Miles Lindgren's Arc

Chapter 13 of 13

Morning came grey through the thin curtains, the same as it always did here, though nothing about the room felt the same as it had the night before. Chase was already up, dressed, folding yesterday's clothes into his bag with more precision than the task actually required, smoothing each fold flat before setting it aside. Miles lay still for a moment, watching him from across the room, and felt the whole weight of last night settle back into his chest before he'd even said a word. "Morning," Chase said, not looking up. "Morning." Miles pushed himself upright and sat there a moment, blankets pooled around his waist, watching Chase move through the small, practiced rituals of getting ready. He'd watched this exact routine a thousand mornings over five years, and it had never once occurred to him it might be something he'd eventually have to unlearn watching. He got dressed in silence, the quiet stretching out thin and careful between them, nothing like the comfortable silences they'd built these last few days. This one had edges. Chase had coffee waiting on the desk, same as always, and Miles almost said something about it, almost pointed out the absurdity of him still doing that small kind thing the morning after telling Miles he was leaving. He didn't. He drank it instead, and it tasted like nothing much at all. "So." Chase sat down across from him, notepad in hand, all business. "What's the plan today." "I don't know." Miles turned the coffee cup slowly between his hands. "What do we actually have? Permits are still pending. David's not talking. We're sitting on a tree line tip and a citation with no follow-through." "We could try Bertie again. See if anything surfaced since the episode went up." Chase said it evenly, though something in his voice sounded like he was reaching for normal and not quite finding it. "Maybe." Miles didn't have anything better. He hated that he didn't have anything better, hated sitting here with nothing solid to chase, nothing to do but exist in this room with everything unsaid between them taking up all the remaining air. Neither of them moved to actually plan anything. Chase clicked his pen once, twice, a small nervous habit Miles hadn't seen from him in years. Miles watched him do it and didn't say anything. "We could canvas near the ice-cutting operation again," Chase tried again. "See if any other property owners remember something from that week." "Sure." Still neither of them moved. The morning kept sitting there, stalled, both of them going through the motions of planning a day neither had the energy to actually start. Miles thought about reaching across the space between them, thought about saying something real, and found the distance too wide to cross with just words this early, this raw. "Chase." "Yeah?" Miles didn't actually know what he meant to say. He'd opened his mouth on instinct, some old reflex to fill the space, and found nothing behind it that felt safe to say out loud. "Nothing. Never mind." Chase studied him a second, something careful and unreadable in his face, like he was waiting to see if Miles would try again. When he didn't, Chase looked back down at his notepad, jaw tight. "We don't have to figure out everything today," he said, quieter now. "The case, I mean." "I know." They sat with that a moment, the coffee going lukewarm between them, both of them circling the same unspoken thing from opposite sides of the room. Miles's phone rang, breaking the stillness before either of them had to decide what came next. Unknown local number. He answered, grateful despite himself. "Hello?" "Miles! Good, glad I caught you." Lenny's voice came through warm and easy, and something in Miles's chest loosened slightly at the familiarity of it. "I've been digging through those old sign-in sheets, like I promised. Found quite a bit. Some old photos too, from around that time. A few of you and Dani, if you can believe I still had those tucked away." "You found photos?" Miles felt something catch in his throat. "A whole stack. Program stuff mostly, but you two are in a fair few. Thought you'd want to see them." Lenny's voice softened. "Why don't you and Chase come by the diner for lunch? My treat. I'll bring everything, and you can eat something that isn't gas station coffee for once." Miles managed something close to a laugh, the first real one all morning. "We'd like that. Thank you, Lenny." "Course. Anything I can do. Noon work for you boys?" "Noon's good." He hung up. "That was Lenny. He's got the sign-in sheets and some photos of me and Dani. Wants to meet at the diner." Something shifted in Chase's expression, professional distance cracking slightly. "That's good. Could be something real." "Yeah." For the first time all morning, they had somewhere to actually be, and both of them seemed to breathe a little easier for it, the stalled tension of the last hour finally given somewhere to go. --- Bertie's was already half full when they arrived, Lenny waving them over from a corner booth, a worn cardboard box sitting on the table beside him. He looked genuinely delighted to see them, standing halfway up before they'd even reached the table. "There they are." He shook Chase's hand warmly, then pulled Miles into a quick, solid hug, patting his back twice before letting go. "Sit, sit. I already ordered you both burgers, hope that's alright. Bertie said you liked yours the same as always, Miles. Some things don't change, I guess." "Perfect," Miles said, sliding into the booth, something easing in his chest at the simple, familiar kindness of it. Bertie came by a moment later with three waters and a fresh pot of coffee, topping off Lenny's mug without being asked. "You boys treating him alright?" she asked, nodding at Lenny. "This one's been asking about you two every day this week." "He has, has he," Miles said, smiling despite everything. "Wanted to make sure you were eating something besides gas station coffee." Lenny winked, and Bertie laughed, moving off to the next table. Once she'd gone, Lenny opened the box, pulling out a thick stack of yellowed sign-in sheets, sliding them across the table with care, like they were something fragile. "Took me longer than I meant to organize these. My filing system in my thirties left something to be desired. Half of it was just shoved in a drawer, if I'm honest." Miles took the top sheet, Dani's looping teenage handwriting catching him off guard, something in his chest tightening at the sight of it, small and familiar and impossibly young. "She had the worst handwriting of any kid I ever ran a program for," Lenny said fondly, watching Miles's face. "Genuinely terrible. I used to tease her about it. She'd tell me it was efficient, not messy, like there was a difference." "There wasn't," Miles said, a real smile tugging at his mouth now. "No, there really wasn't." Lenny chuckled, flipping through more pages with him, pointing out different entries, different weeks, small stories attached to half of them, a program trip here, a fundraiser there, easy and warm, in no hurry at all. Chase sat quiet beside Miles, letting the moment stretch, occasionally reaching over to look closer at a page himself. Their food arrived, and they ate while Lenny kept going through the stack, the conversation drifting easily between memories and the actual task at hand, nothing rushed about any of it. "Here's the week you're asking about." Lenny finally tapped a page near the middle of the stack. "She signed in twice that week, same as usual for the after-school program." "Twice," Chase said, leaning in to look. "Is that normal for her?" "Usually, yeah." Lenny frowned slightly, flipping to the next page, taking his time with it. "Though there's a third entry here I genuinely don't remember noticing before, going through all this." He turned the sheet so they could both see. "Evening slot, a Thursday. We didn't run programs on Thursdays that year. Never did." Miles felt something go very still in his chest. "She signed in on a night there wasn't a program?" "Looks that way." Lenny studied the page again, frowning slightly. "Can't say I remember it. Might've stopped by on her own, kids did that sometimes if they had a key or knew somebody'd be around. I wish I had a better answer for you." Chase and Miles exchanged a glance. "What day, exactly?" Miles asked. Lenny checked, running his finger along the row. "Two days before she disappeared." The table went quiet for a moment, the noise of the diner suddenly very far away. "There's the photos too," Lenny said gently, after a beat, pulling out a small stack, sliding them across like he was handing over something precious. "Didn't want to lead with anything sad. Thought you might want to see her smiling first, before we get into any of the harder stuff." Miles picked them up slowly. The first was a group shot, a summer program lineup, a dozen kids squinting into the sun, Dani grinning wide in the middle row, elbow jabbed into Miles's ribs beside her, both of them mid-laugh at something the camera hadn't caught. "That's a good one," Lenny said softly. "I remember that day. You two got in trouble for setting off the sprinklers early, if I recall." Miles felt his throat tighten, a laugh and something sadder tangled together. "That was her idea." "I know. She told me herself, proudly, about ten minutes after it happened." Lenny smiled, easy and warm, clearly enjoying watching Miles hold the memory again. Miles flipped to the next photo, and the next, old moments surfacing with each one, Lenny narrating a few of them, quiet and fond, until Miles reached one near the bottom, a slightly blurrier shot, taken from further back, a handful of older teens gathered near the hall's entrance. "Who's that?" Chase asked, tapping the edge of the photo, a young man standing a little apart from the group, not quite looking at the camera. Lenny took the photo, studying it a moment. "One of my kids. One year above you and Dani, if I remember right. Good student. Quiet, though, always a little separate from the group, like he is here." He tapped the edge of the photo, thoughtful. "You remember him well?" "Well enough. He was a good kid. I tried getting him to socialize more, but he never really took to it. He mostly stayed to himself, studying. Had these big dreams of making something of himself so he could take care of his family." Lenny smiled fondly, like a proud father talking about his own children. "Wait a minute." Chase slid closer to Miles, resting his arm along the back of the booth behind him, leaning in for a closer look at the photo. Miles felt himself tense up before forcing himself to relax into it. "Is that Dani?" Miles refocused on the grainy photo. Sure enough, almost completely cut off in one corner of the frame, Dani had wandered into the shot. The quiet boy they'd just been discussing wasn't looking at the camera at all. He was looking straight at her, and she was looking right back. "Lenny, do you remember his name?" Miles asked, excitement creeping into his voice. He turned the photo around, pointing out Dani in the corner. "Look. They're staring at each other like they're trying to communicate something. He might know something." Lenny stared down at the photo, brow furrowing, and didn't speak right away. He reached up and stroked his chin, lost in thought. "I wish I did. I remember him, and how he was back then, but his name completely escapes me." He tapped the photo. "It'd have to be in the sign-in logs, though. Is this one dated? Check the back." Miles flipped the photo over, and the disappointment settled into his stomach, unwanted but familiar. "No." He stared at the photo again, like something might jump out at him. "It has to be the year she went missing, though." "How can you tell?" Chase asked. "The banner in the background. I can't see all of it, but I can make out the word 'seniors.'" Miles pointed. "If he was only a grade above us, that makes us juniors. That's the year she went missing." Lenny's eyes went wide before a grin broke across his face. "Maybe you should've been a detective." Chase moved his arm fully around Miles's shoulders, pulling him close. "He's amazing, isn't he?" Miles smiled, a little embarrassed, and a lot flustered by the warmth in Chase's voice, by the arm still resting around him like it hadn't just spent all morning being businesslike and careful. "Always has been. All my kids are something special." Lenny closed the lid on the box gently. "Tell you what, you boys keep this stuff for your investigation, and I'll see what else I can find, try to jog this old memory of mine. I miss Dani something fierce. Whole town does. Be nice to get some closure for our girl." Miles felt a lump rise in his throat and cleared it with a nod. "Thank you, Lenny." The three of them finished their burgers while Lenny kept sharing stories, easy and unhurried, Miles as a kid, Dani as a kid, the two of them thick as thieves the whole way through. It was the kind of lunch Miles hadn't let himself have in years, warm and uncomplicated, and for a little while the case and everything sitting unresolved with Chase both felt further away than they had all morning. It didn't last past the parking lot. They said their goodbyes to Lenny, the cardboard box now tucked under Chase's arm, and the second the diner door swung shut behind them, the easy warmth of the last hour began to recede, replaced by the same careful distance that had followed them out of the motel that morning. Chase's arm was gone from around him now, tucked back at his side, and Miles felt the absence of it more than he wanted to admit. "That was good," Chase said, unlocking the car. "Real, I mean. Not just nice." "Yeah." Miles climbed in, the box settling between them on the seat, Dani's handwriting and a stranger's half-turned face riding along in the dark. "It was." Neither of them said anything else as they pulled out of the lot, the warmth from Chase's arm around him still lingering somewhere Miles couldn't quite shake, sitting uneasily alongside everything neither of them had figured out how to say yet.