Page 66 of Before She Disappeared

“If I’m a good girl and eat all my food, can I have fried dough afterwards? Or maybe the banana boat. Dear God, this is better than the county fair.”

“County fair?”

“Trust me.”

We stand on the sidewalk to eat. Cars roar past, some beaters, some so custom you have to wonder about the driver’s profession. Lotham seems immune. He keeps chewing and swallowing, his eyes half-mast with happiness. The hot dogs are super long, the fries salty, and the raspberry-lime rickey a refreshing hit of icy tartness.

“Number six,” I inform Lotham as I munch away. I’m never going to finish the world’s largest hot dog, but it’ll be fun to try.

“Number six what?”

“Best meal I ever had.”

“You rate them?”

“It’s good to note key moments. And food is often a source of happiness.”

“You’re saying eating a hot dog standing roadside is your sixth all-time favorite meal?”

“Precisely.”

“I don’t understand you at all, Elkin.”

“Because I’m simple when you want me to be complicated. And I’m complicated when you want me to be simple.” I shrug. I’ve lived with myself for a long time now. And part of maintaining my sobriety is being honest even when it hurts.

Lotham has already finished his dog. He goes to work on his fries with mechanical precision.

“You piss me off,” he states.

“I got that memo.”

“We asked questions. I personally visited that fucking rec center. For that matter, I was there when we searched the apartment, interviewed family and friends. And yet you...” He seems at a loss for words. “Three days into it, and you’ve turned this whole damn thing on its head.”

“Would you rather have no leads at all?”

“No, dammit!”

“Then you’d rather all discoveries be the product of your greatness?”

“I’m not that petty!”

“Then what the hell is it you want? I’m here. I’m sharing. Frankly, you’re the one being an asshole.”

Lotham scowls, eats more fries. “I’m trying to figure out your secret. Or what to do with you. Or what to make of you. Maybe all three.”

“Hah. Good luck with that.”

“Why are you here? Why this case? Why this girl? What exactly it is you’re looking for?”

He’s ruining my mood and my appetite. I shutter the clamshell container of hot dog and fries, take a sip of my lime rickey instead. It’s melting fast now. Probably doesn’t like angry conversations any more than I do.

“You want to know who I am.”

“Precisely.”

“Maybe it’s more important to know who I’m not.”

“I have such a headache right now, and this... is not helping.”

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