The next morning, Boyd and Orr headed up to Placerville for their tour. We were all quite invested for the first half hour of the drive, but by the time they arrived we were pretty uninterested. Duarte and Jalen were bonding over data entry. Such was the glamorous life of a law enforcement officer, apparently. Michelson and Malone monitored Orr and Boyd’s location. Laurel and Reyes were making lunch for all of us, which was adorably domestic. Against my better judgement, I sat at the counter and watched them.

  “Whatcha making?” I asked.

  “Green salad and grilled chicken breasts,” Reyes said.

  “Are you letting Laurel out on the patio? Because that’s super unfair. I want to go outside too.”

  “What? No,” he said.

  “How the hell are you grilling inside? That’s some bullshit right there.”

  “That’s what I told him,” Laurel said.

  “Grilling chicken on the stovetop is just fine,” Reyes said.

  “Lucas, it’s not,” Laurel said.

  “Yeah, I’m with her,” I said.

  “Shit,” Malone said quietly. He tapped his phone screen and sighed.

  “No. Dammit.” Michelson angrily stood and put his hands on his hips. “Dammit.” I was certain any bad guys in the vicinity were running in terror at his stance.

  “Not the plane, guys,” Malone said.

  “What? No. No way.” Laurel came around the bar. Reyes and I followed her to the living room.

  “Yeah. I know.” Malone held up the phone so we could see the photo Orr had just sent.

  Duarte and Jalen got up from the dining table to look. We all crowded around Malone. The plane in question did have a figure painted on the tail, but it wasn’t Raphael. It wasn’t any of the Ninja Turtles. It was an old school aviator with chunky goggles and a red scarf flying behind them. Which was, in retrospect, much more logical. I would have found it funny if it didn’t mean my time stuck in this stagnant safe house would surely be extended.

  “Fuck.” Laurel gripped the back of the empty wingback. Her knuckles turned white. “I thought we had him for sure.”

  “Same, dude. Hard same,” Duarte said.

  “What happens now?” I asked.

  “Boyd and Orr will document as many planes as possible and we will look at the owners. See if anyone jumps out,” Michelson said.

  “More research. Super,” I said.

  “I told you police work was all reading documents,” Laurel said.

  I nodded. “Yeah, I know, but I didn’t believe you.”

  She shook her head. “That’s on you.”

  “If you’re willing, we’ll need you to look at the owners and let us know if you recognize anyone,” Michelson said to me.

  “I can do that,” I said. Anything to pass this time. “This blows.”

  Duarte clapped his hand on my shoulder. “It certainly does blow.” He grinned. I rolled my eyes at him.

  “Lunch will be ready in ten.” Reyes went back to the kitchen.

  Laurel followed him. “But don’t get excited. It was grilled indoors.”

  ✥ ✥ ✥

  I finally gave in and called Robin. So of course she didn’t pick up. I flopped dramatically on my bed and the power of being overly dramatic paid off when my phone started ringing. I answered without looking. “Hey, pal.”

  “Cash?” Marjorie asked.

  “Oh shit.” I looked at the screen. It was, in fact, Marjorie. “Sorry. Hey.”

  “Expecting someone else?”

  “Sort of. I just called my buddy for some advice so I assumed it was her calling back.”

  “Oh. Well, maybe I can give you some advice. What’s going on?” she asked.

  I didn’t see that coming. “Umm.” I wasn’t prepared to chat with my mother about a woman I’d kissed and also was madly in love with but also very angry at.

  “Sorry. That was forward of me. You don’t trust me yet.”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  “I don’t blame you. I did abandon you, after all,” she said.

  “You left. You didn’t abandon me. There’s a difference.” Apparently, we were going to have that discussion. I sat up. This wasn’t a lying down conversation.

  “I’m not sure I understand the distinction, but I still understand why you might not trust me,” she said.

  “No, it’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just that I don’t know you.” I still didn’t know what I wanted from her or what I owed her, but I could at least be honest. And I honestly didn’t know her. She liked Hemingway and sparkling water. Not exactly the basis for a relationship.

  “I get that. Really, I do. I’d like to change that. I wish I could have been there when you were growing up, but that wasn’t an option.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “You do?” She sounded surprised.

  “Yes, of course. Even as a kid, I knew you were an addict. And I knew Clive wouldn’t let you have access to me if you weren’t clean.”

  Her voice went up half an octave. “He told you that when you were six?”

  “God, no. He said you were sick and you couldn’t be around us because someone could get hurt. When I got older and we talked about it more, he told me he essentially gave you an ultimatum.”

  “Right. That makes more sense. Christ, he was always so good with you. Even if I wasn’t an addict, I never would have been that good.” She laughed wryly. “Which was why he was so strict in telling me I couldn’t be a part-time parent. It was the right thing to do.”

  “He was an awesome parent.” Even when I was mad at him—which I definitely still was—I knew he’d been a good parent.

  “I know. I just wished it could have been me. But it couldn’t. I tried. And now you’re an adult and you don’t know me. I hate that. Sorry. I was hoping we could have this conversation in person. I’m rambling again. We don’t need to discuss this.”

  “It’s fine. You know I don’t expect anything from you, right?” I asked.

  “You probably should.”

  “I don’t. I’ve got a good life.” I didn’t need anything from her, but it seemed rude to tell her that. “I had a great childhood.”

  “I know you did. He always sent photos and art projects you’d made. He gave me regular updates until you turned eighteen. That was our agreement. I feel like I know you even though I’m quite aware I don’t actually.”

  I finally asked the question we’d been talking around for the last twenty minutes. Hell, for the last two weeks. “Is that why you showed up?”

  “Ultimately, yes. But I’ve been trying to build up the courage for a long time. I’d hoped Clive or you would take the initiative, but I realized that wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “You probably thought I was dead or as good as,” she said.

  “You’re not wrong.”

  “And Clive always told me I had to come back on my own. He wouldn’t help me. He was never angry at me for blowing up his life, but I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me for blowing up yours.”

  “It sounds like you two have some shit to work out. I’m not sure it has anything to do with me.”

  She laughed. “You sound like Lloyd.”

  “Lloyd?”

  “Sorry. My husband. When I announced my intention to come back here, he gently suggested I try to separate my guilt toward you from my guilt toward Clive.”

  “I think I like this Lloyd.” His name was Lloyd, but that wasn’t his fault. I mean, if my name was Lloyd, I’d tell everyone my name was Bob, but then my name was Cash so maybe I couldn’t judge.

  “I think you will, yeah.” She sounded hopeful at the possibility.

  “So why now?

  “Why what now?”

  “You said you announced your intention to come back to Lloyd. What made you decide to do it now? What changed?” I was expecting cancer or the birth of someone’s child. Even if she wasn’t here for my kidney, she’d clearly been struck by something.

  She sighed. “I was sitting on our deck having my morning coffee. We can see a sliver of the beach from the deck. There was this couple doing a wedding photo shoot. That’s not unique. We see it all the time. But I realized you were of an age where you might be getting married. Or maybe you already were. Either way, there were important things happening in your life that I wanted to be there for.”

  “Because you saw someone getting wedding photos taken?” I tried to keep the disbelief out of my voice, but a little slid through.

  “Yes. There was this couple doing such a mundane thing, but for them it was probably a grand moment and I knew I had to try. I didn’t want to miss out on any more of your grand moments. Even though I knew showing up could have hurt you. I was terrified of causing you pain.”

  “But you decided to risk it?”

  “It was a gamble and it was selfish, but I couldn’t wonder anymore. I traded the possibility of pain for the possibility of a fuller life.”

  “Well, shit.” That was a really good reason to blow up your life.

  “Shit?” she asked.

  “I generally make a habit of avoiding deep thoughts about emotional states and you’re making that kind of hard.”

  “You don’t strike me as the type who avoids deep thoughts.”

  “Heck no. Deep thoughts about poetry or philosophy I’m all for. Give me all the Lorde and Foucault. But talking about feelings isn’t really my jam.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I promise. You’ve known me for about two weeks. I’m big on avoiding uncomfortable conversations.”

  “That may be, but we’ve had a total of four conversations and one of them was a deep feelings, weight of history, expectations of family and parents sort of discussion.”

  “Damn. Yeah. We’re going to need to talk about some really frivolous stuff to wipe that slate clean.”

  “Yes, of course.” She sounded completely sincere.

  “What are your feelings on pop music?” I asked.

  “I feel like you’re going to judge me, but big fan.”

  “Excellent answer.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, it’s honest. I’m into honesty when it’s convenient for me. And also I, too, am a big fan,” I said.

  “No. You seem like you’d be into something really random and cool. Like punk, but only from 1978. Or underground rap from the Bay.”

  “I don’t dislike punk or underground rap, but I’d argue being into pop is totally random and cool.”

  “But it’s not serious, which I value, but I guess I didn’t expect you to value it,” she said.

  “Why? Because we denigrate vapidity as a society?”

  “I’m trying here, Cash, but I don’t think you’re as good at frivolous conversations as you hoped.”

  “Hmm. You might be right.”

  Someone knocked on my door. “Hey, Cash, I’m about ready to start sorting photos of planes, if you want to join,” Boyd called.

  “Yeah. Give me a minute,” I called back.

  “I take it you need to go?” Marjorie asked.

  “I do. I’m helping one of the agents sort through a list of small plane owners.”

  “Do you need to help them? Isn’t this their job?”

  “It is, but since I’m connected to the case, I might recognize a name they won’t. The more I help, the faster we get out of here,” I said.

  “Then, by all means, go help. Good night, Cash.”

  “Good night.”

  Boyd was sitting at one end of the table. Duarte and Jalen had officially claimed residence at the other end. No one else was around.

  “If you want to go through the photos and read the numbers to me, I’ll plug it in and give you the owner’s name,” Boyd said.

  “Yeah, sure. Sounds like a hoot.”

  “It sure is.”

  “Where is everyone else?”

  Boyd looked around. “I think they all went to bed.”

  “It’s only eleven.”

  He shrugged. “I guess sitting around here all day is hard work.”

  “Look at you making jokes.”

  “I’m a scream, ma’am.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  I was sitting with Boyd, reading him N-numbers from the planes he and Orr had photographed that afternoon. He’d retrieve the owner’s name from the FAA database. I’d tell him if I recognized them. I never did. We were halfway through the list and I’d dozed off with my chin on my fist twice. Boyd was not impressed with my stamina. I glanced at the time. Just after eleven thirty. I wasn’t impressed with my stamina either.

  “Do you want to take a break?” he asked.

  “No, but I need coffee.” I stood.

  He nodded and turned the laptop I was using so he could see the next number. I went into the kitchen and put together the coffee machine. Last time we had to research a bunch of people we knew nothing about, Duarte and I had used social media. I wondered if these people were on socials. Probably Facebook this time instead of Twitter and Insta. Thus far, they were all middle-aged white people. So, yeah, Facebook.

  “Hey, Duarte,” I said.

  He looked up from his end of the table with Jalen. “Yeah.”

  “These guys who keep their planes at the airport, you think they’re on socials?”

  “Shit.” He half closed his laptop. “Yeah. I bet they are.”

  “You still have your dummy accounts activated?”

  He shrugged. “I think so. I never bothered deleting them.”

  “Do you have a dummy Facebook?”

  “No, but it’ll take us two seconds to set a couple up.”

  “Make sure you include photos of planes,” Boyd said.

  “Why?” Duarte asked.

  “If you’re looking at all these people, the Facebook algorithm will suggest to them that they should friend request you. If you have a bunch of planes and aviation paraphernalia, then they won’t think it’s odd,” Boyd said.

  “He’s right,” Jalen said. It made me wonder how often she was listening when she was working. Probably all the time.

  “Give me a minute and we’ll get started.” I held up the bag of coffee I was measuring out.

  “You know there’s a Keurig in there, right?” Duarte asked.

  I cringed. “I’m morally opposed to Keurigs.”

  “Of course you are,” Duarte said.

  “They make terrible coffee,” I said.

  “Your moral opposition is based on flavor?” Jalen asked.

  “And, you know, the environment.” I shrugged.

  “But mostly the flavor,” Duarte said.

  “And aesthetics.”

  “So flavor, then aesthetics, then environment?” Duarte asked.

  “I’d prefer not to rank my reasoning,” I said.

  “You’re a strange person,” Jalen said.

  “Aww, shucks. Thanks.” I poured water in the machine.

  “Is she always like this?” Jalen asked Duarte.

  “Pretty much yeah. She also rails against the white supremacist cishetero patriarchy a lot.”

  I glanced up. “Duarte.” He looked at me in question. “You remembered to include cishetero in the power structures. That makes me so happy.”

  “Heck yeah I did. Gender is a construct. Heteronormativity is a prison.”

  “You do listen when I talk,” I said.

  “With the important stuff yeah.”

  Boyd cleared his throat. “How do you know when it’s important? She talks a lot.”

  “Wow. Rude,” I said.

  Duarte laughed. “The man makes a point, Braddock.”

  Boyd sputtered. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I just meant you talk about a lot of different subjects.”

  “It’s cool, man. I do talk a lot.” I sat back at the table.

  “So what’s cishetero?” Boyd asked.

  “Cis as in gender. Hetero as in sexual,” Duarte said.

  “Nailed it.” I half stood to high five him. He smacked my hand.

  “I don’t know what those words mean,” Boyd said.

  Jalen finally looked up from her computer. “Cisgender is someone whose gender matches what they were assigned at birth. Heterosexual like straight. So including the combination cishetero in the white supremacist patriarchy highlights that being queer or trans is outside the existing power structure.”

  Duarte made eye contact with me and mouthed “Wow.” I mouthed “Hot” back at him.

  “Okay, so this is an extension of the privilege I experience as a white guy?” Boyd asked.

  “Basically, yeah. Because you are presumably straight and cis.” I realized I’d just assigned him a sexuality and a gender marker so I added. “Which I only assume because you hadn’t heard the terms and a queer person in your situation likely would have,” I said.

  “Hmm. Okay.” He made a very serious face. After a minute he nodded. “I’ll think about that.”

  I waited to see if he needed to share any of those thoughts, but he just kept plugging in numbers.

  Duarte brought his laptop to my side of the table. “What’s your fake Facebook name going to be?”

  “Brash Caddock.”

  “Dude.”

  “So that’s not a good name?” I feigned ignorance.

  “It is not,” he said with vehemence.

  “Okay. We’re aiming for bland white guy?” I asked.

  “Affirmative.”

  “Will,” I said. He nodded in encouragement. “Williamson. Will Williamson.”

  “You’re not taking this seriously.”

  “Well, no.” Though he should have expected as much from me. “But I’ll try. What’s your name going to be?”

  “Justin Dieter,” he said.

  “You came up with that really fast.”

  “It’s the name I use for undercover work.”

  “Okay, no fair.”

  “When you’re done debating names, let me know what sort of planes each of you want. I’ll send you a couple of photos to use,” Boyd said.

  “Will Williamson totally flies an old plane. Like those crop dusters. What are they called? Biplanes?” I asked.

  “Yep, biplanes. And Duarte is right. That’s a dumb name,” Boyd said.

  “Fine. What do you think my last name should be?”