Cold Feet by Amy FitzHenry Page B

Lucci might enjoy. It took him two hours to get through the Style section.
    For Caro and me, things went from bad to worse. When I left for college, and then law school, and finally settled in Los Angeles, I think we were both relieved. To this day, she’s never been to visit me, although the truth is she’s never really been invited. She’s only even met Sam a handful of times.
    Of course, since I met Sam and the rest of the Powells, I haven’t minded my mother’s distance as much. My mind drifted unpleasantly to where I would be if I were to lose him. Back at square one, without a family, without anyone.
    â€œEmma!” Liv shouted, interrupting my distress. “Look!” I looked up to see where Liv was wildly pointing. It was an exit for 280 South, toward
H. Moon
. I felt a sudden jolt of adrenaline, even though I had experienced this particular coincidence before.
    â€œYeah, that’s weird, right? It stands for Half Moon—it’s the freeway to Half Moon Bay. But that would be an awesome way to find him.”
    â€œI know it doesn’t stand for Hunter Moon
your dad
,” Liv said, rolling her eyes, albeit in a nice way. “But it’s still a sign! We are heading toward H. Moon, literally!”
    â€œWell, not
literally
literally, because that’s not our exit.”
    â€œYou know what I mean. Anyway, did you know they put the fake definition of
literally
in the dictionary? Now it says
literally
means either that something really happened or it didn’t really but it’s being used for exaggeratory effect. Isn’t that funny? The point is, we’re gonna find him!”
    Despite being a practicing attorney with an eye for facts, Liv strongly believed in the power of positive thinking, and she gave a surprising amount of credit to signs, symbols, and other emblems of her destiny. I wasn’t usually convinced, but today her excitement was contagious. There was a small part of me that held hope that we might actually find Hunter. Maybe things would turn out well. I let out a gush of air, resolving to be present and enjoy the adventure. I hadn’t realized it, but I’d been holding my breath. “You’re right,” I said. “It’s a good sign. Literally.”
    Liv laughed. “She’s back to telling the dorky puns, folks!”
    I sat back and wondered what had really happened to Hunter. I was six months old when he left. Did he hate changing diapers? Did Caro ruin his life and drive him away? Was it the Beltway traffic? Soon, I hoped, I would know.
    We wound our way north through the city, to the place I’d reserved through Airbnb on our drive in. After a quick search with my phone, I’d found a three-bedroom Victorian in the Marina. It had what looked like a beautiful bedroom with a king-sized bedand an en suite bathroom, and it was available for an immediate vacation rental. I was a little unsure about a place that would have availability so last minute, but if the pictures were any indication, it would be perfect.
    I directed Liv to the address, lost in thought, turning over the few facts about Hunter, the bits and pieces I’d put together about him, and even the rare mention of his name, overheard and collected throughout the years.
    In truth, the most concrete memory I had of my father wasn’t a memory at all. It was a story that my uncle Constantine told me, or rather, shouted near me, when I was nine years old. That year at Thanksgiving my mom decided that I should know more of her family, the majority of whom still lived in Pennsylvania. She invited them all to the small basement apartment we were subletting, while she was acting as temporary manager of the restaurant.
    That day remains the only one I’ve ever spent with all of my mother’s family. When I picture it, I remember a lot of shouting relatives and enormous bowls of pasta. Marinara sauce simmering on the stove and meat being patted