DAKOTA WANTED TO think about Sedona, focus on her, try to imagine what she might be feeling or fearing. But he was clueless and could not conjure an image of what his older sister, always so much in control, might be going through.
So his thoughts naturally drifted to Sid. He found he faced some serious surprises. Not in her but in himself. He saw her, he found her appealing, he wanted to get to know her better. He wanted to touch her. That was all so predictable, so familiar. He’d actually breathed a sigh of relief. There was an attractive woman who would distract him from darker thoughts, take his mind off the Army, his sense of failure, his disappointment and his loss.
But then something grew in him and he began to really care about Sid. He kept wondering what she’d say next, how she’d make him laugh with her lightning-quick wit, what unexpected activity she’d come up with. The soup kitchen shocked him, but he greatly appreciated her kindness and insight. Hasnaa had said to him, “It’s not what you get in life that will make you whole, but what you give.” She had given it all. Dakota hoped that Sid was a little more cynical than Hasnaa had been, that she’d wear some cynicism around her like a Kevlar vest, judging the world a bit more harshly and keeping herself safe.
He wanted to be with her because he took great comfort in her. It was not a feeling he was well acquainted with. Oh, he’d been filled with passion for Hasnaa, thinking of her all the time and dreaming about her, wanting her irrepressibly. There was such tension trying to navigate the differences in their lifestyles, customs. He remembered his love feeling like a brittle twig that could snap if the wrong pressure was applied, a love so fragile and volatile it had to be handled with great care. His love had felt explosive!
There was something different about what he felt for Sid. There was definite passion and excitement. It filled him up and gave him a buoyant feeling. He wanted to be in her space, hear her voice, talk with her, listen to her. He wanted to come home to her, kiss her goodbye when he left her, and he wanted to take care of her and be taken care of by her. He wanted to sit at her table, sleep in her bed, learn about her deepest fears and happiest moments. He longed for tender moments of touching and dreaming just as he wanted that white-hot passion that lit them both up till they burst into flame. It was like that infatuation he’d had for Hasnaa but all grown up. There was so much he didn’t know about Sid and yet he felt he knew her completely. If she would have him, he would be her companion, her partner.
He was falling in love with her and it didn’t leave him at all uneasy. He welcomed the feeling. He hoped it would never end.
He thought about her the whole way to Denver. When this crisis with Sedona was under control, he would tell her. Maybe he would even tell her how he had loved Hasnaa madly and yet somehow he loved Sid more confidently, more intensely, with utterly no doubt.
He’d known her for three months and he was sure he wanted to marry her. Dakota didn’t fall in love often, but when he did, he went off the deep end.
* * *
He went first to the office supply store to pick up his flyers. Only a hundred for now. He hoped it wouldn’t be necessary to get more but the salesclerk assured him they could have them ready in a matter of hours. He went then to the police department—a detective, Santana, was on missing-persons cases and though it was after six, he was still at the office. They had a long chat about the many possibilities and the length of time that had passed since Sedona was last seen.
“She could have been kidnapped. She could have been depressed or upset and checked herself into the Ritz for the week, pampering herself. She could have run off with a friend or lover, covering her tracks. She could have had some kind of mental or emotional breakdown that rendered her incapable of reaching out or left her confused or disoriented. She could be lost.”
“She could be dead,” Dakota said.
“According to the doctor, your sister has had suicidal thoughts and feelings,” Santana said. “But she never attempted suicide, and while the doctor thinks she could have benefited from more therapy, she seemed functional. When she left the restaurant, the sun was still shining. In that neighborhood it’s hard to imagine that she’d be snatched off the street. We haven’t had so much as a purse snatching there in a very long time.”
“And what did the doctor say about her issues?” Dakota asked. “Whatever mental disorder she’s struggling with?”
“It’s something to be taken very seriously—the doctor believes she may be dealing with anxiety and OCD, both of which can have their mild forms and their very serious forms. I’m afraid we’re not sure which. Your sister was responding to medication and feeling better, but she left the hospital before her evaluation was complete. Buddy, there’s anxiety and then there’s anxiety—and it’s not to be confused with nervousness. It’s not what you feel when you have to sit in front of a promotion board and they all look like they want to eat you. It’s a chemical disorder and it floods the patient’s body with fear and paranoia even though there’s no apparent cause. It can be a mild case, controlled with breathing exercises and some behavior modification. It can be severe, leaving the patient in a panic attack, curled up in a corner, shaking, crying and disoriented.”
“Does anyone know if Sedona has it that bad?”
“Her husband said he found her in a state of panic a few times, but it was so irregular he wasn’t sure what was up. She refused to go to the hospital and it passed. She was driving the family crazy with her rituals and sleeplessness, and if she’s not sleeping, she could be disoriented, confused, even hallucinating. And then there’s OCD...”
“I get it,” Dakota said. “A little on the neat and tidy side or obsessed...”
“And not able to walk down the sidewalk because of the cracks or leave a room without flicking the light switch a certain number of times. In both cases, the anxiety and OCD, your sister wasn’t sleeping much. She might’ve been awake for days, in a manic state. She was afraid she was schizophrenic, like her father.”
“Our father,” Dakota said. “I didn’t know.”
“As I understand it, you’ve been away. Army?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Yes, sir,” he amended. “The Army kept me busy and moving, but the truth is, after I left home I didn’t keep in touch very much. I saw my parents a few times and they were just as batshit crazy as when I was a kid. I saw Sedona about as many times and she was wound up and bossy and a rigid pain in the ass. I had no idea it could have been a medical issue.” He took a breath and looked down. “I spent a lot of years wondering why I couldn’t have been born into another family.”
Detective Santana laughed. “Join the club, pal. I could tell you stories, but let’s focus on your sister. Maybe when we get her home safe, we can have a beer and I can tell you about an old-world Mexican father who will never forgive me for not living at home and helping start a family business with my brothers. But for now...”
“Where should I start?”
“I have a list of places her credit card appeared before the company shut it off but it’s impossible for it to have been her using it. This is her charge in Denver, then Florida, then California, then Texas. Her last use was the restaurant. We’ve interviewed those people. They were as helpful as we’d expect. We had patrol officers search the surrounding area—nothing to report. The hotels within walking distance have been checked...”
“Hey, if she had a plane reservation, wouldn’t she have had a suitcase?” Dakota asked.
“She might have, but we were looking in alleys and Dumpsters for anything that might have been hers. If her purse was lost or stolen, usually the IDs, credit cards and cash are taken out and the purse discarded. There was nothing. But I think you should start there. You might uncover something by talking to the people who last saw her—waitstaff, cashier, busser. Then walk around with your flyers. In the meantime, we’re putting her picture up on social media and in the patrol reports so officers can be watching. Do you have any help in the search?”
“For now it’s just me but I’m meeting the private detective after I leave here. We’re meeting at the restaurant where she had her last meal.” That statement made him wince.
* * *
Dakota talked to Bob Packard at least twice during the day and every evening. He gave him a full report on what he was learning and urged him to stay in Connecticut on the chance Sedona found her way home. Bob agreed, with great difficulty as he was growing impatient and ever more worried.
“My mother and sister are staying at the house, propping us up and feeding us during this crisis,” he said. “I’ll stay a few more days but then I’m coming to Colorado to help look for her. That’s where she disappeared, that’s where she’s going to be found.”
“I agree that’s likely,” Dakota said. “Stay where you are a little longer while I keep canvassing the area she was last seen. And tell me more about Sedona.”
“I didn’t notice anything was wrong for a long time. She was a quirky perfectionist but I worked with a guy who lines up his pens and polishes the glass top of his desk every morning. She was not very social—she didn’t like to be around people she didn’t know well and crowds made her crazy. Is that weird? I run an architecture firm, and talk about antisocial perfectionists... She was always busy, she worked hard and for a long time was an amazing wife. Amazing. A spotless house, smart and clean children, good food on the table every night. I took her completely for granted, but she said she liked it that way. It wasn’t until two, three, maybe four years ago that I started to notice patterns—like a routine for how she worked in her kitchen, a routine to include things like wiping the counter a certain way, then going back and doing it all again...and again... She folded things like napkins a certain way, making a little V at the end of the toilet tissue. And she wasn’t sleeping much. She was jumpy and edgy, and when she thought I wasn’t paying attention, she was talking to herself. Not a little bit. A lot. That’s when I started to get worried. But I didn’t think it was anything that couldn’t be fixed.”
“Did you suggest counseling?”
“Oh, hell, no,” Bob said. “I told her to go to a doctor! I told her I bet she should be on some tranquilizer or antidepressant, like Prozac. I wanted her to do what she usually does—just go take care of it.”
“But she said... There was talk of divorce?”
“She was folding clothes that had already been folded, cleaning bathroom tiles with a toothbrush she had to then throw away, washing clothes three times before they were clean... And maybe she wasn’t talking to herself. Maybe she was talking to people the rest of us couldn’t see.”
“We called them Jed’s ‘special friends,’” Dakota said.
“I started to suspect she was crazy. Like her father.”
“The good news is, she is nothing like our father, who is schizophrenic and has an entirely imagined life that isn’t based in reality. But Sedona could have similar problems if she’s sleep-deprived,” Dakota said.
“I’m really surprised she’s not manic depressive. I thought that’s what I was witnessing. Wide awake for days... What if something terrible has happened to her? I waited too long. I should have taken her to the doctor myself. But I wouldn’t have known who to call.”
“I’m planning on everything working out okay,” Dakota said. “She’s going to be okay.”
“Man, I thought she was okay,” Bob said. “I’ll never trust myself again.”
* * *
During the first several days that Dakota was in Denver, he talked to a lot of people, then began knocking on doors in the neighborhood, particularly those between the restaurant and Maggie’s house, to ask if anyone had seen her. The restaurant, small and upscale, was one of several and was located in a neighborhood of shops and salons, a seniors’ extended-care apartment complex, a nursing home, a school, a couple of markets, two churches and a group of medical offices. The private detective, Ben Cousins, visited most of the shop owners and was looking for security video, but since Sedona had been missing for more than twenty-four hours before they started canvassing, there was no relevant surveillance video available. Most of the shop owners agreed to put flyers in their windows.
Then they had their first real break—her purse was found. It was emptied of credit cards, money and ID, looked like it had been run over by a truck that left some tread marks on the leather, but inside was Dr. Tayama’s business card with her cell phone number written on the back. The doctor said she didn’t make a habit of doing that and none of her friends or acquaintances had mentioned losing a purse. Of course, it could have been given to a charity like Goodwill or a homeless shelter and the card overlooked and left inside, but they were operating under the assumption that it was Sedona’s purse.
On the downside, it was found fifteen miles away, on the other side of the city, and only served to broaden the search.
Maggie, Cal and Elizabeth drove up from Timberlake to go door-to-door with Dakota. Maggie was able to confirm that the purse looked like the one Sedona carried.
The next day Sierra, Connie and little Sam were there for several hours.
Over the week a couple of people said she looked somewhat familiar but they couldn’t say where they might have seen her or even whether it was Sedona or someone who looked like her.
All that week while Dakota and others were canvassing, Ben Cousins and his assistants were making dozens if not hundreds of phone calls, sharing information with the police. They checked bus, plane and train passengers, outlying hotels and motels, called businesses, texted pictures and stayed in close touch with Bob, who continually checked bank balances and ATM withdrawals.
On Saturday, Sid came to Denver. She arrived early in the morning and brought an overnight bag. Just the sight of her at the door to Maggie’s house took Dakota by such sweet surprise he grabbed her in his arms and held her so tightly she squeaked. He put her down and kissed her passionately, the kind of kiss he usually reserved for when they were alone.
She pushed him away with a small laugh. “Cody,” she said.
“Why are you here?” he asked her.
“I’m here to work. I’ll help you today and tomorrow. I’ll stay over, if you’re okay with that.”
“I wish it wasn’t this kind of work,” he said, pulling her close again. “It’s really discouraging.”
“Then we’ll get through it together, okay?”
They started with coffee and a phone update from Ben Cousins. Dakota put it on speaker so Sid could listen. Today they would visit service stations and convenience stores in the area where Sedona’s purse was found. They covered a lot of ground even though there were many stops for phone calls from Bob, Cal, Sierra and others. They ate lunch on the run and got back on their route. Dinner was a quick stop for pizza, and after that, they hit a couple of crowded pubs and talked to the people there, both the waitstaff and customers.
Finally, too late to knock on doors or pester businesses, they went back to Maggie’s house, where Dakota had been staying. Exhausted, Sid begged for a shower. Afterward, snug in an extralong T-shirt and soft shorts, hair combed through and wet, she looked for Dakota and found him in the kitchen. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, swirling an amber liquid covering ice.
“I’m having a whiskey,” he said. “Maggie has a good selection of wine and there’s this. No soft drinks, I’m afraid.”
“I’d love a glass of wine,” she said. “Is there a white wine?”
He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a chardonnay, showing it to her.
“Perfect,” she said. “Maybe we can relax a little bit. Tomorrow’s another day.”
He opened the bottle, poured her a glass and touched her glass with his. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “Sid, this isn’t how I’d have planned a night away with you to be. I would have taken you to a nice restaurant, put on some soothing music, gotten in that shower with you, rolled around in the bed with you for hours... And I’m—”
“Exhausted, I know. Of course you are.”
“And distracted, when I’d like to give you all my attention.”
She leaned against him and he slid an arm around her waist. “I’m sorry for what you must be going through but I’m so proud of you,” she said. “I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about men and I sure haven’t been wondering what kind of man is right for me. I honestly didn’t think there was room in my life for a man after having chosen so badly once and paid such a high price. But, Dakota, you’re the right kind of man. A man who will do the right thing, the good thing, even at a personal sacrifice.”
“Don’t give me too much credit. I haven’t done much for my family in the past and I’m feeling a debt because of that. I’m not that good. I’m late, that’s what I am. I spent a lot of years waiting for my family to make it up to me because I had a rough adolescence and it never dawned on me that maybe I could grow up and get over it now and do something for them. Then I found out that poor Sedona is about as fucked up as I am.”
“You seem like the most normal man I know,” she said.
“There are things I should tell you,” he said. “Full disclosure—I hated my parents. I was ashamed of them. My father is sick, but I was angry because it embarrassed me. Because people laughed at us, made fun of us. It felt to me like Cal and Sedona were unaffected, though clearly they weren’t. I worried a lot about how hard I had it and didn’t pay any attention to what anyone else was going through.”
“You were just a boy,” she said.
“I haven’t been a boy in a long time, Sid.” He stroked her hair. “The truth is, I didn’t have much compassion for my own family until Sedona went off the rails. God, I hope she’s all right.”
“I hope so, too,” Sid said. “It’s very scary but just a little less so when families stick together. Friends and family. I’m in this with you. I want to be.”
“It’s okay. Cal and Maggie are coming back up. So are Sierra and Connie when he has a couple of days. Police have started looking in isolated places, Sid. I think they’re looking for any indication a body—”
“Shh,” she said. “We’re not there yet.”
“I’m so goddamn selfish. I want to be alone with you without something like this weighing us down. I want us to spend some serious time learning about each other. I already know where to touch you, how to touch you, how to make you want more, but I don’t know what kind of kid you were in high school. I want to know what you did on vacation, what you dreamed of your life turning into. I know your parents are gone now but I’d like to know what they were like. I want to know everything. And I want to tell you everything.”
She stopped him with a soft laugh. “That’s good, we’ll do that. But for tonight, let’s just go to bed and practice that touching thing. That should get us through the tough parts. Okay?” She took him by the hand and pulled him to the guest bedroom where he’d camped out. “That will get us through the night.”
“Sid, I want to never let you go,” he said.
“I can live with that,” she said.
There was no point in getting up at dawn. Homes and businesses were barely astir before at least eight and it was Sunday. Dakota had the best night’s sleep he’d had in over a week and he was in heaven with the soft and sweet-smelling woman next to him, curling against him. He kissed her forehead. “I love that little snore,” he said.
“I bet you’ll get over that...”
“I found it adorable,” he said. Then he frowned. “That noise is disturbing me.” There seemed to be a lot of traffic on Maggie’s usually quiet street, more than he’d ever heard before. “Is there a church around here?”
“I don’t remember seeing one,” she said. “Maybe someone’s having a yard sale. When someone has a yard sale in Timberlake, people show up at the crack of dawn to get the first look.”
“I don’t care if they’re going to church or a yard sale, I hate them,” Dakota said.
“That’s the patient, tolerant Dakota I love so much,” she said, laughter in her voice.
The doorbell rang.
Dakota jumped naked out of bed. “Think whoever that is will mind if I don’t take time to dress?” he said, giving his hips a crude little shake.
“If you open that door without pants on, I’m finished with you!”
“You’re not really fun all the time,” he said. He grabbed his jeans off the floor, pulled them on and went out of the bedroom. “It’s probably someone with the wrong address for the yard sale...” Not even bothering to zip and button, he flung open the front door.
He was met with the no-nonsense brown eyes and furry brows of Sister Mary Jacob.
“Sister!” he said, turning away, grabbing for the zipper and button of his jeans.
“Sorry to take you away from your photo shoot, Dakota, but a few of us decided our time was better spent here than at Mass.”
“Sidney!” he shouted. “It’s Sister Mary Jacob!”
Sidney came to the front door completely dressed in sweats and sweatshirt, a smile on her face.
“Oh, Sister, what are you doing here?” she asked, reaching out to hug her friend.
“We came to help look for Dakota’s sister,” she said.
Sid looked over the nun’s shoulder to see a large group gathered on the sidewalk in front of the house. Many of the people they usually served dinner with on Saturday evenings were there, plus a few others.
“You are so awesome,” Sid said.
“Then maybe coffee wouldn’t be too great a burden?”
“Absolutely not,” she said. “Come in, everyone!”
There were fifteen of them in all—the crew from the soup kitchen and some of them brought along friends or family members. Sister Mary Jacob had rounded them up. Maggie didn’t have enough cups but she did have a decent supply of paper to-go cups, probably so she could caff-up on her way to work for those early, early mornings. It took two full pots just to get them all started.
Dakota, now fully dressed, explained that their routes and routine usually started with an 8:00 a.m. phone call from the private detective on the job and it was almost time for him to call.
“Even on Sunday?” someone asked.
“Even on Sunday,” Dakota said. “I have to find her.” And then he went on to explain what he understood about Sedona’s condition, that she could be in a state of panic or confusion, but he had no way of knowing. But no one, certainly not her family, could imagine her leaving them voluntarily. “We hope and pray she hasn’t been hurt,” he said.
* * *
Sedona had made a plane reservation and left Maggie’s house in Denver because she knew Maggie would be coming back soon. Maggie was scheduled to work on Tuesday morning and might even be coming to Denver the evening before. She could even bring Cal and the baby if the psychiatrist leaked the news that Sedona left the hospital, though that seemed unlikely since no one had come, the phone never rang and all was quiet. But Sedona had known her period of adjusting was over. She had to leave. She had to go home. She left on Monday afternoon. She had been out of the hospital for four days.
Since her flight wasn’t due to leave for hours, she went to a restaurant for an early dinner. She wanted to prove to herself that she could seem perfectly normal and entirely confident. But it was awful. She was aware of every watermark on a glass, wrinkle in the tablecloth, smear or mark on the flatware, grime on the cashier’s station. And this was a particularly clean establishment.
When she was finished and had paid, she took a walk down the block. Summer was full upon them and the June sun was reluctant to set. She sat down on a bench in a small park surrounded by little houses and in no time at all she realized her mistake—she would have to try to retrace her path back to the restaurant in order to call her taxi or car service because she wasn’t going to be able to give her location.
But she sat.
She knew her medication had worn off—she was feeling all those uncomfortable feelings again. She was edgy, frightened, exhausted, tense. She knew all she would need was a prescription and then all these issues would be over—she would sleep, she would feel blessed calm, unless there was some major stressor invading her life.
But when Bob found out that she left the hospital and hid out at Maggie’s, he was going to flip. He’d lock her up again. And the next place might not be as nice!
It was dusk when an elderly woman walked by. She noted the suitcase sitting beside Sedona and said, “Oh, my. This looks ominous.”
“I’m going to call a cab for the airport,” Sedona told her.
“I see,” the lady said. “Going on a trip, are you?”
“I’m going home. I’ve been...visiting.” Then Sedona looked around and discovered she didn’t have her purse. “Where’s my purse?” she asked. “I don’t seem to have my purse!”
“I’m forgetting things all the time,” the woman said with a laugh. “Let’s walk back to where you were visiting and see if you left it there.”
“I was at the restaurant. Loman’s. Do you know the place? I paid my check with a credit card so I know I had it. But now...” She looked around frantically, looked up and down the walk.
“That’s almost a mile from here,” the woman said. “You must have left it there. My house is right there—the one with three boulders near the front door. Would you like to use my phone to call the restaurant and ask them to take care of it for you until you can walk back and pick it up?”
Sedona said that would help. And the woman introduced herself as Alice.
Alice’s little house had a very musty smell and was furnished with aging furniture, though the structure wasn’t that old.
“My husband and I bought this house a dozen years ago and then he passed away and I live alone now,” Alice said. “It’s a good house in a good neighborhood. With the park across the street and all the children, I’m happy here. Just old. Forgetful and a bother, but it’s only age. So what, I say. There’s the phone, dear. I’ve never had one of those cell things and I’m not going to.”
“Then do you have a directory?” Sedona asked.
“A what? What’s that?”
“I don’t know the phone number of the restaurant,” Sedona said.
“Perhaps you should call the people you were visiting,” Alice suggested.
Of course Sedona didn’t remember Cal’s number. Having those things handy on your cell phone was not good for the memory. Alice had a serviceable computer and they managed to come up with a phone number for Loman’s restaurant, but they claimed no purse had been left behind. Sedona was getting ready to walk back to the restaurant to see if she’d lost it along the way, but it was now almost dark.
She felt so helpless and she started to cry.
Alice, as it turned out, felt equally helpless. She said her son was planning to lock her up also! He lived in Arizona but claimed his mother couldn’t take care of herself and he couldn’t visit her every day so he wanted to sell the house she lived in and use the money to place her in a home of some kind. But her house was paid off. Alice didn’t want to live in a home! He said she was irresponsible. That he didn’t approve of her spending. He sent her an allowance and paid her bills and wouldn’t allow her to buy anything without permission. He set up an account at the pharmacy and grocery, but otherwise controlled her money. “He just wants me dead so he can sell this house!”
Sedona spilled some of her story—her husband was threatening divorce if she didn’t get mental help! And she’d spent ten days in a mental hospital, and while the medication did make her feel better, it had not been a great experience. She’d been frightened and isolated. She missed her children desperately but was terrified to go home.
Alice made tea and Sedona began to clean the kitchen and the refrigerator. And she found there was laundry to do. The bathroom needed attention, serious attention. All the while they talked. They talked almost through the night while Sedona cleaned and Alice nodded off in the chair, but it was all right, she said. She hadn’t really gone to bed at bedtime since her husband died. She’d slept in her chair, about two hours here, two hours there, bored and lonely and always tired.
This is how I will be, but no one will set up accounts or watch over me, Sedona thought.
Sedona had grown to fear the bed—it meant only anxiety and restlessness for her. She saw herself in Alice, a lonely old woman who was seen as a burden, a problem.
That was almost a week ago. The locks on the doors were strong, but Alice didn’t get frazzled when Sedona checked them several times a day. The park at dawn or dusk was refreshing and Sedona told Alice more than she’d told her therapist and Alice had told her life story over and over again. The same story actually—she repeated herself. Sedona didn’t mind. Sedona cleaned and cooked and taught Alice how to order her groceries by the phone and made her a small chart to check off her meals when she ate them. Sedona kept track of every nickel and promised to send Alice a check when they parted ways. She promised to pay her half and, in the meantime, made lovely little meals for them to share.
Sedona had been missing for ten days. She left the hospital on a Thursday, stayed over the weekend in Maggie’s house, left there on a Monday with the intention of flying home to Connecticut but lost her purse, her phone, her money and hooked up with Alice out of necessity. And she was actually quite happy despite her obvious issues. Alice didn’t question Sedona’s behavior or fuss that she was disturbed by her quirky rituals, like folding and refolding the towels, taking three steps into a room, then three backward steps out and then back in.
But on their sixth day together, Alice’s son called as he did every Sunday morning. And Alice said, “I’ve never been so happy. I have the loveliest roommate! Her name is Sedona!”