A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

LEO
NOW
Before bed, Dad comes into my room where I’m doing algebra.
Algebra is about the only class I like because there’s a right and a
wrong answer, and no in-between. There’s no gray area, unlike in
life. Life is all gray area.
“Can I come in?” Dad asks.
I shrug. “It’s your house.”
“Don’t be like that, Leo.”
“Then how do you want me to be?”
I’m not usually so stubborn.
He comes in and sits on the edge of my bed. I turn my back to
him.
“I want you to listen. To hear me out. You’re not giving her a fair
shake.”
I turn around in my chair. I look at him. It’s a swivel chair. I can go
back to not looking anytime I want.
I tell him, “I’m listening.” The way I say it is petulant. All my life I’ve
had to be a grown-up. It’s nice acting like a child for a change.
Dad ages every day. He aged about a decade when Mom died.
He’s aged another now that you’re home. His hair is gray. He has a
paunch. There are dark circles under his eyes because he doesn’t
sleep. He’s always tired. He doesn’t eat much, either, not real food,
though he’s taken to feeding his depression with potato chips and
beer. It’s the reason for the paunch. He was an athlete once. I was a
skeptic when he told me he competed in a marathon before I was
born. I called bullshit. He showed me the medal to prove it. The only
reason he ever runs now is when there’s been a potential sighting of
you.
I don’t remember Dad before. But there are the pictures, the home
videos. In them, he’s pretty jacked. He’s a stud. He has brown hair,