“Rebecca.”
Dad nodded.
“Rebecca Hale.”
“Where does she live?”
“She used to live in Cedar Falls.”
“That’s two hours away.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have an address?”
Dad hesitated.
Then came a knock at the door.
Neither of us moved at first.
The knock came again.
I expected Aaron.
Or perhaps Brent.
Dad opened the door.
A man stood on the porch.
Late fifties.
Gray hair.
Canvas jacket.
He looked at Dad, then at me.
“Gus Lindqvist?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Thomas Hale.”
My fingers tightened around the photograph.
Dad’s face lost color.
The man noticed the picture in my hand.
His eyes closed briefly.
“So you know.”
“Know what?” I asked.
Thomas looked at Dad.
“I’ve been trying to find you for three months.”
Dad gripped the doorframe.
“Is Rebecca all right?”
Thomas’s expression changed in a way that answered us before he spoke.
“No.”
I stood.
