I pulled my Tahoe into the garage, walked inside my quiet house. It was always odd when my girls were not around. I was so used to hearing the pitter-patter of their little feet on the hardwood floor and the various noises they made while playing, singing, or watching movies. I moved into my home office, fell into my executive office chair, spun around to look at the container that supposedly held Joe’s ashes.
Were they his? Someone else’s? Would I ever even know for sure?
My eyes drifted over to a framed photo of my father-in-law and me standing together for a photo op on the first tee of a charity golf tournament from this past year. Joe was smiling big with his arm wrapped around my shoulders. The memory was so fresh in my mind, and it wasn’t just because we enjoyed playing golf together.
“How’re you feeling today?” Joe had asked me.
We were carrying our golf bags up to the fancy clubhouse that was hosting the golf scramble today. The event was being put on to raise money for a local nonprofit called Mobile Loaves & Fishes that served the chronically homeless.
“Back is still a little stiff, but I think I’ll be all right.”
I had tweaked something in my back two days ago while building a new bookshelf in the girls’ upstairs playroom.
“Good. I don’t plan on losing this thing today.”
We shared a smile.
“I’ll do my best,” I said.
Setting our golf bags down, we walked up to a table where a couple of women were checking in golf participants. Dozens of guys were standing all around, some taking practice swings, others simply chatting it up before the tournament began. Most of the younger men looked a lot like their older partners. That was because this was a father-son golf tournament, which made me feel a little uncomfortable. But Joe had insisted on us playing together. We waited in line until it was our time to register.
“Names?” one of the gals asked my father-in-law.
“Joe Dobson. This is my son, Alex Mahan.”
“Well, son-in-law,” I clarified, feeling awkward.
We each got a packet with a sleeve of golf balls, tees, and a towel.
Then Joe pulled me off to the side for a moment. “Listen, I want you to know that I never think of you like a son-in-law. My heart says differently. You are my son, Alex. You became my son the moment you married my daughter. Don’t ever think otherwise.”
I exhaled deeply, knowing I sat at a crossroads. I could get up, climb back into my car, drive out to the lake house, join my family, and move on with my life.
But would a real son do that? Would he ever let his father go?
I pulled out a prepaid cell phone I’d picked up at Target after leaving the hotel, just in case my own cell phone was being monitored, as Greta had suggested, and called Raul.
“What’s with the new phone number?” he asked me.
“I’ll explain in a moment. If I give you a phone number from Mexico City, can you trace it?”
“Most likely. What do you have?”
I paused, feeling at a decision point. I either let Joe go right now—which was what he basically had begged me to do—or risk everything in one last Hail Mary effort to see if I could possibly find him alive and bring him home. I thought about Taylor and my girls. If I did this, I couldn’t guarantee I’d return to them safely. Anything could happen to me. But I also knew if I didn’t do this, I might never be able to live with myself. In so many ways, Joe had rescued me. It was time for me to try to return the favor.
I told Raul about the text message, my deadly encounter with Antonio Perez, and my meeting with Greta at the hotel.
“Will you help me?” I asked him.
“This is still my case, Alex. I have a duty and a responsibility to pursue it to the end. But we must be careful. My investigation into Miguel Cortez and his nephew has been closely monitored by others around here. I have a very bad feeling about it, so I’m keeping things close to the vest. But I will track down this phone number.”
“Thank you. If I get on a plane tonight, I can be in Mexico City by early morning.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
I managed to get a seat on an eleven o’clock red-eye flight to Mexico City. Most travelers looked to be asleep within a few minutes of takeoff. I sat by myself in an empty row near the back of the plane and stared out the window into darkness. Although I was physically exhausted, I couldn’t sleep. Just like every other night this past week. I wondered if I’d ever be able to get a full night’s rest again. If I had to keep lying to Taylor for the rest of our marriage, I doubted it. I had just replied to her good night text, where I’d implied that I was about to get into bed myself. If she suddenly decided to call me, I’d have to decline it and make up an excuse for why I didn’t answer her when we talked again in the morning. Could I really live my life like this? I felt sad for Joe, who had felt forced to do this very same thing for more than three decades. I also felt bad for Carol, even though she knew nothing of it. Lies in a marriage build a chasm that can never be bridged until the truth is finally revealed.