Page 75 of Come Back To Me

And I know she would if I asked her to. She’d hop on a plane and come all the way to Seattle with me.

“No, you’re my London life.” I laugh. “I’m not ready to cross my worlds.”

“Okay,” she says. “Text me when you get there, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

When I hang up I go straight to the computer to book a flight. I have my savings, but they wouldn’t get me far. If this didn’t work I may be stranded in America without a work visa and no money to get back. I book a one-way ticket and close my eyes.

Please God, who I don’t believe in. Don’t let it be too late.

I write an e-mail to Ann, my old friend and neighbor. I tell her I’m going to be in town and ask if I can stay with her. I know she’ll say yes. Ann is a sixty-year-old agoraphobic. She never leaves her apartment—hasn’t in years. She’ll be glad for the company, and she is my last friend stop. Posey set me straight. Celine cleared my head and brought me peace. Now I need Ann’s wisdom. She’ll know what to do next.

I sleep on Ann’s pullout, just long enough to conquer my jet lag, and then I stumble into the shower. Ann makes me scrambled eggs and toast, and we sit down at her little table to eat while I tell her everything.

“Runaway bride,” she says, shaking her head. “What’s the plan for today then?”

“I’m going to see if I can track him down,” I tell her.

I look over her shoulder and out the window and my stomach does a little flip. I love it here. I missed it.

“Good, that’s a good plan.” She winks at me and stands up to clear our dishes.

David doesn’t live in his old condo behind Pike Place Market. A man answers the door and tells me that he rents it.

“I send my checks to an agency,” he says. “I don’t know anything about a David Lisey.”

I go to The Crocodile next.

“Man, if I had a dollar for every time some girl showed up here and asked for David Lisey,” the bartender says. He’s wearing a 49ers hat. Does that mean something or does it not count if it’s a sports team? He wipes circles on the bar and shakes his head at me. “No, he don’t come in here no more, not now that they’re big time.”

I thank him and leave. I think about going to his mother’s house, but I’m too afraid. She must hate me as much as he does.

“I don’t know how to get in touch with him, Ann,” I say when I’m back at her place. “He’s a celebrity now, it’s not like his information is public.”

Ann waves off my comment like it’s the dumbest thing she’s ever heard.

“He has a best friend, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “He’s in the bloody band too.”

“Don’t you still have his phone number?” she asks.

I think about it for a moment. I don’t, but I do know where his mother used to live.

“You’re a genius, Ann,” I say, kissing her forehead before I run out the door.

When I knock on Ferdinand’s mother’s door, a plump lady answers wearing an apron with apple pie all over it.

“Hello, Mrs. Alehe?”

“Yes,” she says, looking around. “You’re not a reporter, are you?”

“No,” I say. “I’m an old friend of your son. I was wondering if you could give this to your Ferdinand. Tell him that Yara came by.”

“Yara,” she repeats, suspiciously.

I smile.

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