The words I spoke echoed in my head. I dwelled on what “could,” and that was my mistake.
“I’m good now, Dad. I’m the best I’ve ever been. I found someone, and he makes my world bright. I was living in sepia, and he comes in with a blast of technicolor… I wonder… did you feel like that with your love? With Arnold?”
I felt an irrational swell of anger rise inside me.
“I would have liked to meet him. I would have loved to have been part of your life.”
The anger gripped my chest. It was aimed toward me.
“I should have picked up your call. Maybe you would have told me. Maybe I would have listened.”
I took a deep breath, trying to cut those chains of resentment toward my actions.
“Look at me. I’m here talking to an old photo like a fool, thinking someone is listening right now… If you are listening, Dad. If you’re somewhere out there, holding hands with Arnold up in the sky, dancing across a rainbow, then I want you to know… I forgive you. I do. For everything. I can’t hold on to this anger, this resentment—I can’t hold on to it any longer. Everything happened in my life for a reason, and that all led me to this. To being with Oliver, and to having a great career, and to living a good life. So, I forgive you.”
A tear fell down and splashed onto the glossy covering over the yellowing page.
“And I wish you were here to see this.”
My doorbell rang. Oliver did always have perfect timing. I closed the photo album, feeling like something in my spirit had been fixed, after years of being neglected. I couldn’t really explain it, except that I felt good.
Beyond good.
I gave my place one quick look-over, making sure everything was set up. I forgot to light the candles but I’d distract Oliver with some rosé first and then sneak off to add the finishing touches to the room. In the mirror next to the door, I made sure I had nothing in my teeth and that my hair wasn’t doing anything unruly.
I opened the door, my smile instantly shifting into a confused slant.
“Will? What are you doing here?”
33 Beckham Noble
Will stood in front of me, his face flushed pink and his pupils blown. He looked frantic. Instantly, I knew something was terribly wrong.
“What happened?”
“Have you seen Oliver? Please tell me he’s here.”
I shook my head. Will dropped his into his hands. “Shit. Shit, shit.”
“Will, what’s going on? I need an answer.” Frustration bubbled in my like grime from a sewage grate.
“It’s Olly. I think someone’s taken him.”
It felt like I’d been shot in the chest with a shotgun.
“I went to his apartment just now to pick something up. He told me he’d be home for ten minutes, so I rushed from my place to his. I got there, and his car was parked outside. But I could see the lights in his place are off. I went upstairs and I knocked, and the door opened by itself. He’d never leave the door open like that.”
“Where were Mason and Jar?”
“I don’t know. I stepped inside and called out Oliver’s name, but when no one answered, I turned and left. I knew something was wrong. I called the police and they were going to send a cop to check the place out, but I knew I had to come to you. I had to let you know.”
“Right, thank you, Will.” My vision tunneled. I had to focus on my breathing. This was a nightmare coming to life. “And you’ve tried calling him?”
“Over and over again. He doesn’t pick up. That’s not like him.”
“No, not at all.”
“Please, Beckham, you’ve gotta find him.”
I turned and grabbed my keys and wallet off the shelf. Every second wasted was time I could spend searching for Oliver. Will stepped out of my way as I locked up my place, all thoughts of rose petal surprises left behind the door.
“I’m going to his place,” I said to Will, who looked like he was on the verge of tears. Panic resided in his almost jet-black eyes. “You can come with me. It could help having two pairs of eyes searching for clues.”
Not to mention, I want to keep an eye on you.
Oliver was adamant about me not suspecting Tyra, and I could imagine he would feel the same way about me suspecting Will. Still, something felt off, and I didn’t become a detective to piss around.
“That’s a good idea.” He nodded and started walking down the path to my driveway. Something caught my eye. I looked down at the hem of Will’s black pants.
A tuft of orange cat hair clung to him like a stowaway. It was big, too.
“I’m going to meet you there,” he said, stopping next to his car, the red paint on the Toyota chipping away from the sun. The floodlight above my garage door cast long shadows on the pavement. “I have to go back to my place first. I ran out so quick, I can’t remember if I left the stove on.”