were you.”
“I want to speak to someone else,” Lorna said.
“Who?” said the woman. She spread her arms wide, taking in the small room. “Who else do you see? There is only me and my boss in Manila, and you just spoke to her. You have to go. Now.”
The woman glared at Lorna, adamant.
Lorna got up and walked out. She stood on the sidewalk and considered her options. Really, there was just one place left to go. She had hoped that she wouldn’t need it. Like most Filipinos, she avoided contact with the Philippine National Police, believing that no good could come of it.
But she saw no choice.
The Tacloban headquarters of the PNP was three blocks from the Optimo office. From the front desk, Lorna was shunted to the office of a PNP sergeant who—to her surprise—seemed friendly and receptive. He took notes and nodded sympathetically as she told him her story. Lorna showed him the series of texts on Ronnie’s phone and related what the plump woman at Optimo had told her.
“It’s now more than thirty hours since Marivic arrived in Manila. And I know that she arrived.”
“But no contact in that time?” the sergeant asked.
“None at all. No calls, no texts. I’m worried sick.”
“I’m sure that you are,” the sergeant said. “My oldest is fifteen. I can just imagine.”
“You’ll help?” Lorna said.
“I’ll put together a report today and send it to Manila. If there’s any mischief, that’s where it occurred.”
“Thank you. And what will Manila do?”
“Ah, Manila, that’s the problem.” The sergeant gave a small, pained grimace.
“What problem?”
“In Manila they are very busy. Many, many reports and requests.” He gestured toward his notes. “And in this case, we don’t even know that there has been a crime. Not that I doubt you. But I don’t think this will get much attention. Sorry to say it, but you shouldn’t expect much from Manila.”
“That’s all? You can’t do anything more?”
“I will pray for the safe return of your beloved child,” the sergeant said, and he got up and showed her to the door. And that was it.
That evening, when Ronnie returned home from work, Lorna told him about her trip to Tacloban and what had happened there at the agency office and with the police.
“This is so frustrating!” she said. “The truth is in Manila, and here we are in Leyte!”
The night was long and tortured. Lorna, in her bed, kept imagining Marivic alone and frightened and beyond her reach. She could feel Marivic crying out for her. It was like a fever dream, endlessly repeated, but it had no details because she had no idea where Marivic could be. All Lorna could see was Marivic’s face, pleading with her, surrounded by a murky, threatening cloud.
Lorna was already exhausted when she woke before dawn. She reached for her phone, checking for messages. Nothing.
She shuffled across the hall to the small room that Ronnie shared with his younger brother, Ernie.
She said, “Ron. Wake up. I’m making breakfast.”
Ernie answered: “Ronnie isn’t here. He left already.”
Lorna went to the front door. Ronnie’s bolo still hung from the peg. But his phone was gone.
Up on a shelf was the old coffee jar where he kept his copra money. She looked inside: empty.
She stepped out into the cool darkness.
Out toward the highway, a diesel engine thrummed softly. Then a mechanical groan, and a chuff of compressed air. She knew that sound: it was the Manila bus stopping for a passenger, throwing open its front door.
“Ronnie …? Ronnie, no!”
She began to run toward the highway.
“Ronnie!”
The door banged shut. In a few seconds, the diesel sound picked up, louder, rising and falling, growling up through the gears as it pulled away.
Lorna hurried back to the house. She found her phone and immediately dialed her son. After a few rings, he finally answered.
“Ronnie, come back. Tell the driver to stop, you come back!”
“No, Mommy. I can’t do that.”
“What are you doing?”
“Don’t you know?” he said. “The truth is in Manila. I’m going to find Marivic.”
Harvest Day
–7
Four
In an office suite on the top floor of a lodge on the south shore of Lake Tahoe, Nevada, Raymond Favor stood beside the desk where Arielle Bouchard was working. He looked down and picked up a framed snapshot.
Arielle was astonished. The photo had sat there for several years, and Favor had never taken notice. She knew he was aware of the photo. Favor missed nothing. He had just never chosen to acknowledge it.
Now he was studying it, giving it full attention.
The photo had