By late Wednesday morning, I was frantic.
"Why don't you get off your ass and go to her," Dad told me. "Jesus, you walk around hangdog all goddamned day. Just go to her. Find out what's the matter."
I looked at him, then at Mom, who nodded in agreement. So I listened to them.
I sat on the stoop outside Marisa's apartment for three hours before one of her neighbors came home and saw me there.
"She's not here," the heavyset woman said. "Took off early yesterday mornin'. Suitcase in hand. Caught a taxi."
"Did she say where she was going?"
"Sorry," she said, and her face told me she meant it.
* * * * *
I was on the interstate back home, cell phone to ear, when she picked up.
"Hello?"
"Susan? It's Tyler."
She paused, then spoke slowly. "How are you?"
"Susan, have you heard from Mari
