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"Ah, I see," I said, in a hopefully casual tone. "Thank you for checking." She nodded, and went back to work.
I returned to the car and started looking through the folder, hoping that the P.I. was worth what I'd paid him. And sure enough, there on the second page was an address. I put the address into my GPS and headed in that direction.
As I drove, a voice in my head suggested that I was not behaving rationally, and that showing up at someone's apartment unannounced was maybe not the best way to start a relationship with the mother of your child. But the thought of taking a calmer route, of going back to Scott's and just waiting until I could find an appropriate time to talk to this woman, made me feel like I'd explode. And the thought that maybe I'd had a kid out there for five years that I'd been neglecting through no fault of my own... Well, it just seemed better for everyone involved if I got to the bottom of this as fast as humanly possible.
The apartment building was dingy and unimpressive. A cheerful man who was on his way in held the door for me to follow him, which I appreciated even as I was appalled at the lack of security. The inside of the building was no better than the outside, and there was no elevator, so I was forced to walk up three flights of stairs. I rang the bell at her apartment and thought about how those stairs seemed like they were too high for a kid as small as the girl I'd seen at the hospital.
Makayla. The report from the P.I. said her name was Makayla.
There was no response from inside the apartment.
I tried the bell again, and then knocked.
A woman coming down the hall looked at me curiously. She stopped at the apartment opposite and as she was opening the door, she gave me a studied once-over. Then she smiled a little and said, "You lookin' for Deira?"
I nodded, telling myself to be calm. To be charming. I gave her a smile, and she grinned. So far so good.
"Do you know when she'll be back?" I asked.
"You her boyfriend?" the woman asked in return.
"She has a boyfriend?" I felt like I should have considered that possibility. The woman grinned wider and shook her head.
"No. That was a trick question." She tilted her head and looked me over again. "You wanna be her boyfriend?"
"I, uh..." What was the response that would make this woman most likely to cooperate?
"Don't answer. Another trick question," she said. "I don't think Deira's going to be back for a while. She got hurt somehow, she's staying with a friend until she's better."
Probably the friend from the hospital,I thought.
"I don't suppose you have the friend's address?"
The woman gave me a slightly more skeptical look and shook her head.
"Or her name?" I asked, deciding to just desperately go all in.
"Afraid not, honey. And to be honest, I probably wouldn't tell you if I did. You're cute, but us girls don't give out each other's business. If Deira wanted you to know where she was, you'd know." She gave me a friendly nod as she went into her apartment. "You have a good night. Maybe I'll see you again sometime," and with that and a wink, she shut her door.
I stood for a moment, staring at her door, and then back at Deira's again.
Staying with a friend...I felt my anger coming back again.
So, she was hiding from me.
ELEVEN
DEIRA
"Deira, where did you put those hydrangeas?"
I looked up from the tiny card I was filling out to go with the bouquet I had just prepared. I scanned the shop for my coworker and realized she was in the back room, calling through the open door.
"Toward the back, in that little corner where we used to have the lemon trees," I called back. Then I returned to the card. I checked the message again from the customer's order sheet.
It read: "I'm an idiot. Please forgive me." I sighed. "Please forgive me" was a common theme in the cards we sent with our arrangements, one of the most popular along with "sorry for your loss" and various gushing declarations of love. People assumed working in a flower shop was an overwhelmingly positive experience, surrounded by beautiful flowers. But the truth was, people buy flowers for all sorts of reasons, and you get the desperate apologies and heart-wrenching sympathy along with all the lovey-dovey stuff. At least it was true that the flowers were beautiful. The whole shop was beautiful, a cozy little spot tucked in between an ice cream shop and a sandwich place in the old part of town, where the buildings all had a quaint vintage charm. Because it was such a small space, all the available room were covered with flowers, and it really did feel like you'd walked into some kind of fairy bower. Especially on days like today, when the sun was out and streamed through thick-paned windows in gentle beams.
I finished the card and added it to the bouquet. I hobbled over to place it on the shelf for deliveries. At my insistence, they'd given me a plastic boot for my fracture, even though the doctor had advised a proper cast. The boot was much more manageable, and it allowed me to return to work. With my situation, I couldn't afford to miss any days. The time I'd spent in the hospital was already going to put a strain on paying rent this month.
