Page 71 of Good Half Gone

“Mrs. Hoff?” A man appears in the doorway. It’s him—the aggressive guard from my first overnight.He sees me sitting at the table and smiles.

Kyra leaps out of her chair to stand in front of him, clasping and unclasping her hands.

“Adam Hoff hasn’t been to work in over a month. He was a no-call no-show.”

“Adam would never not show up for work. When was the last day he clocked in?” she challenges him.

He holds an iPad in his hand—he came prepared. His fingers swipe as he pulls up the information. “November 2,” he says. “A Friday…”

Her face falls. She looks glumly at Crede, who has appeared from behind. He’s looking at her with awhatchagonnadonowlook on his face.

“Did he come home that Friday night?” Crede asks.

“That’s none of your business.”

He looked like the cat that got the cream.

“If you call the police, they’re going to ask you the same thing.”

“And I’ll gladly answer,” she shoots back. “If you can’t produce him, that is…”

“He isn’t here, Mrs. Hoff. Would you like us to escort you back to your boat, and you can file your report with police on the mainland?”

Her red face and fisted hands articulate how angry she is. “I’m not going anywhere until I see him with my own eyes.” She crosses her arms over her chest like that’s that.

She is afraid—fear’s favorite sidecar is anger. The truth is there are a hundred places her husband could be, and a hundred reasons he could be there. Jordyn is right, getting involved in a domestic issue is not our job. Still, I feel bad for her.

“I have to get back to work.” I nod at everyone in the room and beeline for the exit. The last thing I see before I turn the corner is Kyra Hoff’s distraught face. I want to tell her that I know how she feels.

* * *

My three-day shift ends disappointingly. I am no closer to Jude than I was before. Frustrated by my inability to move forward with my plan, I gather my things, dump my dirty linen down the chute, and head outside to catch the water taxi home. The temperature is forty degrees. All I want is to get home and cuddle with Cal, maybe watch a movie with him after dinner.

I arrive home at twenty past seven. Gran is using her walker, which I make a big deal about. She looks pretty chuffed with herself. Now that she can get around a little better, Mary-Ann only comes for a short while after school.

I’m eating my dinner when I see the pile of mail. On top is a letter addressed to me in scratchy blue pen. I glance at Cal. He has his tongue between his teeth as he builds a Lego set across the table. Inside is a single sheet of paper. It’s a letter with only four lines.

Dear Iris,

Sorry for not answering your letters. I had to think on it for a while. I am doing well. I’m getting a degree in English. You can call me at the prison. Talk soon.

Chris Dupont

My hands shake. He left a phone number. A mailing address and an email address. I look at the Felix the Cat clock. It’s too late to call the East Coast. It will have to wait until tomorrow. I send an email to the address he gave me and tell him I’m going to call in the morning.

I call the prison first thing in the morning. Cal is watching cartoons, and Gran is napping in her recliner. I make sure they’re both situated before I take my coffee to the kitchen and dial the number he gave me. I wait, listening to the same recorded message over and over:Please hold while inmate five-two-two-six is paged.When his voice comes on the line, he’s breathless like he ran to get there.

“Iris?”

“Yeah, hey, Dupont.”

I hear him blow air out of his mouth. “Wow,” he says, “just wow. I never thought I’d talk to you again. Your email blew me away. Truly…I was thrilled to see it.”

“I’ve sent you dozens of letters,” I point out.

“I didn’t read all of them,” he says, his voice light.

Such a liar. I want to roll my eyes but I don’t.

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