enormous holdings.
The way he played acoustic guitar on the beach, you’d be forgiven for thinking he’d been born to become an entertainer, too.
But Johnny loved to play and sing; he just had no passion for performing. No desire at all to enter the cutthroat world of the music business. No real need for fans or accolades, either.
No need for her accolades...not that she offered them.
A female voice ordered a veggie bowl with extra dressing. Johnny’s comment, something about the dressing, made the woman laugh.
Tabitha had grown to crave the laughter he brought to her life. Just as she’d grown to love putting on her light purple polo shirt with the Angel’s Food Bowls logo on it and climbing up into his food truck with him. She’d helped him create the logo. And choose the shirts.
His sabbatical was three-quarters through, which meant that in another three months he’d be leaving “normal” life to resume his place in the society of the elite. She had to shudder even thinking about it. To have people watching you all the time, to always be “on,” to have to go to extremes, like taking a sabbatical and buying a little house through a third party just to get enough anonymity to grieve... She didn’t envy him that.
But she could tell that he missed it all—the life he’d been born to. The way he talked about his parents, his uncle, his cousins. They were a close-knit family.
And that she envied.
She was going to miss him terribly when their time together came to an end...
“Eat up there, missy, line’s a-forming,” he said with a grin in her direction. She blinked. Realized she’d been staring at him. And accidentally toppled her half-filled rice bowl off her lap and onto the floor of the truck.
* * *
Never one to cry over spilled milk, as the saying went, Johnny didn’t give a rat’s ass about the dressing-smeared rice, veggie and meat mixture plastered on the floor near his seat in the hundred-thousand-dollar food truck. He cared that Tabitha was so far off her game he’d hardly recognized her that morning.
She’d been near tears when she’d thanked him for helping in her quest to find Jackson. Her hand had been shaking when she’d passed him a cup of coffee. She hadn’t caught several things he’d said to her, although they’d been in the truck together. And she’d messed up two orders.
A pediatric nurse had to be able to keep calm in the midst of horrible stress and, sometimes, unbelievable tragedy. This woman had lost her son and missed less than two weeks of work in the year since.
But that day, stress seemed to be getting the better of her.
Unable to give in to his instant desire to head to the front of the truck and help her clean up the mess, or do it for her, he continued to work the crowd. He prepared a bowl, took off his gloves to make change and then washed his hands, pulling on a fresh set of disposable gloves before preparing the next order.
Then she slid into place in front of the window to accept payment for his most recently completed concoction. That allowed him to keep on his prep gloves, but he couldn’t help contaminating them anyway, with a hand to her back. Letting her know she wasn’t alone.
* * *
“You okay to do this tonight?” The question burst from Johnny about a mile from the daycare just after dark fell that July evening. He’d been trying to figure out a subtler way to ask it for most of the afternoon.
“Of course!” Tabitha’s over-the-top enthusiasm—over-the-top for her—brought more concern rather than easing it. From the wheel of the little SUV he’d purchased to tow behind the food truck, he could only afford a quick glance in her direction. But it was enough to tell him, as if he didn’t already know, that this trip was different from all the rest.
And that it was taking a toll on her.
He just wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do about it. His role seemed to be changing, but they hadn’t discussed that. He had no idea how it would change, what it would become. They were friends. They talked. Even cried a little.
But they each went home to their own privacy, to dispel the deepest stuff alone.
Their friendship had come with an end date before it had begun. They’d both understood that from the beginning. It was part of why they worked. Why they were able to provide each other with the opportunity they both needed for venting and sharing.
There was no judgment and there were no expectations, nothing to further complicate things. Because they both knew they were living in a time out of time. Both of them had other lives they’d return to as soon as their goals were achieved.
They were helping each other with plans they’d made before they met, not embarking on a life they’d built together.
She’d already collected a list of daycares within her chosen parameters before he’d moved in next to her and had just added to it as time passed—a few of those she’d found had posted pictures that bore a slight resemblance to Jackson. Many did not. All of her daycare searches were within a day’s journey by car. According to Tabitha, Mark was obsessive about his mother and wouldn’t stray too far from her grave. Over the past six months of working the food truck, Johnny had visited every daycare on Tabitha’s growing list. Starting in Mission Viejo and working outward.
Of course, the daycares that posted actual pictures of their kids were in the minority, and could only do so with parental permission. It wasn’t likely that a man who’d kidnapped his son would grant that permission. Still, looking on the internet every night, finding the occasional photo kept her going.
The Bouncing Ball daycare stood out from the rest because it had a client with a Pinterest board she’d created celebrating her own child. And, odd as it was to Johnny, some modern-day parents seemed to think it was cool to plaster pictures of their kids—and even their kids’ classmates and pals—all over their social media pages. He got it to a degree; friends and family could all share the special moments.
But so could strangers who preyed on postings like that.
And then there was Tabitha, searching daycare websites and pictures every night. She’d typed in “San Diego daycare” on Pinterest, and seen the picture the mother had posted, along with the name of her toddler’s daycare. The parent had probably thought she was doing a good thing, giving the daycare publicity.
Tabitha was completely convinced that the picture she’d seen, the one she’d printed and kept in her purse for at least four days, was of a two-year-old Jackson. Certain. Said she’d seen herself in the eyes gleaming up at the camera. He’d been grinning, along with half a dozen other kids.
“It might not be him.” His job was to support, not discourage. But she was in over her head on this one. He could feel it.
“It’s him.” His peripheral vision told Johnny she was watching him, but with the traffic, he couldn’t take his gaze off the road. Wasn’t even sure he wanted to.
“He looked healthy, Johnny. And happy, too...”
Was that why she’d fixated on that particular photo, that particular kid, when there’d been a dozen others during the months they’d been friends? Because the boy
