Found money

38

Amy arrived in Denver a few minutes early. Traffic out of Boulder wasn’t as bad as she had expected, and, unlike most days at the office, no one had snagged her on the way to the elevator with some end-of-the-day crisis.

The Half-way Cafe was a trendy downtown restaurant-bar off Larimer Square. It had started as a popular lunch spot for the office crowd, which explained the name. “Meet me at the Half-way” was a cutesy play on “meet me halfway,” a saying often heard in business. The owners, however, soon found that the “halfway” theme offered endless possibilities. Half-priced dinners. Half-priced drinks. It all contributed to a booming business. Amy had picked it for tonight’s meeting only because it was a well-known place, easy to find. In hindsight, she worried that Ryan might read something into her selection of the Half-way, like the makings of a deal — or a relationship.

Amy reached the restaurant at 7:50. She considered leaving her name with the hostess, but Ryan already knew what she looked like. He could find her easily enough. She walked past the lively restaurant section to the bar and took the last available booth in the back. She waited alone, surrounded by oxblood leather. The music was a little too upbeat for her mood. At the table beside her, a foursome was laughing over salty popcorn and draft pilsners from the microbrewery. Two other guys were making fools of themselves arguing over a game of electronic darts. Behind the century-old oak bar was a big-screen television. The baseball game was playing. Amy looked away, harrowed by the reminder of last night’s attack in the parking lot. She checked the blackboard menu without interest. She was suddenly too nervous to read, let alone eat.

The waitress arrived in less than half a minute — another hallmark of the Half-way Cafe. “Just one tonight?”

Amy started, then relaxed. “No, I’m waiting on someone.”

“Can I bring you something to drink in the meantime?”

“I’ll just have coffee, please.”

“Half-cup or full cup?”

She gave a funny look. “Full, of course.”

“One double coffee,” the waitress mumbled as she scribbled in her pad.

“No, not a double. Just one regular-size cup.”

“A double is one cup.”

“That’s confusing.”

“Not if you’re at the Half-way Cafe.”

“Ah,” said Amy. “So a half-cup would actually be a quarter-cup?”

“No. A half-cup would be a half-cup.”

“But you just said a double cup is a single cup.”

“No. A double coffee is a single cup. A double cup is two cups. A single coffee is a half-cup and-”

“I think I got it,” Amy interrupted. “Why don’t you just bring me the pot?”

“Half-pot or-”

“Never mind.”

Amy rolled her eyes discreetly as the waitress walked away. Should have called this place the Half- brain Cafe.

“May I join you?”

Amy turned at the sound of his voice. It was Ryan.

“Please,” she said.

He slid into the booth and sat directly across from her, nearly banging his head on the low-hanging Tiffany-style lamp. Amy took a good look at him, studying his features more intently this time. If ever she were required to describe him, she wanted to do an ample job. A general “handsome” wouldn’t do.

Ryan caught her stare. “I feel like I’m in a police lineup,” he said, making light.

“Should you be?”

“Whoa. Not exactly picking up where we left off last week, are we?”

“Here we are…” The cheery waitress brought Amy her coffee, then glanced at Ryan. “Something for you, sir?”

Amy jumped in, averting another go-round with Half-Brain. “He’ll have what I’m having. Not half of what I’m having. Not double what I’m having. Exactly the same thing.”

“ Sor-ree.” The waitress backed away, then disappeared.

Ryan asked, “What was that all about?”

“My apologies,” she said with a hint of sarcasm. “I’ve had a pretty tough week. As I’m sure you’re aware.”

“I honestly don’t have any idea how your week was.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?”

“Yes.”

She watched his expression, searching for signs of deception. The fact that he had even shown up, she realized, said much about that. Why would he have even bothered to come if he’d known her apartment had been ransacked and the money stolen?

She tried another tack. “Your sister is definitely an interesting person.”

“My sister?”

“You two seem very different.”

“You… talked to my sister?”

She checked his eyes this time. He seemed genuinely unaware. “We talked while you were away on your business trip. At least your mother said it was a business trip.”

“You talked to my mother, too?”

“Just on the phone. I tricked her, actually. She didn’t know who I was.”

“So you met Sarah separately?”

“Yeah. I went down to see her. Don’t you Duffys talk to each other?”

“Evidently not.”

The waitress brought Ryan his coffee, gave Amy a half-smile, then disappeared.

Amy asked, “So, how was your so-called business trip?”

“Interesting.”

“What a word. Interesting. Sex is interesting. The Holocaust is interesting.” She glanced at the game on the television set. “Baseball is interesting. In fact, the walk back to your car after the game can be very interesting.”

“What in the world are you talking about now?”

She searched again. Either he really knew nothing, or he was an extremely talented actor. “Nothing,” she said. “I assume your business trip had something to do with our talk last Friday. Can you prove to me that the money came from a legitimate source?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“We agreed that if you couldn’t prove it was legitimate, I’d go to the police.”

“That’s not in either of our interests.”

Amy leaned forward, bluffing. “I’m not fooling around, Ryan. If you can’t prove to me that it’s legitimate, I have to turn this money over to the police.”

“I believe you. I swear I do.”

She played it cool. He really doesn’t know I no longer have the money. “I hope you aren’t just stalling.”

“I’m not. What I’m trying to do here isn’t easy. And to be honest, I’m sensing a lot of hostility from you that wasn’t there last week, and it isn’t making this any easier.”

“Okay,” she said, backing off a bit. “What is it you’re trying to say?”

He lowered his eyes, unable to meet hers. “I have a feeling this whole thing is leading to something that is very personal to both of us.”

She withdrew, confused. She had come here expecting a confrontation. Instead, he was soft-spoken, considerate, seemingly honest. The circumstances were horrible, but maybe the nice guy she remembered from the Green Parrot was the real Ryan after all. He’s definitely cute. “Personal?” she said, flustered.

“Yes.”

It sounded as if he was about to ask her on a date. “You mean — you and me?”

He looked lost, then embarrassed. “Oh, no. I wasn’t suggesting — you know.”

“No, of course not. That would be… inappropriate. Don’t you think?”

“Highly.”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

They shared an anxious glance. Amy seemed troubled by the way that exchange had just gone. Ryan seemed troubled by what he was about to say.

“What is it?” asked Amy.

“I hate to go into this, but I have to.”

Her anxiety only heightened. “Go on.”

“Maybe it’s just my nature, but I can’t help but ask, why did this money bring you and me together?”

What was he getting at — destiny? “I don’t know.”

“From my standpoint, the more I look into the money, the more I learn about my father. So I’m just wondering if you might learn something, too. About somebody in your own family. Maybe there’s a relative you have always wondered about. Somebody you’d like to know more about.”

Her thoughts immediately turned toward her mother. “Maybe.”

“This might be your chance. That’s all I’m saying.”

Her eyes narrowed. This was suddenly headed in a direction she had never anticipated. Ryan had hit her most sensitive nerve. “If you know something about my mother, say it.”

“So, there is something you’d like to know about your mother?”

“Please, don’t taunt me.”

He hesitated, unsure of how far to take this.

“Before I say anything more, Amy, I’d like to know something. Just answer this one question, okay? My dad was sixty-two years old when he died. How old is your mother?”

“My mother is dead.”

“I’m sorry. How old would she have been if she were alive today?”

She thought for a split second. “Sixty-one.”

“When did she die?”

“You said you had just one question.”

“Sorry. This could be important for both of us. Just tell me, when did she die?”

“Long time ago. When I was eight.”

“Did she ever live in Boulder?”

That was way too close to home. “What’s going on here? What does all this suddenly have to do with my mother?”

Ryan blinked nervously.

Her eyes turned soulful. She wasn’t sure what he knew — or if he was just pushing her buttons. But after twenty years of wondering, she couldn’t let an opportunity pass. “If you know something about my mother, I have a right to know.”

His voice dropped. “Was your mother ever involved in a rape?”

“How do you mean, ‘involved’?”

“I mean, was she ever the victim?”

Stunned silence. “Are you saying my mother was raped?”

His throat tightened. “It’s possible. A long time ago. When she was a teenager.”

“That far back? How would you know about it?”

He said nothing. Amy’s tone sharpened. “How would you know?”

Ryan was struggling. “It’s like I said. We’re both learning some things here.”

Her hands began to tremble. Her voice quaked. “Are you telling me that your father raped my mother? That’s why he sent me the money?”

“I-” He couldn’t say it. He could hardly think it, sitting right across from the daughter.

Her face reddened. A flood of emotions took over — rage toward the Duffys, disgust with the way she had earlier flirted with Ryan. “Oh, my God.”

“Look, Amy.”

“ Don’t even say my name.” She slid out of the booth.

“Where are you going?”

“Away. Far away from you and your whole godforsaken family.” She hurried from the table, nearly running from the bar.

“Wait, please!”

She heard his pleas but just kept going. A tear ran down her cheek as she burst through the double entrance doors. She turned at the sidewalk and headed the wrong way, any way at all, just to get away. More tears followed. Tears for her mother.

Great tears of sorrow for a rape that may have led to suicide.