12
She ran her finger along the planes of his face until the tears burned her eyes and obscured the picture. Before she dripped onto the book, she wiped them away and sniffed.
“Looks like you found what you were looking for.” Sadie turned to find Mr. Boyle standing behind her.
“I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Sadie pointed to the picture. “Any chance you can remember where you took this?”
Mr. Boyle moved the albums from the chair beside her and took their place. “May I?”
She handed it to him reluctantly.
He pulled the photograph from the sleeve and flipped it over, then tilted it so she could read what was written there.
Joyman. FH-Miami. 4/16/08.
“What does that mean, Joyman?”
“A lot of people won’t tell me their names. Sometimes they don’t remember. That’s probably a nickname.”
“What about that—FH-Miami?”
“F.H. is Faith House. It’s a homeless shelter.”
“In Miami?”
He nodded, handing her the picture.
Studying it again, she noticed more wrinkles around her father’s eyes. Laugh lines. He’d always been so happy.
“Who is he?”
“My father. I’ve been looking for him...” A sob choked off her words. She swiped her arm across her eyes. “Do you think he’s still there?”
“Come on. Let’s go find out.”
His assistant smiled gently as they approached. Mr. Boyle asked her to find the number of the Miami shelter before leading Sadie through a door to his office. He waved her to one chair and seated himself in the other.
“Mr. Boyle,” she asked, “why do you do it?”
“Don, please.” He leaned forward a little. “My son. He started using drugs when he was in high school. Ran away from home. I’d search for him, bring him back, but he’d always leave again.”
She remembered the Boyle and Son sign on the door. “Is he home now?”
Don half-smiled. “I truly hope so. He overdosed about ten years ago. Died all alone in a crack house right here in New York. I’d been looking all over the country for him, and he was right here, just a few miles away.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.”
The phone beeped and Karla’s voice asked, “Shall I put it through for you?”
He picked up the receiver. “Please.” He smiled at Sadie. A moment later, he spoke. “This is Don Boyle in New York. Can I speak to your director?”
Sadie glanced around the simple office while they waited. A burgundy chair sat behind a dark wood desk. The walls were lined with pictures of homes and condos, probably some of the buildings his company had built.
“Hi Mrs. James,” Don said into the phone. “Thanks for taking my call.”
Sadie could just hear a voice through the phone, but she couldn’t make out the words.
“Don’t mention it. Actually, I need your help. I’ve got a picture here, dates back to April of oh-eight. I wondered if you’d have any information about this guy. I don’t have his name, but he went by Joyman.” Don nodded, then leaned forward and pressed a button on his phone.
A woman’s voice filled the room. “...oh-eight. I think I remember him. Let’s see here.” There was a long pause. They could hear a keyboard tapping in the background.
“Here we go. Mind if I ask why you’re looking for him?”
“I have a picture I took of him in an album in my office. His daughter was looking through the albums and found the photograph. She’s here with me.”
Don looked at her, so Sadie said, “Hi.”
“Hi, hon. I’m Kate James. What’s your name?”
“Sadie.”
“Oh. I thought it might be Joy. Is that your mom’s name?”
“My middle name is Joy.”
“Ah. We called him Joyman because...well, he was usually just as happy as could be. He’d tell stories and laugh and have fun with the kids. Just like a big teddy bear. But sometimes, he’d get sort of pensive, scared, even. And he’d walk around telling everyone he was looking for ‘his joy.’ He’d say, ‘Have you found my joy,’ or, ‘Did you see my joy? I have to find my joy.’ So I just figured he was talking about someone.”
Sadie’s eyes filled with tears. She tried to stop the sobs, but they welled up, choking her. Don placed a wad of tissues in her hand. She wiped at her face and held one to her nose. Don set a box next to her.
“What else can you tell us?” he asked.
The woman on the phone sighed. “I’m sorry. I wish I had better news for you.”
He wasn’t there any longer. Sadie knew it. She’d found a thread, and she’d lost him again.
“Go on,” Don said.
“You say you took the picture in April of oh-eight?”
Don nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“Joyman passed away in his bed on May tenth of that same year.”
Sadie’s breath whooshed out. “Are you sure?” Her words were squeaky, high. Incoherent, but apparently the woman understood.
“I’m so sorry, hon.”
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.
Don filled the silence. “Can you tell us how he died?”
“You know how it is with homeless folks, Don. He was sick, but he refused see a doctor. I don’t know the actual cause of death. You could check with the county coroner.”
Sadie began to shake. Her sobs increased. By the time she'd gotten control of herself again, he'd hung up the phone
“I’m so sorry,” Don said.
She still couldn’t speak.
“Kate will call the coroner, see if she can figure out what they did with his...with him. She’ll call me when she has more information.”
“Thank you.”
“Sure.”
She sat up, wiped her eyes again, and blew her nose. “Thank you for...for caring enough about him to take his picture.”
“They’re all somebody’s son or daughter, father or mother, sister or brother. Somebody loves them. God loves them.”
Sadie nodded again, sniffed, and grabbed a fresh tissue. Then she uttered an hysterical laugh. “I came to tell you I’d sell.”
“We won’t worry about that today.”
“But you said—”
“It’ll keep a few weeks. No rush. We’ll talk again after the holidays.”
She nodded her thanks.
“Is there someone I can call for you?”
“No. Nobody. I’ll just...I’ll...” She had no idea what she would do.
“You can’t go back to that empty house, all alone. Where’s your family?”
She thought of Max first. Brushed off the thought. “Mom lives in New Hampshire.”
“Are you going home for Christmas?”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“So where will you spend the holiday?”
“Probably the homeless shelter.”
Don frowned, looked at the picture sitting on her lap, and shook his head. “Your father wouldn’t want that for you. Do you have the money for a flight?”
“No.”
“The train?”
She shook her head. “No big deal. I’ll just—”
“Go home. Pack what you need. I’ll pick you up in...” He checked his watch. “An hour and a half. Enough time?”
“But—”
“It’s a long trip. Don’t make me wait.”