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the profile wall of missing children at Wal-Mart terrified him. Could he really exist in a world she was not in?
    As a last attempt at hope, Joel reached into his pocket to find the card with the name Redd Casey on it. Redd was an odd first name, he thought now, as he did when the schmuck of a lawyer handed it to him saying, “We’ve done all we can do for you, Mr. Phoenix.” How easily someone could give up on him, force him to look for a new private investigator. How easily they could all wash their hands of it and pretend his Emery wasn’t still out there. Joel wanted to call this one. He really did. But there was a clamor in his chest that wouldn’t subside. He was Emery’s father. He had to find her. But could he, on his own, bring her back? He put the card away. Didn’t fit right in his hands now.
    Feeling his skin, Joel realized it seemed more like leather, worn and creased. New wrinkles. He never knew anyone could age so quickly in mere months.  
    Joel got up to stretch his legs. Then he lingered in the hallway, on his way toward the kitchen. He scanned the guest bedroom, thankful that his stomach was growling; it allowed him to abandon the other infuriating ideas for a short while.
    The guest bedroom was empty. It was where he slept, at night anyway. He’d given Aimee the master, thought she’d be more comfortable. That, and he didn’t like being in there anymore. But most of the time Aimee complained that the bedroom’s emptiness bothered her, made her fear the dark even more. That was familiar to him too, only he never voiced it.
    When would Aimee come home? It was late. He missed her footsteps. Her nagging. He wanted to talk to her, even if it meant a fight might come because of it. He dug his nails into his hands. He wanted to be close to her, hold her again, that woman he called whore and wife. The smell of her skin seemed like a fading memory now, one he sought to relive over and over. But he never could quite get it right.
    It was a mystery how close two people could be but how far they really were.
    In no time, his mind drifted. He imagined Aimee and Carlos making love. Loud, almost violent passion. The kind that makes your feet go numb and your lower back tingle. He blinked twice, to make sure the picture went away.
    Love. Odd how a four-letter word seemed so long, so stretched and out of reach. The truth was, he longed for that kind of passion, that forsaken romance. He looked down at his left hand, pulled off the ring, and was prepared to throw it out the window. But when he looked back at his hand, the ring finger now bleached white, he began to wonder if the stain was enough.  
    The front door slammed all of a sudden, shocking him awake to the reality in which he found himself stuck. Aimee shuffled in with a bag of fast food. He realized he had never made it to the kitchen.
    She tossed him the bag, some fries spilling onto the floor.
    Joel reached in. “Fries are cold.”  
    â€œCoulda let you starve. Took me a little longer to get back tonight. Had a long day, something you really wouldn’t know anything about.” She took off her jacket. “What’s the matter, Joel? A ‘ thank you’ too much?”
    He shrugged. “How was your day?”
    â€œI told you. Long.”
    Joel’s eyes dropped to Aimee’s hands. He hadn’t looked at them in a while. She’d taken off her ring. When, he didn’t know. But it was gone. He put his back on, hoping it would be noticed.
    Aimee walked by him, asking how his day was, more out of obligation than concern.
    â€œTiring,” came his weak reply.
    â€œIt must put a real a strain on the body walking to and from the kitchen,” she jeered, no doubt anticipating a reaction. “You’re drinking again too, aren’t you? I can see why you’re tired. You stink. Too much time alone in this miserable place. When would you find time to