handing me an enormous bouquet of tulips, pink, white, orange, and yellow. Wrapped in brown butcher paper and tied with twine, they bore the telltale signs of the Pike Place Market.
I blinked hard, taking in a whiff of the pastel petals, letting their lemony sweetness momentarily intoxicate me. “They’re beautiful,” I said, coming to my senses again. “Thank you.”
“I was just passing through the Market, and I thought of you,” Ethan said, sliding into the guest chair. Tall, with broad shoulders, chestnut-brown hair, and a knee-weakening grin, he didn’t have to try to be charming. He just was. The grandson of the newspaper’s patriarch, Ethan had cut his teeth at a big newspaper back east, and when he walked into the Herald building so many years ago, the newly minted managing editor, I was attracted to him immediately. And I still was. But things were different now. We were once two people madly in love. And now? Well, I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d been intimate.
“That was sweet of you,” I said in a tone I normally used with coworkers. I heard the chime of an incoming e-mail and turned back to my computer.
“Oh,” he said, “are you on deadline?”
“No,” I said. “Well, yes, actually, sort of. Frank’s got me on a goose chase of a story, and I think I’m finally making headway on an angle that’s worth researching.”
Ethan stood up abruptly. “Well, I won’t keep you, then. I guess I’ll see you tonight at the gala?”
“The gala?”
“You didn’t forget, did you?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, confused. “I guess I did.”
Ethan frowned. “The Ronald McDonald House Charities gala,” he said. “The one my parents are chairing? My grandfather is being honored with the Lifetime Achievement Award tonight.” He sighed. “Claire, you’ve known about this for months.”
I had known about it for months. Hazily. I recalled talk of the event, and mostly fuss from Ethan’s mother, Glenda, about how I’d need to find a suitable, formal floor-length gown. I don’t do floor length, but my meek protest had been no match for Ethan’s mother.
“Oh, yeah,” I said blankly.
“Did you find a dress?”
“No,” I replied.
“Can you wear something you already have?”
How insensitive, especially after everything I’ve been through. “You know I can’t fit into any dress in my closet!” I said a little more loudly than I’d anticipated. I looked at my feet and dug my toe into the carpet. I regretted snapping at him. After all, he was only trying to help. “Sorry,” I said. “Your mother’s going to hate me for forgetting.”
Ethan crossed his arms. “Claire, she’s not going to hate you.”
“Don’t worry,” I said in more of a huff than I intended. “I’ll be there. And not in a paper bag. I’ll stop by Nordstrom on the way home.”
Ethan’s eyes looked tender for a moment. “Claire,” he said, softly, “I’ve been thinking, and I…”
I sat up straighter in my chair. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said, his voice quickly switching back to the businesslike tone we typically used at work. “It’s nothing.” He gave me a forced grin before heading out the door.
I spent the morning researching, and quickly realized that locating a lost boy from 1933 is no easy feat. The receptionist on the phone at the police department made that much clear.
“You’re looking for who?”
“A little boy,” I said. “He vanished in May of 1933. As far as I know, he was never found.”
“Ma’am,” the woman said, smacking her gum, “what is it that you want me to do? Are you calling to file a report?” I could imagine the exasperated look on her face.
“No, no,” I said. “I’m just hoping that you can check your records for a Daniel or Vera Ray. I’m working on a story, for the newspaper.”
She sighed, clearly unimpressed. “Our records don’t date back that far.”
“Oh,” I said, sinking back into my chair.
“Listen,” the woman finally said after a long moment of silence. “If you want to do a little heavy lifting, come on down to the police headquarters. I can show you to our archives, and you’re welcome to take a look. You have press credentials, right? You’re from a newspaper?”
“Yes,” I said. “The Seattle Herald.”
“All right,” she said. “Just don’t make the department look bad in your story. The chief hates it when that happens.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said, hanging up the phone and simultaneously reaching for my coat.
“I’m surprised you made it over here,” said a junior police officer. He escorted me down the long corridor that led to