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Priscilla. That was Max’s wife’s name. But who the fuck was Owen?
“That can’t be right,” I said. “Are you sure her father’s name is Owen?”
“Positive,” he said. “That’s what’s on the birth certificate and all the government documents.”
Shit. I was so sure she was Max’s daughter. “Do you have a picture of the father?”
“Just a blurry license photo. The man really must not have liked pictures.”
“Send it over,” I instructed.
“Alright, hang on.” Hardy hung up, and within seconds, my phone pinged, alerting me that a new message just came in. I opened the message, checked the photo, and frowned. It was extremely low resolution, and the man in the photo clearly didn’t want to be there. His face was set in a frown, and he had an overgrown beard and hair down to his shoulders. His eyes sparkled a familiar color, though that was the only thing that bore a resemblance to the man he was.
But it was Max. Older and grizzlier looking, but it was him.
Fuck, what happened to you, man?
I called Hardy back instantly and said, “It’s him. You said his name was Owen?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed, which confused me even more. Max’s real name was Owen? Why the hell would Max change his name when he joined the military? Or did he change his name after? “As I said, he’s married to Priscilla Jordan. Or well…wasmarried.”
“What does that mean?”
“His wife filed divorce papers about fifteen years ago. She also left him and their child behind. But that’s where the record ends for her.”
“She’s dead?”
“Not sure, but I’m assuming.”
Jesus, what a mess. “And his daughter? What was his relationship with his daughter like?”
“That I can’t tell you. The family was pretty secretive, with no social media posts, not even so much as a damn journal. And apart from the mother, I don’t see them tagged anywhere at all. You’d have to find that out for yourself. Probably need to ask some of the people in town.”
“Mmm.” I frowned. If their family were as private as Hardy said they were, then it would be difficult for the people in town to know anything, either. The best person to ask would be Tillie herself, but I didn’t know how forthcoming she would be with that information. Something told me their relationship was complicated. She didn’t hold a funeral for him and never spoke about her mother, but she’d cried at her doorstep, and they were real tears of pain.
“Anyway, that’s all I could find on such short notice,” Hardy said pointedly as he yawned audibly.
“Alright. Get some rest. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Hopefully, at a decent hour. Good night.” He hung up quickly, probably eager to return to his bed and woman. Hardy had been happily married for years, one of the few guys on the team who’d been able to find happiness after all the shit we’d been through. I was happy for him, though a little envious sometimes.
Not that I hadn’t had the opportunity to form meaningful relationships throughout the years, but they’d just never panned out. I’d met fantastic women but had never really fallen in love with them, Or I simply couldn’t let myself fall in love with them. The guilt plus all the other baggage I came with…it didn’t feel fair saddling that on another woman.
And eventually, when they realized I couldn’t give them what they wanted, they moved on.
The next day, I went back to the bar where I’d asked about Max. I wanted to try and see what information I could get on Tillie. As I suspected, no one could tell me anything other than the fact that Tillie had fallen in with the wrong crowd at a young age. Most of the people around her didn’t have a high opinion of her.
“She seems like a sweet girl,” Bertha, the bartender, said. “Just seems to be into all the wrong things.”
“Last week, I saw her having a conversation with Brick Mane at Mandi’s place,” the old man chimed in. “Brick is in one of the gangs I mentioned last time. Tall ugly looking fella.” I suddenly recalled the man I saw her talking to at the back of the restaurant. “Hope she hasn’t gotten herself involved with that guy because anyone who knows anything in this town knows that boy is no good.”
“Her father moved here when she was little. I never met the mom, but I heard she took off pretty early. Her dad used to go out of town a lot…on business,” Bertha said. “I know because my uncle was a bus driver, and he said the man would go for weeks on end. He always wondered who was taking care of his daughter during that time.”
People were all too happy to gossip about her.
By the end of the visit, I had more questions than answers.
Later in the evening, I decided to get the information right from the source.
