Page 45 of The Missing Half

He brings our drinks over and we begin to eat. “So,” he says between bites. “How’re things going?”

So much between us feels like a conversational landmine, and I scour my mind for something safe to talk about, eventually telling him about Banksy and the animal shelter, without ever mentioning the reason we both know I’m clocking so many hours there. I ask him about work at the fish hatchery, and he tells me all about his new boss. During a lull in the conversation, I pull out my phone and check the time. It’s almost seven. Jenna should be here any minute. I make sure my ringer’s on, then tuck it back into my pocket.

But five minutes pass, then ten, and when Jenna still hasn’t called, that bubble of exasperation turns to irritation. Has she forgotten? Did her plans change and she didn’t tell me?

“So…” my dad says. Outside of Thanksgiving and Christmas, we don’t normally spend one-on-one time together, and I can feel him reaching for ways to pass it. “Brad tells me things at work are going well.”

My heartbeat quickens at the sound of Brad’s name, and I shoot another glance at my phone. Jenna is now officially twenty minutes late. The prospect of interviewing my dad alone makes me jittery with nerves, but at this point, I’m starting to think Jenna’s not coming, and here he is, handing me the perfect opening.

“Work’s fine,” I say. “Busy, but good.” I take a sip of water, going for casual. “When did you and Brad hang out last?”

“Well, he would’ve come over last night. We still do our weekly beers, you know. But he was heading down to Nyona with Sandy for their reunion.”

“It’s nice you guys still do that. See each other every week, I mean.”

I hesitate, running the tines of my fork through the dregs of potato salad on my plate. The main thing Jenna and I planned to ask about tonight was Brad’s whereabouts on the nights of Kasey’s and Jules’s disappearances. If he was at his family reunion during theformer and on the fishing trip during the latter like I assume he was, those will be the pieces of evidence I can give Jenna to finally get her off this Brad thing. They’re not irrefutable proof that he wasn’t involved, but they’re as close as we’re going to get.

“What about that fishing trip the two of you used to go on?” I say. My instinct is to poke at his alibi for Kasey’s disappearance first, but I’m not sure how to broach that without my dad getting suspicious, so I start with this instead—where he was when Jules was taken. “You guys still do that every summer?”

“Course we do, you know that.”

“How many years have you been going, again?”

“Since before you were even born.” He searches the ceiling. “Our first year was probably 1988 or so?” He grins, proud of the tradition. Meanwhile, all I can think isYour best friend is a liar and a cheater and a piece of shit.And also,Please let him be innocent.

“Wow…” I say. “And you go the same weekend every year, right?”

“First weekend in August. You know what I always say. That’s the one nonnegotiable I have.”

My body slackens in relief. I’m not done asking questions, but this is what I was hoping for—my dad’s confident corroboration of Brad’s alibi, without him ever knowing I was looking for it in the first place. His best friend may be an asshole, but he didn’t kidnap Jules. And if everything Wyler and the police and every reporter and media outlet have said is right, that Jules was taken by the same man who took Kasey, that means Brad didn’t kidnap my sister either.

“Actually,” my dad says, “you know what? That’s not true.”

My eyes dart to his face. He’s staring at a spot on the table, a small frown between his eyes.

“What’s not true?” I ask.

“We did miss one year.”

“What—what happened?”

“Brad couldn’t make it,” he says with a shrug. “I can’t remember why…That’s the only time either of us has ever canceled though, so it must’ve been something important. Something big.”

“And…what year was that?”Don’t say 2012,I think furiously.

My dad stands, grabbing our plates and putting them in the sink.He turns on the tap and sprays the dishes with water. Then he turns to face me. “It would’ve been 2012. I remember because it was right before—” His voice cuts out and he clears his throat to cover it, but I know what he almost said. He almost said,Right before Kasey went missing.

Chapter Twenty-four

My dad’s words twist in my gut. It’s impossible to think that the man I once considered an uncle had anything to do with the disappearances of Jules or Kasey. And yet Brad was not out of town on the night Jules went missing after all.

“Nic?” I hear my dad’s voice as if I’m underwater. “Are you okay?”

On Tuesday night, I warned Jenna that we’d need to be subtle, tactful, when we talked to my dad. If we bombarded him with all our questions at once, I said, he’d shut down. And so far, even without calm, methodical Jenna by my side, that’s exactly how I’ve been playing it. But in the wake of this revelation, all my tact slips away. Recklessness fills its place, a machete tearing through a field.

“Just thinking about Brad,” I say. My voice is unrecognizable even to myself. It’s cold, needling. “I know you two are friends, but—I don’t know—I’m not sure he’s really all that great of a guy.”

“What?” My poor dad obviously has no idea why I’ve turned from benign daughter to acerbic monster, and guilt twinges inside me. It’s not him I’m feeling rageful toward, but the rage swallows me nonetheless. “What on earth is that supposed to mean? Did something happen at work?”

---