The Subtle Art of Brutality

“Yes.”

“How did you know she wasn’t coming back?”

“It was just in the air, I suppose. She’s done it enough over the years that I have a sixth sense for it. After a few days, well, the writing was on the wall.”

“Where did you think she’d gone?”

“At first I thought she’d run off with a man. But she hasn’t talked about any guys for a while. Usually she mentions whoever she’s dating at the time in casual conversation. She’d say things like I’m going out with Chris tonight or whatever. Usual stuff. She hasn’t done that for a while I guess.”

“Any boyfriends?”

“The last two steady ones she had you know about. White and what’s-his-fuck. God I hated that last guy.”

I search my memory. “Dobbins.”

“Yes, him. White, I could see why she was with him. It wasn’t until it was over did Delilah mention he was still married. But he was clean-cut, handsome, sophisticated. I thought for sure she’d landed a movie star. My Delilah always had the looks to draw in Hollywood-quality men.”

If anyone labeled me a Hollywood-quality man and thought it was a complement I’d correct that in the ugliest way I know how.

“Delilah didn’t need a degree from Annapolis hanging on her wall. There are two types of women, Mr. Buckner. Belinda was one, Delilah was the other. Belinda wanted to show the world there is nothing a man can do that she cannot do. Delilah was happy having men clamoring for her.”

So I need to focus on the men.

“But you don’t think she left with a guy?”

“No. I can’t put my finger on it, but no.”

“With a girl?” Darla smirks and coughs out a half-laugh. “Maybe not romantic, but even a friend?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. She—she hadn’t kept tight friends for some time. Just a lot of tenuous connections. Delilah was pushing people away even if she didn’t know it. I think her life was crumbling a piece at a time but she’s so inured to folks coming and going and hard times that she probably doesn’t see it.”

“So she left on her own for no discernible reason?” I ask, wondering why I’m here.

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“I know my daughter. Something pushed her away.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.”

Frustrated: “She’s an adult. She’s free to leave and not tell anyone. Why even hire me to look then?”

Before she can answer her cell phone rings. A single moment of blabbering and then silence. I crush my cigarette into the tray and take one more bite from my burrito. I’ll find the girl because people are paying for it but this is the kind of shit that is a waste of time. Delilah didn’t want to be here anymore so she left. Case closed.

“Mr. Buckner...” Darla says. I look up. She’s scared. She points to her phone and mouths something at me.

“I can’t make that out.” I say. Then she says it and it makes total sense.

“It’s Delilah.” She says as she closes her phone shut. Tears carve fresh lines down her cheeks. “She says she’s pregnant.”

Darla looks down at the table and touches her cell phone, an insignificant object that held her to her daughter on a silk thread for a fleeting moment before it was cut off.

“Delilah says someone is trying to hurt her.”

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