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But then Elenor stops typing. She looks at the screen confused. “This is the 2008 season you’re asking about?” she says.
I nod. “Yes, first home game was the first weekend in September.”
“I see that from the document,” Elenor says. “What I’m asking is, are you sure of the year?”
“Pretty sure,” I say. “Why?”
“2008?”
Bailey is trying not to look irritated. “2008, yes!”
“We were closed that fall for construction,” she says. “It was a major renovation. There had been a fire. Doors shut on September first and we didn’t open again for services, no ceremonies of any kind, until March. No weddings.”
Elenor moves the screen so we can see the calendar for ourselves—all the empty squares. My heart drops.
“Maybe you have your year wrong?” Elenor says to Bailey. “Let me check 2009 for you.”
I reach out my hand to stop her. There is no point in checking 2009. Owen and Bailey moved to Sausalito in 2009. I have the records of that, and in 2007, Bailey would have been too young to remember much of anything. She has no memories of Seattle during that time, let alone a sole weekend trip to Austin. If we are being honest with ourselves, even 2008 is a stretch. But if her mother was at the wedding—and Bailey thinks she may have been—then 2008 is the only time it could have been.
“Look, it had to be 2008,” she says.
Bailey’s voice starts to shake as she looks at the empty screen.
“I was here. And that’s the only time it could have been. We’ve gone over this. It was that fall. It would have had to have been then if my mother was with us.”
“Maybe it was 2007?” Elenor says.
“I would’ve been too young to remember any of it then.”
“Then it wasn’t here,” Elenor says.
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Bailey says. “I mean, I recognize the apse. I remember it.”
I move toward Bailey, but she moves away. She isn’t interested in being appeased. She is interested in getting to the bottom of this.
“Elenor,” I say. “Are there other churches in walking distance of campus that look like yours? Something we may have missed that may have reminded Bailey of your church?”
Elenor shakes her head. “No, not with a cathedral that is reminiscent of ours,” she says.
“Maybe a church that has since closed down?”
“I don’t think so. But why don’t you leave your phone number? I can ask the pastor, some of our parishioners. And I will call if I remember anything. You have my word on that.”
“What are you possibly going to remember?” Bailey says. “Why don’t you just say you can’t help us?”
“Bailey, stop…” I say.
“Stop? You’re the one who said if I remember something we need to track it down, and now you’re telling me to stop?” she says. “Whatever, I’m so freaking done with this.”
She stands up quickly, storming out of Elenor’s office.
Elenor and I watch her go silently. She gives me a kind look once Bailey has gone.
“It’s fine,” she says. “I know it’s not me that she’s angry with.”
“Actually it may be,” I say. “But it’s misplaced. She needs to be mad at her father, and he’s not here to hear it. So she’s turning it on everyone else.”
“Understood,” Elenor says.
