In the motel coffee shop in Vista, Sherman stirred his coffee, listening to the low-voiced conversation between Fran Ross and Lily Kotay, the mother of the now not so deceased Jim Kotay.
Outside the window, the landscape stretched for miles through the Texas Panhandle. Whenever the coffee shop door opened, the drone of traffic on Interstate 40 between Amarillo to the west and Oklahoma City to the east entered the room.
It had been a mistake to show the Kotay woman the age-advanced photo of Jim Farouk next to the still from the news video. It made her think of fakery. But Fran Ross had insisted. The Vista College secretary had looked at the pictures hungrily, as if her own dead son could also be magically brought back to life. And she was Lily Kotay's friend, his only wedge into the old Native woman's impenetrable silence.
"Who did you say is paying you to tell me this, Mr. McMillan?" Lily asked. Her eyes weren't entirely on his, but he'd bet his last dollar she hadn't missed a move he made.
"I'm not at liberty to reveal my client's identity, Mrs. Kotay. But believe me, this person has yours and your son's best interests at heart."
"You won't tell me who's behind this, but you ask me to trust you." She laid the statements side by side as if for him to examine. Asking if he would believe them if he was in her place.
"I couldn't believe it at first either, Lily," Fran said. "But if you'd seen Mr. McMillan's face when he picked Jimmy, your Jimmy, out of that picture, you wouldn't have any doubt. If he had any idea the boy in the picture wasn't Jilani Farouk, he deserved an Oscar. But I understand where you're coming from. If someone told me my son was still alive, I've be afraid to believe it. Maybe I'd even be mad at him for deceiving me."
"Being afraid to make me mad never stopped my son for a minute," Lily said. "But I can't help but notice he's not sitting at this table right now."
"I've lost my mother, Mrs. Kotay," Sherman said. "I'd give anything to see her again. And I think, I really think your son feels the same. He just doesn't know how to approach you after all this time."
"That's like Jimmy." Fran Ross again. "He does something on the spur of the moment, something he regrets, and then he's ashamed to admit it. You know how impulsive he was, is, I mean. He never could refuse a dare. Now you've got to reach out to him."
Lily bowed her head as if attentive to Fran, but she addressed herself to Sherman. "Is my son paying you?"
"No, Mrs. Kotay, he's not." He looked straight into her eyes for a moment. Perhaps a moment too long.
She withdrew her gaze. "How did you lose your mother, Mr. McMillan?"
"A car accident." He sipped his coffee, to have something to do. Now he was the one avoiding her eyes.
"You were driving?"
He set the coffee cup down, squared his shoulders. "I wasn't there when she needed me. My father had made her life hell for as long as I could remember. I don't know if. . . " He stopped. He hadn't meant to go this far.
Lily Kotay's voice was calm, compassionate even. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. McMillan. I'll pray for your family. But I can't be a party to helping you find this man, whoever he is." She edged out of the seat. "I need to get back to work."
"Let me walk you out," Fran said.
"Thank you, but I'd rather be alone just now." She walked out the door, not looking back.