank you, Ferdinand,” I say as I stand up. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
I start to run toward 1st Street, but he calls after me. “Yara! That address is for a houseboat.” I hold up my hand to show him I’ve heard him and I keep running.
I run to Ann’s flat—apartment—and fling open the door. She’s sitting by the window watching the traffic as she does every day at this time.
“Ann, I got it. I got his address. Now help me decide what to wear.”
She turns to face me, a small smile on her lips. “How do you know he’ll be there?” she asks.
I stop on my way to the bathroom and frown. I guess I don’t. I’ll wait outside if I have to.
“What if that hussy shows up with him, that Peeta?”
“Petra,” I correct her, staring into my suitcase. “I don’t know. I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.”
“There will be a fight,” Ann decides. “A catfight.”
“Sure,” I shrug, pulling out a dress I brought just for this occasion. “Let’s see if she’s scrappy.”
Ann claps her hands and then returns to her spot. I glance back at her. She’s been in this apartment for thirteen years, she told me so when we first met and she invited me in for tea. Thirteen years of never leaving this one small place. I close the bathroom door and rip out my hairband, letting my hair fall free. I have one shot. I’m going to use all my weapons.