The Stolen

11

It would have been easy to say no. For years she'd grown accustomed to disappointments, to a life that never quite went the way she planned.

The wound still hurt terribly. Doing this could rub salt in deep. And who knows? Another few weeks, few months, and the pain might have begun to die down. And given a few years, she might have never thought about him again. Things would have gone back to the way they were before the day they met.

None of that mattered, though, because when Henry called, for the first time in months his voice coming over the phone, she agreed to meet him almost immediately.

Just a few years ago, Amanda had nothing, no friends, nobody to trust but herself. Her life had been a series of halfhearted relationships, embarked upon mainly because that's what she assumed was normal. That's what she was used to. Men who were more interested in their own success than how it could be used to make others happy. She'd grown weary of that scene, and at some point, like many other girls her age, Amanda Davies had simply given up.

The irony was when she'd met Henry, the very first thing he did was lie right to her face. Looking back, she knew he'd done it to save his own life without implicating her. And while back then she contemplated literally ditching him on the side of the road, she could look back at his brazen behavior fondly.

He'd tricked her into giving him a ride out of town when he was mistakenly wanted for murder. In the end

Henry was able to clear his name, yet there was a moment, that moment when he'd come clean, admitting his lie, when she could have left him on the side of the road to die.

But in that moment Amanda was able to look into Henry

Parker's eyes and tell one thing. This was more real than anyone she'd ever known.

Henry's eyes gave away everything. The year they knew each other, he could never hide anything. She could read his language-words and body-like nobody else. And he offered himself in a way that was both selfless and confident, and utterly consuming.

That's why when he ended their relationship, it wasn't simply another thing to forget. Being with him was the first time Amanda felt a future. She couldn't be the only one who thought that way, though, so when he decided to end it, for her own sake in his words, she didn't fight. She didn't want to be another one of those sad girls, trying to convince a guy to stay.

If she was meant to be happy, she would be. If not, that was life.

So when Henry called her out of the blue, after radio silence for nearly six months, the easy thing to do would have been to hang up. To tell him to go screw himself.

Instead she found herself sitting on a bench in Madison

Square Park, waiting for him to arrive, looking at every boy that walked by, waiting to see if the months had been as cruel to him as they had to her.

The park was neutral ground. That was one condition she made him agree to. They had to meet far enough away from both their offices that they could sit, and talk, and see what was what, without any distractions.

Amanda folded her arms across her chest. The sun was bright over the trees. She sat and watched couples lounging on the green grass. The line snaking outside the Shake Shack, home of the best burgers in NYC. Her purse was splayed open slightly, and Amanda noticed the glint of her keychain.

Attached to the silver loop that held her keys was a small red heart made of leather. Henry had brought it home one day.

He'd attached it to the chain when she was in the shower.

When she asked what it was for, he said it was because she had the keys to his heart. At first she laughed. It was a pretty cheesy gesture, something out of a bad romantic comedy, but that night they made love, and as Henry lay there, naked, staring at her, she knew that he'd meant it.

It would have been easy to throw the heart away.

Looking at it now, she was glad she'd kept it.

She buttoned the purse and looked up to see Henry walking down the gated path. He stopped briefly beside the dog run to make faces at a small shih tzu that was trying to leap at him with its tiny legs. Henry was making bugeyed faces at the dog, and Amanda couldn't help but smile.

He looked up, looking for her, saw her, and Amanda saw his cheeks flush red. He quickened his pace and walked over to her bench, sat down next to her. A foot separated them. It felt like a mile and a millimeter at the same time.

"Hey," she said, offering a purposefully bland greeting.

"Hey, Amanda." He half leaned in, unsure of whether to offer a hug, a kiss or nothing. She felt a brief flash of electricity when he did it, felt slightly disappointed when he pulled back, but glad at the same time. "What's up?"

He looked good. Better that she'd hoped in some ways.

Perhaps if he'd showed up thirty pounds heavier, with an unflattering beard and gut paunch, it'd be easier to move on. Yes, his eyes were bleary and red, probably from latenight deadlines, but it was still Henry. She'd gotten used to those eyes, his near-constant state of exhaustion. And despite that, every night she missed falling asleep next to him, Amanda remembered how proud it used to make her to see his name headline a terrific story. She looked at his shock of brown hair, an inch or so too long, and couldn't help but smile.

"You need a haircut," she said.

"Really?" He ran his hand through his hair. Amanda remembered doing that for him. "You think?"

"Yeah, you could use a trip to Supercuts."

"So," he said tentatively, "what's up?"

"I don't know. Work. Life. What's usually up," she replied. He nodded. She wanted to say you called me, but that was combative. "You know you called me." Screw it, she had to say it. Henry nodded, chewed on his thumbnail for a moment.

"Just want to start by saying I'm sorry about what happened. You know, between us. I didn't…"

"Stop," she said, her face growing warm, slight anger bubbling up. "You said your apologies a long time ago. If

I wanted to hear them again, I've got a good memory and a lot of sad songs on my iPod."

"That's not why I called you," Henry said. "I just… You know, I don't really know how to start it."

"Why do you need to in the first place?" she asked. Her heart was beating fast, frustration building. She'd begun to wish she'd stayed at the office, hung up the phone, let everything heal the way maybe it was meant to. Seeing him was maddening and invigorating at the same time.

And she wasn't ready to open back up.

"I need your help," Henry said. "It's not for me. It's for a kid."

"A kid?" she asked, surprised.

"Daniel Linwood, have you heard about him?"

"Of course. My office is handling the paperwork. You know, I never realized bringing someone back from the dead was as easy as filling out a bunch of paperwork. Scary to think there's enough precedent that we have the forms on file. I'm actually thinking I might do the same thing with my aunt Rose, freak the hell out of Lawrence and

Harriet. That'd make a pretty neat headline. 'Girl brings dead, smelly aunt back to life, scares the hell out of her adoptive parents.'"

"It's been a while since I wrote obituaries," Henry said.

"But I bet it's like riding a bike."

"Think of it as an anti-obituary."

"Now, those I don't have a lot of experience with."

"So Daniel Linwood. The boy who came back after five years. I saw your story in the paper. What do you need to know about him?"

"Well, long story short, there's a lot about his disappearance and reappearance that doesn't sit well with me. For one thing, there haven't been any suspects arrested in his kidnapping or disappearance, and from my talks with the detectives in Hobbs County they're looking as hard for him as O.J. is for the real killer."

"I'm waiting to hear what this has to do with me."

"I'm getting to that. So I interviewed Danny for that story…"

"Danny?"

"Yeah, that's what he likes to be called now. Anyway, during the interview, he said something kind of strange.

He used the word brothers. As in more than one. And he used it several times, even when I corrected him, like his brain was hardwired to do it. But Danny's only got one brother. It might have been a slip of the tongue, but there's also a chance he retained something from his disappearance, something about his kidnappers or where he was.

Maybe he remembers somebody else, somebody his own age, being wherever he's been the past five years."

Amanda sat, listened intently. She felt the familiar rush

Henry got when he was excited about a story, the same sense of pride she felt (used to feel) when she was proud of her man.

"I did some digging," he continued, "and it turns out a girl named Michelle Oliveira went missing several years before Danny. Similar circumstances, both children disappearing without a trace, then suddenly reappearing out of nowhere, remembering nothing about their disappearance. No suspects ever arrested. Nobody ever found out how or why she went missing."

"I think I get where this is going."

Henry nodded. "Michelle Oliveira's records are sealed," he said. Henry waited, knowing she would respond.

"But you know I have access to them at the legal aid society."

"That's right."

"That's why you called me."

Henry stayed silent, looked at Amanda, his eyes full of remorse. It was genuine. "I've been an asshole. I'm not apologizing again, we both know that's over and done with. But this is important. It's a boy's life,

Amanda, and I didn't know who else I could turn to or trust. I still trust you."

"I don't know if I trust you."

"I'm not asking you to trust me. I'm asking you to help me for the sake of someone else."

Amanda was struck by the tone of his voice, the sense of coldness. But she knew it wasn't meant to hurt her. In a way it was meant to protect her.

"I'm not asking you to take me back, or anything like that. I know you don't want to. I'm asking you to help because you're the only person I know who can do this, who has access to those records. The only person who would do this. Something is wrong with this story, and I need to know what." He added, "For Danny Linwood's sake."

Amanda sat for a moment. A cool breeze whipped through the park. She watched a smiling couple holding hands, eating sandwiches just a few feet from them, as though their whole lives existed in this small world where problems were as light as the leaves. She thought about her life, what it was like before and after Henry. How there didn't seem to be enough of it lived.

"I can get you those records," she said. "But that's all

I'll do. I'll help you with whatever information you need in regard to this Oliveira girl, but I'm not going to ask for anything in return. And I don't even want you to offer."

"I won't," he said, though the words seemed hard for him to say.

Amanda stood up. Smoothed out her skirt. Henry stood as well.

"Michelle Oliveira?" Henry nodded. Amanda clutched her purse, felt the sharp edges of her keys. "I'll call you later when I get the files. One thing, I'll only give them to you in person. I could get in deep doo-doo if my supervisor knows I'm doing this, so I'll contact you discreetly.

Don't send me any e-mails, don't call or text message. I don't even want to see a carrier pigeon. You might trust me, but I sure as hell don't trust Verizon."

"That's a deal."

"Then I'll call you," she said. Amanda turned around to leave.

"Hey, Amanda," Henry said.

"Yeah?"

"It was good to see you."

"I'll call you," she said, glad the smile on her face couldn't be seen as she walked away.