Olivia and I get into my car.
“That’s so sad about Katie,” she says as I pull out onto the street.
“I know…It sounds like lupus is pretty serious.”
“Alex said it’s kind of like leukemia.”
“We need to really be praying for her.”
Olivia nods. “For sure.”
Then we ride across town without speaking.
Olivia breaks the silence as I pull up to her house. “In light of Conrad’s sad news, I wasn’t going to tell you this…”
“Tell me what?”
“Alex asked me to the prom.”
I smile at her. “Cool.”
“He feels bad though, like maybe Conrad won’t want to go now…you know, because of this thing with Katie.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” I say quickly. “I’ll probably be all prommed out by then anyway.”
“I figured you’d understand.”
“Of course.”
And I do understand, but I also feel sad as I drive over to the precinct. I wonder why Conrad and I both have these grownup sorts of things to deal with. Why can’t we just enjoy being regular teens, doing regular things, having fun and not worrying about such heavy stuff? But then I realize I wouldn’t trade my life with anyone. Not really. However, I’m sure Conradwould do anything to trade his circumstances—that is, if he could do it in a way that would make his little sister well again.
“Hey, Sam,” says Eric when I go inside. “How’s it going?”
“So-so,” I admit.
He nods with an empathetic look. “Still on for our date Saturday?”
“Oh yeah…”
“Ebony’s looking for you.”
“Thanks.” Then I head down the hallway to her office.
“Have a seat,” she says as soon as I enter.
“What’s up?”
Her expression is hard to read. “I’ve been hitting some roadblocks in my investigation of Steven Lowery.” She holds up a notepad with his name printed on it. “Is that the correct spelling?”
“Yeah.”
“And you say he works for an investment brokerage in Portland.”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I’m not finding anyone by that name.”
“And?”
“And I’m wondering if that’s really his name.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
So she explains how things don’t seem to be adding up, that he should be licensed as a broker either in California or Oregon. “And based on that, it should be easy to find information on him. But when I plug in his name, according to the description you gave me, I get nothing. And that worries me.”
That’s when I tell her about my mom’s banking troubles.
“When was the last time your mom saw him?”
“I don’t know. I mean, they went out on Saturday. And she called him last night.”
“So he’s still in town.”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
“And you don’t know where he lives?”
“No…”
“Does your mom?”
“I assume she does…but I don’t know.”
“How about his phone number? Do you have that?”
“No, but I could probably get it from my mom.”
“Do that, Samantha.”
So I call my mom at work, and as I dial, I try to come up with some way I can ask for his number without sounding too suspicious. But she’s out, and I ask the receptionist if I can leave her a voice-mail message. By then I have what seems like a good story—and not completely untrue either.
“Hey, Mom, I was visiting with Ebony just now,” I begin in a careful but casual tone, “and I told her about Steven’s great investment opportunity, and she wondered how she could get hold of him to find out more, but I don’t know his number. Would you mind giving Ebony a call?” I leave Ebony’s number and hang up. “How’s that?”
She smiles. “You’re good.”
Then I tell her about last night’s dream and how I looked for Allen at our school but came up empty.
She encourages me to use their database to see how many Aliens fitting his age and description might be living in the greater Portland metro area. Naturally, there turn out to be a couple hundred teenage boys named Allen, and I feel more lost than ever by the time I quit.
“That’s so sad about Katie,” she says as I pull out onto the street.
“I know…It sounds like lupus is pretty serious.”
“Alex said it’s kind of like leukemia.”
“We need to really be praying for her.”
Olivia nods. “For sure.”
Then we ride across town without speaking.
Olivia breaks the silence as I pull up to her house. “In light of Conrad’s sad news, I wasn’t going to tell you this…”
“Tell me what?”
“Alex asked me to the prom.”
I smile at her. “Cool.”
“He feels bad though, like maybe Conrad won’t want to go now…you know, because of this thing with Katie.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” I say quickly. “I’ll probably be all prommed out by then anyway.”
“I figured you’d understand.”
“Of course.”
And I do understand, but I also feel sad as I drive over to the precinct. I wonder why Conrad and I both have these grownup sorts of things to deal with. Why can’t we just enjoy being regular teens, doing regular things, having fun and not worrying about such heavy stuff? But then I realize I wouldn’t trade my life with anyone. Not really. However, I’m sure Conradwould do anything to trade his circumstances—that is, if he could do it in a way that would make his little sister well again.
“Hey, Sam,” says Eric when I go inside. “How’s it going?”
“So-so,” I admit.
He nods with an empathetic look. “Still on for our date Saturday?”
“Oh yeah…”
“Ebony’s looking for you.”
“Thanks.” Then I head down the hallway to her office.
“Have a seat,” she says as soon as I enter.
“What’s up?”
Her expression is hard to read. “I’ve been hitting some roadblocks in my investigation of Steven Lowery.” She holds up a notepad with his name printed on it. “Is that the correct spelling?”
“Yeah.”
“And you say he works for an investment brokerage in Portland.”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I’m not finding anyone by that name.”
“And?”
“And I’m wondering if that’s really his name.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
So she explains how things don’t seem to be adding up, that he should be licensed as a broker either in California or Oregon. “And based on that, it should be easy to find information on him. But when I plug in his name, according to the description you gave me, I get nothing. And that worries me.”
That’s when I tell her about my mom’s banking troubles.
“When was the last time your mom saw him?”
“I don’t know. I mean, they went out on Saturday. And she called him last night.”
“So he’s still in town.”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
“And you don’t know where he lives?”
“No…”
“Does your mom?”
“I assume she does…but I don’t know.”
“How about his phone number? Do you have that?”
“No, but I could probably get it from my mom.”
“Do that, Samantha.”
So I call my mom at work, and as I dial, I try to come up with some way I can ask for his number without sounding too suspicious. But she’s out, and I ask the receptionist if I can leave her a voice-mail message. By then I have what seems like a good story—and not completely untrue either.
“Hey, Mom, I was visiting with Ebony just now,” I begin in a careful but casual tone, “and I told her about Steven’s great investment opportunity, and she wondered how she could get hold of him to find out more, but I don’t know his number. Would you mind giving Ebony a call?” I leave Ebony’s number and hang up. “How’s that?”
She smiles. “You’re good.”
Then I tell her about last night’s dream and how I looked for Allen at our school but came up empty.
She encourages me to use their database to see how many Aliens fitting his age and description might be living in the greater Portland metro area. Naturally, there turn out to be a couple hundred teenage boys named Allen, and I feel more lost than ever by the time I quit.
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