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More confused than ever, he handed over his credit card and took the key.
“Nice beard,” she called after him. “I like that it’s non-ironic.”
He holed himself up in his room for a while after that, looking things up on his phone. What did an “ironic” beard look like? And what was going on with the coyotes around here?
He sent Brenda a text. “Arrived safely. Mission about to start.” She was in school, so he didn’t get an immediate answer. But it felt good to pull up her name on his contact list and see the little photo of her bright smiling face.
Before conking out, he did a little research on all the Marshall Coopers in the area. He found several, but most of them lived in expensive or outlying neighborhoods that seemed unlikely to be his father’s. He zeroed in on one possibility, Studio City, which was only six miles away.
The next morning, before the heat of the day, he packed the small backpack he’d brought—water and sunscreen, wallet and sunglasses—and set out on the cross-city hike to Studio City.
Over the course of six miles, he got a lot of odd looks from people in cars. Didn’t people walk around here? The city didn’t seem to be built for pedestrians, that was for sure. He thought about giving in and calling for a Lyft, but he needed the exercise. His body wasn’t used to airplanes and cramped hotel rooms.
Under a freeway overpass, he encountered a group of homeless people and handed out half the money in his wallet. Maybe it was a bad idea, but he didn’t care. Growing up, he’d been briefly homeless himself after one of their evictions. All four of them—his father had been off somewhere so it was just Mom and the three boys—had slept in the car for nearly a week before she found them another place.
“Hang in there,” he told them. “Hope this helps.”
If anyone had any thought of robbing him of the rest of the money in his wallet, maybe his non-ironic black beard scared them off.
When he finally reached the neighborhood where a Marshall Cooper lived, he was sweating. Even the morning sun was hot here. This was a desert climate, blazing hot during the day, chilly at night, or at least chillier. Brenda had warned him to pack clothes that would protect him from the sun, and once again she’d been right.
Brenda. He missed her already and he hadn’t even been gone twenty-four hours. He had it bad. It wasn’t a question of whether he was in love with her. As far as he was concerned, his crush was being in love with her. She was everything to him. He couldn’t imagine a future without her. The problem was, he couldn’t imagine a future with her either. It didn’t feel safe to hope and dream. He didn’t know how seeing his father would change that, but damn it, he was going to try.
When he arrived at the apartment complex where Marshall Cooper lived, he discovered that he needed to be buzzed in, or know the code that residents used to enter. But no one seemed especially concerned about it, and a girl talking on her phone allowed him past the gate. The complex was built around a courtyard that contained a swimming pool and some lounge chairs, along with a profusion of purple bougainvillea and ficus plants. No one was using the pool, giving him the impression that it was a feature used to advertise the place, but no one ended up actually wanting to swim with their neighbors.
He found apartment number fifteen, on the second level, and tapped on the door, but got no answer. So he trotted back down to the courtyard and settled into a lounge chair, orienting it toward the gate. As the sun set further, he watched the residents come and go. Did any of them know his father? He considered asking around, but didn’t want to tip off his dad to his presence—just in case he wanted to avoid Galen the way he had since that night.
Brenda texted.
How’s it going?
Stakeout. He sent her a photo of the lounge chair and the pool, and his leather hiking boots, which looked very much out of place on the plastic webbing of the lounge chair.
No luck yet?
No. I don’t even know if it’s the right place. If he doesn’t show up tonight, I’ll come back first thing in the morning. How are you?
I’m an official published author.
She sent him a link to her book.
Woohoo!!!! He ordered ten paperback copies and ten ebook copies right then and there.
I just ordered copies for everyone I know. Wait. Redbull’s family needs some on the rez. BRB.
Ooh, you’ve been paying attention in text class. Smiley face. Lately she’d been getting a kick out of explaining current texting lingo to him. But don’t spend all your money on my books. I’ll give you one of my author copies.
Too late. Already ordered. I passed a bookstore on the way here. I’ll ask if they carry it. Then they’ll have to order it, right?
You’re sweet, but you should worry about your dad and everything going on there. I’m fine.
I miss you.
I miss you too and I wish I was there with you right now. There’s a Covid outbreak at school so we started Thanksgiving break early.
His heart gave a pulse of longing. And worry. Did you test?
Yes, I’m fine. Olaf’s excited to have me home. Granny says I’ve been neglecting him with everything going on
